The Eden passion

by Harris, Marilyn, 1931-

  "I want you to stop first at Harrington Hall, and tell Lila to have her trunks ready. I'll come for her within a fortnight." From the fireplace he waved a hand backward. "And Lord Harrington, too. We mustn't leave him alone. He'll enjoy fishing off Mortemouth,"

  Andrew leaned back into the sofa, shaking his head. This amazing friend of his was up to his old tricks again, playing God, remaking the world, and reordering everyone's life in the process. And some-

  how he would make it all work. Andrew knew this from experience as well.

  John was now hurling a barrage of instructions toward the sofa. "And after you stop at Harrington Hall I want you to proceed to Eden and start the construction of a barracks outside the gatehouse, nothing fancy, but comfortable. The workmen will have to have a place to stay. And fix that damn grille," he added. "It's on a system of pulleys, if I remember. The men will know what to do."

  For the first time he paused as though his thoughts were coming too fast for his tongue and he'd momentarily lost the sequence of his new vision. Andrew asked quietly from the sofa, "To what end the barracks, John?"

  "To what end?" John repeated, back on track. "The complete modernization and renovation of Eden Castle." He smiled. "That's to what end." He turned rapidly about and grasped the mantel as though he needed support for the weight and excitement of his vision. "Andrew, it will be marvelous. Can't you see it? Those old stone walls filled again with life. I want every chamber remodeled, I want only the finest fabrics and furnishings. I want our most skilled craftsmen on the job, woodcarvers, carpenters, designers."

  Andrew nodded, "You want it restored."

  "Restored? No, I want it better than ever. I want it to be the most magnificent castle in the West Country, in all of England, and I'll spare no expense or effort to accomplish that goal. Is that clear?"

  It was, and Andrew began to feel the excitement himself. But there were one or two remaining questions he felt he must raise. "And our work here?" he asked.

  "What about it?" John demanded. "I pay handsome salaries to eight professional foremen. If they don't know what to do, then we'd better look about and hire those who do."

  "Aldwell?"

  "Alex will go with us. I need him. He's the best of the lot."

  "And how long will we be gone?"

  "As long as necessary." Then he was seated beside Andrew, color rising on his face as the dream grew. "A holiday, Andrew. Let's take a holiday. How long has it been since we've had one? Things will progress well here. We have a good organization with good men. I'll tell everyone who needs to know where I can be reached. If something goes wrong, one or the other of us can be back in London in two days."

  Andrew smiled at the soft pleading opposite him. He looked al-

  most boyish, this young "king," as though he were pleading with his father to be taken to Eden.

  Before such an expression, Andrew found he had no resistance. "We'll need at least one hundred men," he said, working out logistics in his mind.

  John nodded. "Take fifty with you now to start on the barracks. I'll bring fifty with me. But only the best, Andrew."

  "And I'll have to replenish the staff at Eden. Poor Aggie can't—"

  "Hire all of Mortemouth if you wish. The village has served my family for generations. They'll come willingly, I know."

  "And we'll need buyers. Everything is gone, china, silver. . ."

  Again John smiled. "Hire as many as you need. Give them unlimited letters of credit. My only instruction is that they buy only the finest."

  For a moment both men stared at each other. John sat erect, as though he needed the answer to one more question. "Are you with me, Andrew?"

  Without hesitation Andrew replied, "Haven't I always been?"

  The brief declaration of love was warmly received. John grasped Andrew's hand, then strode toward his desk, taking a lamp with him, calling back, "Then we both have work to do. I want you to leave immediately, Andrew. Gather the men you need, and the equipment. Make a brief stop in Wiltshire, then proceed on to Eden." He sat behind his desk, drew the lamp close, the light casting a soft glow over his face. "Tell them I'm coming home," he said quietly.

  He dismissed the mood and drew forward a scattering of ledger sheets, ready to get to work. A few minutes later he looked up, surprised to see Andrew still sitting on the sofa. "What are you waiting for? There's work to be done."

  Andrew shook his head and pushed wearily to his feet. "Might I take time for a bath?" he asked in good-natured sarcasm.

