Then, thank God, at last, the tone and timbre of a conclusion. "So it is, milord," Sir Claudius smiled, "that we come before you today to seek your judgment on the matter of passing control of the Eden estates from one pair of hands to another in the hope that under new and prudent management, the fortunes of this great and noble family will once again flourish and stand as an effective example of—"
Dear God, he simply couldn't listen to any more. "Enough, Potter," he commanded at last, and blessedly, within the instant, the fulsome old man fell silent and bowed as though receiving a curtain call.
Now Sir Cedric raised his head. "Sir Claudius," he began, "one simple question, if you will."
"Of course, milord, anything."
"Do you have the deed of ownership, the original document signed by Lord Thomas Eden?"
While the question seemed relevant to Sir Cedric, he could see clearly the look of surprise and suspicion washing over the faces before him. The young boy was whispering something to Edward Eden, at last jarring that peculiar man out of his remoteness.
"I do indeed, milord," Sir Claudius was saying, "although I fail to see what—"
"May I examine it?" Sir Cedric cut in, not giving a damn what Potter saw or failed to see.
He watched as Sir Claudius approached the leather case and to his surprise saw the man withdraw a folded, faded parchment. Apparently the box was not as symbolic as all had been led to believe.
Then Sir Claudius placed the parchment on his desk and continued to hover close as though only too willing to help with his interpretation of it.
"Stand back," Sir Cedric ordered with a wave of his hand. With an innate respect for old documents, he loosened the cord and gently flattened the deed of ownership upon his desk. He studied it for a moment, found everything in order, the deed signed, dated by Lord Thomas Eden, 1798, in the presence of witnesses, the Eden seal intact, the message clear. The good lord had signed everything he owned over to one Edward Hartlow Eden, then age two.
Slowly Sir Cedric lifted his eyes to where Edward Eden sat. "Do you have anything to say in your own defense, sir?" he inquired.
The man looked up at him. "I'm not absolutely certain of what IVe been accused, milord. The property is mine," he added softly, "or at least I had been told so. I did not realize there were conditions to the deed of ownership."
"There are none, sir," Sir Cedric replied.
"Then while I find this meeting stimulating, I must also confess that it baffles me."
Slowly now Sir Cedric rerolled the parchment, retied the cord, though he continued to hold it in his hand. The tension was building. He could feel it. "It has been my experience," he began slowly, "that one of the most offensive acts that a man can commit is to turn his back on the wishes and desires of the dead." He stopped abruptly, not for dramatic emphasis. He needed none. But rather he wanted to avail himself of a moment's pause for judicial reconsideration. Had he been truly objective? No, of course not. Tortured by the pain in his gut and the consciousness of his own secret, how could he be? The conception that a man had of himself was all he had, and in that conception was both his curse and his salvation. Encountering contradictions along the way, all he could do was learn to live with them. And that, Edward Eden had learned to do masterfully.
Again Sir Cedric looked at him. Apparently the stigma was meaningless to him, bastard, that designation that had haunted men since the beginning of time, had indeed haunted Sir Cedric. For that was his secret, his own bastardy, the awareness of which had driven him all his life, had tied his gut into a knot, had caused him to deny himself all love, all softness, all hope of redemption.
Quickly he lowered his head for fear the secret was visible on his face. "The dead man's wishes are plain," he pronounced, holding up the deed of ownership. "For reasons unknown, the Eden estates were signed over to a two-year-old child. The fact that that child has now grown to manhood does not alter the deed in anyway. Thus"—and here he lifted his head as he customarily did in order to make certain that all heard and no one misunderstood—"Thus I judge in favor of the defendant, Mr. Edward Eden. This hearing is adjourned."
The scraping of his chair covered the first angry gasps coming from the table on his left. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of faint stirrings at the table on his right. The young boy was on his feet immediately, registering his pleasure at the decision with youthful abandonment. To his left, Sir Cedric saw Potter in close huddle with Lord Eden and the two who sat behind. The only one not stirring as far as Sir Cedric could tell was the victor himself.
