“Just a minute, I beg you...”
“ — and I'm sure you can hire some capable woman from Morte-mouth who will carefully pack away everything left of value.”
“I must insist,” Alex now said, mustering a degree of force, raising his voice in an attempt to top hers.
For the first time, she looked directly at him — and said nothing.
Then it was his turn, and he stepped close to the high-backed couch, which had become for them a kind of barricade, Susan on one side, Alex on the other. Unfortunately, from this close proximity he caught another glimpse of John's face, and, to his shock and horror, he saw the eyes open again, this line of focus aimed at Alex himself.
“What...?” he muttered, and stepped back, as though driven back by the eyes.
“It's all right, Mr. Aldwell. He can't really see you. Sometimes he passes the entire night with his eyes open. I suspect the small optical nerves have been damaged in some way.”
“Then he is blind?” Alex asked, his shock growing.
“No,” she replied, “because occasionally his eyes will follow me. I suspect he's seeing light and color, at least. Oh, don't you see, Mr. Aldwell, these are the very reasons why you must take him back with you to London now. He needs modem treatment, up-to-date equipment. There is absolutely nothing I can do for him here, except - ”
“Out of the question,” Alex snapped, still not recovered from those possibly sightless eyes staring up at him. “What I mean to say,” he began, moving to a safe position at the head of the couch, where he did not have to look down on those eyes, “is that I think it would be foolhardy to transfer John to London at least now, at this time.”
He'd expected objection coming from her. Instead, she stood quietly on her side of the couch, hands folded neatly before her, her face strangely calm, as though she'd expected this.
“Go on, Mr. Aldwell,” she invited.
“I disagree entirely,” he said. “There's no one in London to care for him,” he explained bluntly. “I'm afraid he would end up in hospital, in a ward, served by disinterested women who lack your skill, there to languish until death blessedly intervened.”
She spoke one name. “Elizabeth...”
He replied with one word. “Gone.”
“She can't be reached?”
He shrugged. “I don't know.”
'The rest of the family?”
“Gone.”
“And yourself?” she asked with disarming directness.
The rapid repartee had provided him with the illusion that he was winning. Now she had destroyed that illusion with two words.
Still he had ammunition and didn't hesitate to use it. “I am not a nursemaid. Even with training I would make a poor one. My job is in the field, with men. Besides, I love John too much to watch him die. I really couldn't bear that.”
“I don’t think he’s going to die,” she said with cool optimism that shamed him.
“Well, I think we both have to concede that that is God’s decision.”
“Conceded,” she said briskly. Then, to Alex’s amazement, she too moved away from the couch and disappeared behind a small wooden screen which he’d just noticed at the far left-hand comer of the library behind the painting of The Women of Eden.
From this distance her voice sounded slightly strained. “Then what are your plans, Mr. Aldwell?”
“I had thought,” Alex commenced, “to hire someone here to stay with him. You’re wrong about his fondness for London,” Alex went on, lying. “He loathed London, he really did, the poisonous air, the crowds and noise...”
He paused, thinking some response might be forthcoming from behind the screen.
When none came, he went on, moving as directly as he dared to the heart of the matter. “Someone who... knew how to deal with this. Someone who... and I’d pay handsomely, I would, certainly make it worth someone’s while, yes, I would, and further, I’d see that the castle was at least partially staffed in order to give that someone a hand, if you know what I mean.”
He broke off. At that moment she appeared in front of the wooden screen, a dark blue cloak tied over her shoulders, a small, well-worn portmanteau in hand, a look of civil determination on her face.
“Then I wish you well.” She smiled, not unpleasantly, and adjusted the tie at her throat. “He requires almost constant attention, Mr. Eden does, but you must always urge him to try - ”
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
She smiled and checked the clasp on the portmanteau. “On my way, Mr. Aldwell,” she said simply, not looking at him but proceeding on past the painting, then the couch with the man silently staring.
“You see, I’m three weeks late on my rounds as it is. There are others waiting who expected me some time ago. I told Reverend Christopher I would remain at Eden only until family arrived. Then - ”
“But family hasn’t arrived yet,” he interrupted, grasping at straws.
For the first time she looked up. “I understood you to say there wasn’t any.”
“I never said that,” he denied, following after her to mid-room. If only he could keep her talking, perhaps he could persuade her or, better still, let her set the size of the purse and watch him meet it. “Then what did you say?”
“I said simply that they were scattered, some as far as America.”
“Oh, my. Well, I certainly couldn't wait for that arrival.”
“And I'm not asking you to.”
“Good. Well, then, I wish you both all the best - ”
“Please wait,” he called after her, desperation growing, “and hear me out, I beg you.”
Something — either the entreaty or his tone of voice or both — caused her to halt her step when she was less than ten feet from the library door. For a moment she stood facing away from him, as though she didn't want to look back.
“I'm afraid I haven't made my position very clear,” he began on what he thought was a conciliatory tone.
