The Daughters of Eden Trilogy

by Michelle Paver

  ‘Like a limpet,’ she murmured in astonishment.

  Another squawk and a muffled curse from downstairs. She was needed in the kitchen. She put her hand on the balustrade and pulled herself to her feet.

  She knew now what she had to do. She only hoped she was brave enough to go through with it.

  No more shirking, she told herself grimly. You’ve been putting this off for long enough. That boy has just shown you the meaning of courage. If he can do it, so can you.

  She found Julia hunched on her branch, bedraggled and furious, but otherwise unharmed by her ordeal. ‘Off you go,’ she squawked at Adam, who was standing at the sink, holding a bleeding forefinger under the tap.

  ‘She can bite, can’t she?’ he said over his shoulder.

  Maud sat down with a sigh at the kitchen table. ‘That was only a playful nip,’ she said. ‘A proper bite would have taken your finger clean off.’

  He snorted a laugh.

  She placed both hands on the table and pressed down hard. ‘Adam—’

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, setting a steaming mug before her. ‘Tea and sherry. I couldn’t find any whisky.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied. The tea tasted vile, but she found it curiously strengthening. Dutch courage, she reflected, has something to be said for it.

  ‘Shall you be all right tonight?’ asked Adam. ‘Or would you like me to stay?’

  She shook her head. Without looking at him she said, ‘You take Belle back up to the Hall.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘But if you could send Nelly down, it’d be a help. And she can bring some of my things.’

  ‘Of course.’

  For a while, neither of them spoke. Adam stood silent and thoughtful, while Maud sipped her tea and covertly observed him.

  He was leaning against the range with his arms crossed over his chest. His shirt was still damp and clinging to his shoulders, and his dark hair was tousled and dripping seawater. As she watched the little drops sliding down his neck, something twisted in her heart. She knew what it was. It was the ache of farewell.

  It’s a sort of a bargain, she told herself. You have to give him up to Belle, which is as it should be, if she can make him happy. And in return, you may have your reward. Yes. It’s a bargain. That made her feel a little better.

  ‘Adam,’ she said again.

  He raised his head and looked at her with a slight lift of his eyebrows.

  ‘When I say what I’m about to,’ she began, ‘you may well assume that I’m not thinking straight; that I’m still upset by what’s just occurred. But it’s not that at all. I’ve been meaning to say this for some time. I’ve given it a great deal of thought. So please listen without interruption.’

  His face went still.

  Maud took a deep breath. ‘That boy,’ she said, ‘must not go to boarding school. Nor must he be sent away to live with some aunt whom he’s never met.’ She paused. ‘Cairngowrie is good for him. He’s just beginning to come out of his shell. If he went anywhere else, he’d go right back into it again.’

  Shells again, she thought distractedly. First limpets, and now more shells . . . ‘And when I say Cairngowrie,’ she went on, ‘I mean this house. Not the Hall. That boy needs to stay here. And so do I. It may be wicked and selfish to say so, but I don’t want that young friend of Erskine’s having this house for his family. I want it. I don’t want to go anywhere else, not ever again. I want to die in this house.’

  Adam looked at her for a moment. Then he came and sat beside her and took her hands. ‘I had no idea you felt like this,’ he said. ‘Of course you shall have it. I’ll write to the Taliskers at once and put them off. I’ll do the same for Max’s aunt. I’ll put them all off. It shall be exactly as you say.’

  Maud stared at him in stunned silence. All the months of anguish. The conversations in her head; the arguments, the deliberations. And all she had to do was tell him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. A great weight had lifted from her shoulders. She felt exhausted.

  Slowly she pushed herself to her feet. ‘That sounds like the doctor now. And you need to take yourself off to the Hall and change out of those wet things.’ She paused. Then she said, without meeting his eyes, ‘Take Belle with you. She needs her bed.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The mist had cleared and the stars were coming out in a luminous blue sky as the dog cart made its way up the hill towards the Hall.

  After giving Belle the travelling rug and suggesting that she wrap up warmly, Adam didn’t speak again. He seemed preoccupied. She wondered if he’d had some sort of altercation with Maud.

  ‘You must have got pretty chilled down on the beach,’ he said when they reached the Hall. ‘You might want to take a bath to warm up.’

  ‘What about you? You’re the one who got wet.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ He paused with his hand on the pony’s neck. ‘I’ll take the dog cart round to the stables.’

  An hour later she came downstairs to find him in the drawing room. A brisk fire was burning, and he was pouring drinks.

  She noticed that he’d changed into tweeds and a thick blue fisherman’s sweater. His shirt collar was up at the back, and she repressed the urge to turn it down and free the dark hair trapped beneath.

  ‘What was all that about with Maud?’ she said as she took the glass from his hand.

  He lifted his eyebrows. ‘A series of demands. She wants to stay on at the House. And she wants Max to stay with her, and no more nonsense about Somerset or boarding school.’

  ‘Ah. And did you accede?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad she finally found the courage to speak up.’

  ‘So am I,’ he said.

  A log cracked, and they both jumped.

