The Eden Passion (16 page)

Richard seemed to require a moment to think on this. "Promise?" he asked shyly.

"I promise."

"Come along now," Clara urged, and at last the young boy obeyed, though he turned for a final word. "I'm glad you're here." He smiled at John.

'Thank you," John murmured, moved by the boy's expression of affection.

Then he stood alone, watching the two of them down the corridor. Finally he stepped inside the room and closed the door, his eyes going immediately to where she stood. Still unmoved, she resembled a slim black statue.

"My lady," he began tentatively, and stopped.

"May I . . ." he commenced again, thinking to offer her something, a chair, a glass of wine. But she moved with determination away from the area of the window, and gaining the safe center of the room, looked at him for the first time.

He'd never seen such an expression on a face before. "Please sit down," he suggested quietly from the window.

Suddenly she laughed. "Sit down!" she parroted, her hands a blur of nervous movement about her throat. "Good heavens, I've no time to sit," she went on. "I've at least a hundred chores to attend to. My correspondence for one, and I must look in on Jennifer before I retire and certain arrangements must be made for you."

As she burst into action, he could only gape, though he did manage a faltering, "For. . .me, my lady?"

"Of course, for you," she replied. "You will need a tailor immediately. Shall I fetch one from Exeter? Or perhaps you have a favorite in London. If so, give me his name and I shall write to the gentleman."

"No," he muttered, bewildered by her performance. And he was certain it was a performance.

"Then I shall fetch one for you. I'm afraid those worn garments will never do."

As she babbled on about the poor quality of his wardrobe, he felt his bewilderment blend with anger. Did she know how silly she sounded?

Then, to his amazement, she was making fun of him. "Look at you." She smiled. "The little boy needs a new nightshirt, one which will at least cover those knees."

"It was not my choice, my lady," he muttered, tugging at the too-short nightshirt.

"Well, we'll fix it, I promise," she said, her voice resembling a mother speaking to a young child. "For tomorrow," she went on, her giddiness seeming to increase, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear your old garments to class. But after that I shall get you proper schoolboy clothes, matching Richard's would be nice, don't you think?"

"I'm not a schoolboy, my lady," he said, trying to rein in both his anger as well as his embarrassment.

"Oh, but you are," she said. "And you must attend to your studies immediately. Come morning, I shall inform Herr Snyder that he now has two pupils."

His suffering was acute, a blend of bewilderment and disappointment. What had come over her? Having recently been humiliated herself, did she possess that kind of character that compelled her to soothe her own hurt by inflicting it on others?

"My lady," he said sternly, trying to walk with dignity in spite of his bandaged foot, "I will attend classes with Richard tomorrow because I promised him. After that, the choice will be my own. I've spent twelve years of my life with my head in books to satisfy my father. I see no need—"

But if she was shocked by his impudence, she gave no indication of it. Her manner was that of one accustomed to dealing with stubborn children. "You'll like Herr Snyder, I know," she said. "He's a brilliant man, a graduate of—"

"I'm not questioning his brilliance, my lady. I'm merely—"

"There," she soothed, watching him hobble back to the bed. "A good idea," she confirmed. "You need your rest."

Although he was headed in that direction, now he altered his course and veered to one of the chairs near the table. He sat defiantly and poured himself a glass of claret. "Not tired at all, my lady," he snapped, "though the events of the evening have been . . . taxing."

He'd not intended to remind her in such a vicious manner of her recent humiliation. But she'd driven him to it. Now gulping the claret, he made a face at the strong liquid and tried to hide his discomfort by again tugging at the too-short nightshirt.

"Oh, John," she said, standing just beyond the table, "if only you knew how silly you looked."

As his mortification and hurt blended, he responded with the first words that came to mind. "Not half as silly as you, my lady, a short time ago."

The silence crashed against him like a physical blow. Regret, as deep and strong as any he'd ever felt, pressed upon him, and though fearful of what he might find, he turned to face her and saw new anguish in her eyes.

What were they doing to each other? And more important, why?

"My lady,!-"

But she was moving toward the door.