“I didn't realize that you had made the long journey from London to discuss your position,” she said, and he heard a distinct edge to her voice and knew that he had begun badly.
“What I'm trying to say,” he began again, “is that there is no one in London capable of giving John the kind of care that her -”
“You've said that,” she interrupted again, “though I must confess I find it as hard to believe now as I did the first time I heard it. I have been at Eden for only three weeks, and of course I realize I'm seeing an altered and disrupted Eden, but I know, because of what I see and what Reverend Christopher has told me, that Mr. Eden's herculean efforts in restoring the castle four years ago were for one purpose and one purpose only, and that was to provide a family seat for Eden family and friends. This family was of vast importance to him, or so Reverend Christopher has said. Now,” she said in the manner of a conclusion, “I find it difficult to believe that the family who gained so much in so many ways from John Murrey Eden find it inconvenient to come to him in his time of greatest need.”
As she spoke, her voice became harder and more condemning, and at the first break Alex said simply, because it was the truth, “You... don't understand.”
“Mr. Aldwell, please don't say that again. It sounds ominously like a convenient carpet under which we can sweep all the droppings of our soul's decay.”
“But you don't - ”
“I understand enough, that the man whom you profess to love is lying over there in desperate need of familiar hands, a familiar voice - ”
“You do very well.”
“I tend to the needs of his body.”
“What more could he...?”
He had asked the incomplete question, sincerely wanting to know. But when he saw the shocked expression on her face, he realized again that he'd made a dreadful mistake. And, since she seemed not only willing but eager to leave again, he threw diplomacy to the wind and moved straight into the heart of the matter.
“May I make a proposition?” he dema
nded with a strength of conviction he did not feel. “I will return to London immediately, this very afternoon, and send dispatches by the fastest couriers to all members of the family, relating in full the recent turn of events here and imploring them to regather immediately for the purpose of...”
He faltered. The request sounded ludicrous even in thought. Lord Richard, John's half-brother, had vowed never to return to Eden until John's death.
“...for the purpose of looking to the well-being of John himself,” he went on, despite the battle raging in his mind. “I'll do this,” he concluded, “if only you will remain at Eden and provide him with the care he needs until the first arrival.”
“No,” she said simply, and started toward the library door.
“Forgive me, but I am prepared to offer you more than adequate compensation.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Aldwell,” she called back, at the door now.
“It shouldn't be but a matter of weeks,” he lied, pursuing her.
“I have other duties,” she said, marching down the corridor which led to the Great Hall.
“I said you would be generously compensated,” he repeated, “and I'll hire a partial staff so your only duties will be the care of Mr. Eden.”
He expected another rejection, but this time she said nothing, though she continued her march across the Great Hall.
“Did you hear?” he called after her.
This time he raised his voice and shouted and heard a thin edge to his tone as well. She couldn't leave. He couldn't care for John. And to live constantly with those dead and staring eyes was too much to ask of him.
“Please?” he called again, desperation increasing.
She was drawing ahead of him by several yards, marching toward the arched door of the Great Hall and the rectangle of sun beyond.
“Miss, please. Just a minute more of your time, then I shall plague you no longer.”
No, he was convinced of it. She wouldn’t stop again. Stubborn bitch. There was nothing in her pace to indicate that she'd even heard him. What in the name of God was he going to do now?
Suddenly she stepped up to the threshold of the arched doors and the sun fell in cascades around her, and as though the weight of the sun had proved too heavy, at last she stopped and stood staring straight ahead.
Encouraged, Alex ran to catch up with her, and stopped short when he felt his voice was within easy range.
“Then, tell me, please,” he begged. “I need help,” he said simply. “Instructions, at least. Surely it won't delay you to...”
Ah, good. At last she was turning toward him. Perhaps if he could keep her talking, she might change her mind. How would it hurt her to take up temporary residence in this grand old castle?
“Just a few instructions, please,” he said, smiling, his manner as conciliatory as possible. “For example, are there medicines, and if so, what and how are they administered and when?”
He looked up, startled by a sudden noise, and saw that she had dropped her portmanteau, a terrible expression of shock on her face as she appeared to be looking directly at him.
Well, what in the hell had he gone and done now? Made a simple inquiry about John's care, that was all. Not for himself, mind you. It was his intention to go down into Mortemouth and hire the first willing and fairly able-bodied female he could find...
But now, what was the matter with her, and why that awful expression on her face, her eyes fixed with frightening intensity on something — not Alex, for now he had determined that she was looking beyond him to some sight at the far end of the Great Hall.
Just as Alex was on the verge of turning to see for himself, he saw her cheeks go pale, both hands lifted in distant assistance of something or someone, and she started slowly approaching him with that same startled and shocked expression, mouth opened, and, as she drew even with him and passed him by, he heard her breathe in prayer...
“Dear God...”
...and as she passed, he followed her with his eyes and saw...
Gawd!
