desire a specific service, ring the appropriate bell and the attendant will appear."
The woman looked very pleased after her little speech. It struck Harriet as absurd. At Hadley Park, her servants did not need bells to summon them. They knew what Harriet needed and when she needed it. Beyond that, they were free agents, able to come and go as they pleased.
Harriet murmured thank you to the woman and tucked the paper inside her glove and looked with pleasure to see that the line was over. The staff of the castle still stood at rigid attention, a rather large staff, she thought, her conservative guess was over sixty. But then she remembered the coming festivities, the guests who would be arriving over the next few days, all coming to honor James and—
Suddenly she felt weak as though burdened with unnecessary baggage. She looked to one side, to where Lady Eden had withdrawn in close company with Mrs. Greenbell.
In the opposite direction, she saw her parents, her father giving orders to the coachmen who had driven the carriages. And at the top of the Great Hall steps, the man was still standing.
Then, to her amazement, he smiled directly at her. The others standing about noticed the focus of her attention, and all heads swiveled upward. Lady Eden stepped forward, murmuring, "How thoughtless of me—"
But if she said anything else, Harriet did not hear it. Her full attention was given over to the man who was just pushing away from the wall. He stood erect at the top of the stairs, and she saw his face for the first time, a rich, though mildly weary face with strong features, his hair, fair, shoulder-length, a bit ruffled as though he'd recently driven his hands through it, his casual dress now even more singular, surrounded as she was by fancy dress.
Now, as though perfectly willing to stand as long as necessary for everyone to look their fill, he lifted his head. Then slowly he started down the stairs at an easy gait, his eyes still focused with embarrassing intensity upon her, walking straight toward her as though he were on a confidential mission.
Under the intensity of his gaze and the steadfastness of his approach, Harriet felt a peculiar agitation.
As he continued to bear down upon her, she was aware of the others moving back. Whatever the force was, she was obviously destined to meet it alone. Still he came, bearing himself handsomely from his lonely position until at last he stood directly before her.
She managed a smile and wondered frantically why in the name of
God someone didn't speak. As he looked down on her, she found that she had neither the will nor the energy to stir. Immoderate emotion continued to plague her and when she thought she was incapable of enduring another moment, he spoke.
"I am Edward Eden," he said, his voice soft in its simplicity.
Before she could respond. Lady Eden was at her side, murmuring apologies to both of them. "I'm sorry, Edward," she whispered. "I really didn't see you there at the top of the stairs." Her voice lifted, her manner became more formal as she said, "This is my elder son, Edward Eden." Then as though by way of explaining the awkward oversight, she added, "We see so little of him. He spends most of his time in London."
Harriet nodded, her eyes still caught and held by the intensity of his gaze. So! This was the illegitimate son. Surely never before in the history of mankind had illegitimacy produced such remarkable features.
Blushing from the daring of her thoughts, she returned the greeting. "Mr. Eden," she said. Then, curiously, she felt words forming. "And how is London these days?" she asked quietly, a little amazed at what she was doing. "I'm afraid we rustics seldom attempt the journey. Between the hazards of the road and the promised hazards of London, we stay among our sheep where it's safe and—"
"Dull?" he smiled, completing her thought with an impudent insertion of his own.
In spite of the impudence she laughed. "Perhaps. Though there are times when the weekly newspapers bring me quite enough of that great city."
"You should never pay the slightest attention to journalists. Miss Powels," he continued, still standing erect before her. "Though I live in the city and love it, I scarcely recognize it after certain scribblers have finished with it."
"Is there such a distortion? I thought all journalists were pledged to the truth."
"To their truth, yes, of course," he conceded. "But the wise man, or woman," he added pointedly, "comes and judges for herself."
As the others apparently were willing to stand and watch, Harriet was in no hurry to end the conversation. The lovely late June dusk had begun to spin a pink web about the inner courtyard. "Tell me what you do in London, Mr. Eden," she asked lightly.
He answered as rapidly as though he'd known her question in advance. "I do very little. Miss Powels," he smiled. "I don't have to." This was said simply, as though out of the habit of honesty. He
stepped back and gestured in a southeasterly direction. "Do you remember the town of Taunton?" he inquired politely. "You must have passed through it mid-afternoon."
She nodded.
"When you left that thriving village," he v^ent on, "you were on Eden land. You traveled across it for most of the afternoon."
She saw her father step close with interest. "Tenanted, I assume?"
"For the most part, yes. We do have sheep, nothing to compare to your herds, I'm sure—"
She saw her father smile, as though he'd made a point.
Edward Eden went on. "But of course, unlike you, we have in addition to the land on one side, the ocean on the other. It provides a rich bounty."
Harriet found herself wishing that her father had stayed out of it. It was graceless to speak so soon on such matters. Then too, he had drawn oflf the bulk of Mr. Eden's attention. She was a little shocked to realize that she felt it as a privation.
Lady Eden was beside her now. "How thoughtless of us," she apologized, "to keep you standing about for so long. I'll have a steward take you to your chambers."
But at that moment, Sophia Cranford interceded. "I will take her, milady," she said forcefully, "and Lord and Lady Powels as well. Now, come along, all of you."
