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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32639-h.zip b/32639-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc52b72 --- /dev/null +++ b/32639-h.zip diff --git a/32639-h/32639-h.htm b/32639-h/32639-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..392e260 --- /dev/null +++ b/32639-h/32639-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1238 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Medici Boots, by Pearl Norton Swet + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.p1 { margin-left:60%; } + +.p2 { margin-left:70%; } + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold; font-size:smaller;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; + margin-top: 0.2em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Medici Boots, by Pearl Norton Swet + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Medici Boots + +Author: Pearl Norton Swet + +Release Date: June 1, 2010 [EBook #32639] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEDICI BOOTS *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Weird Tales August-September 1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="608" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<h1>The Medici Boots</h1> +<p> </p> + +<h2>By PEARL NORTON SWET</h2> +<p> </p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The amethyst-covered boots had been worn by an evil wanton +in medieval Florence—but what malefic power did they carry +over into our own time?</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f1.jpg" alt="F" width="42" height="50" /></div> +<p>or fifty years they lay under glass in the Dickerson museum and they +were labeled "The Medici Boots." They were fashioned of creamy +leather, pliable as a young girl's hands. They were threaded with +silver, appliqued with sapphire silks and scarlet, and set on the tip +of each was a pale and lovely amethyst. Such were the Medici boots.</p> + +<p>Old Silas Dickerson, globe-trotter and collector, had brought the +boots from a dusty shop in Florence when he was a young man filled +with the lust for travel and adventure. The years passed and Silas +Dickerson was an old man, his hair white, his eyes dim, his veined +hands trembling with the ague that precedes death.</p> + +<p>When he was ninety and the years of his wanderings over, Silas +Dickerson died one morning as he sat in a high-backed Venetian chair +in his private museum. The Fourteenth Century gold-leaf paintings, the +Japanese processional banners, the stolen bones of a Normandy +saint—all the beloved trophies of his travels must have watched the +dead man impassively for hours before his housekeeper found him.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="500" height="504" alt=""She imparted to me those terrible secrets of the Black +Arts which were deep in her soul."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"She imparted to me those terrible secrets of the Black +Arts which were deep in her soul."</span> +</div> + +<p>The old man sat with his head thrown back against the faded tapestry +of the Venetian chair, his eyes closed, his bony arms extended along +the beautifully carved arms of the chair, and on his lap lay the +Medici boots.</p> + +<p>It was high noon when they found him, and the sun was streaming +through the stained-glass window above the chair and picking at the +amethysts, so that the violet stones seemed to eye Marthe, the old +housekeeper, with an impudent glitter. Marthe muttered a prayer and +crossed herself, before she ran like a scared rabbit with the news of +the master's death.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>ilas Dickerson's only surviving relatives, the three young +Delameters, did not take too seriously the note which was found among +the papers in the museum's desk. Old Silas had written the note. It +was addressed to John Delameter, for John was his uncle's favorite, +but John's pretty wife, Suzanne, and his twin brother, Doctor Eric, +read it over his shoulder; and they all smiled tolerantly. Old +Dickerson had written of things incomprehensible to the young moderns:</p> + +<p>"The contents of my private museum are yours, John, to do with as you +see fit. Merely as a suggestion, I would say that the Antiquarian +Society would snap up many of the things. A very few are of no +particular value, except to me. One thing I want done, however. The +Medici boots of ivory leather must either be destroyed or be put for +ever under glass in a <i>public</i> museum. I prefer that they be +destroyed, for they are a dangerous possession. They have gone to the +adulterous rendezvous celebrated in the scandalous verses of Lorenzo +the Magnificent. They have shod the feet of a murderess. They were +cursed by the Church as trappings of the Devil, inciting the wearer to +foul deeds and intrigue.</p> + +<p>"I shall not disturb you with all their hideous history, but I repeat, +they are a dangerous possession. I have taken care to keep them under +lock and key, behind plate glass, for more than fifty years. I have +never taken them out. Destroy the Medici boots, before they destroy +you!"</p> + +<p>"But he did take them out!" cried Suzanne. "Uncle was holding the +boots when—when Marthe found him there in the museum."</p> + +<p>John reread the note, and looked thoughtfully at his young wife. "Yes. +Perhaps he was preparing to destroy them right then. Of course, I +think the poor old fellow took things a bit too seriously—he was very +old, you know, and Marthe says he practically lived in this museum of +his."</p> + +<p>"And why call a pair of old boots dangerous? Of course, we all know +the Medicis were plenty dangerous, but the Medici boots—that's +ridiculous, John. Besides——"</p> + +<p>Suzanne paused provocatively, her red lips pouting. She looked down at +her trimly shod feet. "Besides, I'd like to try on those Medici +boots—just once. They're lovely, I think."</p> + +<p>John was frowning thoughtfully. He scarcely heard her suggestion. He +spoke to Eric, instead, and his voice seemed a bit troubled.</p> + +<p>"I believe that Uncle <i>was</i> getting ready to destroy those boots that +very morning he died; else why should he have taken them from their +case—after fifty years?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe you're right, John, because that note is dated fully a +month before Uncle's death. I think he brooded over leaving those +boots to one he cared for. Poor old man!"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't call him so, Eric. He had his dreams of adventure realized +more fully than most men. I—I think I'll do as he says. I'll destroy +the Medici boots."</p> + +<p>"If you'd feel better about it," assented his brother. But Suzanne did +not speak. She was looking at her shoe, pursing her lips thoughtfully, +seeing her feet encased in the gay embroideries of the Medici boots.</p> + +<p>John seemed relieved by his decision. "Yes, I'd better do it. We'll be +getting back to town in a few days. Old Erskine, you know, Uncle's +lawyer, is coming down this afternoon. Then soon we'll be on the wing, +Susie and I—Vienna, Paris, the Alps—thanks to Uncle."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you think I'm not thankful for my chance at a bit more work at +Johns Hopkins," said Eric, and they did not again speak of the Medici +boots.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he deaf old lawyer of the Dickerson estate arrived, and Suzanne, with +the easy capability that was part of her charm, saw that he was made +comfortable.</p> + +<p>At seven there was a perfect dinner served on the awninged terrace +outside the softly lit living-room. The stars aided the two little +rosy lamps on the table, and swaying willows beside a stone-encircled +pool swung the incense of the garden about them.</p> + +<p>As dinner ended, John took from the pocket of his coat a small, +limp-leather book. He pushed back his dessert plate and laid the book +on the table, tapping it with a finger as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"This is the history of the Medici boots. It was in the little +wall-safe in the museum. After all Uncle said of the Medici boots, +shall we read it?" And turning to the old lawyer, he told of Silas +Dickerson's letter concerning the boots.</p> + +<p>Erskine shook his head, smiling. "Most collectors get an exaggerated +sense of the supernatural. Read this, by all means—it should prove +interesting."</p> + +<p>"Yes, read it, John." Suzanne and Eric spoke almost together.