"Harriet, I'm sorry."

But apparently she wasn't interested in his apology. As she closed the door behind her, he considered following after her, begging her to return so that they might start again. But he held his position in the chair and merely stared at the closed door.

Suddenly in perplexed anger he stood and pressed his full weight down upon his foot and welcomed the wave of pain. What did she want of him? What role was he supposed to play for her? And why the necessity to play any role?

There the aimless thoughts stopped. Amazed, he looked down and realized he'd been pacing, placing full weight on his foot and feeling nothing.

But there were other feelings, equally as painful and far more baffling. He glanced toward the foot of his bed. How effortlessly he still saw her, prone, helpless beneath the drunken man, his hands fumbling at the buttons of her gown.

Still he stood, eyes fixed on the bed, defenseless against the sensations which swept over him.

No! Quickly he felt his ardor dampened by a weight of shame. But because the sensations would not let him be, he substituted her image with the faintly remembered image of the prostitute named Rosa whom the rough-jacks had forced upon him in the dimly lit back room of the London pub. He'd only just touched her breasts when his father had intervened and put a stop to the fun.

Now he envisioned Rosa on the bed, her thick black hair done in two plaits with loose strands on either side. And he fell across the mussed bed linens, facedown, and clung to the opposite side until the mysterious upheaval crested and left him shuddering.

He closed his eyes. Beneath his body he felt a small spreading moisture. Would he always be plagued thus? Did all men suffer in similar fashion? Or was it just him, some private weakness that he could neither account for nor control?

Slowly he turned over on his back. He shouldn't have spoken to her as he had. He had no desire to add to her unhappiness. Yet she had provoked him into it, clearly baiting.

Now he cautioned himself that he must move with greater care in the future. His brief life as an odd-boy may have been dangerous and full of hazards. But all that appeared as nothing compared to the unseen hazards which he sensed about him in the upper corridors of Eden Castle.

London, July 1851

Although Morley Johnson had been at work for over a month on the laborious preparations for his journey, at last everything was ready and all that detained him now was the weeping woman who stood on the pavement, her linsey-woolsey dress smelly with July perspiration.

God! With dwindling patience Morley sent his eyes heavenward, as though for divine intervention. As a new wave of inconsolable weeping dragged Minnie's head downward, Morley cast his eyes in a more appealing direction, to the elegant coach and four waiting just beyond the pavement, capable of taking him the length and breadth of England, if he so desired.

Morley Johnson with his own coach! He smiled in spite of the lamentation going on behind him. Securely tucked away in his pocket and of even greater importance than the coach and four was a letter of unlimited credit, made out in his name and bearing that most remarkable of all designations, the Eden seal. And tucked safely in the same pocket was the letter from Lady Eden which had started the wheels of this adventure rolling. Come about a month ago, it had, requesting that he make all the necessary arrangements for a journey to the Lakes, or wherever the clues might lead him, a journey of unlimited duration, to be concluded with a stop by Had-ley Park for a firsthand account of how Lady Eden's childhood home was faring under the dubious hand of her old uncle.

He patted the inner pocket where the letters rested. Now he was aware of Minnie moving up close behind him as though to summon

his attention. As he turned to face her, he smelled the sourness of regurgitated milk, the tiny babe in her arms nursing hungrily at her tit.

My God, when had that happened? Undoubtedly while he'd been admiring the coach, the witless woman had dragged out her shapeless breast and had given it to the infant. Adding to his embarrassment, Morley now saw the driver of the coach, a blank-faced knave named Gavin, look sideways, clearly amused by the maudlin scene on the pavement.

Hurriedly Morley stepped between his nursing wife and the sly amusement of the man sitting atop the coach. "Have you lost your senses?" he whispered. "Cover yourself. Now!"

Confronted with her husband's anger, Minnie pulled her breast, still dripping milk, from the babe's mouth and stuffed it back into the bodice of her dress.

The tears were at last subsiding. As again she dabbed at her eyes, he cast a glance over his silent brood, all staring wide-eyed at their distraught mother. "Look to her," he said sternly to the oldest ones. "And help her as much as you can. If you're all good, I'll bring you surprises. If not, I'll throw the surprises away and give you my belt."