Then they were moving up the stairs, her mother chatting with Sophia Cranford, while, behind. Lady Eden held her position as though perfectly willing to let someone else take the lead. She saw her father following after the small procession, his discussion with Edward Eden apparently concluded.
They were moving through the Great Hall now, a few servants standing at attention as they passed. At that moment, she heard light footsteps behind them and turned to see Jennifer following alone a distance behind.
Happy at her appearance, Harriet drew lightly away from James and waited for the young woman to catch up. But the girl merely stopped a distance away and without raising her eyes murmured, "If you'd care to walk tomorrow. Miss Powels, I'd be happy to escort you—"
Pleased, Harriet walked back to where the young woman stood. "I beg you," she smiled, "let's not be so formal. Harriet, and may I call you Jennifer?"
Still without looking up, Jennifer nodded her head. "If you'll excuse me now," she whispered, and within the moment she was gone, like a
frightened animal, slipping out of sight down one of the corridors which led off the Great Hall.
Harriet looked back at James, who was still watching. "She seems very nice, your sister."
He nodded. "We don't see much of her. Like Edward, she's gone most of the year. I seem to be the only stay-at-home."
He took her arm again and as they hurried to catch up with the others, Harriet looked about at the bleak surroundings. It seemed such a dank cold place, this castle, quite a contrast after the light, sunny, high-ceilinged halls of Hadley Park. She tried to imagine passing a childhood here and shuddered lightly.
Still ascending after a small landing, she felt the air grow damp and cool upon her face. Ahead, she saw her mother clearly growing winded from the climb while Sophia Cranford moved straight ahead, undaunted. Her father seemed to be keeping pace, although he too turned, looking at one wall, then the other, in clear dis
dain.
Harriet felt a menacing dip in her spirits as she tried to envision herself moving through these corridors for the rest of her life.
Then before a small arched wooden door, the grim little parade came to a halt. "These will be your apartments, Miss Powels." Sophia Cranford pushed open the door and Harriet caught a glimpse of the interior, dark and shadowy. As she started across the threshold. Miss Cranford ordered James to "Keep her company until I return. Then we must leave our weary guests alone for an interval."
James smiled awkwardly and stood back to allow her to pass before him into the apartments. "These chambers originally belonged to my grandmother," he said, in the manner of a tour guide. "I hope you will find them to your liking."
Harriet assured him that she would and stepped to the center of the reception room, a small stone cell graced only with a central table, two straight-backed chairs, and against one wall, her arrangement of trunks. Beyond this room she saw the sitting room, not quite as spartan with a series of rich Brussels tapestries decorating the wall, a very handsome white marble fireplace, a furl of red and blue Persian carpet beneath her feet, and a pretty arrangement of roses on a broad round table.
"They're lovely," she exclaimed, touching the flowers. On the far wall she noticed two small windows, waist high, through which she saw night. A single lamp burned on the table beside the roses. To the left on the far wall she noticed a door which must lead to sleeping chambers.
Apparently he'd taken careful note of her quick inventory and now offered, "If the rooms are not suitable, I'm certain Sophia can—"
"Oh no, they're fine," she hurried to reassure him. She looked out the small windows which gave a view of nothing save turrets and more gray stone. Rather alarmed, she looked at the single lamp and tried to imagine the room at midnight. "Another lamp, perhaps," she ventured tentatively, longing for her brightly lit chambers at Hadley Park, a round dozen bronze lamps lighting every corner.
"Of course," he agreed. "I shall see to it immediately."
As he turned to go, she called to him apologetically, "It's not necessary now," she suggested. "Later."
He stopped as though at her command. Their eyes met in the awkward silence. His moved away first. "So," he said, in a suddenly expansive mood, rubbing his hands together as though they were cold. "You're here," he added further, "and you've met the Edens." He looked back at her. "Would I be too bold to inquire as to your opinion?"
Taken off guard by the direct question, she took momentary refuge in a close inspection of the roses. "My opinion concerning what?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Everything."
The tension of the moment, the strange surroundings, her dwindling spirits all took a toll. "I'm sorry, James," she confessed. "I'm not certain what you want me to say."
His expression was angry, certainly out of sorts, as though events had gone hard for him as well. "I should think it would be apparent," he said in a businesslike manner. "Can you," he began with admirable purpose, then faltered, then tried again. "Can you, that is to say, are you able to—envision a future here?"
He was moving too fast. Embarrassed, she turned away. "Why don't we see how the days pass," she suggested. "Then perhaps later—"
But he merely stepped forward as though she had not spoken at all, a curious tension on his face. "I need an heir," he said, even more bluntly than before.
Her embarrassment now was a source of pain. She was fairly certain that James was the sort of man who would find a woman's love soothing to his ego as long as he was not obliged to return it. However, love had never been mentioned, wifely or otherwise. "Well?" he prompted, still watching her. "Surely you knew that was the point and purpose of—"
"I knew," she nodded, unable to look at him.
"Then what?"
"I need time," she whispered, almost fiercely, to the window.
To this he did not respond, but instead came up behind her. She felt
first his hand on her arm, an insistent hand that was now turning her toward him.