  A look of remorse crossed John's face. "Of course. I'm sorry. Take all the time you need. A full day, if you wish."

  A day's rest after a tedious journey of over two weeks! "Thank you," Andrew said with mock gratitude. He gathered up his cloak and moved to the door, where he stopped and looked back at the man crouched over his papers. Andrew heard his voice in memory: I'm going home.

  Perhaps there he would find the peace which had so consistently eluded him.

  London, May 1,1861

  Amidst the confusion of carriages, John stood on the pavement outside his mansion in Belgrave Square and suffered a curious thought. It was ten years to the day that he and Elizabeth had taken his father's body home in that grim wagon with those thousands of pathetic mourners trailing behind.

  The thought did not belong to the day. He called, "Aslam, come! You will ride with me."

  As the little boy climbed down out of Dhari's carriage, he saw Elizabeth now climbing down from hers. She looked elegant in her pretty dark blue silk traveling suit, her face flushed with the excitement of the journey.

  "No need for Dhari to ride alone," she called out cheerily, and John lifted his eyes heavenward, as a waiting steward assisted her up into Dhari's carriage. They should have been under way an hour ago, and would have been except for this constant shifting.

  In the spirit of a harried father trying to organize a large family, he shouted, "Is everyone settled? Luggage secured?"

  The various coachmen responded all along the line, and with a smile John took note of the lengthy entourage; his carriage in the lead, followed by Dhari and Elizabeth, followed by Elizabeth's empty carriage, followed by two large carriages filled with luggage, and two more filled with servants. Fortunately the hour was early and the traffic would not be too severe.

  Now he hurried toward his carriage, where Aslam was waiting, his dark eyes reflecting the excitement of the adventure. As John swung

  the little boy up, he noticed the ever-constant book beneath his arm. "What did you choose for the road?" he inquired, climbing in after the child.

  "Rousseau."

  "Ah, good." John smiled. "A perfect choice. We'll have a discussion to pass the hours." He lowered the window and leaned out for last-minute instructions to his driver. "Take it slow through the city," he shouted. "We're to meet the men just beyond Bayswater. After we have joined with them, keep to the turnpike until Salisbury. I'll direct you from there."

  As the carriage started forward, John looked back at the entourage. By God, they presented a spectacle, they did. With a growing sense of excitement that was almost insupportable, he leaned against the cushions and closed his eyes, allowing the fresh lilac-filled air to rush over him, his mind still turning on that other morning ten years ago.

  How changed they all were! How hopeless the world had appeared that morning and how full of hope on this one. With the exception of that deep grief for Harriet which he knew would be with him always, he reached the conclusion that he'd never been happier, and suddenly he laughed and leaned forward and slapped Aslam's knee playfully and invited, "Tell me all you know about Rousseau."

  It was approaching midmorning when they reached the outlying community of Bayswater. There Alex was awaiting him with fifteen wagons filled with equipment and men, all laughing and jostling as though they were going on a seaside holiday, which in a way they were. John had determined early on to make it a pleasant excursion for his workmen.

  After greeting Alex warmly, the
y both stood beside his carriage and watched as the fifteen wagons fell in at the rear of the entourage.

  "Quite a tail we've got there." Alex grinned as he assisted John back into his carriage.

  "Keep them close together," John shouted back in warning, and continued to lean out of the window until he saw Alex swing aboard the first wagon.

  Then at last they were under way, an incredible train of over twenty conveyances rattling across the lush green English countryside, heading in a south-southwesterly direction toward Salisbury.

  After two rest stops and two brief intervals for food, after having traveled all night and when the rosy streaks of dawn were just lengthening the sky, they pulled into the tree-shaded lane which led to Harrington Hall. Looking ahead, John saw a small and beloved figure standing on the terrace, her hand lifted in greeting.

  Even before the carriage had come to a halt, John jumped out and ran to greet her, deriving continuous nourishment in her innocent beauty. How she would flourish at Eden, surrounded by nature's richness of both land and sea. And how good she would be for Mary, who might just once in her life find herself on the receiving end of sufficient love.