Then he found that he could look upon them no longer. A feeling of excitement crept over him. Then leave! To that end, without even the courtesy of good-bye kisses, he swung himself rapidly up into the coach, enjoying immensely the instant elevation. As he looked back down on the pavement, he saw poor Minnie all but collapsed among the circle of weeping children.

As the coach picked up limited speed along Holborn, Morley looked eagerly out of the windows on both sides, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face, someone who knew him and would look with admiration at his new status.

But he saw no one, and in the limited foot traffic on the pavement, not one face seemed interested, not one set of eyes looked admiringly up.

They were moving down New Oxford Street now. Tottenham Court Road would be the next turn, then Barnet and the Great North Road. He knew no one in those districts, and someone must admire him.

At that moment, above the rattle of the coach wheels, he had a brilliant idea. He sat still in the carriage seat for a moment. The little whore, Edward Eden's whore, done perhaps in the house in Ber-mondsey.

He made a peculiar grunting sound. What a fitting way to com-

mence this journey of liberation, freed for the first time in his life from domestic obligation!

"Driver!" he shouted, lowering the window. "Turn left here and make for the river."

He felt the horses slow as the coachman, bewildered, called back, 'The Great North Road is to the right. What in the hell—"

"Do as I say, man," Morley shouted, "or else I'll sack you and find another driver before we leave London."

Apparently the threat was effective, for with some difficulty the driver angled the horses through the traffic and turned left on Charing Cross.

Morley shouted again. "It's a business stop, in Bermondsey. Turn left after you cross the bridge."

If the driver heard, he gave no indication of it, though he made no protest either. Relieved, Morley leaned back against the cushions. The carriage was moving at a good speed now, the rhythmic clatter seeming to keep pace with his accelerating pulse. How impressed that little prostitute would be as this grand coach drew up in front of her wretched house.

Incapable of thinking any more, he closed his eyes. Oh, God, how wonderful the world was and all creatures who inhabited it. How marvelous the thought that he did not have to return that night to that smelly flat on Holborn Street, and that dripping woman and those somber children. How magnanimous God had been to create whores. Why, there must be whores the length of England, and he intended to sample them all, as proper gentlemen did, whenever it suited his fancy.

Bermondsey, July 1851

The thought weakened her, and all her bravery was for naught, the thought that Edward should be here, or John, helping her to clean and straighten the long table in their kitchen, the house fragrant with the good smells of boiling spuds and joints, and in honor of the reopening of their Common Kitchen, a pot of furmenty bubbling on the back of the old stove, a lovely treat of wheat and raisins, sugar and spices.

She paused a moment in her labors in an attempt to deal with those persistent ghosts. Weakly she sat on one of the broad benches. For a moment she experienced new feelings of grief as acute as she'd ever felt, as though no time at all had passed.

Perhaps it was too soon. She'd tried to tell Jack Willmot that. But the man had simply outtalked her, had pointed out that she needed diversion and occupation as acutely as the poor residents of Bermondsey needed the Common Kitchen.

And he'd been right in all aspects. As long as she kept busy and did not dwell on the past, she had found survival, if not easy, at least possible.

She smiled now and ran the damp cloth over the table as it occurred to her that for these past difficult weeks she'd been surrounded by love in a way that was unprecedented in her life. Of course, she was smart enough to know that it was merely residual love for Edward, everyone viewing her as a living link with that great man. But what matter? And as Jack Willmot had pointed out, what better way to keep alive his memory than to reopen the Common

Kitchen? Of course she hated being dependent upon Jack Willmot for funds. But what could she do? She knew no profession save one. And she could not now return to that constant humiliation.

Newly troubled by her sense of dependency, she eased around the end of the table near the window. Still bent over, she heard a noise, the rattling approach of a carriage. She lifted the near curtain and looked out. Jack Willmot had promised to stop in later in the day and assist her with final preparations. But it was morning, and Mr. Willmot would never travel in such a conveyance. She leaned closer to the window. Then who?