</p> + +<p>So, in the circle of rosy light at their little table, John read the +story of the Medici boots. It was not a long story and it was told in +the language of an anonymous translator, but as John read on, his +listeners were drawn together, as by a spell. They scarcely breathed, +and the summer night that was so mildly beautiful seemed to take on a +sense of hovering danger.</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"In the palace of Giuliano de' Medici I have lived long. I am an old +woman now, as the years are reckoned in this infamous place, though I +am but fifty and three.</p> + +<p>"Separated from my betrothed, duped, sold into the marble labyrinth of +this hateful palace, it was long before my spirit broke and I went +forth, bejeweled and attired in elegance, among the silk-clad +Florentines. I was labeled the most beautiful mistress of any of the +Medici. I was smirked at, fawned upon for my lord's favors, obscenely +jested about in the orgies that took place in the great banquet hall +of the palace.</p> + +<p>"But in my heart always lay the remembrance of my lost love, and in my +soul grew black hatred for the Medici and all their kind. I, who had +dreamed only of a modest home, a kind husband, black-haired, trusting +little children, was made a tool of the Medici infamy.</p> + +<p>"In time, I almost felt myself in league with the Devil. Secretly, and +with a growing sense of elation, I made frequent rendezvous with a +foul hag whose very name was anathema to the churchly folk of +Florence. In her hole of a room in a certain noisome street, she +imparted to me those terrible secrets of the Black Arts which were +deep in her soul. It was amusing that she was paid in Medici gold.</p> + +<p>"The corruption of the Medici bred in them fear; in me a sort of +reckless bravery. It was I who poisoned the wine of many a foe of the +Medici. It was I who put the point of a dagger in the heart of the old +Prince de Vittorio, whose lands and power and palaces were coveted by +my lord, Giuliano.</p> + +<p>"After a time, bloodshed became an exhilaration to me; the death +agonies of those who drank the poisoned cup became more interesting +than the flattery of the Medici followers. Even the ladies of the +house of the Medici did me the honor of their subtly barbed +friendliness.</p> + +<p>"Through this very friendliness, I conceived my plan of sweet revenge +upon the monsters who had ruined my life. With so great a hatred +boiling in my soul that my mind reeled, my senses throbbed, my heart +rose in my throat like a spurt of flame, I cursed three things of +exquisite beauty with all the fervor of my newly learned lessons in +devilish lore.</p> + +<p>"These three beautiful objects I presented to three ladies of the +house of Medici—presented them with honeyed words of mock humility. A +necklace of jeweled links—I pledged myself to the Devil and willed +that the golden necklace would tighten on the soft throat of a lady of +the Medici while she slept, and strangle her into black death. A +bracelet of filigree and sapphires—to pierce by its hidden silver +needle the blue vein in a white Medici wrist, so that her life's +blood would spurt and she would know the terror that the house of the +Medici gave to others.</p> + +<p>"Last, and most ingenious, a pair of creamy boots, pliable, +embroidered in silver and silks, encrusted with amethysts—my +betrothal jewels. In my hatred I cursed the boots, willing that the +wearer, as long as a shred of the boots remained, should kill as I had +killed, poison as I had poisoned, leave all thoughts of home and +husband and live in wantonness and evil. So I cursed the beautiful +boots, forgetting, in my hate, that perhaps another than a Medici +might, in the years to come, wear them and become the Devil's pawn, +even as I am now.</p> + +<p>"In my life, the Medici will have the boots, of that I feel sure; but +after that—I can only hope that this bloody history of the boots may +be found when I am no more, and may it be a warning.</p> + +<p>"I have lived to see my gifts received and worn, and I have laughed in +my soul to see my curses bring death and terror and evil to three +Medici women. I know not what will become of the golden necklace, the +bracelet, or the boots. The boots may be lost or stolen, or they may +lie in a Medici palace for age on age, but the curse will cling to +them till they are destroyed. So I pray that no woman, save a Medici, +will ever wear them.</p> + +<p>"As I live and breathe and do the bidding of the lords of Florence, +the accursed Medici—I have told the truth. When I am dead, perhaps +they will find this book, and, in hell, I shall know and be glad.</p> +</div> +<p class="p1">"<span class="smcap">Maria Modena di Cavouri.</span></p> + +<p class="p2">"Florence, 1476."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_w1.jpg" alt="W" width="77" height="40" /></div> +<p>hew!" said old Erskine.</p> + +<p>John laughed. "I don't suppose this charming history would have been +any more thrilling if I had read it from the original book, in +Italian, of course. Wonder where Uncle got it! There was no mention of +it being in the library—but there it was."</p> + +<p>"Now, will you destroy those boots?" asked Eric, and he was not +entirely in jest.</p> + +<p>But Suzanne said, laughingly, "Not before I find out if the Medici +lady had a smaller foot than I! Are they still in the museum, John?"</p> + +<p>"Never you mind, my dear. They're not for the likes of you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be silly, John. This is 1935, not the Fifteenth Century." +And they laughed at Suzanne's earnestness.</p> + +<p>The book that held the story of the Medici boots lay on the white +cloth, looking like a book of lovely verse.</p> + +<p>Suzanne, a small white blur against the summer dark, sat quietly while +the men talked of Silas Dickerson, his life, his mania for collecting, +his death that had so fittingly come to him in his museum. It was +nearly twelve when Suzanne left the men on the terrace and with a +quiet "good-night" entered the living-room and crossed to the long, +shining stairs.</p> + +<p>The men went on with their talk. Once, John, looking toward the +jutting wing that was the museum, exclaimed, "Look at that, will you? +Why—I'd swear I saw a light in the museum."</p> + +<p>"You locked it, didn't you?" asked Eric.</p> + +<p>"Of course; the key's in my desk upstairs. H-m. I'm probably mistaken, +but it did seem as though a light shone there just a moment ago."</p> + +<p>"Reflection from the living-room window, I think. Country life is +making you jittery, John." And Eric laughed at his brother.</p> + +<p>The men sat on, reluctant to leave the beauty of the night, and it was +almost two o'clock when they finally went inside.</p> + +<p>John said, "I think I'll not disturb Suzanne." And he went to sleep in +a wide four-postered bed in a room next to his wife. Eric and the old +lawyer were in rooms across the hall.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he still summer night closed about the house of Silas Dickerson, and +when the moon lay dying against the bank of cloud, puffed across a sky +by the little wind that came before dawn, young Doctor Eric Delameter +awoke, suddenly and completely, to a feeling of clammy apprehension. +He had not locked his door, and now, across the grayness of the room, +he saw it slowly opening.</p> + +<p>A hand was closed around the edge of the door—a woman's hand, small +and white and jeweled. Eric sat straight and tense on the edge of his +bed, peering across the room. A woman, young and slender, in a long, +trailing gown, came toward him smiling. It was Suzanne.</p> + +<p>With a gasp, Eric watched her approach till she stood directly before +him.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne! You are asleep? Suzanne, shall I call John?"</p> + +<p>He thought that perhaps he should not waken her; there were things one +must remember about sleep-walkers, but physicians scarcely believed +them.</p> + +<p>Eric was puzzled, too, by her costume. It was not a night-robe she +wore, but an elaborate, trailing dress upon which embroideries in +silver shone faintly. Her short black curls were bound about three +times with strands of pearly beads, her slim white arms were loaded +with bracelets. The pointed toes of little shoes peeped beneath her +gown, little shoes of creamy leather. An amethyst gleamed on each +shoe.</p> + +<p>The sight of these amethystine tips affected Eric strangely, much as +though he had looked at something hideously repulsive. He stood up and +put out a hand to touch Suzanne's arm.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," he said, gently. "Let me take you to John. Shall I?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne looked up at him, and her brown eyes, usually so merry, were +deeply slumberous, not with sleep, but with a look of utter abandon. +She shook her pearl-bound head slowly, smilingly.