The Eden Passion (2 page)

Damnl Lookl He pulled forth a jacket. A beggar wore better. And look! Another, with buttons missing. And now he commenced jerking the garments off their hooks and hurling them to the floor, his rage and bewilderment increasing, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes playing tricks on him in the dim light so that now and then as he touched a sleeve, he saw the man himself. And still he pulled forth the clothes, talking aloud now—"How would it have offended your soul to buy decent clothes? You looked after others, why not

yourself?"—always punctuating the unanswered questions with curses of outrage, the pile of discarded garments ever-growing, some hurled halfway across the chamber until at last his hands found one remaining cloak, a dark gray with torn collar.

Breathing heavily from his exertion, John held it. Without warning he slipped to his knees and clasped the cloak to him and buried his face in it and smelled the scent of the man they had just buried in the graveyard behind the castle.

"Papa," he whispered, and clasped the cloak even tighter in his arms, and for the first time gave in to his grief.

For several minutes he was aware of nothing but the loss of his father. Then gradually the sensation of someone standing in the door caused him to look quickly up where he found the wide sympathetic eyes of a young boy staring at him.

Grateful for the shadows which earlier had plagued him, John hurriedly wiped away the embarrassing tears and stood, dropping the gray cloak onto the pile of abandoned garments.

But before John could speak, the boy stepped into the room, eyeing the scattered garments. "You made a mess," he said, in so solemn a tone that, in spite of himself, John smiled.

"I did indeed," he agreed.

The boy stepped farther into the room, somberly surveying the walls and bare furnishings as John had done earlier. Still safe in shadows, John brushed away the last of his tears and determined to his own satisfaction the identity of his young visitor. This would be his cousin—his uncle, Lord Eden's son—the next heir to Eden Castle. From where John stood, he guessed the boy's age at about eight, saw his slight frame tightly encased in a slim black jacket, his skin pale, hair and eyes dark, as his scrutiny of the chamber continued.

"What's your name?" John called out to the boy, whose inspection had led him to the large table near the center of the room.

Still not looking at him, but concentrating now on the face he was drawing with the tip of his finger in the dust on the table, the boy replied, "Richard Grenville Powels Eden," then leaned sharply over to put eyes and nose on the dust face.

"That's quite a name," John said, watching him.

"Clara calls me Dick sometimes, but my mother doesn't like it."

"What should I call you?"

"Richard." For the first time the boy looked up. "Are you going to live here?"

John nodded. "It's my home."

"They're arguing about you downstairs."

Interested, John stepped forward. "What are they saying?"

The boy shrugged. "They don't know who you are." Suddenly his face brightened as with his fist he rubbed out the circle face he'd drawn on the table. "But I know. Your name is John Murrey Eden. Your father was my uncle Edward, and you have come home."

A grin passed between the two boys. With relief, it dawned on John that at least one had understood the message he'd been asked to repeat downstairs.

"Do you want me to help you unpack?" Richard asked now, his journey about the room taking him close to the pile of discarded garments. For a moment he seemed to stare down on them as though remembering his first sight of John kneeling. "I'm sorry about your father," he said quietly. "Clara said he was a good man."

"And who would Clara be?" John asked, following after him.

"Nursemaid," Richard replied. "She doesn't tend me as much as she does my sister," he added defensively.

Preoccupied, John looked toward the open door. It was only a matter of time before . . .

"Do you play marbles?" Richard asked, coming up alongside him.

Struggling in an attempt to keep his thoughts in order, John nodded, "On occasion."

"I have four blue cat's eyes," Richard boasted, grinning. "Do you want to see them?"

Without waiting for a reply, he began eagerly to dig down into his pocket, something in his manner which suggested to John that he was suffering from loneliness.

"Lookl"

Before him on that outstretched palm John saw four glistening cat's eyes. "They're magic." The boy grinned.

"How so?"

"Aunt Jane said words over them. They always win."

