He
paused to mark the effect of his words on the face across from him. The young
man was listening, more than listening.
"Then,"
Thomas concluded, "if you still prefer the dark games you play beneath
your linens at night, I shall leave you to your fate and never utter another
word. Agreed?"
Still
no response from Billy. He was looking out the window, but Thomas suspected
that he was seeing nothing.
"Agreed?"
Thomas prompted again.
Still
no answer.
Thomas
needed no reply. A tacit consent was there in the boy's eyes. Enough for now. For
almost three hours they rode in silence. On occasion Thomas dozed, and each
time he awakened he saw Billy, gazing blankly out of the window, his face
flushed.
At
last Thomas stretched. He was hungry. Was he mistaken or was that salt air he
whiffed? "Food," he ordered, pointing to the hamper beside Billy on
the seat. Finally Billy dragged himself out of his reveries and began to
dispense the delicacies within the basket. The cold roasted fowl was delicious.
Thomas felt barbaric lifting it in his fingers and sucking its bones. Billy
followed suit, the two of them passing the bottle of port back and forth,
nibbling a good round of cheddar, their spirits rising as their hungers were
satisfied.
Later
that afternoon, a short time after they had changed horses at Exeter, and left
the turnpike far behind, the driver tapped on the carriage top and gave a
hearty shout, "Eden Land!"
Thomas
raised up in his seat, as he had done as a boy when he had traveled this same
route with his father, feeling a sense of excitement at the beauty and
desolation of Exmoor, the hooves of the horses thundering over the well-beloved
and familiar terrain.
Obviously
Billy sensed his excitement and leaned forward with him.
"How
much farther Thomas?" Billy asked eagerly.
"Not
far!" Thomas shouted. "We'll arrive with the dusk."
Billy
sat back, drawing the lap robe up around him again, his face struck by a direct
ray of late afternoon sun. "Thomas," he whispered, apparently
impervious to the blinding rays in his face. "Make sure she is
clean."
He
said this with such earnestness that Thomas threw back his head and laughed. He
was home and he felt all the largess and warmth and security that he'd missed
in London. "She shall be pristine," he promised generously.
"I'll check her maidenhead myself. You shall be a lover, Billy. It will be
my gift to you in partial payment for your hospitality and friendship."
Billy
leaned back against the cushions, dreams that had once had no other life than
his own imagination living in reality. With a surge of regret, Thomas watched
him and wished that all conquests were so easily accomplished.
But
no melancholy. He would not permit it. He ached for his first glimpse of Eden
Castle, the staff gathered in welcoming along with the citizens of Mortemouth.
And old Ragland, sweet God, how he hungered for a glimpse of Ragland's face.
At
dusk and on schedule, as the first sight of Eden Castle came into view,
silhouetted blackly against the fiery rose of the winter sunset, Thomas felt
himself overwhelmed and, feeling an embarrassment of tears, he closed his eyes.
The
past was behind him, at least for a while.
Before
him was his home.
It
was an occasion for general rejoicing. A triumphal arch was erected across the
road which led up the steep incline to Eden Castle. The church bell pealed. The
Lord of the Castle had come home from his wanderings.
Houses
in the village of Mortemouth were gay with flags. The townspeople turned out to
welcome him, and rows of servants in the famous blood-red livery of the Eden
family filled the inner courtyard, headed by old Ragland, who made a
complimentary speech. For the next few days Eden Castle gave itself up to
dancing and merriment.
Many
villagers felt that perhaps a new reign was beginning -with the New Year.
Perhaps this Lord, of whom people knew so little, was at last prepared to
assume the responsibilities which had been placed on his shoulders by the death
of his older brother. Perhaps now, after a dint at smuggling, sowing his oats
in London, and taking a pistol ball in the shoulder, he would settle down and
have pity on his poorer neighbors and help them to improve their lot.
The
Twelfth Night Festival was splendid, the Banqueting Hall doors thrown open to
all, citizens coming from as far away as Tintagel to partake of the plenty,
eating as much as they could, then stuffing their garments with hard rolls and
rounds of cheese and pieces of beef, security against the rising prices and the
hard winter yet to come.
There
were musicians and jugglers and acrobats, and the vast room was lined with
torches and filled with a continuous din of merry shouts, the women and even
some of the men wearing holly wreaths on their heads.
Presiding
over it all in melodramatic splendor, sitting at a table on a raised platform
at the end of the room, was Thomas Eden, wearing a crimson velvet robe, lifting
glass after glass to the familiar faces who came singly and in pairs to pay
their respects. He was taking enormous delight in showing Billy how a Lord
functioned.
"Over
there," Thomas whispered, leaning close to Billy. "Look!" With a
gently guiding hand he forced Billy's attention toward the far wall, where in
the blazing light beneath a torch, two men lifted a woman into the air, one
supporting each leg as she lit a straw from the torch and attempted to transfer
the flame to a lantern. Their support, shaky at best, grew shakier as their
hands inched up beneath her skirts. Giggling, the woman protested, and as one
invisible hand struck home, she screamed, though still laughing, and dropped
both straw and lantern and fell, protesting, into their waiting arms.
