"Elizabeth," he scolded. "What are you doing? Breakfast has commenced. I hope you realize you're quite late—"
He extended a hand to help her, but she drew quickly back and renewed her grip on her precarious perch, made doubly precarious, he noticed now, by her mutilated hand, which could not grip at all.
The sight of the hand and the fright in her eyes caused him to alter his approach. By now John Murrey had joined him, his wrinkled face a complex expression of puzzlement and anger. "Get down with you," the old man shouted, as though the carriage were his domain and the sight of ruflSans clinging to it offended him.
But the girl held her position just beyond their reach, and a moment later climbed even higher, wriggling like a monkey almost to the top. John Murrey's anger clearly vaulted. Now he extended his whip upward until the tip was touching her leg. "You heard me," he shouted, hoarsely. "Climb down or I'll climb up and pull you down.'*
Behind them on the pavement, Daniel was aware of several curious passers-by. The old man's shouts were attracting considerable attention. "That's enough, John," he counseled quietly. "Let me try."
Cursing, John Murrey turned away and dragged his whip through his fingers as though he were most eager to use it on the stowaway.
Daniel stepped close to the rear of the carriage until he was looking straight up. "Elizabeth," he begged, keeping his voice low and soothing. "You must come down. Classes will be starting—"
"Don't want to go to no classes," she muttered sullenly. "I want to go with you."
"Elizabeth, please," he begged softly. "I can't take you with me—"
"Why not?" she demanded.
"Where I'm going is not—"•
"I know where you're going," she replied. She ceased talking and tried to renew her grip on the high upper railing. Suddenly her foot slipped. As the mutilated hand reached out for support and failed, she fell halfway down the rear of the carriage, a scraping descent which stirred a collective "Ah" from the crowd.
Before Daniel could protest, two men in corduroy jackets rushed forward and grabbed her legs and pulled her down to the pavement, their rough faces delighted with their accomplishment.
She gave a little scream and tried quickly to get to her feet again, but both men held her pinned. "That's enough," Daniel ordered, stepping forward. "Leave her alone."
"Only showin' you how to git cherries out of the tree. Guv," one man grinned.
"You can't let a piece like that go orderin' you about," the other agreed.
"I said leave her alone," Daniel repeated. Hurriedly he reached down and lifted the girl to her feet. He took her sternly by the arm and led her around to the carriage door. More to get her off the street than anything, he shoved her inside, then crawled in after her.
A few moments later as the carriage started forward, he saw a look of pleasure on her face, as though she had set a goal for herself and achieved it.
"You're going again to try to find Mr. Eden. But you've not had much luck, have you?"
"Do you think you know where he is, Elizabeth?"
"I may," she said vaguely.
He regarded her searchingly for a moment, then formed his own opinion. She knew no more than he did.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Spade," she murmured. "I didn't mean to cause no trouble. It's just that—we must find him." She leaned still closer, her young face almost sunk with earnestness. "He may need us," she concluded with devastating simplicity.
So engrossed was he in the girl's attitude and manner that Daniel was not at first aware of the carriage rolling to a halt. Not until he heard John Murrey's voice shouting down at him, "This is it, sir, this is the spot," did he look up.
Before he could speak, she was out of the carriage, standing absolutely motionless on the pavement as though listening. He followed after her and looked about at the disreputable lane. Nothing stirred, not even the trees in the stillness of morning. On either side of the street were faded old Elizabethan mansions. Many of the windows appeared to be coated by a black paste, composed of ancient soot and dampness, and every gray and crumbling exterior wore an aspect of gloom. Growing around these ancient relics was nature gone awry, swift-climbing tentacles of green vines that in some cases scaled the gray stones to the top of the towers, here and there the outline of a dead garden, jasmine and roses strangling each other, lilac bushes unattended, grown to trees.
There was all this, and nothing more, no sight or sound of life save for the whimpering horses who stamped lightly at the pavement as though sensing the death about them.