</p> + +<p>"No, not John. I want you, Eric."</p> + +<p>"Mad! Suzanne must be mad!" was Eric's quick thought, but her caress +was swifter than his thought. Both jewel-laden arms about his neck, +Suzanne kissed him, her red lips pouting warmly upon his.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne! You don't know what you're doing." He grasped both her hands +in his and with a haste that would have seemed ludicrous to him had he +viewed the scene in a picture-play, he hurried her out of his room and +across the hall.</p> + +<p>Eric opened her door softly and with no gentle hand shoved Suzanne +inside her room. She seemed like a little animal in his grasp. She +hissed at him; clawed and scratched at his hand. But when he had shut +the door, she did not open it again, and after a moment he went back +to his own room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>is mouth set in a firm line, his heart beating fast, Eric locked his +door with a noiseless turn of the key. It was almost dawn, and the +garden lay like a rare pastel outside his window; but Eric saw none of +it. He scarcely thought, though his lips moved, as if chaotic words +were struggling for utterance.</p> + +<p>He looked down at his hand, where two long red scratches oozed a +trickle of blood. After he had washed his hand, he lay down on his bed +and covered his eyes with his arm, against the picture of Suzanne. +Above all else there stood out the gleaming tips of her little shoes, +as he had glimpsed them through the dim light of his room when she +came toward him.</p> + +<p>"She wore the Medici boots! The Medici boots! Suzanne must have taken +them from the museum!" Over and over he said it—"The Medici boots! +The Medici boots!"</p> + +<p>Eric rather dreaded breakfast, but when he came down at eight, to the +terrace where a rustic table was set invitingly, he found John and the +lawyer awaiting him. John greeted his brother affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Morning, old boy! Hope you slept well. Why so solemn? Feeling seedy?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I am perfectly all right," Eric replied hastily, relieved +that Suzanne was not present. He added with a scarcely noticeable +hesitation, "Suzanne not coming down?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied John, easily. "She seemed to want to sleep awhile. Sent +her regrets. She'll see us at lunch."</p> + +<p>John went on. "I certainly had a nightmare last night. Thought a woman +in a long, shining dress came into my room and tried to stab me. This +morning I found that a glass on my bed-table was overturned and +broken, and, by George, I'd cut my wrist on it."</p> + +<p>He showed a jagged cut on his wrist. "Take a look, Doctor Eric."</p> + +<p>Eric looked at the cut, carefully. "Not bad, but you might have bled +to death, had it been a quarter of an inch to the left. If you like, +I'll fix it up a bit for you after breakfast."</p> + +<p>Eric's voice was calm enough, but his pulse was pounding, his heart +sick. All morning he rode through the countryside adjoining the +Dickerson estate, but he let the mare go as she liked and where she +liked, for his mind was busy with the events of the hour before dawn. +He knew that the slash on his brother's wrist was made by steel, not +glass. Yet when the ride was over, he could not bring himself to tell +John of Suzanne's visit.</p> + +<p>"She must have been sleep-walking, though I can't account for the way +she was decked out. I've always thought Suzanne extremely modest in +her dress, certainly not inclined to load herself with jewelry. And +those boots! John must get them today and destroy them, as he said. +Silly, perhaps, but——" His thoughts went on and on, always returning +to the Medici boots, in spite of himself.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e.jpg" alt="E" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>ric came back from his ride at eleven o'clock, with as troubled a +mind as when he began it. He almost feared to see Suzanne at lunch.</p> + +<p>When he did meet her with John and Mr. Erskine on the cool, shaded +porch where they lunched, he saw there was nothing to fear. The +amorous, clinging woman of the hour before dawn was not there at all. +There was only the Suzanne whom Eric knew and loved as a sister.</p> + +<p>Here, again, was their merry little Suzanne, somewhat spoiled by her +husband, it is true, but a Suzanne sweetly feminine, almost childish +in a crisp, white frock and little, low-heeled sandals. Their talk was +lazily pleasant—of tennis honors and horses, of the prize delphiniums +in the garden, of the tiny maltese kitten which Suzanne had brought up +from the stables late that morning and installed in a pink-bowed +basket on the porch. She showed the kitten to Eric, handling its tiny +paws gently, hushing its plaintive mews with ridiculous pet names.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I'm a bigger fool than I know. Perhaps it never happened, +except in a dream," Eric told himself, unhappily. "And yet——"</p> + +<p>He looked at the red marks on his hand, marks made by a furious +Suzanne in that hour before the dawn. Too, he remembered the cut on +John's wrist, the cut so near the vein.</p> + +<p>Eric declined John's invitation to go through the museum with him that +afternoon, but he said with a queer sense of diffidence, "While +you're there, John, you'd better get rid of the Medici boots. Creepy +things to have around, I think."</p> + +<p>"They'll be destroyed, all right. But Suzanne is just bound to try +them on. I'll get them, though, and do as Uncle said."</p> + +<p>Eric remained on the terrace, speculating somewhat on just what John +and Suzanne would do, now that the huge fortune of Silas Dickerson was +theirs. Eric was not envious of his brother's good luck, and he was +thankful for his share in old Silas' generosity.</p> + +<p>At five o'clock he entered the hall, just as Suzanne hurried in from +the kitchen. She spread our her hands, laughingly.</p> + +<p>"With my own fair hands I've made individual almond tortonis for +dessert. Cook thinks I'm a wonder! Each masterpiece in a fluted silver +dish, silver candies sprinkled on the pink whipped cream! O-oh!"</p> + +<p>She made big eyes in mock gluttony. Eric forgot, for a moment, that +there ever had been another Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"You're nothing but a little girl, Suzie. You with your rhapsodies +over pink whipped cream! But it's sweet of you to go to such trouble +on a warm afternoon. See you and the whatever-you-call-'ems at +dinner!"</p> + +<p>"They're tortonis, Eric, tortonis."</p> + +<p>Suzanne ran lightly up the stairs. Eric followed more slowly. He +entered his room thinking that there were some things which must be +explained in this house with the old museum.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>wenty minutes before dinner Eric and John were on the terrace waiting +for Suzanne. John was talkative, which was just as well, as he might +have wondered at his brother's silence. Eric was torn between a desire +to tell his brother his reluctant suspicions concerning the Medici +boots and Suzanne and his inclination to leave things alone till the +boots could be destroyed.</p> + +<p>He said, diffidently, "John, has Suzanne those—those boots?"</p> + +<p>John chuckled. "Why, yes. I saw them in her room. Do you know she went +down to the museum last night and took those boots? It <i>was</i> a light I +saw in the museum. It was her light. Suzanne has ideas. Wants to wear +the boots just once, she says, to lay the ghost of this +what's-her-name—Maria Modena. Suzanne says she couldn't sleep much +last night. Got up early and tried on those boots. Well, I think I'll +destroy 'em tomorrow. Uncle's wish, so I'll do it."</p> + +<p>"Tried them on, did she? Well, if you should ask me, I'd say that +history of the boots was a bit too exciting for Suzanne. It <i>was</i> a +haunting story. Uncle must have swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. His letter showed that. But Suzanne lives in the present, +not the past, as Uncle did. I suppose Suzanne will wear those boots, +or she won't feel satisfied. I don't exactly like the idea, I must +confess."</p> + +<p>Something like an electric shock passed through Eric. He said, +somewhat breathlessly, "I don't think Suzanne ought to have the Medici +boots."</p> + +<p>John looked at him curiously and laughed. "I never knew you were +superstitious, Eric. But do you really think——"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I think, John. But if she were my wife, I'd take +those boots away from her. Uncle may have known what he was talking +about."