  Then she was before him, her eyes lifted in an expression of adoration, and he embraced her lightly and whispered, "I've missed you."

  "No more separations"—she smiled—"please," and in that gentle way told him that she had missed him as well.

  A moment later, Lord Harrington emerged from the door, followed by a procession of stewards bearing trunks. He spied John and greeted him warmly. "Are you certain, John"—he smiled—"that I am included in this invitation?"

  "Of course." John nodded. "There's work for all, and excellent fishing in both the ocean and channel." He clasped the man's hand. "No one is to be left behind, Lord Harrington," he said, suddenly solemn, "ever again."

  "Then come," Lord Harrington said with dispatch. "While our stewards secure the trunks, we'll partake of breakfast. The staff has prepared a light buffet on the terrace. Come, all of you."

  As additional stewards commenced opening carriage doors down the line, John saw Elizabeth and Dhari step down and adjust their gowns, Elizabeth hurrying forward first, her face showing not the least sign of fatigue from the night's journey, smiling brightly as she approached Lila, eager to meet her for the first time, though John knew that the two had established a warm correspondence, Elizabeth frequently receiving news from Harrington Hall even before he did.

  He stood back, fully aware that no formal introduction was necessary, Elizabeth approaching, her arms open, and Lila responding admirably, stepping into the embrace, as though they had known and loved each other all their lives.

  "You're even more beautiful than I had imagined," Elizabeth murmured at the end of the embrace.

  "And you as well." Lila smiled.

  "Where's Wolf?" Elizabeth asked suddenly, looking about. "I must meet the cat. Come, Dhari, Aslam, remember the cat Lila wrote about so often? Now we can meet him in person."

  With Lila leading the way, the three women started around toward the garden, their heads bent in close conversation, Aslam running around and between them, relieved to be out of the confinement of the carriage.

  For a moment John stared after them and marveled at their individual and unique beauty, poignantly conscious of the role each played in his life, aware also that he desperately needed each to fill the vacuum, to take the place of that one miraculous woman.

  He heard Lord Harrington calling to him from the terrace. "Come, John, before your hungry men devour it all."

  Laughing, he walked directly into the crowd of familiar faces, calling them all by name, feeling a sense of fellowship with them, aware that they were mutually dependent upon each other.

  He proceeded on, shaking hands, answering questions about their destination, coming at last to the brick retaining wall which separated terrace from garden. There he stopped and looked over the edge at the gray cat luxuriating obscenely on his back, allowing the three women and Aslam to rub his belly while he pawed sleepily at the air.

  John smiled at the tableau, worthy of an artist's canvas. Yet with all the festive merriment going on about him, he lifted his head and peered westward, as though in spite of the felicitous nature of this brief stop his true destination lay yet ahead.

  Shortly before noon, their entourage swollen by the addition of Lord Harrington's three carriages, Elizabeth, Dhari, Lila, with Wolf in her arms and Lord Harrington riding together, the procession started forward again.

  John stayed alert until he saw that his driver was back on the turnpike again. Looking opposite him, he saw Aslam sound asleep, exhausted by the sleepless night and the activity at Harrington Hall. Lovingly John studied him. Such a beautiful child, and so bright. All he had to do was outrace his past, which was what every man had to do.

  Then, thinking to join him in sleep, John too stretched out in moderate comfort, wishing that he might close his eyes and open them to see Eden Castle before him.

  But he could not sleep and found his thoughts filled with Eden, a curious mixture of the Eden he had left and the sadder Eden that Andrew had described. Again that awesome sense of grief descended on him, and with Aslam asleep and nothing to divert him, he closed his eyes and gave in to it.

  Eden Castle, May 3,1861

  Richard had been on the battlements since dawn, searching the horizon in all directions. From this vantage point he could see everything, could see the new barracks outside the gates nearing completion, could see as well the feverish activity in the courtyard as the army of new servants scurried every which way, trying frantically to prepare for John's imminent arrival.

  Coming from the courtyard below, he heard a voice shouting up. "Do you see anything yet?"