Discouraged, Daniel made an aimless trip up and down on the pavement. He looked back at Elizabeth, who continued to stand, unmoving, in the same spot into which she'd alighted from the carriage.
Then without warning, she was running toward Number Two, a particularly large gray mansion, its front terrace cluttered with fallen statuary.
"Wait," he shouted after her, feeling a need to stay close beside her. But she would not wait and ran nimbly across the broken terrain, her feet devouring the territory as though it were familiar and she knew precisely where she was going.
Still a distance behind her, he saw her climb the steps and pound frantically on the boarded front door. "There's nothing there, Elizabeth," he called after her. "Can't you see?"
But as he was climbing the steps, he saw two of the boards give, slide to one side as though they were attached to a panel. And just beyond the door, standing in the gloomy interior, he saw an apparition of a man, a dwarf with a hunchback, his withered frame encased in a ragged black cape, his voice now raucously protesting Elizabeth's intrusion. "Wait up, you baggage," he shouted, flailing his short arms uselessly, "this here's a gintlemen's place—"
But Elizabeth would not be deterred. As she slipped from sight into the dark interior, Daniel increased his step, thinking perhaps that he should have brought help with him, of a different kind, something more substantial than a frail girl.
Now as Daniel slipped through the narrow opening, the dwarf seemed to be suffering extreme distress. He danced from one side to the other, a macabre jig on stumpy legs, still protesting the intrusion. As he focused on Daniel, he changed his approach, grew quite apologetic. "No harm, sir. My name's St. Peter and I run a respectable place. Such nobs as you can see for yourself."
Daniel stepped forward into the gloom, scarcely altered by two wall torches. There was a hideous stench to the place. Following the direction of the dwarf, Daniel ventured forward through the hall until he stood looking out over a vast room, one of the most incredible sights he'd ever seen, barren of all furnishings save for coffinlike bunks and perhaps as many as seventy-five men lying about in somnambulent states, inert figures, not quite corpses for there was faint movement now and then as a heavy head lifted, then turned away in apathy.
As he stared, he was then aware of Elizabeth, moving determinedly down the rows of coffinlike bunks. In her hand she held a candle and before each bunk she thrust the flame forward, clearly and closely examining each addict.
Still Daniel continued to stare, almost frozen in his abhorrence of the waste before him. And a few moments later when Elizabeth returned, her face lost in shadows of defeat, he felt a peculiar relief. "Come," he whispered, taking her arm. "We'll not find him here."
But the dwarf stepped forward and stretched out his hand, childishly-plump, and with a half-bow, he whispered, "Is it a gintleman you're looking for?" Without waiting for a reply, he went on, mindlessly grinning, "If so, this here is only the first layer." The pudgy hand pointed toward the crumbling stairs. "The gintlemen gits put upstairs," he beamed. "Don't rightly know their names, don't mind to know, but-"
Before he could finish, Elizabeth was taking the stairs two at a time. Daniel looked back into the enormous room filled with silent faces, then started heavily up the stairs after Elizabeth, where he now heard a series of doors being opened, then shut.
At the top of the landing he looked in both directions. She was no place in sight. The corridor was dark and
airless, and lining the walls were bales of straw. "Elizabeth?" he called.
His voice echoed emptily about the walls. He looked back. Apparently the dwarf had elected to remain behind. But Daniel saw him, standing in the hall below, grinning up, bobbing his head as though he approved of the search. "In the rear room. Guv," he called up. "There's a gintleman there, a vargin who took to it right enow. Another gintleman brung him, paid his bill, then left. Check on that one and see if it's yourn gintleman."
At the end of the hall, encountering a dead end, he turned again. At the opposite end, he thought he saw a faint light which had not been there before, as though a door had been opened. Keeping his eye on the faint illumination, he started forward. With every step, he prayed fervently. Don't let us find him here.