  ‘I’d forgotten,’ said Adam without looking at her, ‘that it’s Cook’s night off. She’s gone to stay with her sister in Stranraer.’ He paused. ‘Maud wanted Nelly down at the House, so I’m afraid it’s just us.’

  ‘Ah,’ Belle said again. She was suddenly sharply conscious of the bitter-sweet smell of the pinesmoke, and the way the firelight caught the line of his jaw.

  Adam seemed to feel it too, because he was making a determined effort not to meet her eyes. ‘She’s left us some cold ham and salad,’ he said to his whisky. ‘Will that be all right?’

  ‘Fine. Actually, I’m not very hungry.’

  ‘You ought to eat something. You didn’t come down for luncheon.’

  ‘I was busy. I was – well, I was packing.’

  She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He simply nodded slowly, still without meeting her eyes; then he put down his tumbler on the chimney-piece, and ran his thumb over his bottom lip.

  Say something, she thought in exasperation.

  When the silence had gone on long enough, she told him Dr Bailey’s verdict on Max. ‘Mild exposure, some nasty scratches to the hands and knees, but nothing a spell in bed won’t cure.’ She flushed. Why did she have to mention bed?

  ‘You were right about Max,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When I talked about boarding school, I was taking it out on him. I shouldn’t have done that.’

  She glanced down at her drink.

  ‘Belle—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said quickly. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you?’ He crossed the room to the window and stood looking out at the grounds. ‘The thing is,’ he said without turning round, ‘over the past few years, I’ve learned to be a pretty good actor. I’ve had to be. Over there – at the Front – one’s always acting. In front of the men. With one’s fellow officers. One’s superiors. Always putting on a show.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m quite good at acting, myself.’

  He turned and met her eyes. ‘What I’m trying to say, very badly, is that I don’t want you to go.’

  She swallowed. ‘I thought you couldn’t lov
e anyone.’

  He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Last defence of the about-to-be-vanquished. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  Again that slow nod. But this time he was smiling.

  Belle wasn’t. She was so nervous that she could hardly stand. It was extraordinary. Over the years she’d been pawed by dozens of men who meant nothing to her, and she’d never suffered from nerves – never felt anything. Yet now that she was with a man for whom she really cared . . .

  Then he was coming towards her, and she was putting her tumbler on the chimney-piece and going to meet him, and he was taking her in his arms and kissing her.

  That first touch of his mouth on hers, that first taste of his breath, altered her perception of him for ever. She sank her fingers into the softness of his hair; she felt the muscles of his jaw tense as he kissed her more deeply; she tasted his taste of whisky and spring water, and breathed in the sharp, peppery tang of his skin.

  They drew apart for breath. She tightened her arms about his waist, unwilling to let him go.

  Very gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and put her from him. ‘I think,’ he said, smoothing her hair behind her ears, ‘that you’ve had about enough for one day.’

  ‘What?’ she said.

  His eyebrows drew together, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. She could see the hunger in him; feel the tension and the holding back.

  She guessed what was troubling him, and gave his shoulders a little shake. ‘Adam, you are so old-fashioned.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘You don’t want to “take advantage of me”. That’s it, isn’t it? Because I’m here in your house, alone with you, and you don’t want to abuse your position.’

  ‘Am I that transparent?’

  ‘As spring water.’

  His lip curled. ‘Well. But I still think you need to rest.’

  ‘God, you’re stubborn. Can’t we—’

  ‘No. No we can’t.’ His smile broadened. ‘Maud would never forgive me if you had a relapse.’

  She half expected him to come to her room, but he didn’t.

  Biting back her frustration, she undressed and slipped on her nightgown, and washed her face at the wash- handstand.

  Down in the hall she heard him locking the door, then coming upstairs and turning off the lights. He didn’t even pause outside her room, but passed on down the corridor to his own.

  Now what do you do? she wondered.

  She stared at herself in the looking-glass. Her eyes were bright, her lips swollen and slightly parted. She could still taste him; still feel the roughness of his cheek against hers.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, she had an unwelcome flash of another time when she’d stared at herself in a looking-glass. Years ago, when she’d rushed home from Bamboo Walk after meeting Cornelius Traherne. She’d been in the bath-house, desperate to wash the blood from her underthings, when Mamma had knocked at the door. Belle? Are you all right? In horror she’d raised her head and stared at the blank-faced stranger in the glass.

  Why think of that now? she thought angrily. This is utterly, utterly different.

  She blew out her candle and climbed into bed.

  Sleep was impossible. She lay staring up at the canopy, straining for the least sound that might mean that Adam was coming to her. All she heard was the wind in the pines, and the creaks and groans of the old house settling in its sleep.

  Around midnight she couldn’t stand it any longer, and went to his room.

  She was shaking with nerves, but somehow managed to open the door without making any noise.

  Instantly he turned his head. The curtains were open. He was lying on his back in a patch of moonlight. In silence he raised himself on one elbow and looked at her.

  ‘I thought you might be asleep,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘Not possible.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said, her teeth chattering.

  He drew back the covers. ‘Get in, you’ll catch cold.’

  Somehow she crossed to the bed and climbed in beside him. He drew the blankets around her and pulled her against him, and for a moment she lay still, breathing in his warmth. Then she slipped her hand under his pyjama top and felt the smooth hardness of his chest; the long ridged scar to the left of his heart.

