Daniel sank heavily into a near chair. In his hand he still held the small white card. In neat and simple printing, it read, Mr. Robert Owen—Association of All Classes of All Nations. Then it listed a number and a street.
All Classes of All Nations. A noble thought. He closed his eyes and rested his head heavily in his hands. In his self-imposed blindness, he saw two small boys running across the headlands of Eden Point, reveling in each other's company, trusting, asking nothing of one another but companionship and mutual love.
He groaned softly and drove his fingers through his hair. What he had told the gentlemen was true. Never in his entire life-long association with Edward Eden had he ever asked for anything.
Still, the cause was just. And Robert Owen was right. The Eden fortune was vast. If only, somehow, he could bring Edward to see the need.
Attempted murder!
Sir Claudius Potter still couldn't believe it, although in spite of the rocking motion of his carriage, he held the paper in his hand and again read the words carefully: "Mr. Edward Eden has been charged with attempted murder of the night warden of Newgate and is at present being held in the—"
Sir Claudius looked out the rain-streaked window at the gray morning. The lovely green parks for which London was famed had a way of disappearing the closer a man got to Newgate and Old Bailey and the inexorable hand of Justice.
Frankly he loathed the neighborhood, loathed being summoned down here as though he were little more than a common clerk. Apparently the charge had been of such a serious nature that the magistrate had refused to do business with his clerk and had demanded the personal appearance of Sir Claudius himself.
Attempted murder!
Merely thinking on it caused Sir Claudius distress and he suffered a
spasm of indigestion. He swallowed hard and made a face at the rancid taste in his mouth. Carefully he smoothed his hand over the sable-colored satin waistcoat, his fingers lingering on the white silk neck scarf. He'd dressed with care this morning. When dealing with the primitives of Newgate, a man was always slightly ahead of the game if his dress was superior. Not that he was genuinely worried about the outcome. He'd just left the old magistrate's private chambers in the Temple, and the stern old man had agreed to ignore the charges on two conditions: that Sir Claudius split his fee with him, not an uncomfortable agreement since Sir Claudius had planned to triple his fee for this service anyway; and two, that as soon as possible Edward Eden leave London for a period of at least three months.
Without hesitation, Sir Claudius had agreed to the conditions. Now all that remained was to inform the "prisoner" himself, and try to pacify the man named Daniel Spade, who apparently had discovered his friend behind bars the night before and had dragged Sir Claudius's clerk out of bed at some indecent hour. And ultimately the entire silly chain of events had led Sir Claudius to this moment and this chill and disagreeable early morning ride through the rain.
Now, weary and still suffering from indigestion, he leaned back against the velvet cushions. What sacrifices he made for the Eden family!
As Daniel pushed open the oflfice door, he saw a small group of Peelers standing to one side. He paused on the threshold, taking the weight of their eyes.
Behind the desk, he noticed an older man, his jacket undone, his throat swathed in white bandages. It was this man who spoke in a peculiarly gruff whisper. "What is it you're wantin'?" he demanded, as though out of temper with Daniel, with his injured throat, the rain, everything.
Daniel closed the door behind him, realizing that without Sir Claudius he had no power at all. "I'm—to meet someone here," he said.
"This ain't no coffee house in Piccadilly," the old man grumbled, one hand continuously stroking his bandaged throat. "Go meet your mates elsewhere."
But Daniel held his ground. "I'm waiting for Sir Claudius Potter, Edward Eden's solicitor."
The name seemed to make an incredible impression on the old man. He gaped upward toward Daniel, an expression of angry belligerence on his old face. "Then you'll be waitin' a long time," he snapped.
Two advancing Peelers retreated. Daniel noticed sly smiles on their faces. As the tight little group enclosed upon themselves, he considered
the wisdom of further talk, then decided against it. He would wait for Sir Claudius. Now carefully he moved back toward the bench beneath the smudged window and sat. Still he was conscious of all eyes upon him, the most piercing of all belonging to the old warden, who now seemed offended by the sight of Daniel seated.