As
they carried her off through the throngs of people, Thomas whispered, "They've
found a surer flint with sparks aplenty. She'll need no lantern to see her home
this night."
Billy
watched, his face revealing his excitement. "It differs only slightly from
the Masquerades at the Pantheon," he commented as though to disguise his
impression. "Here it's better, though," he added. "More honest
life."
Remembering
the promise he had made to Billy in the carriage, Thomas asked, "Do you
see any that hold appeal?"
Again
that wonderful adolescent blush spread over Billy's face, heightened by the
empty bottles which lay scattered about the table. "I would confess to no
one but you, Thomas," he said with a grin, "but I'm afraid they're
all far too experienced for me."
Thomas
laughed outright and waved for Ragland to bring fresh bottles. "Surely
someplace," he went on, "in that mob, there is a female as virginal
as yourself. All we must do is find her!"
He
settled back, his hand on his chin, assessing the female flesh before him. It
was true. They were an experienced lot, eagerly displaying their wares, the
look of hard experience about them; either that, or they were pinched and old,
the thick complacent wives of tradesmen and fishermen and farmers, their wombs
already worn out from childbearing.
In
some desperation, Thomas looked about him. Surely there was someone. "What
about that one?" he mused, pointing down at a fair-haired girl assisting
Dolly Wisdom with a heavy tray filled with mugs of beer. But at that moment the
girl glanced directly at him, and he recognized her as one he himself had taken
several times.
She
waved her kerchief prettily toward him. Billy muttered, "She seems more
interested in you than me."
Thomas
turned away, still busily assessing the possibilities before him. Ragland
appeared, two bottles in hand. Following a discreet distance behind him was his
shadow, the simpleminded girl whom he had rescued from outside the castle
gates.
Thomas
looked at her as she kept to the shadows, a young, dark-haired beauty, her
simple black dress framing white shoulders, well-developed breasts, and tapered
waist.
As
he assessed her a second time, he called good-naturedly to Ragland, "How
your pet has grown! Bring her forward. Let's see how the climate of Eden has
done by her."
He
watched as with pride the old man motioned the girl forward. At first she
seemed too frightened to move of her own volition, but Ragland took her gently
by the arm and whispered something to her, then walked with her to the table.
"Elfie,
milord," he announced proudly.
The
girl ducked her head as though in embarrassment. Thomas nudged Billy, urging
his attention. "Would you believe," he announced, "that this
flower is the result of Ragland's cultivation? He found her starving and near
death—when was it?—and now look. Miracles are still within the realm of
possibility. Don't you agree, Billy?"
Billy
nodded. Ragland beamed. The girl kept her eyes to the floor, although Thomas
noted one small white slender hand nervously fingering her skirt.
"Does
she speak, Ragland?" he asked, finding the delicate creature totally
alluring.
"No,
milord," Ragland replied. "She doesn't speak, but she
understands."
Thomas
smiled and poured wine around, including a glass for Ragland. "The perfect
female, I'd say, wouldn't you, Billy?"
"Thank
you, milord," Ragland bowed, responding both to the compliment and the
gift of wine.
As
the three men drank, the girl stood motionless before them. In some
astonishment, Thomas felt himself respond to her presence. Perhaps he shouldn't
be so generous. Perhaps he should keep this one for himself. But he was a man
of honor and he owed Billy.
Thoughtfully
he suggested to Ragland, "Give her a sip of your wine. Make her feel at
home."
"She's
never partaken, milord."
"Then
it's time."
But
still the old man refused, and now, as though he'd read Thomas' mind, he placed
a protective arm about the girl's waist and drew her backward. "I only
permitted her to stay up for a while. It's past her bed hour. Be off with you,
Elfie." Obedient to a fault, the girl turned and ran lightly back into the
shadows, taking her marvelous and silent beauty with her.
"Where
does she sleep, Ragland?" Thomas asked, still feigning an objective
interest in the girl.
"In
the Servants' Hall, milord. She's quite comfortable there."
"I'm
sure she is. You are to be commended. It warms the heart to see such fine
results from a Christian act."
Ragland
beamed and bobbed his head in gratitude. "She's like my own daughter,
milord. Quite a joy."
"I'm
sure she is," Thomas murmured. "That's all for now. Would you please
send Jack Spade to me? And see that every guest leaves with a full belly and a
warm heart."
The
old man bowed low and departed. Thomas waited until he was safely out of
earshot, then looked at Billy. "Well?" he demanded.
To
his amazement Billy looked sad. "She seemed so frightened."
"They're
always frightened." Thomas laughed. "It's part of their pretense. Does
she suit you?"
Still
hesitant, Billy said, "She's scarcely grown, little more than a
child."
Without
offending him, Thomas reminded, "She's sufficient unto your needs. And she
may surprise you. So?"
But
Billy shook his head and pronounced a firm, "No! Not that one, Thomas. Not
tonight. Perhaps later—"
The
old dragons of fear were still lurking about. Then Thomas would have to take
matters into his own hands. As he spied the block head and
Bat
face of
Jack Spade waiting in the shadows at the end of the table, he stood up, as
though to dismiss the matter. "You'll regret that decision, Billy, I can
assure you."