  He tensed.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ she whispered.

  He gave a slight smile. ‘No. Your hand’s cold.’

  She withdrew it and blew on it, then unbuttoned his top. Her hand moved over his chest to the ridge of his collarbone, then down to the curve of his biceps.

  ‘Belle—’

  ‘Sh . . .’ she whispered.

  She dug her fingers into the back of his neck and drew him towards her, and his mouth came down on hers.

  It felt so right, so easy, to be pressing her body against his, to feel his warm hands caressing her hips, her flanks, her back; so right that she felt a piercing sadness in her breast: a twist of physical pain that made her wince. ‘If only we’d met years ago,’ she whispered.

  She felt him smile against her throat. ‘We did. On the beach at Salt River, remember? But I’d just married Celia, and you were about twelve years old. A little young for this sort of thing, don’t you think?’

  Again that twisting pain. To chase it away, she buried her face in his chest, breathing in his warmth. It didn’t work. She kept seeing Cornelius Traherne holding the sun-umbrella over her, and smiling his courteous old-gentleman smile.

  She wasn’t in bed with Adam, she was on the beach at Salt River in the glare of the silver sand, hoping against hope that the tall young man up ahead would turn and walk towards them, so that she wouldn’t have to listen any more . . .

  The pain in her chest broke free and burst from her in a sob. To her horror she realized that she couldn’t stop. On and on it went: great heaving, wrenching sobs.

  After the first frozen astonishment, Adam held her close and stroked her hair, while she lay sobbing and shuddering against him. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘It’s all right. I won’t do anything.’

  She tried to tell him that she was sorry, but she was crying so hard that she couldn’t get the words out. She lay sobbing helplessly against him till her throat ached and her eyes were swollen and sore, while he smoothed her hair and told her over and over that it was all right, that everything would be all right.

  She awoke before dawn to the cries of seagulls on the lawn.

  She was alone in the bed, curled up under warm blankets that smelt faintly of Adam. Her face was stiff, her eyes scratchy. She felt fragile, as if any sudden move might shatter her to pieces.

  Adam had fallen asleep in an easy chair drawn up by the side of the bed. He’d pulled on the fisherman’s sweater over his pyjamas and thrown his greatcoat over his legs. Despite the dark shadow of a beard, he looked like a schoolboy, his hair tousled, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks.

  After a while he opened his eyes and met her gaze and smiled.

  ‘Why didn’t you stay in bed?’ she said.

  He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘that would have been more than flesh and blood could stand. How do you feel?’

  ‘So-so. I probably look dreadful.’

  ‘Well, your eyes are red, and you’re very pale. But you look a damn sight better than you did when you had the ’flu.’

  She tried to smile. ‘How about you? Did you get much sleep?’

  He yawned. ‘Not really. The age of chivalry is vastly overrated.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I read about it once. Apparently medieval knights used to prove their devotion to their lady by spending a night alongside her without lifting a finger. Or anything else. I can’t imagine they got much sleep, either.’

  ‘Adam, I’m so sorry.’

  Again he smiled. ‘I’ve spent worse nights, believe me.’

  ‘I want to be with you. I really do. It’s just that . . .’ Her voice trailed off.


  ‘I have to admit that I’ve never had that effect on a woman before.’ His face became thoughtful. ‘It did make me wonder why.’

  She tensed.

  ‘I think – at least, I get the sense,’ he went on, ‘that some time in the past, some man gave you a bad time of it. Am I right?’

  Her skin began to prickle. He was getting too close. ‘In a way,’ she said.

  He hesitated. ‘This is going to sound completely absurd. But was it – it wasn’t – Cornelius Traherne?’

  Her stomach turned over. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just that I saw you with him in the glasshouse at Kyme, and you seemed – well, the way you seemed together. As if there was something . . . It made me wonder, that’s all.’

  She couldn’t breathe. Her skin was prickling and hot. Found out, found out. ‘Good heavens, Adam,’ she said, ‘I’ve known him since I was a child. He’s older than my father.’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. Absurd even to think it. God, what a relief. It’s strange, the things that seem entirely plausible in the middle of the night.’

  ‘I know,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. He looked at her for a moment, as if he was wondering whether to fling back the bedclothes and join her. Then he seemed to come to a decision, and got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea.’

  ‘You could come back to bed,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘I think it’s a bit soon, don’t you?’ Stooping, he kissed her cheek, and she reached up and stroked his hair.

  ‘We’ll be all right, won’t we?’ she said.

  He smiled and kissed her again. ‘Of course we will.’

  When he’d gone, she curled on her side and lay staring at the grey sky. Drum Talbot had said once that it was tiring, telling lies all the time.

  No it’s not, thought Belle. It’s easy.

  While Adam was downstairs, Belle had a bath and dressed. She felt exhausted, and more like an invalid than since arriving at Cairngowrie. But it’ll be all right, she told herself. There’s nothing in the way. Not really.

  As she was brushing her hair, a motor crunched on the gravel. By the time she reached the window, whoever it was had gone inside.