  Richard looked down on Andrew far beneath him. "Nothing," he shouted back.

  "Keep your eyes open. He said a morning arrival."

  Richard waved and lifted the spyglass to the distant horizon. Briefly he closed his eyes. Never had he felt God's hand so securely upon him, or God's blessing. How often he had prayed over these last difficult years, had vowed that if God saw them safely through their crucible, he would give his life to Him.

  "Here I am," he whispered to the blowing wind, finding it a joyous promise to keep.

  All at once, without the aid of the glass, he looked up and saw what appeared to be a sizable dust cloud on the horizon, coming from the direction of Taunton. He looked again with his naked eye, then quickly lifted the glass and saw it even more clearly.

  Richard grasped the glass and tried to hold it steady against his eyes, but his hands shook. Still the dust eddied and swirled about the horizon, lifting in large brown clouds, something of tremendous force moving over Exmoor at a tremendous rate of speed.

  Then all at once he saw it, the massive lead carriage drawn by four black stallions. He lowered the glass and shouted over the edge of the battlements, "Andrew! He's coming!"

  The cry seemed to echo about the inner courtyard. Other voices were shouting now, Andrew's predominant among them. "Lift the grilles!" he shouted to the men at the gate. "And tell all the stewards to stand by."

  Richard gazed a moment longer at the feverish activity below, then looked back into the glass and saw the lead carriage followed by others, two, three, four, five, more carriages than Richard had ever imagined, and following those, more wagons of the sort that had arrived with Andrew over two weeks ago.

  He smiled, thinking that all of London had come to Eden; and even more acutely aware than ever of an ordeal ending, he lowered the glass and lifted his head and with eyes open gave a short prayer of thanksgiving.

  And at last he was running, hungry to see the face of the man he loved like a brother, taking the narrow steps three at a time, emerging at last into the third-floor corridor, hearing even there the first carriage rattling over the grates, its speed unbroken, as though the passenger could not endure the slowed pace of a more cautious approach.

  Still running, Richar
d took the final staircase, half-stumbling, and entered the Great Hall to see the servants at work setting up the massive tables upon which Aggie was arranging a sumptuous repast.

  "He's here," Richard shouted, and saw only peripherally the excited faces of Aggie and Mary, Jennifer and Clara. Dodging his way through the servants, he reached the Great Hall door just as the lead carriage was swerving wide for its final turn, the carriage door, Richard noticed, already opening, a tall man running alongside for a few moments, then turning loose and looking up in all directions at the facade of the castle.

  At the top of the steps, Richard stopped, his eyes focused on the man, his heart filling with ten years of unspent love. He'd changed, looked taller somehow, fully bearded, his fair hair windblown about his face, but then, to Richard, John had always been a giant.

  Then all at once Richard saw him look up toward the top of the steps, look away, then look quickly back, as though his eyes had deceived him.

  Although there was movement all about, Richard was aware of

  nothing but that strong face, the man himself coming slowly forward.

  Promising to keep his emotions in check, Richard started down the steps, saw John still coming toward him, the warmth of a smile on his face. Though less than three feet separated them, still neither had spoken. Suddenly Richard found himself in John's embrace, the two of them clinging together against all those staring eyes, impervious to everything save the goodness of their reunion.

  Let it last a moment longer, Richard prayed, at least until he could clear his eyes. Apparently John was having the same difficulty, and when they finally separated, each laughed at the indisposition of the other as both tried to wipe away the embarrassing moisture with the backs of their hands.

  "I . . . can't believe it," Richard managed at last. "There were times when I was certain that you were dead."

  John grinned. "There were times when your estimate was fairly accurate," he said, then added, "Now, come, let me look at you. What in the hell happened to that little boy who wanted to play marbles?"

  Richard was on the verge of answering when suddenly he saw John gazing past him to the top of the stairs. Poor man, Richard thought happily, as again he saw his eyes fill, and glanced up to see Mary coming shyly down the stairs, her one good dark dress painfully mended, her light hair, though, still curly and lovely.