"Do you play marbles?" Richard asked, coming up alongside him.
Struggling in an attempt to keep his thoughts in order, John nodded, "On occasion."
"I have four blue cat's eyes," Richard boasted, grinning. "Do you want to see them?"
Without waiting for a reply, he began eagerly to dig down into his pocket, something in his manner which suggested to John that he was suffering from loneliness.
"Lookl"
Before him on that outstretched palm John saw four glistening cat's eyes. "They're magic." The boy grinned.
"How so?"
"Aunt Jane said words over them. They always win."
Aunt Jane. There was a familiar name. His father's aunt. . .
"She's very old," Richard was saying, "but she's a good witch. I'll take you up to see her after dinner if you wish."
John smiled. "I'd like that," and again he examined the marbles. "I'm afraid I wouldn't stand a chance against magic marbles."
Without hesitation Richard selected two marbles and placed them in John's hand. "There, now," he announced. "We're even."
The small but generous gesture had a peculiar effect on John. "Thank you."
Suddenly from the doorway came a voice. "Richard!" As one, both boys turned toward the woman standing there, lamp in hand.
"Mama." Richard smiled, going to her side with no real alarm. "We're going to play marbles tomorrow, and after dinner, I said I would take him to—"
Lovingly she reached out and drew him close. "Clara has been searching for you," she whispered. "Run along now. We'll talk later."
John sensed a good relationship between the two, love tempered with maternal caution.
Putting envy aside, John thanked Richard again for his gift of marbles and reassured that if circumstances permitted, the game was on for the next day.
Then the boy was gone, leaving the two of them in the chamber, confronting each other over the glow of lamplight.
Lady Eden. Harriet John had recognized her immediately in the graveyard, though he'd only seen her once before, years ago in the magistrate's office the morning of the hearing, when his father had made his idiocy public by ceding all claim to his own fortune. In all the intervening years, his father had never been able to give him one coherent reason for that moment of lunacy, and it had been on that day that their path had started downward.
"Lady Eden," he murmured, feeling the need to break the uncomfortable silence. But now he saw a transfixed quality on her face, as though she were not seeing him at all.
"My lady ..." He smiled, trying to break the curious spell. "If my appearance offends you, I'm. . ."
Without warning, the hand holding the lamp wavered. The lady's face seemed to go bloodless. Quickly she lifted her head as though for breath. Then her eyes closed, and had John not stepped quickly forward and taken the lamp from her, lamp and all would have gone crashing to the floor as she collapsed.
For a moment he could only stare down on her. Was she ill?
"My. . .lady?"
He called a second time, then looked frantically over his shoulder in the hope that help had arrived. But there was no one there.
"My lady, I. . ."
He couldn't very well just leave her on the floor. He set the lamp on the table and tried to determine the manner in which to lift her. He noticed now the hem of her black gown, damp and mud-caked
from his father's burial. Perhaps she possessed a delicate constitution that could not absorb the rituals of death.
He moved awkwardly about her. Where were those safe points where a woman could be lifted without. . . ?
Nothing to do, but do it. On that note of determination, he gently eased her over onto her back, stole a quick glance behind him to confirm the distance to the bed, then reached beneath her arms and commenced to drag her, her body extending in the process, her head fallen grotesquely forward, her hands flopping puppet fashion.
Breathless from his effort, he perched on the bed on his knees, looking down. She was so still, apparently unmindful of the rough transport, and so beautiful. In the awkward fashion in which he'd dragged her up onto the bed, her gown had become twisted, and now certain aspects of her body were being revealed to him in fascinating detail. One breast had slipped almost entirely free of its black binding.
Abruptly he closed his eyes against a most curious sensation. He scrambled backward off the bed and took refuge behind the large table. Over the flickering lamp, he saw her, still unmoved.
Suddenly he drew a shuddering breath and hurled himself toward the door in search of help.
He heard a soft moan behind him and looked back. She was stirring, her head turning gently from side to side. Well, he couldn't abandon her now that she was reviving. Anyway, he had a strong feeling that she had come with a message.
Then he must see her safely revived and receive her message. As he approached the edge of the bed, he stopped. Best to let her discover that naked breast first.
Her eyes were open now, obviously trying to assess everything at once, her location, her position on the bed, and at last her half-naked front.
He heard her gasp, "Sweet Lord." She gave him an embarrassed glance, then turned away. When she turned back, black unfortunately covered everything, though he found the blush on her cheeks most becoming.
"I . . . apologize," she whispered. "I've only fainted once before in my entire life . . ."
"No apologies are necessary." He smiled. In an attempt to put her at ease, he added, "The day has been difficult—for all."
He was aware of her staring at him again. It was just that expres-
sion that had led to her recent faint, and he didn't want to go through that again. "Lady Eden, may I assist—"
"No," she murmured, stopping him with her hand. "I'm quite restored."
Beyond the lamp, the darkness in the room was now complete, though John continued to hear rain pelt against the windows, and thought, without warning, of his father lying in the coffin in cold earth.
"Lady Eden," he said, turning away from the table, "if you are restored, might I again request a fire? As I said, the day has left a chill that. . ."
