She
saw Lord Eden moving toward her with great strides. When at first Russell
failed to comply with his command, he seemed to increase his speed until he was
standing beside them, his arm upraised as though he intended to knock the
fellow aside.
"Release
her!" he ordered again.
"She
was running away, milord," Russell tried to explain.
"Nonsense,"
countered Lord Eden. "She was merely bored with this place, as I am, and
eager to move on."
In
spite of the afternoon heat, Marianne felt herself shivering. Lord Eden placed
an arm around her shoulder in simulated affection. "She's merely
tired"—he smiled—"and wishes to return to the carriage."
From
round about her in anguish, she heard her own voice. "I need no
assistance, milord," and pulled away from his arm and up into the
carriage, where she saw the dying roses of morning and sank heavily into her
customary spot by the window.
She
closed her eyes. There was no hope, and thinking thus, she made herself into a
nonresponding husk. No longer would she play into his hands so agreeably with
smiles and conversations. She would endure the rest of the day in silence.
Without
looking, she was aware of him entering the carriage and taking his accustomed
seat. As they made their way back into the city, she saw little and took
interest in less. It wasn't until a shadow fell across her face that she looked
up and saw him sitting directly opposite her, his face lined with concern.
"I wish you would have waited," he said mournfully.
She
felt repulsed by his presence and turned her eyes out the window and resolutely
gave no reply.
"Please,
Marianne," he begged.
Still
she kept silent, a feeling of abysmal shame mingling with her distress. She
could not bring herself to look at him, for she was certain that his face would
not contain one angle of truth. She knew now that he would not release her
until he was abundantly satisfied. Perhaps not even then.
The
silence between them increased. Then softly he spoke the most unexpected words.
"If you truly wish to go home, Marianne, then I shall take you there. I've
caused you enough unhappiness."
She
looked up, unable to believe what she had heard. The rhythm of the carriage sounded
like a pulse. He sighed heavily. "I mean it sincerely," he vowed.
"I, too, am weary of London. The city extracts a heavy toll. As soon as arrangements
can be made, we shall depart together."
She
looked at him, still unable to believe. Yet she'd been wrong about one thing.
In his face there was the light of truth. Leaning closer, he bowed his head.
"Please indulge me for the remainder of the day," he begged,
"and I promise you before the week is out we both shall return to North
Devon where we belong."
She
had never thought it possible to go from such despair to such happiness in so
short a time. "I'm most grateful, milord," she murmured, and allowed
him to take her hand and lift it to his lips, a harmless gesture, more a sealed
bargain than anything else.
Again
she leaned back in the seat and began to take note of the passing scenery. She
was aware of him still looking at her, almost reverently. Perhaps she'd been
wrong about him. Perhaps he merely wanted her companionship and friendship,
twin gifts that she was not loath to give, unless he took both for granted.
But
he did not seem to be doing that now. In fact, for the rest of the day he seemed
to be making an extraordinary effort to treat her with kindness, subduing his
aggressive role in endless considerations.
Dusk
found them at the eastern edge of the city. A perfect dome of peacock blue sank
into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark violet distances. The glowing
blue tint was just deep enough to pick out in points of crystal one or two
stars. All that was left of the daylight lay in a golden glitter across the far
edge of London.
In
spite of her weariness after a long day of touring, she felt an exhilaration. "Thank
you, milord," she murmured as the carriage started down the incline which
led back into the city.
In
the darkness she could scarcely see his face. But she sensed in him a similar
attitude of relaxation. "There were rough places," he conceded
thoughtfully, "but all in all, a most successful outing."
She
agreed and relaxed into the cushioned interior. The night sky outside her
window was a dark blue now, relieved here and there by little streamers of
clouds jockeying for precedence, like her thoughts. She saw in her imagination
the wild beauty of Exmoor, the desolate landscape that was the approach to Eden
Point. Then she imagined the sea breeze, the vast headlands bedazzled with wild
flowers, the peculiarly lovely fragrance from her childhood of herring and
seaweed, of sun-bleached sand and pristine white cottages, like proper old
women, lifting their small gardens, like skirts, at the water's edge.
So
deeply enthralling were her thoughts that she failed to notice the traffic of
the city increasing around them, the carriage moving steadily down strange
streets, as though it knew precisely where it was going. She became aware of
the two linkboys who had joined them, and a night watchman riding beside them
on horseback, and the peculiar music of carriage wheels on cobblestone.
Suddenly
she was jarred out of her reverie by the appearance of the strangest house she
had ever seen. Along the pavement ran a procession of many large torches, all
blazing brightly in the night, the congestion of at least a dozen carriages
pushing close to the curb. A short distance from the pavement stood the house
itself, a large crowd lined up in disorderly fashion, all leaning toward the
front entrance, an imposing white brick structure, every window ablaze with
light, and over the door a large pagan gilt sun.
She
leaned forward in her seat as the sounds of shouting reached her ear.
"Milord," she began, puzzled, and stopped short as on the steps of
the house, beneath the pagan sun, a bizarre sight greeted her eyes. A woman had
just emerged from the house in a thin diaphanous robe and stood on the steps,
her head lifted, as slowly she slipped the robe from her shoulders and stood—
Marianne
blinked, certain her eyes had deceived her. The woman stood before the crowd
absolutely naked.