As he drew nearer the partially opened door, he stopped. From someplace he heard a different sound, a soft voice continuously murmuring, no words, merely syllables of comfort.
Again Daniel brushed aside the uneasy feelings within him and stepped toward the open door. Before him, in a room which more nearly resembled a stable, containing no furnishings but a mat of straw, he saw him, lying on his back, his eyes opened, though unseeing, staring fixedly up at the ceiling, his hair mussed, his clothes foul-smelling with remnants of his own sickness, his head resting in her lap, her hand continuously stroking his brow.
At Daniel's appearance, she looked up with grieved astonishment. "I was hoping it wouldn't be him," she murmured. "But here he is."
Beyond the man himself, scattered about the floor, Daniel saw the
evidence of his indulgence, several flagons of wine, and close by, numerous vials, all empty, the residue of liquid still coating their sides.
Edward seemed to be stirring now, trying to lift himself from his prone position. His eyes, glazed, made a slow, deliberate circle, encompassing both Daniel and Elizabeth. At first a smile of recognition brightened his face, as struggling upward, he managed a half-suspended position, then fell back again onto Elizabeth's lap.
Quite suddenly, without warning, the smile faded. His eyes filled with tears. As Elizabeth huddled protectively over him, Daniel closed his eyes. He knew little of the addiction save for one point. Prolonged use led to one of two places, either to the grave or the madhouse. He'd heard men order it openly in pubs—"a glass of laudanum negus, warm, and without sugar." And he'd seen the effects differ from man to man, one morose and dejected, the other volatile and full of high spirits. There seemed to be two distinct periods throughout indulgence; the first, a greatly increased activity of the mind, and the second, the stupor, the descent into hazy and usually emotional abstractions.
As Daniel again assessed the scene, he felt anger rising. Heading the list of questions which surfaced out of his rage was who had led Edward here? But there were no answers, certainly not in the face of his friend, whose mouth was mutely working, as though he were trying with all his might to form words.
Unable to endure the sight, Daniel gruffly ordered Elizabeth, "Help me lift him. Let's get him out of this place."
Obediently she was on her feet, the two of them, one on each side, laboriously struggling to raise him. Finally after great effort, they had him suspended between them, Daniel taking most of the weight on his own shoulders, calling out for Elizabeth to open the door. After a few steps forward, Edward seemed aware that effort was required of him, and Daniel felt his weight lifting, at least partially assisting with his own exit.
As they approached the stairs, Daniel renewed his grip and ordered Elizabeth to run ahead and fetch John Murrey. At first she seemed loath to abandon his side, but when half in anger, half in despair, Daniel raised his voice to her, she scampered lightly down the stairs, passed the gaping, grinning dwarf, and disappeared through the boards in the door.
At the top of the stairs, Daniel tried to hold him upright, but he seemed on the verge of losing all consciousness. He slumped forward and before Daniel could grasp his arm, he slipped down two steps, Daniel breaking his fall at the last minute by reaching out and grasping his hand.
Below, the dwarf laughed. "His wings is failin'," he chirped,
performing again the bizarre little dance, as though he took genuine delight in seeing a whole man fall.
Daniel ignored the jibe and hurried down the steps where, with effort, he scooped Edward into his arms and lifted him up, intent only on fleeing the place. Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the boards parted, letting in a blinding light of morning sun, and John Murrey appeared, being dragged by the girl.
Quickly his old eyes took in the scene before him. As his attention was drawn to the vast room filled with addicts, he breathed a quick, hoarse prayer, "God have mercy—"
"John, help," Daniel called out, trying to summon his attention to the task at hand.
"Is he hurt, sir?" John asked, taking his share of the weight, Edward now suspended between them.
"I don't think so. Hurry, let's get him out of here."
Together the two men carried him to the door, where Elizabeth had already drawn back the boards. As they angled the limp figure through the narrow opening, Daniel glanced back at the dwarf. "Do you recall the name of the man who brought him here?" he asked, making no attempt to mask the coldness in his voice.