Then just as Sir Cedric was rounding his desk, clutching at his burning gut beneath the black robe, he saw the man stand, his voice cutting through the confusion in the chamber.
"Milord," he began, "with your permission, may I speak? Briefly, milord, I promise."
Damn! He had his fortune back. What more did he want? Reluctantly Sir Cedric returned to his desk, motioned his clerk back down into the chair, and, making no attempt to hide his displeasure, shouted, "Order!" at the turmoil taking place before him.
Slowly they obeyed. Sir Claudius easing his outraged party back into their seats, then taking a chair himself, his prim features bearing the clear expression of defeat.
What was afoot now? Sir Cedric looked toward Edward Eden. "Well?" he commanded. "Speak!"
He came slowly forward, first whispering something to the young boy, whose earlier expression of triumph had now been replaced by one of bewilderment. Hesitantly he approached the low table on which the leather case rested, as though now that he had the attention of the room, he wasn't absolutely certain what to do with it.
"The Eden wealth," Sir Cedric heard the man muse, more to himself than anyone else. Then abruptly he looked directly up at Sir Cedric, a faint smile on his face. "I make bold to trouble your Lordship," he began, laying one hand atop the leather case. "Concerning this—wealth, milord," he went on, pausing in peculiar fashion before he pronounced the word wealth, as though he had been tempted to give it another designation. "I would be less than honest if I said anything but that I have enjoyed it and spent it, and it, in return, has enjoyed and spent me. It has preceded and followed and encircled me all my life. I go to bed with its weight and privilege, and I wake up with it. And my first remembrance in this life is a soft maternal voice giving me an assessment of this—wealth and its importance. I cannot remember one day when it did not influence my life, make my decisions for me, restore a false sense of well-being to all those around me."
Sir Cedric leaned forward, suddenly interested in spite of his discomfort. "What is it that you are saying, Mr. Eden?"
But Eden gave him no reply. Instead he continued to gaze upon the
leather case. The young boy, Sir Cedric noticed, was watching him in alarm and bewilderment.
Then slowly, Eden grasped the case and lifted it effortlessly into the air, as though he'd expected it to be an object of much greater weight. He stood a moment in the center of the chamber, then commenced walking slowly toward the table on the left.
At his mysterious approach all those seated about the table seemed to draw visibly back. Still he moved forward until at last he was in a position to place the leather case on the table before them.
"James," he smiled down on his bewildered brother, "you take it for a while. I'm weary of it. If I have abused it, I offer my apologies. If it abuses you, I offer my sympathy in advance." He paused here, but did not look away. "You have a wife now, and a son, or so I hear. For their sakes, I surrender all claim."
Sir Cedric could not believe it. Halfway out of his seat, he said, "The judgment was on your behalf, Mr. Eden. This is not necessary."
"The judgment was not on my behalf, milord," Eden said.
Suddenly the young boy was on his feet, his face angiy. Some deep resentment was spilling out from behind those youthful eyes. "You have no right," he cried aloud.
Alarmed, as though the enemy had approached on the blind side, Eden looked up. "John, I—"
But at that instant, the boy stepped out from behind the table and ran for the door, not minding the clatter of his boots on the hardwood floor, nor apparently the shocked, stunned expression on Edward Eden's face.
"John—" he called again.
But the boy was gone, the door flung open against the wall, the angry footsteps diminishing down the arcade, leaving silence within the chambers.
Sir Cedric noticed Eden start toward the door, then stop, clearly a man facing complications he had not counted on. He was standing very close to Lady Eden now, so close he might have reached down and touched her shoulder.
But he didn't. Instead he glanced back toward the desk. "Do you accept my decision, milord?"
Momentarily flustered. Sir Cedric nodded. "Do you know what you are doing?"
"I know."