She
tried again. "Milord, what is—"
Then
he
too
was leaning forward, shouting directions to the coachman in an
attempt to lead him through the congestion of traffic.
They
pulled into a narrow lane alongside the strange house and continued at a slow
pace toward the rear, where they approached a large carriage house with its
door open. They came to a halt inside the carriage house, the door closing
behind them, the horses whinnying to a halt.
In
some alarm she looked about, then remembered the overly grand spectacle which
he'd arranged for her at noon alongside the river, and assumed that this was
something along that order, a closing extravagance, some excess which was
characteristic of him and which perhaps in view of their new ease with each
other, she should indulge him.
In
that mood, she followed him out of the carriage and into the shadowy interior
of the carriage house. She saw Russell, grinning, quicldy alight, step up to
the door, and knock soundly four times. She noticed a certain jaunty confidence
about him, a confidence matched by Lord Eden himself, who stood close beside
her, his hand on her waist, pulling her close, closer than she cared to be.
"Milord,
what is this place?" she asked, pulling free, yet still held half-suspended
by his grasp.
"A
fitting end," he said, smiling mysteriously.
She
was on the verge of questioning him further when the door burst open and two
young women identically clad in diaphanous robes appeared as though in
procession, the thin folds of their garments concealing nothing. Following a
step behind them, she saw the most incredible man she'd ever seen in her life,
an imposing male figure clad entirely in dazzling gold, from the gold of his
sparkling wig to the giant sunburst which framed his face. In his hand he
carried a wand of some sort with a golden medallion attached. He waved this
wand in her direction while the semi-naked women bowed low as though in ritual
obedience.
The
whole spectacle was so bizarre that her first inclination was to laugh. She saw
Lord Eden move toward the golden man, saw him take a large leather pouch from
his inner pocket and hand it to him whereupon the man felt it as though to
assess its weight, then tucked it deftly inside the golden coat. He beamed
broadly.
As
the two men continued to exchange a few words, Marianne sent her attention back
to the young women. Their robes, pristine white, seemed to be cut with broad
openings in the sleeves so that their hands could move in and out with ease.
She blushed to see them caressing their own bodies, their hands beneath the
robes fondling their breasts, then following the contours of their bodies down
to their hips.
In
some fascination, Marianne watched it all, embarrassed, yet curious to know
what it meant.
The
"Golden Sun" drew near to her, smiled down on her, and thrust the
glowing medallion before her eyes. She stared at it, bewildered, uncertain what
she should do. She tried to read the medallion itself, but could not. The
etched designs resembled rat scratchings.
As
he continued to stand before her, she noticed golden sparkles in his eyebrows,
golden sparkles on the ridge of his nose, a madman's face or a clown's. Her
sense of bewilderment mixed with amusement persisted as she saw the utter
seriousness in the faces around her.
Then
the Golden Sun removed the medallion from her vision and his own foolish face
took its place, peering close. "Do you feel relaxed?" he asked, in a
mellifluous, overcultivated voice.
With
all the attention in the carriage house drawn to her, her mind had never been
so blank or her tongue less ready to form words. While she was struggling to
understand, she saw him nod, as though pleased by her lack of response. Then
Lord Eden was beside her again, his arm around her waist. Before she could
protest, the two undulating young women opened the door and before her she saw
a golden hallway, incredible illumination coming from an invisible source, the
gold of the walls blending with the gold of carpet and ceiling, an enormous sunbeam
leading at a distance to a large round doorway, its surface inset and sparkling
as though with jewels or fire.
A
sense of detached curiosity settled over her. The prospect of following the
"sunbeam" to the "sun" itself was irresistible.
Around
her waist she felt pressure from Lord Eden's hand. They were crossing the
threshold, treading slowly down the golden corridor, which was now lined with a
half a dozen maids in similar robes who appeared to have stepped out of the
walls, with fixed smiles on their faces.
She
felt an urge to return their smiles, but decided against it. She stole a
sideward glance at Lord Eden. His face seemed unnaturally flushed. If he saw
the nubile young girls on either side, he gave no indication of it, but kept
his eyes straight ahead.
Abruptly
from all about there came the sound of a tremendous organ, an explosion of
music. "Milord, what—" she whispered, looking quickly around her,
seeing that the young girls had fallen in line behind them, two by two, a
smiling procession, their robes pulled back, baring their bodies completely. At
the sight of such nakedness she quickly averted her eyes. As the thunderous
organ music increased to deafening pitch, she saw the golden sun doors open,
the man himself appearing in the inner room, although she was certain they had
left him standing in the carriage house.
She'd
seen enough and started to say as much when the young women were all about her,
separating her from Lord Eden, forming a circle and leading her forward into
the inner room.
Alarm
vaulted. "Milord!" she called out and looked quickly over her
shoulder. He was still behind her, though being led by the Golden Sun in the
opposite direction of the inner room, a room which she noticed was pristine
white, the walls covered in white velour, the floor white and soft as a cloud,
as though its true surface were a gigantic pillow.