Behind, he heard a rustling, as though she were on her feet. Then he heard her voice, less soft. "There will be no fire," and the sternness in her tone caused him to look back.
"I don't understand," he confessed.
She drew herself up as though to face an unpleasant task. "It is our opinion," she began, "Lord Eden's and my own, that until we receive documentation of your true identity, we cannot offer you access to these chambers."
He'd expected as much. "Do you doubt my identity?" he demanded, returning to the table. "I've been told by many, including my father, that I bear a strong resemblance to him."
"What others say does not concern us," she replied with admirable strength. "There is a resemblance, and if the woman sends the necessary papers that will prove beyond any doubt that you are who you claim to be, then this castle and all its inhabitants will welcome you, and you will be given free access to your father's chambers."
He listened closely. "And if the papers arrive and there still are doubts?"
She started forward, one hand making minor adjustments to her person. "Then you will be welcome to stay in the servants' hall for as long as you make yourself useful."
"And for now?" he asked.
Still not looking at him, she moved safely past before she turned with her reply. "For now, you will gather up your satchel and follow me downstairs, where a steward is waiting to take you to the servants' hall."
He stared at her for a moment, confounded by how he should deal with her foolishness. "My lady . . ." He laughed, shaking his head and repeating the claim which he'd made countless times before. "I am John Murrey Eden. My father was—"
Something brought her to anger. "It's a matter of unimportance to us," she snapped, "the claims of your identity. As my husband pointed out, dozens of young men could present themselves to our gates within the
next few years, all claiming a kinship with this family. We are well aware of your father's spirit of abandon. We must protect ourselves, for our children's sake, if nothing else."
The meanness of her sentiment seemed to have a more devastating effect on her than it did on John. He saw her bow her head as though a new weakness had swept over her.
"Lady Eden, would you care to—"
He'd tried to offer her the comfort of a chair, but again she shook her head. "No, I don't intend to stay. If you will be so good as to gather your things and follow after. . ."
But John had no intention of following after her, not until he'd waged a respectable battle.
Now, in spite of her impatient waiting, he took the chair that he'd intended to offer to her and sat easily at the table. "I'm not surprised by Lord Eden's assessment of my father," he commenced, ignoring her startled expression at his disobedience. "My father always told me that he shared nothing but blood with his younger brother, that they had tried over the years to develop a brotherly relationship and that they both had failed."
Abruptly he leaned forward and clasped his hands upon the table. Without looking up, he asked, "You knew my father, didn't you?"
He'd not expected such a simple question to elicit such a terrifying lack of response.
"Of course you knew him," he went on, in spite of the taut silence. "He told me that he had met you on the occasion of your engagement to his brother. He spoke fondly of your beauty and generous spirit."
"Will . . . you please fetch your satchel?" Her voice sounded as though she were suffocating.
Still he persisted. "If you spent only ten minutes with my father, you knew him to be a gentleman."
Now he looked up into her eyes, amazed at the suffering he saw there. "I assure you," he concluded quietly, "bastards have not been sown all over London. After my mother, he sought no other woman."
In spite of the mask which had fallen over her features, he sensed new interest. "Is the . . . woman who brought you here your mother?" she asked.
M
"Elizabeth?" He laughed softly. "No, though she's a loving substitute."
"Then ... who ... ?"
"My mother is dead," he replied. "Shortly after I was born. I never knew her."
The information seemed to hang in the still room, as though in search of a receiver. Then she spoke again. "I must ask you to fetch your satchel and follow after me."
Amazed, he stood. "To what end?" he demanded. "I assure you I am in my proper place."
She too seemed to be suffering from new agitation. "What is proper for you and what isn't is for us to decide. I want these chambers cleared—"
"You have no right—"
Both their voices were rising, their anger, if nothing else, drawing them together. "No right!" she echoed. "May I remind you that I am mistress here, you the intruder. Any and all discussion of what is right will emanate from me."
They were standing so close he could see nerves quivering around the corners of her eyes. Again, silence fell between them. Weary after the two-day journey from London, John unfortunately lapsed into a childlike stubbornness. "What if I refuse to obey you?" he challenged.
Taken aback by such impudence, she responded in kind. "Then I shall summon two watchmen and have you bodily removed."
He met the threat. "Then I'm afraid that's what you must do, for I have no intention of leaving chambers that are rightfully mine."
He thought that he had called her bluff. But within the moment she marshaled new strength, moved through the opened door and merely lifted a hand, a magic hand apparently, for within the instant he heard heavy boots moving from the far end of the corridor, drawing nearer.
A moment later two burly watchmen appeared, no expression at all on their faces save an eagerness to do their mistress's bidding. In a voice so cold as to deny all female qualities, she commanded, "Escort him below."
Then the two were moving toward him, their immense shadows falling over his face. Well, he decided, might as well go with grace. But as the first coarse hand clamped itself on his shoulder, all pretense slipped from him and he shook off the hand, eager to do battle with them.
They too seemed surprised by such foolhardiness, and for a moment the confrontation held, he backing slowly away into the dead end of the room itself, the two giants stalking him.