"I told you," he shouted with as much force as he could muster, "it'll do no good to wait. Now, go along with—"
Suddenly the old man bent over in a seizure of coughing, both hands gripping his throat. The brief spasm left him winded and red-faced, with moisture streaming from his eyes. "Mr. Edward Eden," he pronounced in spite of his obvious distress, "ain't goin' to be leaving here for some time, I can promise you." Slowly he straightened up, making a clear effort to keep his voice down. "Tried to kill me, he did," the man muttered, "and after me being so nice to him." He shook his head. "The Prince of Eden," he pronounced sarcastically, "can stay where he is till he rots as far as I'm concerned."
Daniel listened carefully and again considered the wisdom of speaking. But at that moment through the rain-streaked window he caught sight of Sir Claudius Potter, hurrying through the rain.
Apparently one of the Peelers saw him as well. As he leaned close over the old warden, he whispered, "Here comes trouble, sir."
The warden craned his injured neck upward, the better to see. "He don't bother me none. I know the law and know the punishment for attempted murder."
At that moment the office door was pushed open and Sir Claudius appeared, drenched from the rain, his complexion, Daniel noticed, bearing a marked resemblance to the gray day. He posed on the threshold for an instant, taking a quick inventory of the plain faces which were gaping back at him. Then leaving the door wide open as though unaccustomed to attending to such trivial details himself, he strode forward, still shaking rain off his cloak and hat. He gazed imperiously down on the old warden, who, as far as Daniel could see, returned the gaze.
"I am Sir Claudius Potter," he entoned, "solicitor to Mr. Edward Eden. I have come to effect the release of Mr. Eden."
The warden continued to look up at him with a set face.
When Sir Claudius's words failed to illicit any response, he leaned angrily forward. "I would prefer not to linger any longer than is necessary," he snapped.
"And I'm not asking you to linger at all, sir," the warden said, in his whispery voice. "Mr. Edward Eden ain't goin' anyplace, not for a good long while."
Again Daniel noticed the Peelers grinning at one another. Sir
Claudius started to say something else, but then the talk within him stopped. He stepped regally back from the desk and slowly reached inside his cloak.
The old warden grinned up. "If it's money you're going after, there ain't enough in the whole world to—"
But still the hand was moving and at last it produced a single piece of parchment, neatly folded, the red seal attached and visible even from Daniel's point of view. Then it was Sir Claudius's turn to smile. As he placed the document on the desk before the warden, he said, "There might have been money, my good man. I was prepared to open my purse for you, or rather the Eden purse, in an attempt to compensate you for your—trials." The smile broadened. "But now? Nothing. Just read and follow orders. That's all that's expected of you."
A faint flush crept up the warden's face as tentatively he lifted the document and broke the seal. Apparently the order was not at all to the man's liking. "But he tried to kill me," he protested.
"And regrettably he failed." Sir Claudius smiled.
The old man stood up with such force that his chair threatened to tilt backward. "He ain't got no right," he whispered hoarsely.
Sir Claudius was now involved in inspecting a seam on one of his gloves. Without looking up, he asked quietly, "Are you q
uestioning the authority of the magistrate?"
Daniel saw clearly the rising fury on the warden's face. He heard the Peelers whispering together. Outside he noticed that a wagon with black covering had drawn up beside the closed gates. A few spectators were now inspecting the wagon. The two drivers sitting bareheaded on the high seat waved them away with the tips of their whips. The scene was ugly, as ugly as the scene which threatened to explode inside the office.
The warden was shouting now, apparently impervious to his injured throat. "Ah, yes," he cried, "you swells stick close together, don't you, winking at your little transgressions whilst the rest of us pass plenty of time in the yard. Attempted murder!" he shouted, jabbing his finger toward the crowd outside by the gate. "Any one of them common blokes out there would be on the gallows. But not Mr. Edward Eden, not his Prince-ship." His voice was heavy with sarcasm, his outrage taking a tremendous toll. "No," he gasped, making a mock bow from the waist, "oh no, the Prince 'a Eden gits a personally writ, specially stamped note of release from the magistrate hisself—"
"That's enough," cautioned Sir Claudius.