</p> + +<p>"Well, I think she's intending to wear them at dinner, so prepare to +be dazzled. Here she is, now. Greetings, sweet-heart!"</p> + +<p>Suzanne swept across the terrace, her gown goldly shimmering, pearls +bound about her head, as Eric had seen her in the dim hour before +dawn. Again the rows of bracelets were weighting her slim arms. And +she wore the Medici boots, the amethyst tips peeping beneath her +shining dress.</p> + +<p>John, ever ready for gay clowning, arose and bowed low. "Hail, +Empress! A-ah, the dress you got in Florence on our honeymoon, isn't +it? And those darned Medici boots!"</p> + +<p>Suzanne unsmilingly extended her hand for him to kiss.</p> + +<p>John arched an eyebrow, comically. "What's the matter, honey? Going +regal on me?" And retaining her hand, he kissed each of her fingers.</p> + +<p>Suzanne snatched away her hand, and the glance she gave her husband +was one of venomous hauteur. To Eric she turned a look that was an +open caress, leaning toward him, putting a hand on his arm, as he +stood beside his chair, stern-lipped, with eyes that would not look at +John's hurt bewilderment.</p> + +<p>The three sat down then, in the low wicker chairs, and waited for +dinner—three people with oddly different emotions. John was hurt, +slightly impatient with his bride; Eric was furious with Suzanne, +though there was in his heart the almost certain knowledge that the +Suzanne beside them on the terrace was not the Suzanne they knew, but +a cruelly strange woman, the product of a sinister force, unknown and +compelling.</p> + +<p>No one, looking on Suzanne's red-lipped and heavy-lidded beauty, could +miss the knowledge that here was a woman dangerously subtle, carrying +a power more devastating than the darting lightning that now and then +showed itself over the tree-tops of the garden. Eric began to feel +something of this, and there shaped in his mind a wariness, a defense +against this woman who was not Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"No <i>al fresco</i> dining tonight," said John, as the darkening sky was +veined by a sudden spray of blue-green light. "Rain on the way. Pretty +good storm, I'd say."</p> + +<p>"I like it," replied Suzanne, drawing in a deep breath of the sultry +air.</p> + +<p>John laughed. "Since when, sweet-heart? You usually shake and shiver +through a thunderstorm."</p> + +<p>Suzanne ignored him. She smiled at Eric and said in a low tone, "And +if I should lose my bravery, you would take care of me, wouldn't you, +Eric?"</p> + +<p>Before Eric could reply, dinner was announced, and he felt a relief +and also a dread. This dinner was going to be difficult.</p> + +<p>John offered his arm to his wife, smiling at her, hoping for a smile +in return, but Suzanne shrugged and said in a caressing voice, "Eric?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e.jpg" alt="E" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>ric could only bow stiffly and offer his arm, while John walked +slowly beside them, his face thoughtful, his gay spirits gone. During +dinner, however, he tried to revive the lagging conversation. Suzanne +spoke in a staccato voice and her choice of words seemed strange to +Eric, almost as though she were translating her own thoughts from a +foreign tongue.</p> + +<p>And finally Suzanne's promised dessert came, cool and tempting in its +silver dishes. Eric saw a chance to make the talk more natural. He +said, gayly, "Johnny, your wife's a chef, a famous pastry chef. Behold +the work of her hands! What did you say it was, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"This? Oh—I do not know what it is called."</p> + +<p>"But this afternoon as you were leaving the kitchen—didn't you say it +was almond something or other?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, smiling. "Perhaps it is. I wouldn't know."</p> + +<p>The maid had placed the tray with the three silver dishes of dessert +before Suzanne, that she might put on them the final sprinkling of +delicate silver candies. Daintily, Suzanne sifted the shining bubbles +over the fluff of cream. Eric, watching her, felt very little surprize +when he saw Suzanne, with almost legerdemain deftness, sift upon one +dish a film of pinkish powder which could not be detected after it lay +on the pink cream.</p> + +<p>Waiting, he knew not for what moment, he watched Suzanne pass the +silver dishes herself, saw her offer the one with the powdered top to +John. And it was then that their attention was attracted by the +entrance of the maltese kitten. So tiny it was, so brave in its +careening totter across the shiny floor, small tail hoisted like a +sail, that John and Eric laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>Suzanne merely glanced down at the little creature and turned away. +The kitten, however, came to her chair, put up a tiny paw and caught +its curved claws in the fragile stuff of Suzanne's gown. Instantly, +her face became distorted with rage and she kicked out at the kitten, +savagely, and with set lips. It seemed to Eric that the amethysts on +the Medici boots winked wickedly in the light of the big chandelier.</p> + +<p>The kitten was flung some ten feet away, and lay in a small, panting +heap.</p> + +<p>John sprang up. "Suzanne! How could you?" He took the kitten in his +arms and soothed it.</p> + +<p>"Why its heart's beating like a trip-hammer," he said. "I don't +understand, Suzanne——"</p> + +<p>As the kitten grew quiet, he took a large rose-leaf from the +table-flowers and spread it with a heaping spoonful of the pink cream +from his dessert. Then he put the kitten on the floor beside it.</p> + +<p>"Here, little one. Lick this up. It's fancy eating. Suzanne's sorry. I +know she is."</p> + +<p>The kitten, with the greed of its kind, devoured the cream, covering +its small nose and whiskers with a pinkish film. Suzanne sat back in +her chair, fingering her bracelets, her eyes on Eric's face. John +watched the kitten, and Eric watched, too—watched tensely, for he +sensed what would happen to it.</p> + +<p>The kitten finished the cream, licked its paws and whiskers and turned +to walk away. Then it spun around in a frantic convulsion, and in a +moment lay dead on its back, its tiny fed tongue protruding, its paws +rigid.</p> + +<p>Outside, the storm glowered, and in the chartreuse light of the forked +lightning, the great chandelier was turned to a sickly radiance. +Thunder rolled like muffled drums.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Suzanne began to laugh, peal after peal of terrible laughter, +and then, after a glare of lightning, the big chandelier winked out. +The room was plunged into stormy darkness, and they could hear the +rain lashing through the garden to hurl itself against the windows.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, Suzanne." It was John's solicitous voice, and it +was followed by a quick movement from Suzanne's side of the table.</p> + +<p>A sheet of blue-green light illumined the room for an instant, and +Eric saw Suzanne struggling in her husband's arms, one jeweled arm +uplifted and in her hand a shining dagger.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="51" height="40" /></div> +<p>ith a bound that was almost involuntary, Eric reached them and struck +at the knife in Suzanne's hand. It clattered to the floor. And as +though the fury of the storm and Suzanne's madness both were spent, +the slashing rain and the lightning stopped abruptly, and Suzanne +ceased to struggle.</p> + +<p>"Light the candles, Eric—quickly—on the mantel to your right! +Suzanne is hurt!"</p> + +<p>In the candle-light, palely golden and swaying, Eric saw Suzanne +slumped limply in John's arms. The hem of her golden dress was redly +wet and one cream-colored little shoe was fast becoming soaked with +blood from a slash across the instep.</p> + +<p>"Let's get her over to the window-seat, Eric. Do something for +her!—Oh, sweet-heart, don't moan like that!" There was no question or +reproach in John's voice, only compassion.</p> + +<p>Eric took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves. His mouth was grimly +set, his hands steady, his voice crisply professional. "Take off those +shoes, John. She'll—be herself, then. I mean that she'll be +Suzanne—not a murderess of the Medicis. Take them off, John! They're +at the bottom of this."</p> + +<p>"You mean——" John's voice was breathless, his lips trembling.</p> + +<p>"I mean those hellish boots have changed Suzanne from a sweet and +lovely girl to—well, do as I tell you. I'll be back with gauze and +some things I need."</p> + +<p>When Eric hurried back, there were three servants grouped at the +dining-room door. He spoke to them bruskly and they left, wide-eyed +and whispering. Eric closed the door.