"Then I have no choice but to accept it."
Still Sir Cedric couldn't quite grasp what had happened. "You understand—your present position?"
Eden smiled. "I can't say that I fully understand it. But I accept it."
"Then legal steps will be taken."
"I'd be most grateful." Now Eden seemed to look about in confusion. "If you will excuse me," he murmured.
And he was gone, leaving a peculiar vacuum in the room, leaving all of them gaping after the open door, as though they too were unable to comprehend precisely what had happened.
Predictably Sir Claudius rallied first. He clamped a hand on Lord Eden's shoulder and extended his other hand in congratulations. The two scarecrows seated behind rushed forward and embraced Lord Eden.
As for Lady Eden, she sat alone and apart from the flurry of congratulations, her eyes still fixed on the empty doorway.
Then Sir Cedric had had enough and stood rapidly and enjoyed the dampening effect his movement appeared to have on the whispering, grinning people about the table. He considered saying a last word to them, but changed his mind. What to say? Had they lost or won? Never in Sir Cedric's long legal career had he had one of his decisions overturned by the defendant himself. Yet there it was. The foolish man had given away a fortune, a decision which Sir Cedric was certain he would live to regret. Perhaps Eden was a religious fanatic, laboring under the romantic notion that it was impossible for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
Well, he was no longer a rich man, and Sir Cedric was certain that within a very short time the projection of Heaven would not be nearly as important to him as the realities of earth. As he swept past the table and the fawning smiles there, he thought with a wave of humor that at least something had been accomplished in that topsy-turvey morning. His gut was strangely at peace.
There were his kidneys, though, and now he moved rapidly into the outer oflfice, passed his gaping clerks, heading for the small secluded room at the end of the passage. There he closed the door and bolted it and hurriedly drew back his robes and unbuttoned his trousers.
Ah! As his hot urine splashed down into the chamber pot, he thought. What a bloody lot of fools all men are.
He would not run far, of that Edward was certain. And indeed he caught up with him in the rose garden of Middle Temple, slouched against the brick wall, his hands shoved into his pockets, head down.
"John?" he called quietly.
The boy looked up, then turned away.
In the heat of the July noon, Edward momentarily foundered. What
to say? How to explain to his son that which he himself did not understand?
It had been fatigue and a hungry desire to see what he could do as a mere man as opposed to a mere rich man. But he'd not counted on John's reaction, or taken into consideration his deep awareness and pride in who he was.
Edward bowed his head a moment, memories of the morning still powerful. Harriet. He'd suspected that she might be present, but he'd not expected to feel anything. And he'd only really been aware of her at the last, standing so close to her beside the door. John himself had passed less than three feet from her. With what effort, Edward had restrained himself from informing her, "That is your son."
But of course he hadn't, and he lifted his head now and stared at his son, still turned away from him. Nearby, within easy reach, Edward spied a pink rose. He reached out and plucked it and approached quietly from behind. "A peace offering," he smiled, extending the rose around John's shoulder.
The boy looked at him, his anger reduced now to a kind of sullenness. "You had no right," he muttered.
Gently Edward disagreed. "I had every right."
"But why?"
As John faced him with the blunt question, Edward felt himself again on uncertain grounds. "Are you really suffering so?" he asked.
John made a despairing gesture, his chin still slumped against his chest. "You have nothing now."
"I want nothing," Edward countered, "except what I have always possessed." He paused. "You."
The boy looked up. "I am nothing," he said, "compared to what—"
Quickly Edward moved forward. "Poor John Nothing," he smiled.
Then John looked directly at him. His sturdy frame, already grown tall, seemed to straighten. "What will we do?" he asked.
"I don't understand."
"How will we live?"
"By our wits," Edward suggested, "by our backs, by our hands."