"Oh no, sir," the warden went on. "It ain't enough at all." Then to the waiting Peelers, he shouted, "Go fetch the royal bastard. Tell him
due to some mit-i-gating circumstances having come to light, that we poor dumb ones here at Newgate has made us a dreadful error. Tell him wc wronged him terrible by locking him up and tell him there ain*t a mark on me throat, that the muscles is all in good order, and I'm just imagining the pain and swelling. You tell him that!" He continued to shout long after the men had disappeared through the door down the corridor.
Sir Claudius seemed to be viewing the outburst with toleration. There was an undeniable expression of smugness on his face as, reaching forward, he gingerly lifted the order, carefully refolded it, and returned it to the pocket beneath his cloak.
The gesture seemed to stir the warden to even greater fury. "That's right, Sir Claudius Potter," he sneered. "You put your little instrument away, all snug with His Majesty's seal. And when you get back to your fancy digs, you'd better lock it up in a safe place, because one day us common folk is going to come after it, and you and your kind as well, and when that day comes you can get out your fancy piece of paper and use it to wipe your ass 'cause it won't be good for nothin' else."
Before the vulgarity. Sir Claudius retreated. He drew his cloak about him, glanced in Daniel's direction, then apparently chose the opposite side of the room.
The warden, clearly suffering pain as a result of his outburst, sank heavily into his chair, both hands clasping his throat.
Opposite him. Sir Claudius maintained a silent and aloof vigil. The warden had laid his head to rest upon his desk, apparently spent. The rain tapped out a mournful rhythm against the windows. Daniel sat erect and tried to draw deep breath. He heard the footsteps while they were still a distance away, the muffled sound of boots on stone.
Only Daniel started forward and thus he was the first to greet the mournful little procession as the door was flung open and the four Peelers appeared, one in front, two behind supporting Edward between them, and one bringing up the rear, curious smiles on their faces in marked contrast to the man who slumped between his two supports, his legs dragging uselessly after him, his head limp, breathing heavily as though trying to recover from recent blows.
Inside the office, the Peelers dropped him bodily in the center of the floor. Daniel saw him sink to his knees. A wound across his head was bleeding. He knelt there before all the gaping eyes, with his hands limp at his sides, his eyes opening to Daniel with an unspoken plea for help.
Within the instant, Daniel was at his side, lifting him, leading him toward the bench by the window. Edward sat heavily and seemed at first incapable of balancing himself.
From the desk, the warden had watched it all, a look of pleasure on his face at seeing the man so undone. Now he muttered, "Get the filth out of here."
"Not so fast," Sir Claudius interrupted. "We need a signed release." He stepped back to the desk, smiling. "It wouldn't be very polite of you to set Mr. Eden free, then one hour from now arrest him again as a fugitive." As the old warden glared up at him. Sir Claudius merely smiled agreeably, one hand extended. "The release, if you please."
Daniel still hovered close to Edward. "Try to draw deep breath," he whispered. "We'll be out of here soon."
There was no response. Moreover his breathing grew so torturous that it was audible in the room. Sir Claudius looked in their direction. For a moment, Daniel thought he saw an expression of pity on the arrogant old face. Now turning to the warden, who was angrily filling out the release form, he asked, "Are all your prisoners released in such—excellent condition?"
Without looking up, the old man replied, "He's lucky to have his head still sittin' on his shoulders."
Then Sir Claudius was calling to Daniel. Apparently his signature was required as he was the party to whom the prisoner was being released. Daniel left the bench, eager to do anything that would speed their departure from this place. After affixing his signature in the appointed place, he looked back toward the bench. In his brief absence, the crowds outside the window had attracted Edward's attention. He'd half turned in an awkward position upon the bench and now appeared to be focusing on the rainy scene beyond the window.