"Come, pup." One smiled toothlessly. "These here is gintleman's chambers. Pups gits special kennels—"
"Don't harm him," she called out, something desperate in her tone, as though she regretted having set certain forces in motion.
But too late. As one Goliath reached out for him, the second merely stepped forward and most effectively blocked his escape route. He felt a massive arm go around his waist and lift him effortlessly off his feet.
Something vaulted within him. The smell of the two encapturing him, the look of brutal delight on their faces, and perhaps an awareness of his own helpless position, all these things conspired against him, and suddenly he commenced flailing, his fist moving down to his captor's groin and delivering an effective blow to that spongy area. Within the instant he heard the man wail and felt the viselike grip around his waist slacken, and in the next moment he was free and darted away from the pursuit of the second watchman, and in a blur caught a glimpse of the lady's face, her hand pressed to her mouth.
It was only a matter of time. He knew it and they knew it. Still he gave a good show for several minutes, inflicting minor pain on first one, then the other.
Then it was over. Outraged as though by a flea, the two giants drove him back into the far corner, effortlessly pinned his arms and delivered two blows, one to his midsection, which caused him to crumple forward, and one to his jaw, which sent him reeling backward into a painful collision with the stone wall.
For several moments those shadowy chambers whirled about him. Far off in the distance he heard a woman's scream, as though at last she'd undone herself as well as him. His last conscious thought as he slid down the wall was for his father.
"I'm home, Papa . . ."
Then there was only blackness and silence, except for that soft sobbing which seemed very close now and which interrupted itself only long enough to whisper a name.
"Edward . . ."
"I said not to harm him," she cried, cradling the young boy's head, despising the two gargoyle faces which stared down on her.
"He was a handful, milady," one muttered, still rubbing his side where apparently a sharp elbow had found its mark.
"What is your wish now, milady?" the second watchman asked.
Still she held the lifeless head. What was her wish? Without giving her thoughts a chance to take shape, she again bent low and with the hem of her dress tried to stanch the slight flow of blood slipping from the side of his mouth.
In the silence, with the two watchmen gaping down on her, she was aware that they were about to be joined by a third. Moments before she heard his actual footsteps, she sensed him.
Then he was upon them, causing a small congestion in the door as the two watchmen rushed to pay their respects.
"My lord . . ." They bowed in tandem.
"James," she murmured, moving out of the shadows. "He . . . resisted," she began and finished, feeling that it was an adequate explanation for the sprawled youth still lying in the corner.
But James, apparently confounded by it all, merely sidestepped the watchmen, and as though nothing had been said, asked, "What happened?"
She looked up at her husband, amazed, as she always was when she first caught sight of him after even a brief separation, that she was bound to this man for life.
"It's as I said," she repeated, helpless to alter the edge on her voice. "I explained our dilemma, asked him courteously to quit these chambers, and he. . . resisted."
Now on her husband's face she saw a surprising look of remorse. As though for his own edification, he stepped toward the boy and encircled him, a cautious examination. "It could be a young Edward . . ."
"Then why," she implored, "did you ask me to remove him to the servants' hall?"
"It was as much your judgment as mine," he countered defensively. "You said we needed proof and I agreed."
She couldn't even look at him now, not with Edward's face still before her only a short distance away. Refusing to have any further hand in it, she walked the distance to the windows and took comfort in the chill night. Finally she heard James address the watchmen. "As long as you've knocked him senseless, you might as well deliver him to the proper quarters."
As the watchmen lifted the boy and left the room, she was
tempted to follow after them, but James was at her side. "Now, what happened?"
Again she moved to put distance between them. "It's as I said, James," she repeated herself for the third time. "I found him here, quite willing and eager to settle in. Richard was with him," she added.
Now James became peculiarly adamant. "I want Richard to have nothing to do with him."
Amused at his foolish sentiment, she smiled. "They are boys, James. It's natural that they should seek each other's company."
"Boys!" he exclaimed. "That was no boy I saw downstairs. He charged in here with the aggressiveness of a man. And neither was that a boy," he added, "I saw sprawled in the corner."
No, she thought, amazed that at last they agreed on something. Beneath the hem of her gown, her toe found the substance of the satchel. Strange, the fascination she felt suddenly for that crude rain-dampened luggage. "Well, it's done with for a while," she said with dispatch.
"And what brought about the blows?"
She looked at him, trying hard to be civil in the face of his dense-ness. "Obviously he felt that he belongs here."
"And what if he does?"
"Then of course he will be allowed to stay."
"In what capacity?"
Was the man totally dense? Didn't he realize that he was posing questions to which she had no answers? Still bewildered by the agitation she felt within her, she tried again to send him on his way. "Why don't we deal with each problem as it arises?" she counseled quietly. "For now, may I make a suggestion?"
"Please do."
At times his submissiveness was a joy. "Why don't you go immediately to your writing bureau and compose a letter to Mr. Morley Johnson in London. Tell him precisely what has happened and tell him that we desire a complete investigation."
The Eden passion Page 2