Again the dwarf grinned. "No names here. Guv, and I don't know nuthin', not even when the wurld was made or how anybody could do it. No names. I have nuthin' to say about payin' customers." The grin broadened. "Like him there. He'll be back. They flies off* and flies back." At this the dwarf dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
Daniel listened and watched. "You'll not be seeing this one again," he shouted back. As they carried Edward toward the carriage, the last thing Daniel heard was the dwarf, still laughing, a shrill, unearthly sound.
At the carriage, he saw Elizabeth waiting, door flung open, her face still creased in concern. As they placed him inside, she slipped around to the other door and sat quickly in the seat, ready to receive him, his head again resting in her lap.
Winded from his effort, Daniel stood back as John closed the door. "If I'd a known, sir," the old man began. "I mean, that night, I had no idea-"
Daniel dismissed his apology. "It's not your fault, John. Take us home, as quickly as possible."
Inside the carriage, Daniel looked back at the gray crumbling mansion, more ominous-looking than before, now that he knew what it contained. Across from him, Elizabeth continued to cradle Edward in her arms. "Will he be all right, sir? I mean, why is he—"
With a confidence that he did not feel, Daniel tried to reassure her. "He'll be fine. He needs rest and food."
The empty words seemed to bring her comfort. She continued to stroke his brow with her injured hand, apparently uncaring now who saw it.
The shadows of the morning flitted through the carriage. Two words continued to press against Daniel's brain. An addict. Moving in and around those two words, like the shadows themselves, was the memory of the dwarfs parting laughter. Once bitten, they stays bit. He'll be back.
Edward moaned, apparently discomfited by the rocking motion of the carriage. Elizabeth leaned over him in concern.
Daniel watched, trying with all his might to crush the heavy uneasy feelings of anxiety which had arisen within him ...
i^eJ^^^iy
It was the night that frightened her most. Dawn was her saviour, dressing the ugly prison walls in earliest light and beginning to redden with the deep luster of a May morning.
Yet even mornings had hazards. Like now. For the last four days, the turnkeys had pushed the prisoners in the Common Cell against the wall and one by one had covered their faces with coarse brown masks, each fitted tightly over the head and down onto the shoulders, with two small slits for the eyes, one for the mouth.
As Charlotte had discovered, breathing was difficult. With the nose tightly obscured, it had to be accomplished through the mouth. After several hours of this, the lips became parched, the mouth itself useless.
During the four days in which she had inhabited this wretched Common Cell, not counting the lost number of hours in which she'd lain senseless upon the straw, her mind rendered mute by the magistrate's harsh sentence, she'd observed certain changes. The fatherly old turnkey whom she had seen through terrified eyes that first night had not been present for three days. Nor had she observed the young turnkey, the lad who had looked upon her with such pity.
On this the fifth morning, she noticed other changes as well. The two
ruffians who had squatted nearby in guardlike positions were gone. In fact, looking sharply at the line of prisoners still being masked, she saw not one familiar face. Apparently over the night, the entire Common Cell population had changed. Only she remained.
As she made her way back to her straw in the far corner, she sidestepped the piles of human dung left during the night. The stench was overpowering. She felt her stomach turn, the sour gruel from the night before rising in her throat in a burning stream.
She collapsed onto the straw and tilted her head back and tried to breathe deeply. But the odor was poisonous, a combination of matter passing into decay, an accumulation of urine-soaked straw and cabbage leaves.
During the trial she had thought that endurance would be possible. She'd even grown accustomed to the daily humiliation of the prosecutor, an arrogant, bewigged gentleman who had looked at her as though she were all the world's scourges rolled into one.
Mrs. Longford, how many times have you committed adultery? With whom and under what circumstances? And isn't it true that you crossed Oxford Street, heading toward the disreputable Ragged School, looking for more than a way to serve?
The prince of Eden Page 12
