Yet
at the conclusion of this fantasy, instead of satisfaction, he faced new
torment. He would have to guard her constantly or else one day, like the pitiable
Ragland when he had discovered Elfie, he would find her hanging from a beam.
Such
an image loosed a chill as sharp as March wind upon him. He passed over an hour
in this state, his thoughts moving back and forth over possibilities, rejecting
them all. About one o'clock the rattle of a carriage on the cobbles below
attracted his attention. He looked down to see a hired chaise pull close to the
pavement. A moment later, a hulk which he recognized as Russell Locke got out,
followed immediately by a young woman who giggled prettily and clung to his arm
as though for support. After the chaise had pulled away, both stood on the
curb, Locke drawing her close, kissing her.
Thomas
drew back a safe distance, but not so far that he couldn't see or hear. What he
heard and saw was remarkable. The young girl simpered, "Is this your
house, Lord Eden? It's very grand, ain't it?"
And
Russell replied in a deep pompous voice, "It's adequate. But come. There's
a private chamber where we won't be disturbed by the servants. Come, my
lamb."
"Private
chambers," thought Thomas angrily.
The
young woman giggled again. "You must be very rich, Lord Eden."
Russell,
leaning close, drew the girl to him. "You shall be adequately rewarded for
your cooperation."
As
they started up the steps, the girl laughed modestly and said, "I ain't
never done it with a Lord."
Thomas,
in his outrage at the impersonation started forward, was ready to stop them
before they reached the front door. Half out of the chair, he froze, an idea
forming. As the idea took flight, all became quiet. How simple it was, how
incredible that it had not occurred to him before, how remarkable, how—
Suddenly
he left the window and ran toward the door. No! Not too hasty. Think it
through.
Impersonation!
The
bogus Locke posing as Lord Eden, the girl believing it all. Then why not an
impersonation of his own, a bogus wedding ceremony, vows recited in full, yet
empty, no record, nothing committed to paper. But not here, not in London, it
wouldn't work here, and not at Eden Point either, where within the close
community, registers could be too easily checked and tongues would wag.
Then
where? Stumped so soon in the delirium of his brilliant idea, he fell to
pacing. He needed a rural retreat, a seat of feudal authority unchallenged by
civil servants and such nonsense as laws and parish registers. He needed a
hungry or corrupt priest and he needed the authority of elegant surroundings,
for she was no fool. A country inn would not serve. He needed-
He
stopped and smashed his fist down against the table. Yes, of course, why hadn't
he thought of it before? He needed the isolation, the historical weight, and
enclosed elegance of Fonthill Splendons. Further, he needed the innocent,
boyish, trustworthy, due cooperation of Billy Beckford.
For
the second time that long dreary evening, he laughed outright. How could Billy
refuse him anything? Hadn't he nursed him back to health after his ordeal with
the girl, and then interceded on his behalf with the outraged servants?
Thomas
stood in the center of his chambers, his hands clasped before him, head lifted.
"Oh, Billy," he moaned softly. "Come to my aid now as you have
never come before."
Thus
concluding his prayer to some unnamed source, he hurled himself toward his
writing bureau, withdrew quill and paper, and feverishly commenced penning a
message.
Once,
twice, three times during his writing he looked up and laughed aloud, with the
exuberance of a plotting schoolboy, his dazzling idea emerging full-blown in
his head, the step-by-step deception which, God willing, would convert the
source of his obsessive fever into an obliging and submissive "wife."
He
laughed again and suddenly clamped a hand over his mouth. Mustn't wake the
sleeping household until he was ready for them to be awakened.
For
the duration of his writing, he did not utter a sound.
Russell
Locke, slightly tipsy from too much negus, yet feeling as alive and exhilarated
as he'd ever felt in his life, was just about to mount the first assistant to
the "Goddess of Health," a comely lass he'd picked up at Dr. James
Graham's pleasure palace. The girl, the picture of cooperation, had willingly
stripped for him, a seductive ritual which had shaken Locke to his very toes.
Now
she lay before him, clothed only in God's gifts, her legs gracefully apart, one
hand cupped about her breast, the other beckoning.
Locke
gulped, his lids half-closed, and was just starting toward the Gates of
Paradise when suddenly he heard monstrous shouting.
"Locke?
Locke? Are you there? No time to be abed. Locke! Arise!"
Half-suspended
over the waiting female, Locke turned angrily toward the closed door of his
room. "Damn!" he cursed. He had recognized the voice instantly.
The
young girl appeared frightened. "Milord, who is it?" she whispered and
began to make feeble attempts to cover her nakedness.
Still
half-suspended in a ridiculous position, his bare ass facing the door like a
full moon rising, Locke listened, horrified, as the voice drew nearer. Too
late, it occurred to him to rise and clothe himself. In the next moment, the
door to the small ground-floor chamber burst open and Lord Eden appeared, his
face flushed, clasping a parchment in his hand.
Still
on his hands and knees, Locke glanced over his shoulder. "Milord," he
muttered, trying to rise, the girl beneath him curling herself into a tight
knot of embarrassment.