Aunt Jane. There was a familiar name. His father's aunt. . .

"She's very old," Richard was saying, "but she's a good witch. I'll take you up to see her after dinner if you wish."

John smiled. "I'd like that," and again he examined the marbles. "I'm afraid I wouldn't stand a chance against magic marbles."

Without hesitation Richard selected two marbles and placed them in John's hand. "There, now," he announced. "We're even."

The small but generous gesture had a peculiar effect on John. "Thank you."

Suddenly from the doorway came a voice. "Richard!" As one, both boys turned toward the woman standing there, lamp in hand.

"Mama." Richard smiled, going to her side with no real alarm. "We're going to play marbles tomorrow, and after dinner, I said I would take him to—"

Lovingly she reached out and drew him close. "Clara has been searching for you," she whispered. "Run along now. We'll talk later."

John sensed a good relationship between the two, love tempered with maternal caution.

Putting envy aside, John thanked Richard again for his gift of marbles and reassured that if circumstances permitted, the game was on for the next day.

Then the boy was gone, leaving the two of them in the chamber, confronting each other over the glow of lamplight.

Lady Eden. Harriet John had recognized her immediately in the graveyard, though he'd only seen her once before, years ago in the magistrate's office the morning of the hearing, when his father had made his idiocy public by ceding all claim to his own fortune. In all the intervening years, his father had never been able to give him one coherent reason for that moment of lunacy, and it had been on that day that their path had started downward.

"Lady Eden," he murmured, feeling the need to break the uncomfortable silence. But now he saw a transfixed quality on her face, as though she were not seeing him at all.

"My lady ..." He smiled, trying to break the curious spell. "If my appearance offends you, I'm. . ."

Without warning, the hand holding the lamp wavered. The lady's face seemed to go bloodless. Quickly she lifted her head as though for breath. Then her eyes closed, and had John not stepped quickly forward and taken the lamp from her, lamp and all would have gone crashing to the floor as she collapsed.

For a moment he could only stare down on her. Was she ill?

"My. . .lady?"

He called a second time, then looked frantically over his shoulder in the hope that help had arrived. But there was no one there.

"My lady, I. . ."

He couldn't very well just leave her on the floor. He set the lamp on the table and tried to determine the manner in which to lift her. He noticed now the hem of her black gown, damp and mud-caked

from his father's burial. Perhaps she possessed a delicate constitution that could not absorb the rituals of death.

He moved awkwardly about her. Where were those safe points where a woman could be lifted without. . . ?

Nothing to do, but do it. On that note of determination, he gently eased her over onto her back, stole a quick glance behind him to confirm the distance to the bed, then reached beneath her arms and commenced to drag her, her body extending in the process, her head fallen grotesquely forward, her hands flopping puppet fashion.

Breathless from his effort, he perched on the bed on his knees, looking down. She was so still, apparently unmindful of the rough transport, and so beautiful. In the awkward fashion in which he'd dragged her up onto the bed, her gown had become twisted, and now certain aspects of her body were being revealed to him in fascinating detail. One breast had slipped almost entirely free of its black binding.

Abruptly he closed his eyes against a most curious sensation. He scrambled backward off the bed and took refuge behind the large table. Over the flickering lamp, he saw her, still unmoved.

Suddenly he drew a shuddering breath and hurled himself toward the door in search of help.

He heard a soft moan behind him and looked back. She was stirring, her head turning gently from side to side. Well, he couldn't abandon her now that she was reviving. Anyway, he had a strong feeling that she had come with a message.

Then he must see her safely revived and receive her message. As he approached the edge of the bed, he stopped. Best to let her discover that naked breast first.

Her eyes were open now, obviously trying to assess everything at once, her location, her position on the bed, and at last her half-naked front.

He heard her gasp, "Sweet Lord." She gave him an embarrassed glance, then turned away. When she turned back, black unfortunately covered everything, though he found the blush on her cheeks most becoming.