"There's no need," he smiled. "I am fond of you. And I had thought in our brief times together that you were fond of me, at least you gave me that impression."
She was so cold. But she decided that as long as she could bear the cold she would hear him out.
But steadily, moment by moment, it grew worse. Both his hands were holding her now. She saw herself in her imagination running on ice. Every few paces she fell, for her slippers would not grip the frozen terrain. And each time that she fell, the monster pursuing her watched and smiled grotesquely.
Fortunately his kiss was passionless and short-lived. He released her and stepped back. "I think we could have a good life together," he said.
She continued to stare forward. Now all that she saw was long white miles and she heard the terrible silence, and still she felt the cold.
How cold it was!
Then she heard another voice, a false, cheery, high-pitched woman's voice. "Ah, there you are, the lovebirds. I trust. Miss Powels, that you will be comfortable here. I know it's isolated, but it makes for quiet sleeping. Out of all the apartments in this wing, I do believe—"
The chirping bird voice of Miss Cranford ceased. VI say, are you well?" she inquired, coming around the table and stopping short by a few feet.
James answered for her. "She's merely tired, Sophia. We've really been very thoughtless, you know. After that long journey—"
Harriet rallied. "He's right," she murmured. "I need a bit of time to-"
"And you shall have it," Miss Cranford insisted generously. "There will be a simple dinner tonight at ten. I shall either come for you myself or send James."
Harriet smiled and tried to look grateful. Apparently her expression satisfied both, for they were moving toward the reception hall now, Sophia reminding her with pride of the system of bells and pointing to a small panel beside the archway. "It's really quite efficient. Your servants are waiting below. All you must do is summon them."
Then, blessedly, Harriet saw the heavy wooden door close. She held still for a moment longer, listening to their retreating footsteps. Then silence.
Gently she reached out and touched the table cautiously as though
she were afraid of breaking something. She tried to breathe deeply and found she was incapable of it.
Then she moved forward into activity, ripped off her gloves, and discovered the sheet of paper which Miss Cranford had given her earlier, the familiar names of her servants corresponding to certain numbers. With trembling hands, she took the chart to the bell panel beside the door and tried to hold it steady, tried to clear her eyes of tears at least to the extent that she could read.
Nelda. That would be her lady's maid, and beside her name, was that a two or a three? And there was Mary, and what was that number? A four? She couldn't see and in frustration lifted her hand and pressed wildly on all the buttons, expecting the sound of a shrill alarm, the desperate need to signal someone for help.
But the buttons merely gave beneath her shaking hands and made no sound. If the alarm was going off somewhere, she couldn't hear it. Help would not come. She was alone in this dreadful place, faced with no options, no alternatives, only the pressing weight of duty.
What was it James had said? The point and purpose of this whole affair. Of course she could go quietly home to Hadley Park and endure the condemnation of her parents and live to full spinsterhood. Her life would be saved, but she would be as dead. A few days, a few years, a lifetime are all the same when you've lost the illusion of your own worth.
Suddenly her head dropped forward against the wall, her forehead resting on the unresponding panel of buttons. The tears ceased. One cried when there was hope.
Her eyes stared unseeing at the floor. Then this was her destination, this narrow cold cell.
Calm. Be calm . . .
During the next few days the procession of carriages passing through the castle gates was endless. Edward watched most of it from his chambers o
n the third floor through windows which gave a perfect view of the inner courtyard. The hanging lanterns were still in place and supplemented now by banners of all colors bearing the coats of arms of each visiting house. Each carriage seemed to require even more pomp and ritual than the one before it as trumpeteers brought out from Exeter heralded the new arrivals.
It had been like a circus, and Edward had viewed it from a safe distance, through eyes glazed by repeated draughts of opium. He'd taken no part in any of the receptions. The guests were strangers to
him, old friends of his mother's and father's come to witness the ritual of continuity of line. He'd thought that by staying out of sight he was performing a service for the family. Bastardy at best was an embarrassment, something to be kept in the closet, certainly on an occasion such as this.
During his self-imposed confinement, he'd enlisted the aid of his coachman, John Murrey, and had instantly elevated him from coachman to steward. He had given him instructions that he and he alone was to see to all of Edward's needs. Certainly John Murrey knew of Edward's addiction and was not likely to say anything if he found his master lying dazed upon his couch. As long as Edward had to endure confinement at Eden Castle, this was a workable arrangement.
Thus he had passed the days in pleasant oblivion, and now awakened to find dark outside the windows, dramatically broken by the continuous rows of torches along the castle walls. John Murrey was bending over him, his gnarled hands trying to shake him out of his drugged lethargy. Somewhere off in the vast distance he thought he heard music.
"Mr. Eden, sir," John whispered. "Please, sir, wake up."
Reluctantly, Edward lifted his head, trying to oblige the old man and curious, though a little annoyed, to know the nature of his urgency.
Convinced that since his eyes were open, he was capable of hearing words, John Murrey stood back from the bed a respectful distance. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I brought your food—"
Annoyance increasing, Edward shook his head and lay back on the pillow. "No food, John," he muttured. "No food, not now."
The prince of Eden Page 28