"Milord?"
she repeated, glancing accusingly at Locke. "I thought you were—"
Grinning,
Lord Eden walked expansively to the side of the couch. "We're all Lords
here, lady." He smiled. "Every last one of us." He looked at the
stupid Locke. "Some more than others, perhaps, but Lords
nonetheless."
Leaving
the girl to ponder his words, he turned his attention to Locke. "Up,
man!" he ordered. "Prepare yourself for the road. This urgent message
by noon tomorrow must be in the hands of Mr. William Beckford of Wiltshire. You
know the house. We've stopped there often enough. Now, up!" He swatted
Locke's bare bottom with the message itself.
Locke
stumbled backward, trying in all modesty to conceal his limp member, which only
moments before had been starched and at the ready.
"Wiltshire,
milord," he muttered, drawing on trousers, his foot catching on the narrow
opening of the knee britches, causing him to perform a little one-legged dance
about the room.
"I
said Wiltshire, didn't I?" thundered Lord Eden, his good humor apparently
heightened by the realization of coitus intemiptus.
While
Locke hastily dressed, he saw Eden circle the couch, assessing the female flesh
there, the girl's apprehension slowly turning into seductive lassitude.
"Damn,"
cursed Locke beneath his breath. The vulture would probably send him off into
the night, then have her for himself.
"I
beg your pardon?" Lord Eden inquired, hearing the mutterings.
"Nothing,
milord," murmured Locke. As he pulled on his boots, and a heavy jacket as
protection against the night chill, he thought again of the endless miles ahead
of him and did little to mask his irritation. "How am I to accomplish this
midnight flight, milord?" he snapped.
In
a burst of generosity, Lord Eden announced, "Any way you wish, Locke. Hire
a chaise if you so desire. All I ask is that you be back here by midnight
tomorrow."
"Do
you require a response, milord?"
Lord
Eden looked straight at him, his foolish grin subsiding. "Only an
affirmative response," he said. "Mr. Beckford need say nothing but
yes."
Dressed,
though still angry, Locke looked longingly at the young girl on the couch, who
apparently had determined who was Lord Eden and who wasn't, and who at the
moment was displaying all her various gifts of nature for the benefit of Lord
Eden.
In
spite of a vigorous attempt at self-control, Locke mumbled, "Not
fair." Then, seeing Lord Eden's stem face before him, he prepared himself
for a tongue-lashing.
Instead
he felt Lord Eden's arm go almost gently around his shoulders, a totally
unexpected gesture of affection. Miracle of miracles, he heard Lord Eden's
voice, intimate and close.
"Not
fair, Locke?" he queried. "I'm only sending you on a journey which,
if successful, will bind us together forever."
Still
suspicious, Locke tried to disengage himself from the arm which weighed heavily
on his shoulder. "Forever, milord? I don't understand."
Lord
Eden leaned closer. "How do you respond to 'Brother-in-law'?"
Locke
ducked his head, then quickly looked up. "Brother-in-law?" he
repeated incredulously.
Lord
Eden nodded. "Yes, Locke. I intend to make Marianne my wife."
It
took a moment for the words to penetrate. But when they did, Locke stood back,
throwing off his inertia as if he had just awakened from a profound sleep.
"Wife?" he repeated, his voice cracking slightly.
Again
Lord Eden nodded. "Now go," he urged, planting the letter firmly in
Locke's hand. "Clear the way for my wedded bliss that wall forever bind
together the Eden and Locke families."
Locke
was trembling so violently he could scarcely hold the letter in his hand.
Wife
!
Dear God, how the word thundered about in his head. Wife! His little sister,
his dearest little sister. Lady Eden! Wife! Legal claim to the vast fortune of
the Eden family. Wife! Her loyal brother at her side.
Wife
!
So
great was his agitation that for a moment he saw nothing and heard nothing. He
was aware of Lord Eden shaking him, urging him to make haste.
It
was Locke's turn to wear the silly grin. As he tucked the precious letter into
his inner pocket for safekeeping, he pointed toward the female on the couch.
"You may have her, milord, if you wish." As he flew through the door
on his important mission, he glanced back and saw Lord Eden assessing the body
before him.
Well,
no matter. It was none of his concern. What
was
of concern to him was
the long ride ahead, bearing the vital message that would forever alter his
life and turn it toward the sun.
On
his way out, Russell stopped by the kitchen. The ride would be long and
uninterrupted. He would need refreshment. As he was preparing a small knapsack
of cheese and rolls, he heard footsteps outside the door, coming from the
direction of his chamber.
He
looked up, listening. It was Lord Eden's voice. The girl was with him. Russell
moved stealthily to the half-opened door, the better to hear.
"Go
along with you," Lord Eden was saying. "You're too young for this
sort of life. Find yourself a good husband."
Amazed,
Russell leaned closer, the better to hear and see. In the dark corridor, he saw
Lord Eden put his arm about the girl in a most protective manner, his voice as
loving and kind as Russell had ever heard it.
"How
old are you?" Lord Eden asked.
"Eighteen,
milord," the girl replied.
Sadly,
Lord Eden shook his head. "And where's your home?"
"Canterbury,
milord. My family is there, my mum and—"
As
they passed by the door, Russell leaned further out, the better to see. He
could not believe his eyes or ears. Lord Eden turning his back on a piece like
that?