As Daniel drew near to him, he followed the direction of his gaze. There, not fifty feet away, he saw the prison gates open, saw the crowds forced back by a sizable contingent of Peelers, two lines forming a cleared path which stretched between the gates and the back of the black wagon which had waited patiently for some time.
He saw Edward stand with effort, his eyes still fixed on the opened gates.
"Come, Edward," Daniel whispered, fearing what would shortly pass through those gates. "Come, let's—"
But Edward drew away from his touch, his hands now pressing against the windowpanes.
Daniel looked back out of the window in time to see four guards emerge through the center gate, bearing a litter between them. On the litter lay a slight figure, a gray blanket covering her face, the hem of black prison garb visible beneath the coverlet. Hurriedly the guards carried her to the back of the wagon where she was received by the two
bare-headed drivers, the litter slipped beneath the black canvas.
The crowds seemed to surge forward as though insatiable, wanting a last look. Only just in time did the drivers scramble back onto their high seats and apply the whips to the horses' backs, and the wagon rattled away.
Slowly Daniel looked back at Edward. He was aware of the silence coming from behind him as apparently everyone in the small office had stopped to watch this final act. But it was Edward's face which held him.
Daniel heard him softly inquire through bruised lips, "Where are they taking her?"
Before Daniel could reply, the warden's harsh voice cut through the suffering. "Now, where do you think, your Highness? Her folks is burying her. She's of no further use to you, or any man."
Again Edward's knees gave way. As he started downward, Daniel was there with strong support. As he grasped him about the shoulders, he looked pleadingly at Sir Claudius. "May I take him now?"
The man nodded and quickly reached for the release. Then together they guided Edward out into the rain. Above the steady downpour and the din of departing carriages. Sir Claudius shouted, "Do you have transportation?"
Daniel shook his head, his attention torn between the question and Edward's rapidly deteriorating condition.
With admirable speed. Sir Claudius hailed a passing hired chaise. Within a few moments the driver led the conveyance close to the pavement. When he saw the limp figure supported by Daniel, he kindly hopped down and assisted them with Edward, placing him inside the chaise.
As Daniel started to climb in after him. Sir Claudius restrained him for a moment. "I'm afraid it isn't quite over, Mr. Spade," he said, frowning up at the rain.
Daniel stepped back down to ground. My God, wh
at was left?
Sir Claudius reached inside his cloak and handed him the release. "This is a very expensive piece of paper," he warned, "and it carries with it certain obligations. The magistrate wants him out of London for a period of time. I'll write to Eden Castle this afternoon and inform them that he's coming."
As Daniel pocketed the release. Sir Claudius peered into the chaise. "A good long sojourn to Eden Point might be the best thing for him. I'm sure you understand."
No, Daniel didn't understand. Almost every grief in Edward's life resided in Eden Castle, the one place on earth where his bastardy was
thrust continuously before his eyes. But Daniel was in no mood to pursue the subject. If the magistrate wanted him out of London, he would do his best to follow that order.
As Daniel started to enter the chaise, he stopped for a final word. "Thank you. Sir Claudius," he said.
The expression of gratitude seemed to embarrass the man. "Well, we get paid, don't we, all of us? He's quite a handful, your friend. I would suggest that you get him immediate medical attention. Then pack him off to his mother. She brought him into this world. Let her ease his passage through it."
To that nonsense, Daniel said nothing and resumed his climb into the chaise. As they pulled away from the pavement, he saw Sir Claudius imperiously waving his private carriage forward, and he saw more, saw through the smudged windows of the prison office, the old warden carefully watching, his bandaged throat like a white banner in the gray day.
Settling opposite Edward, he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, then leaned forward against the rocking motion and took the hand which lay limp upon the prison suit.
"Edward?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?"
But the vacancy on the face opposite him alarmed him, a clear signal that, out of choice, nothing was being received.
The rest of the ride through the wet, clogged streets of London was passed in silence, a silence so great that the faint rattling of the chaise resounded in Daniel's head. And he continued to keep a constant vigil on his friend.
The prince of Eden Page 16