</p> + +<p>While the wet leaves tapped against the windows and stars struggled +through the clouds, Eric worked, silently, expertly, grimly, by the +light of a flashlight held in John's unsteady hands and the light of +the flickering candles. The house lights were all snuffed out by the +storm.</p> + +<p>"There," Eric gave a satisfied grunt. The brothers stood looking at +Suzanne, who seemed asleep. Her golden dress glimmered in the +candle-light and the pearls were slipping from her dark hair. The +Medici boots lay in a limp and bloody heap in a corner, where Eric had +flung them.</p> + +<p>"When she awakes, I shouldn't tell her about any of this, if I were +you, John."</p> + +<p>"There are things you haven't told me, Eric, aren't there? Things +about—the Medici boots?"</p> + +<p>Eric looked steadily at his brother. "Yes, old fellow; and after I've told +you, those boots must be destroyed. We'll burn them before this night is +over. We mustn't move her now. We'll go out on the terrace—it's wet +there, but the air is fresh. Did you smell—something peculiar?"</p> + +<p>For, as they passed the corner where the Medici boots lay slashed and +bloody, Eric could have sworn that there came to him a horrid odor, +fetid, hotly offensive—the odor of iniquity and ancient bloody death.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="200" height="60" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Medici Boots, by Pearl Norton Swet + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEDICI BOOTS *** + +***** This file should be named 32639-h.htm or 32639-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/3/32639/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Medici Boots + +Author: Pearl Norton Swet + +Release Date: June 1, 2010 [EBook #32639] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEDICI BOOTS *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Weird Tales August-September 1936. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + The Medici Boots + + + By PEARL NORTON SWET + + + _The amethyst-covered boots had been worn by an evil wanton + in medieval Florence--but what malefic power did they carry + over into our own time?_ + + * * * * * + + + + +For fifty years they lay under glass in the Dickerson museum and they +were labeled "The Medici Boots." They were fashioned of creamy +leather, pliable as a young girl's hands. They were threaded with +silver, appliqued with sapphire silks and scarlet, and set on the tip +of each was a pale and lovely amethyst. Such were the Medici boots. + +Old Silas Dickerson, globe-trotter and collector, had brought the +boots from a dusty shop in Florence when he was a young man filled +with the lust for travel and adventure. The years passed and Silas +Dickerson was an old man, his hair white, his eyes dim, his veined +hands trembling with the ague that precedes death. + +When he was ninety and the years of his wanderings over, Silas +Dickerson died one morning as he sat in a high-backed Venetian chair +in his private museum. The Fourteenth Century gold-leaf paintings, the +Japanese processional banners, the stolen bones of a Normandy +saint--all the beloved trophies of his travels must have watched the +dead man impassively for hours before his housekeeper found him. + +The old man sat with his head thrown back against the faded tapestry +of the Venetian chair, his eyes closed, his bony arms extended along +the beautifully carved arms of the chair, and on his lap lay the +Medici boots. + +It was high noon when they found him, and the sun was streaming +through the stained-glass window above the chair and picking at the +amethysts, so that the violet stones seemed to eye Marthe, the old +housekeeper, with an impudent glitter. Marthe muttered a prayer and +crossed herself, before she ran like a scared rabbit with the news of +the master's death. + +[Illustration: "She imparted to me those terrible secrets of the Black +Arts which were deep in her soul."] + +Silas Dickerson's only surviving relatives, the three young +Delameters, did not take too seriously the note which was found among +the papers in the museum's desk. Old Silas had written the note. It +was addressed to John Delameter, for John was his uncle's favorite, +but John's pretty wife, Suzanne, and his twin brother, Doctor Eric, +read it over his shoulder; and they all smiled tolerantly. Old +Dickerson had written of things incomprehensible to the young moderns: + +"The contents of my private museum are yours, John, to do with as you +see fit. Merely as a suggestion, I would say that the Antiquarian +Society would snap up many of the things. A very few are of no +particular value, except to me. One thing I want done, however. The +Medici boots of ivory leather must either be destroyed or be put for +ever under glass in a _public_ museum. I prefer that they be +destroyed, for they are a dangerous possession. They have gone to the +adulterous rendezvous celebrated in the scandalous verses of Lorenzo +the Magnificent. They have shod the feet of a murderess. They were +cursed by the Church as trappings of the Devil, inciting the wearer to +foul deeds and intrigue. + +"I shall not disturb you with all their hideous history, but I repeat, +they are a dangerous possession. I have taken care to keep them under +lock and key, behind plate glass, for more than fifty years. I have +never taken them out. Destroy the Medici boots, before they destroy +you!" + +"But he did take them out!" cried Suzanne. "Uncle was holding the +boots when--when Marthe found him there in the museum." + +John reread the note, and looked thoughtfully at his young wife. "Yes. +Perhaps he was preparing to destroy them right then. Of course, I +think the poor old fellow took things a bit too seriously--he was very +old, you know, and Marthe says he practically lived in this museum of +his." + +"And why call a pair of old boots dangerous? Of course, we all know +the Medicis were plenty dangerous, but the Medici boots--that's +ridiculous, John. Besides----" + +Suzanne paused provocatively, her red lips pouting. She looked down at +her trimly shod feet. "Besides, I'd like to try on those Medici +boots--just once. They're lovely, I think." + +John was frowning thoughtfully. He scarcely heard her suggestion. He +spoke to Eric, instead, and his voice seemed a bit troubled. + +"I believe that Uncle _was_ getting ready to destroy those boots that +very morning he died; else why should he have taken them from their +case--after fifty years?" + +"Yes, I believe you're right, John, because that note is dated fully a +month before Uncle's death. I think he brooded over leaving those +boots to one he cared for. Poor old man!" + +"I wouldn't call him so, Eric. He had his dreams of adventure realized +more fully than most men. I--I think I'll do as he says. I'll destroy +the Medici boots." + +"If you'd feel better about it," assented his brother. But Suzanne did +not speak. She was looking at her shoe, pursing her lips thoughtfully, +seeing her feet encased in the gay embroideries of the Medici boots. + +John seemed relieved by his decision. "Yes, I'd better do it. We'll be +getting back to town in a few days. Old Erskine, you know, Uncle's +lawyer, is coming down this afternoon. Then soon we'll be on the wing, +Susie and I--Vienna, Paris, the Alps--thanks to Uncle." + +"Maybe you think I'm not thankful for my chance at a bit more work at +Johns Hopkins," said Eric, and they did not again speak of the Medici +boots. + + * * * * * + +The deaf old lawyer of the Dickerson estate arrived, and Suzanne, with +the easy capability that was part of her charm, saw that he was made +comfortable. + +At seven there was a perfect dinner served on the awninged terrace +outside the softly lit living-room. The stars aided the two little +rosy lamps on the table, and swaying willows beside a stone-encircled +pool swung the incense of the garden about them. + +As dinner ended, John took from the pocket of his coat a small, +limp-leather book. He pushed back his dessert plate and laid the book +on the table, tapping it with a finger as he spoke. + +"This is the history of the Medici boots. It was in the little +wall-safe in the museum. After all Uncle said of the Medici boots, +shall we read it?" And turning to the old lawyer, he told of Silas +Dickerson's letter concerning the boots. + +Erskine shook his head, smiling. "Most collectors get an exaggerated +sense of the supernatural. Read this, by all means--it should prove +interesting." + +"Yes, read it, John." Suzanne and Eric spoke almost together. + +So, in the circle of rosy light at their little table, John read the +story of the Medici boots. It was not a long story and it was told in +the