"I . . . apologize," she whispered. "I've only fainted once before in my entire life . . ."

"No apologies are necessary." He smiled. In an attempt to put her at ease, he added, "The day has been difficult—for all."

He was aware of her staring at him again. It was just that expres-

sion that had led to her recent faint, and he didn't want to go through that again. "Lady Eden, may I assist—"

"No," she murmured, stopping him with her hand. "I'm quite restored."

Beyond the lamp, the darkness in the room was now complete, though John continued to hear rain pelt against the windows, and thought, without warning, of his father lying in the coffin in cold earth.

"Lady Eden," he said, turning away from the table, "if you are restored, might I again request a fire? As I said, the day has left a chill that. . ."

Behind, he heard a rustling, as though she were on her feet. Then he heard her voice, less soft. "There will be no fire," and the sternness in her tone caused him to look back.

"I don't understand," he confessed.

She drew herself up as though to face an unpleasant task. "It is our opinion," she began, "Lord Eden's and my own, that until we receive documentation of your true identity, we cannot offer you access to these chambers."

He'd expected as much. "Do you doubt my identity?" he demanded, returning to the table. "I've been told by many, including my father, that I bear a strong resemblance to him."

"What others say does not concern us," she replied with admirable strength. "There is a resemblance, and if the woman sends the necessary papers that will prove beyond any doubt that you are who you claim to be, then this castle and all its inhabitants will welcome you, and you will be given free access to your father's chambers."

He listened closely. "And if the papers arrive and there still are doubts?"

She started forward, one hand making minor adjustments to her person. "Then you will be welcome to stay in the servants' hall for as long as you make yourself useful."

"And for now?" he asked.

Still not looking at him, she moved safely past before she turned with her reply. "For now, you will gather up your satchel and follow me downstairs, where a steward is waiting to take you to the servants' hall."

He stared at her for a moment, confounded by how he should deal with her foolishness. "My lady . . ." He laughed, shaking his head and repeating the claim which he'd made countless times before. "I am John Murrey Eden. My father was—"

Something brought her to anger. "It's a matter of unimportance to us," she snapped, "the claims of your identity. As my husband pointed out, dozens of young men could present themselves to our gates within the next few years, all claiming a kinship with this family. We are well aware of your father's spirit of abandon. We must protect ourselves, for our children's sake, if nothing else."

The meanness of her sentiment seemed to have a more devastating effect on her than it did on John. He saw her bow her head as though a new weakness had swept over her.

"Lady Eden, would you care to—"

He'd tried to offer her the comfort of a chair, but again she shook her head. "No, I don't intend to stay. If you will be so good as to gather your things and follow after. . ."

But John had no intention of following after her, not until he'd waged a respectable battle.

Now, in spite of her impatient waiting, he took the chair that he'd intended to offer to her and sat easily at the table. "I'm not surprised by Lord Eden's assessment of my father," he commenced, ignoring her startled expression at his disobedience. "My father always told me that he shared nothing but blood with his younger brother, that they had tried over the years to develop a brotherly relationship and that they both had failed."

Abruptly he leaned forward and clasped his hands upon the table. Without looking up, he asked, "You knew my father, didn't you?"

He'd not expected such a simple question to elicit such a terrifying lack of response.

"Of course you knew him," he went on, in spite of the taut silence. "He told me that he had met you on the occasion of your engagement to his brother. He spoke fondly of your beauty and generous spirit."

"Will . . . you please fetch your satchel?" Her voice sounded as though she were suffocating.

Still he persisted. "If you spent only ten minutes with my father, you knew him to be a gentleman."

Now he looked up into her eyes, amazed at the suffering he saw there. "I assure you," he concluded quietly, "bastards have not been sown all over London. After my mother, he sought no other woman."

In spite of the mask which had fallen over her features, he sensed new interest. "Is the . . . woman who brought you here your mother?" she asked.

M

"Elizabeth?" He laughed softly. "No, though she's a loving substitute."