At the far end of the Great Hall, leaning heavily against the wall, using both hands for support, crouched a ghostly specter, two painfully thin legs protruding out from beneath what appeared to be a voluminous nightshirt, his face from that distance lost in the tangled mat that was his hair and beard.
John...
With his attention splintered between the man clinging weakly to the far wall and the woman trying to reach him, it occurred to Alex that perhaps his diagnosis of John had been false and premature. He found very little relationship between the man whom he'd seen earlier lying senseless on the couch and this man trying incredibly to stand upright without the assistance of the wall.
At the sound of her rapid approach, Alex saw him look up from the effort of standing. For a moment the rapid change in focus threatened to topple him altogether, but he reached out again with both hands and appeared to chart her approach with great interest.
As Alex was only a few feet behind, he could hear what was said.
“You shouldn't be up, Mr. Eden,” she murmured as she halted abruptly, one hand out, reaching in assistance, then quickly withdrawing, as though John were a hot stove.
For a moment the three of them merely stood, each suffering his own incapacity. John, the true focus of attention, seemed most lost of all, as though, having gained the corridor, he now suffered complete disorientation.
She apparently saw his bewilderment and moved to ease it. “Would you like to return to bed now, Mr. Eden? I think you've done very well for one day, but now I...”
But at the moment her hand moved out in assistance, John shook his head once, and still using the wall for support, eluded her hand by easing down several feet. The movement, the gesture, carried with it a curious demented quality. Alex thought: How old he looks, how worn, how truly ill.
“Would you help us, Mr. Aldwell? He must return to bed now.”
Of course he was prepared to help in any way he could, though as he started toward John with the intention of lifting him up, John suddenly came violently to life. His head lifted and he scrambled farther down the wall, his head commencing to shake in a slow, measured refutation.
“Come on, John,” Alex soothed.
“No violence, please.”
Her strange request caused Alex to halt in his approach to John.
Half in anger, half in bewilderment, he looked back at her. What did she think he was?
“You said to assist him. That was my only intention.”
Then he heard a new sound. It vaguely resembled a human voice. Susan was already at John's side, supporting him on the left, her face as moved and astonished as it had been in the Great Hall when she first spotted him.
“What did you say, Mr. Eden?” she inquired casually, almost as though she were trying to make light of it.
From this close proximity Alex saw new effort forming on John's face. The mouth was open, and occasionally the teeth were bared, like a primordial reaction against the failure of his body to perform as he expected it. Then he heard that sound again, accompanied now by several short expulsions of air.
“What is it?” she coaxed gently, still supporting him in one arm, her head down, as though she knew how embarrassed he was by his appearance and therefore was trying to spare him.
When the inarticulate sound came again, she mentioned to Alex to come closer. “I think he wants to say something to you.”
Suddenly the weak man objected strenuously. He tried to wrench away from her assistance. In the process he lost his balance and fell to his knees, where he seemed to hold himself erect for a moment. Then the collapse was complete, facedown, his left arm curved at an inhuman angle beneath him.
“Lift him,” she commanded sharply, and Alex had already done so — or was in the process, reaching for John's shoulders. As he turned the dead-weight in his arms he saw John's face up close, no color, not a trace of color except for the bluish tinge around his lips.
“Is he...?”
Alex began, and never finished, for John stirred in his arms. The eyes fluttered open once, then closed. Alex had thought that he was either asleep or passed out. Now he appeared to be neither, for he looked directly at Alex, not necessarily in recognition, for there was nothing of recognition in the look.
Still half-kneeling with John supported in his arms, Alex felt stunned by the look. “He doesn't know me,” he muttered.
“I think he does,” she contradicted quietly. “I think he wants to speak, and I think further that he has overheard and understood everything that we've said.”
Alex doubted that. But it didn't make any real difference, did it? If the seizure had rendered him speechless, then it really didn't make any difference what he had heard or perceived.
Newly aware of time passing, of the hazards of this place, this man, Alex vowed once again to be gone as soon as possible.
“Listen!” The admonition came from the nurse and seemed foolish, as Alex wasn't making any noise.
“Listen!” she whispered again, and the two of them now stared down into John's face, where, under the strain of effort, his eyes tightly closed, his lips moved, one word formed with painful effort.
“Stay,” was what the pronunciation sounded like. “You... stay,” he repeated, this time opening his eyes and looking directly at the woman. “Go,” he added, to Alex this time.
Though the message was halting and fragmented, nonetheless the meaning was clear.
Though it was precisely what Alex had wanted, for a moment he suffered a sense of severe hurt. “You... heard?” he asked of the woman, who sat back on her heels, hands resting in her lap, her gaze still focused on John, as though she expected him at any moment to open his eyes and explain the command.
“It was clear,” Alex said further, “and his desire, not mine, this time.”
He spoke softly, still supporting John in his arms, ready to lift and carry him back to the couch in the library as soon as he could determine her state of mind.
“Will you?” he prodded to her bowed head. “Stay, I mean.”
Eden Rising (The Eden Saga Book 5) Page 11