language of an anonymous translator, but as John read on, his +listeners were drawn together, as by a spell. They scarcely breathed, +and the summer night that was so mildly beautiful seemed to take on a +sense of hovering danger. + + "In the palace of Giuliano de' Medici I have lived long. I am + an old woman now, as the years are reckoned in this infamous + place, though I am but fifty and three. + + "Separated from my betrothed, duped, sold into the marble + labyrinth of this hateful palace, it was long before my + spirit broke and I went forth, bejeweled and attired in + elegance, among the silk-clad Florentines. I was labeled the + most beautiful mistress of any of the Medici. I was smirked + at, fawned upon for my lord's favors, obscenely jested about + in the orgies that took place in the great banquet hall of + the palace. + + "But in my heart always lay the remembrance of my lost love, + and in my soul grew black hatred for the Medici and all their + kind. I, who had dreamed only of a modest home, a kind + husband, black-haired, trusting little children, was made a + tool of the Medici infamy. + + "In time, I almost felt myself in league with the Devil. + Secretly, and with a growing sense of elation, I made + frequent rendezvous with a foul hag whose very name was + anathema to the churchly folk of Florence. In her hole of a + room in a certain noisome street, she imparted to me those + terrible secrets of the Black Arts which were deep in her + soul. It was amusing that she was paid in Medici gold. + + "The corruption of the Medici bred in them fear; in me a sort + of reckless bravery. It was I who poisoned the wine of many a + foe of the Medici. It was I who put the point of a dagger in + the heart of the old Prince de Vittorio, whose lands and + power and palaces were coveted by my lord, Giuliano. + + "After a time, bloodshed became an exhilaration to me; the + death agonies of those who drank the poisoned cup became more + interesting than the flattery of the Medici followers. Even + the ladies of the house of the Medici did me the honor of + their subtly barbed friendliness. + + "Through this very friendliness, I conceived my plan of sweet + revenge upon the monsters who had ruined my life. With so + great a hatred boiling in my soul that my mind reeled, my + senses throbbed, my heart rose in my throat like a spurt of + flame, I cursed three things of exquisite beauty with all the + fervor of my newly learned lessons in devilish lore. + + "These three beautiful objects I presented to three ladies of + the house of Medici--presented them with honeyed words of + mock humility. A necklace of jeweled links--I pledged myself + to the Devil and willed that the golden necklace would + tighten on the soft throat of a lady of the Medici while she + slept, and strangle her into black death. A bracelet of + filigree and sapphires--to pierce by its hidden silver needle + the blue vein in a white Medici wrist, so that her life's + blood would spurt and she would know the terror that the + house of the Medici gave to others. + + "Last, and most ingenious, a pair of creamy boots, pliable, + embroidered in silver and silks, encrusted with amethysts--my + betrothal jewels. In my hatred I cursed the boots, willing + that the wearer, as long as a shred of the boots remained, + should kill as I had killed, poison as I had poisoned, leave + all thoughts of home and husband and live in wantonness and + evil. So I cursed the beautiful boots, forgetting, in my + hate, that perhaps another than a Medici might, in the years + to come, wear them and become the Devil's pawn, even as I am + now. + + "In my life, the Medici will have the boots, of that I feel + sure; but after that--I can only hope that this bloody + history of the boots may be found when I am no more, and may + it be a warning. + + "I have lived to see my gifts received and worn, and I have + laughed in my soul to see my curses bring death and terror + and evil to three Medici women. I know not what will become + of the golden necklace, the bracelet, or the boots. The boots + may be lost or stolen, or they may lie in a Medici palace for + age on age, but the curse will cling to them till they are + destroyed. So I pray that no woman, save a Medici, will ever + wear them. + + "As I live and breathe and do the bidding of the lords of + Florence, the accursed Medici--I have told the truth. When I + am dead, perhaps they will find this book, and, in hell, I + shall know and be glad. + + "MARIA MODENA DI CAVOURI. + + "Florence, 1476." + + * * * * * + +"Whew!" said old Erskine. + +John laughed. "I don't suppose this charming history would have been +any more thrilling if I had read it from the original book, in +Italian, of course. Wonder where Uncle got it! There was no mention of +it being in the library--but there it was." + +"Now, will you destroy those boots?" asked Eric, and he was not +entirely in jest. + +But Suzanne said, laughingly, "Not before I find out if the Medici +lady had a smaller foot than I! Are they still in the museum, John?" + +"Never you mind, my dear. They're not for the likes of you." + +"Oh, don't be silly, John. This is 1935, not the Fifteenth Century." +And they laughed at Suzanne's earnestness. + +The book that held the story of the Medici boots lay on the white +cloth, looking like a book of lovely verse. + +Suzanne, a small white blur against the summer dark, sat quietly while +the men talked of Silas Dickerson, his life, his mania for collecting, +his death that had so fittingly come to him in his museum. It was +nearly twelve when Suzanne left the men on the terrace and with a +quiet "good-night" entered the living-room and crossed to the long, +shining stairs. + +The men went on with their talk. Once, John, looking toward the +jutting wing that was the museum, exclaimed, "Look at that, will you? +Why--I'd swear I saw a light in the museum." + +"You locked it, didn't you?" asked Eric. + +"Of course; the key's in my desk upstairs. H-m. I'm probably mistaken, +but it did seem as though a light shone there just a moment ago." + +"Reflection from the living-room window, I think. Country life is +making you jittery, John." And Eric laughed at his brother. + +The men sat on, reluctant to leave the beauty of the night, and it was +almost two o'clock when they finally went inside. + +John said, "I think I'll not disturb Suzanne." And he went to sleep in +a wide four-postered bed in a room next to his wife. Eric and the old +lawyer were in rooms across the hall. + + * * * * * + +The still summer night closed about the house of Silas Dickerson, and +when the moon lay dying against the bank of cloud, puffed across a sky +by the little wind that came before dawn, young Doctor Eric Delameter +awoke, suddenly and completely, to a feeling of clammy apprehension. +He had not locked his door, and now, across the grayness of the room, +he saw it slowly opening. + +A hand was closed around the edge of the door--a woman's hand, small +and white and jeweled. Eric sat straight and tense on the edge of his +bed, peering across the room. A woman, young and slender, in a long, +trailing gown, came toward him smiling. It was Suzanne. + +With a gasp, Eric watched her approach till she stood directly before +him. + +"Suzanne! You are asleep? Suzanne, shall I call John?" + +He thought that perhaps he should not waken her; there were things one +must remember about sleep-walkers, but physicians scarcely believed +them. + +Eric was puzzled, too, by her costume. It was not a night-robe she +wore, but an elaborate, trailing dress upon which embroideries in +silver shone faintly. Her short black curls were bound about three +times with strands of pearly beads, her slim white arms were loaded +with bracelets. The pointed toes of little shoes peeped beneath her +gown, little shoes of creamy leather. An amethyst gleamed on each +shoe. + +The sight of these amethystine tips affected Eric strangely, much as +though he had looked at something hideously repulsive. He stood up and +put out a hand to touch Suzanne's arm. + +"Suzanne," he said, gently. "Let me take you to John. Shall I?" + +Suzanne looked up at him, and her brown eyes, usually so merry, were +deeply slumberous, not with sleep, but with a look of utter abandon. +She shook her pearl-bound head slowly, smilingly. + +"No, not John. I want you, Eric." + +"Mad! Suzanne must be mad!" was Eric's quick thought, but her caress +was swifter than his thought. Both jewel-laden arms about his neck, +Suzanne kissed him, her red lips pouting warmly upon his. + +"Suzanne! You don't know what you're doing." He grasped both her hands +in his and with a haste that would have seemed ludicrous to him had he +viewed the scene in a picture-play, he