As far as Edward could discern now, there was not a trace of anger or sullenness in that young face. He seemed merely to be turning his attention in a most practical manner to the problems of tomorrow. "Well, never mind," John sighed, pushing away from the wall. "I'll think of something. For now, I think we should go home and take stock." With that, he moved past Edward and commenced walking steadily toward the street and the traffic beyond.
For a moment, Edward could only stare. He had the sensation that
at some point they had exchanged roles, that John was now the father and Edward the son. "Wait!" he called after the rapidly moving figure. "Wait, John."
Hurriedly he stepped away from the wall and caught up with him on the pavement, and tried to fall into the rapid pace which the boy had set. "I assume then that you're no longer angry?" Edward inquired, breathless from his sprint, trying to find some revealing expression on that blank, strong young face.
"Anger serves no purpose," John said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "You've said so yourself."
"Then what is it?" Edward asked.
But the boy gave no reply and continued to set a fast pace through the crowded foot traffic. At some point Edward fell behind, mystified by the transformation which had come over his son.
"John?" As Edward called out again, the boy stopped and Edward caught up with him and put his arm around his shoulder. And the boy permitted it.
Grateful, Edward thought how strange it was that with this son beside him, he didn't feel like a poor man. A whole train of fresh ideas, incoherent but interesting, stirred in his soul in connection with the events of the morning. And during that walk he thought over his whole life anew, and came to the calming conclusion that now he must live what was left of his days, dreading nothing, desiring nothing.
MyS4S
Content to leave the sense of victory to others, Harriet sat well back in the carriage seat and watched dully the approach to Eden Castle. At last she felt a reviving sea breeze after the stifling heat of London. Opposite her, James stirred out of an endless sleep.
"Home?" he muttered, struggling upright in the seat, trying to straighten his twisted waistcoat, his eyes still sleep-gazed.
Harriet nodded. She felt broken somehow, dismal feelings which had plagued her from the onset of this obscene journey. Well, no matter. She had played her role and was now about to extract her price.
She raised up and looked over her shoulder through the small, oval-shaped rear window. The malignancies were still there in the second carriage, following them. Although they had journeyed to London in a communal carriage, Harriet had insisted that they return in two. Why not? As Sophia had pointed out, they could afford it now.
&
nbsp; Abruptly Harriet closed her eyes. She'd known from the beginning that it would be difficult. But how impotent that word sounded now compared with what truly had transpired. For that depth of agony there were no words. He'd changed, yet he was still the same. To be so close, yet so—
"My dear, are you well?"
It was James, apparently wide awake, sensing something wrong, as he'd done during the entire journey. "It wasn't—pleasant," he murmured kindly. "But we knew it wouldn't be, didn't we? At any rate, it's over."
Over! She looked sharply at him, her bewilderment surfacing in spite of all efforts to keep it hidden. "You—felt nothing?" she inquired, amazed.
He shrugged. *T said it was unpleasant. Yet it had to be done."
"Why?"
"For your sake, and our son's."
Oh dear God, she was so sick of that excuse she never wanted to hear it again. Quickly she reined in her emotions. It was not her intention to waste energy on a scene. She'd played her part in one of the most humiliating, degrading episodes in her life. Now she would demand payment.
"James," she began, her voice low, almost pleasant. "I have a request."
Hearing the tone, James looked up, as though hopeful that, at last, his difficult and moody wife would behave herself. "Anything, my dear. You've earned a treat. Name it."
A treat! It came to her then that at least a portion of her irritability was due to having been confined with James for the entire journey. Their marriage worked best with long separations.
"No treat," she smiled, "a request."
He nodded. "Name it."
"I want you to dismiss the Cranfords immediately."
For a moment he gazed at her, rapidly blinking as though he'd failed to hear. Thus for his benefit and because the words brought her pleasure, she repeated them. "I want you to dismiss the Cranfords immediately."
He stared at her as though resisting the meaning behind those simple words. "You're—joking, of course."
"No. I want them out of Eden Castle as soon as possible.'*
The prince of Eden Page 62