hurried her out of his room and +across the hall. + +Eric opened her door softly and with no gentle hand shoved Suzanne +inside her room. She seemed like a little animal in his grasp. She +hissed at him; clawed and scratched at his hand. But when he had shut +the door, she did not open it again, and after a moment he went back +to his own room. + + * * * * * + +His mouth set in a firm line, his heart beating fast, Eric locked his +door with a noiseless turn of the key. It was almost dawn, and the +garden lay like a rare pastel outside his window; but Eric saw none of +it. He scarcely thought, though his lips moved, as if chaotic words +were struggling for utterance. + +He looked down at his hand, where two long red scratches oozed a +trickle of blood. After he had washed his hand, he lay down on his bed +and covered his eyes with his arm, against the picture of Suzanne. +Above all else there stood out the gleaming tips of her little shoes, +as he had glimpsed them through the dim light of his room when she +came toward him. + +"She wore the Medici boots! The Medici boots! Suzanne must have taken +them from the museum!" Over and over he said it--"The Medici boots! +The Medici boots!" + +Eric rather dreaded breakfast, but when he came down at eight, to the +terrace where a rustic table was set invitingly, he found John and the +lawyer awaiting him. John greeted his brother affectionately. + +"Morning, old boy! Hope you slept well. Why so solemn? Feeling seedy?" + +"No, no. I am perfectly all right," Eric replied hastily, relieved +that Suzanne was not present. He added with a scarcely noticeable +hesitation, "Suzanne not coming down?" + +"No," replied John, easily. "She seemed to want to sleep awhile. Sent +her regrets. She'll see us at lunch." + +John went on. "I certainly had a nightmare last night. Thought a woman +in a long, shining dress came into my room and tried to stab me. This +morning I found that a glass on my bed-table was overturned and +broken, and, by George, I'd cut my wrist on it." + +He showed a jagged cut on his wrist. "Take a look, Doctor Eric." + +Eric looked at the cut, carefully. "Not bad, but you might have bled +to death, had it been a quarter of an inch to the left. If you like, +I'll fix it up a bit for you after breakfast." + +Eric's voice was calm enough, but his pulse was pounding, his heart +sick. All morning he rode through the countryside adjoining the +Dickerson estate, but he let the mare go as she liked and where she +liked, for his mind was busy with the events of the hour before dawn. +He knew that the slash on his brother's wrist was made by steel, not +glass. Yet when the ride was over, he could not bring himself to tell +John of Suzanne's visit. + +"She must have been sleep-walking, though I can't account for the way +she was decked out. I've always thought Suzanne extremely modest in +her dress, certainly not inclined to load herself with jewelry. And +those boots! John must get them today and destroy them, as he said. +Silly, perhaps, but----" His thoughts went on and on, always returning +to the Medici boots, in spite of himself. + + * * * * * + +Eric came back from his ride at eleven o'clock, with as troubled a +mind as when he began it. He almost feared to see Suzanne at lunch. + +When he did meet her with John and Mr. Erskine on the cool, shaded +porch where they lunched, he saw there was nothing to fear. The +amorous, clinging woman of the hour before dawn was not there at all. +There was only the Suzanne whom Eric knew and loved as a sister. + +Here, again, was their merry little Suzanne, somewhat spoiled by her +husband, it is true, but a Suzanne sweetly feminine, almost childish +in a crisp, white frock and little, low-heeled sandals. Their talk was +lazily pleasant--of tennis honors and horses, of the prize delphiniums +in the garden, of the tiny maltese kitten which Suzanne had brought up +from the stables late that morning and installed in a pink-bowed +basket on the porch. She showed the kitten to Eric, handling its tiny +paws gently, hushing its plaintive mews with ridiculous pet names. + +"Perhaps I'm a bigger fool than I know. Perhaps it never happened, +except in a dream," Eric told himself, unhappily. "And yet----" + +He looked at the red marks on his hand, marks made by a furious +Suzanne in that hour before the dawn. Too, he remembered the cut on +John's wrist, the cut so near the vein. + +Eric declined John's invitation to go through the museum with him that +afternoon, but he said with a queer sense of diffidence, "While +you're there, John, you'd better get rid of the Medici boots. Creepy +things to have around, I think." + +"They'll be destroyed, all right. But Suzanne is just bound to try +them on. I'll get them, though, and do as Uncle said." + +Eric remained on the terrace, speculating somewhat on just what John +and Suzanne would do, now that the huge fortune of Silas Dickerson was +theirs. Eric was not envious of his brother's good luck, and he was +thankful for his share in old Silas' generosity. + +At five o'clock he entered the hall, just as Suzanne hurried in from +the kitchen. She spread our her hands, laughingly. + +"With my own fair hands I've made individual almond tortonis for +dessert. Cook thinks I'm a wonder! Each masterpiece in a fluted silver +dish, silver candies sprinkled on the pink whipped cream! O-oh!" + +She made big eyes in mock gluttony. Eric forgot, for a moment, that +there ever had been another Suzanne. + +"You're nothing but a little girl, Suzie. You with your rhapsodies +over pink whipped cream! But it's sweet of you to go to such trouble +on a warm afternoon. See you and the whatever-you-call-'ems at +dinner!" + +"They're tortonis, Eric, tortonis." + +Suzanne ran lightly up the stairs. Eric followed more slowly. He +entered his room thinking that there were some things which must be +explained in this house with the old museum. + + * * * * * + +Twenty minutes before dinner Eric and John were on the terrace waiting +for Suzanne. John was talkative, which was just as well, as he might +have wondered at his brother's silence. Eric was torn between a desire +to tell his brother his reluctant suspicions concerning the Medici +boots and Suzanne and his inclination to leave things alone till the +boots could be destroyed. + +He said, diffidently, "John, has Suzanne those--those boots?" + +John chuckled. "Why, yes. I saw them in her room. Do you know she went +down to the museum last night and took those boots? It _was_ a light I +saw in the museum. It was her light. Suzanne has ideas. Wants to wear +the boots just once, she says, to lay the ghost of this +what's-her-name--Maria Modena. Suzanne says she couldn't sleep much +last night. Got up early and tried on those boots. Well, I think I'll +destroy 'em tomorrow. Uncle's wish, so I'll do it." + +"Tried them on, did she? Well, if you should ask me, I'd say that +history of the boots was a bit too exciting for Suzanne. It _was_ a +haunting story. Uncle must have swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker, +eh?" + +"Of course. His letter showed that. But Suzanne lives in the present, +not the past, as Uncle did. I suppose Suzanne will wear those boots, +or she won't feel satisfied. I don't exactly like the idea, I must +confess." + +Something like an electric shock passed through Eric. He said, +somewhat breathlessly, "I don't think Suzanne ought to have the Medici +boots." + +John looked at him curiously and laughed. "I never knew you were +superstitious, Eric. But do you really think----" + +"I don't know what I think, John. But if she were my wife, I'd take +those boots away from her. Uncle may have known what he was talking +about." + +"Well, I think she's intending to wear them at dinner, so prepare to +be dazzled. Here she is, now. Greetings, sweet-heart!" + +Suzanne swept across the terrace, her gown goldly shimmering, pearls +bound about her head, as Eric had seen her in the dim hour before +dawn. Again the rows of bracelets were weighting her slim arms. And +she wore the Medici boots, the amethyst tips peeping beneath her +shining dress. + +John, ever ready for gay clowning, arose and bowed low. "Hail, +Empress! A-ah, the dress you got in Florence on our honeymoon, isn't +it? And those darned Medici boots!" + +Suzanne unsmilingly extended her hand for him to kiss. + +John arched an eyebrow, comically. "What's the matter, honey? Going +regal on me?" And retaining her hand, he kissed each of her fingers. + +Suzanne snatched away her hand, and the glance she gave her husband +was one of venomous hauteur. To Eric she turned a look that was an +open caress, leaning toward him, putting a hand on his arm, as he +stood beside his chair, stern-lipped, with eyes that would not look at +John's hurt bewilderment. + +The three sat down then, in the low wicker chairs, and waited for +dinner--three people with oddly different emotions. John was hurt, +slightly impatient with his bride; Eric was furious with Suzanne, +though there was in his heart the almost certain knowledge that the +Suzanne beside them on the terrace was not the Suzanne they knew, but +a cruelly strange woman, the product of a sinister force, unknown and +compelling. + +No one, looking on Suzanne's red-lipped and heavy-lidded beauty, could +miss the knowledge that here was a woman dangerously subtle, carrying +a power more devastating than the darting lightning that now and then +showed itself over the tree-tops of the garden. Eric began to feel +something of this, and there shaped in his mind a wariness, a defense +against this woman who was not Suzanne. + +"No _al fresco_ dining tonight," said John, as the darkening sky was +veined by a sudden spray of blue-green light. "Rain on the way. Pretty +good storm, I'd say." + +"I like it," replied Suzanne, drawing in a deep breath of the sultry +air. + +John laughed. "Since when, sweet-heart? You usually shake and shiver +through a thunderstorm." + +Suzanne ignored him. She smiled at Eric and said in a low tone, "And +if I should lose my bravery, you would take care of me, wouldn't you, +Eric?" + +Before Eric could reply, dinner was announced, and he felt a relief +and also a dread. This dinner was going to be difficult. + +John offered his arm to his wife, smiling at her, hoping for a smile +in return, but Suzanne shrugged and said in a caressing voice, "Eric?" + + * * * * * + +Eric could only bow stiffly and offer his arm, while John walked +slowly beside them, his face thoughtful, his gay spirits gone. During +dinner, however, he tried to revive the lagging conversation. Suzanne +spoke in a staccato voice and her choice of words seemed strange to +Eric, almost as though she were translating her own thoughts from a +foreign tongue. + +And finally Suzanne's promised dessert came, cool and tempting in its +silver dishes. Eric saw a chance to make the talk more natural. He +said, gayly, "Johnny, your wife's a chef, a famous pastry chef. Behold +the work of her hands! What did you say it was, Suzanne?" + +"This? Oh--I do not know what it is called." + +"But this afternoon as you were leaving the kitchen--didn't you say it +was almond something or other?" + +She shook her head, smiling. "Perhaps it is. I wouldn't know." + +The maid had placed the tray with the three silver dishes of dessert +before Suzanne, that she might put on them the final sprinkling of +delicate silver candies. Daintily, Suzanne sifted the shining bubbles +over the fluff of cream. Eric, watching her, felt very little surprize +when he saw Suzanne, with almost legerdemain deftness, sift upon one +dish a film of pinkish powder which could not be detected after it lay +on the pink cream. + +Waiting, he knew not for what moment, he watched Suzanne pass the +silver dishes herself, saw her offer the one with the powdered top to +John. And it was then that their attention was attracted by the +entrance of the maltese kitten. So tiny it was, so brave in its +careening totter across the shiny floor, small tail hoisted like a +sail, that John and Eric laughed aloud. + +Suzanne merely glanced down at the little creature and turned away. +The kitten, however, came to her chair, put up a tiny paw and caught +its curved claws in the fragile stuff of Suzanne's gown. Instantly, +her face became distorted with rage and she kicked out at the kitten, +savagely, and with set lips. It seemed to Eric that the amethysts on +the Medici boots winked wickedly in the light of the big chandelier. + +The kitten was flung some ten feet away, and lay in a small, panting +heap. + +John sprang up. "Suzanne! How could you?" He took the kitten in his +arms and soothed it. + +"Why its heart's beating like a trip-hammer," he said. "I don't +understand, Suzanne----" + +As the kitten grew quiet, he took a large rose-leaf from the +table-flowers and spread it with a heaping spoonful of the pink cream +from his dessert. Then he put the kitten on the floor beside it. + +"Here, little one. Lick this up. It's fancy eating. Suzanne's sorry. I +know she is." + +The kitten, with the greed of its kind, devoured the cream, covering +its small nose and whiskers with a pinkish film. Suzanne sat back in +her chair, fingering her bracelets, her eyes on Eric's face. John +watched the kitten, and Eric watched, too--watched tensely, for he +sensed what would happen to it. + +The kitten finished the cream, licked its paws and whiskers and turned +to walk away. Then it spun around in a frantic convulsion, and in a +moment lay dead on its back, its tiny fed tongue protruding, its paws +rigid. + +Outside, the storm glowered, and in the chartreuse light of the forked +lightning, the great chandelier was turned to a sickly radiance. +Thunder rolled like muffled drums. + +Suddenly Suzanne began to laugh, peal after peal of terrible laughter, +and then, after a glare of lightning, the big chandelier winked out. +The room was plunged into stormy darkness, and they could hear the +rain lashing through the garden to hurl itself against the windows. + +"Don't be frightened, Suzanne." It was John's solicitous voice, and it +was followed by a quick movement from Suzanne's side of the table. + +A sheet of blue-green light illumined the room for an instant, and +Eric saw Suzanne struggling in her husband's arms, one jeweled arm +uplifted and in her hand a shining dagger. + + * * * * * + +With a bound that was almost involuntary, Eric reached them and struck +at the knife in Suzanne's hand. It clattered to the floor. And as +though the fury of the storm and Suzanne's madness both were spent, +the slashing rain and the lightning stopped abruptly, and Suzanne +ceased to struggle. + +"Light the candles, Eric--quickly--on the mantel to your right! +Suzanne is hurt!" + +In the candle-light, palely golden and swaying, Eric saw Suzanne +slumped limply in John's arms. The hem of her golden dress was redly +wet and one cream-colored little shoe was fast becoming soaked with +blood from a slash across the instep. + +"Let's get her over to the window-seat, Eric. Do something for +her!--Oh, sweet-heart, don't moan like that!" There was no question or +reproach in John's voice, only compassion. + +Eric took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves. His mouth was grimly +set, his hands steady, his voice crisply professional. "Take off those +shoes, John. She'll--be herself, then. I mean that she'll be +Suzanne--not a murderess of the Medicis. Take them off, John! They're +at the bottom of this." + +"You mean----" John's voice was breathless, his lips trembling. + +"I mean those hellish boots have changed Suzanne from a sweet and +lovely girl to--well, do as I tell you. I'll be back with gauze and +some things I need." + +When Eric hurried back, there were three servants grouped at the +dining-room door. He spoke to them bruskly and they left, wide-eyed +and whispering. Eric closed the door. + +While the wet leaves tapped against the windows and stars struggled +through the clouds, Eric worked, silently, expertly, grimly, by the +light of a flashlight held in John's unsteady hands and the light of +the flickering candles. The house lights were all snuffed out by the +storm. + +"There," Eric gave a satisfied grunt. The brothers stood looking at +Suzanne, who seemed asleep. Her golden dress glimmered in the +candle-light and the pearls were slipping from her dark hair. The +Medici boots lay in a limp and bloody heap in a corner, where Eric had +flung them. + +"When she awakes, I shouldn't tell her about any of this, if I were +you, John." + +"There are things you haven't told me, Eric, aren't there? Things +about--the Medici boots?" + +Eric looked steadily at his brother. "Yes, old fellow; and after I've told +you, those boots must be destroyed. We'll burn them before this night is +over. We mustn't move her now. We'll go out on the terrace--it's wet +there, but the air is fresh. Did you smell--something peculiar?" + +For, as they passed the corner where the Medici boots lay slashed and +bloody, Eric could have sworn that there came to him a horrid odor, +fetid, hotly offensive--the odor of iniquity and ancient bloody death. + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Medici Boots, by Pearl Norton Swet + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEDICI BOOTS *** + +***** This file should be named 32639.txt or 32639.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/3/32639/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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