The Prince of Eden (47 page)

She nodded. As she settled into a chair on the far side of the table, she saw Edward give an unspoken signal of some kind to John Murrey, saw the old man hesitate a moment, then saw him start forward toward the decanter of claret on the table and a single glass.

Jennifer watched carefully as he half filled the glass, then went to the wardrobe, unlocked it, and withdrew a small square-cut bottle from a heavy leather valise. The old man seemed to gaze upon it, an extraordinary expression on his face. She saw him look back at Edward, then slowly go toward the table and the half-filled glass of claret.

She knew what it was. Sweet God, hadn't she heard the Cranfords whisper of his addiction? As John Murrey poured a small amount into the claret, she whispered urgently, "No, Edward, please—"

He did not look at her, and his voice bore no trace of the tenderness he'd recently offered her. "I warn you, lady," he said, "keep still or leave. I offer you sanctuary in exchange for silence."

Reprimanded, she sat back, though continuing to watch, horrified, as apparently the moderate dosage offered by John Murrey did not please him. Reaching out, he relieved the old man of the small bottle and poured an even half of the contents into the claret.

She watched, silently grieving, as he lifted the glass, tilted it gently from side to side, his gaze focused on the dark crimson mix.

Apparently when the blend was to his satisfaction, he lifted it upward. "An elixir," he smiled, "to heal all anger and bring forgetful-ness."

As he tilted his head back and commenced to drink, Jennifer closed her eyes. A few seconds later she looked back. She saw then that she was the only one watching. John Murrey had gone back around to the far side of the bed, had arranged a chair in close proximity, and had

now sunk into it, assuming a vigilant position, as though he'd performed this role many times before and thus knew precisely what to do.

She had no idea what to expect, but somehow expected more than what was happening, Edward loosening his boots now, almost lethargically pulling them off, his hands moving heavily about. A few minutes later he was asleep.

Again her eyes blurred. "How long will he sleep thus?" she asked, without looking at John Murrey.

"He'll be—senseless the better part of the night," the old man replied.

Senseless? A strange way to describe sleep. Well, then, she might as well make herself comfortable. She went back to the table and drew the chair close. In the final moments before she rested her head on the table, she thought how peaceful he looked.

If this was addiction, perhaps it was a state greatly to be desired.

What she heard first was merely a restlessness. She had no sense of time and thus was unable to determine how long she'd been asleep. Raising her head to the new sound coming from the bed, she noticed the lamps had burned low. Yet beyond the windows there was not a trace of dawn.

There was the sound again, a faint moan and stirring. She looked toward the bed, to see at first only a gentle thrashing, as an invalid feeling the discomfort of a high fever. But it wasn't Edward who alarmed her as much as it was John Murrey. The old man stood over the bed, his eyes alert.

"What is it, John?" she whispered.

He looked sharply up at her. "Go back to sleep, milady," he said, "or better, leave us."

She looked toward the bed again, her attention splintered between John Murrey and Edward. The moans had increased and the restlessness as well. From where she sat, she saw his face contorted.

No sooner had she stood than a full-blown piercing cry left his lips. At the same time, his head jerked backward against the pillow. The violent trembling had spread over his entire body now, his legs drawing sharply up, then shooting out rigid again.

Fully awake and terrified by what she saw, she started toward the bed. "John, what is—"

But again the old man stopped her, a tone of pleading in his voice. "I beg you, milady, leave us. If you feel any love for him, please leave."

Now John Murrey tried to wrench Edward's hands away from his face, where his fingers were digging into his eyes, as though in an attempt to remove those instruments of sight.

With dogged persistence, John Murrey restrained him, the two men angled sideways across the bed. And when a moment later, Edward gave one mighty wrenching upward and with inhuman strength almost dislodged the man astride him, Jennifer drew back out of empathy for the wretched creature and ran from the room.

Outside in the darkened corridor, she closed the door, then leaned against it. In her heart was a dark knowledge. The Cranfords had been right. He could not survive many such nightmares, though death seemed to her a rich blessing in comparison with what she had just witnessed.

Suddenly she heard footsteps. Looking up, she expected to see one of the watchmen who perhaps had been dozing a distance away and had heard Edward's cries. She saw nothing at first, but as she was making an attempt to wipe the tears from her eyes she saw two figures approaching.

She was on the verge of calling out for identification when she saw one figure step forward. The identity was clear now.

As she turned her back, the shadowy figure spoke her name in a voice which betrayed recent weeping. "Jennifer, please."

Without looking, Jennifer replied, "Yes, milady?" leaving the burden of exchange on her mother.

In the quiet interval she continued to hear Edward's agony and now she made a quick resolve. She would not permit either of them to cross the threshold. She would not subject Edward to that humiliation.

Thus resolved and feeling stronger, she leaned in toward the door and was just pushing it open when again she heard her mother's voice behind her, closer now. "Please, Jennifer, wait," she begged.

Obediently Jennifer waited. "What is it, milady?" she demanded. "I'm needed inside."

There was a moment's pause, then she heard the hated voice again. "I heard cries," Lady Eden began.

She might have said more, but at that, Jennifer turned, saw her mother clearly now, reduced somehow by the simple dressing gown, her legendary beauty gone altogether.

"Of course you heard cries, milady," Jennifer replied, knowing that it hurt the old woman not to be called mother. "Why not cries? They are most fitting in these old castle walls. I've heard cries of one kind or another since the day I was born. I'm not at all certain why you are now surprised by them."

She thought she saw her mother give in to a subtle collapse. With Mrs. Greenbell's help, she stood erect and took a step forward. "Edward," she pleaded. "Give me news of Edward."

"Surely you can hear, milady. Listen!" And there it was again, the continuous moans, punctuated now and then by an outcry. "I've no news to give you," she went on. "I found him bound to his bed, on your orders, I assume. I released him, then watched as he prepared a potion for himself. He drank it quickly, enjoyed a brief sleep. Then the poison took effect." She looked at her mother. "He's an addict, you know."

Her voice sounded loud in the still corridor. Before her, her mother's head was bowed again. Mrs. Greenbell's dark figure hovered continuously over her and Jennifer now heard her whispered suggestion that Lady Eden return to her chambers.

"I agree with Mrs. Greenbell," Jennifer said. "There's nothing to be done here. John Murrey is with him." She paused and repeated herself. "So there's nothing more you can do, milady. You've done quite enough."

At that, she saw her mother's face lift, saw one frail hand press against her lips as a sob escaped. Quickly Mrs. Greenbell wrapped her arms around the weeping woman and turned her about.

Jennifer held her position and watched as the old women made their way slowly back down the corridor. At the moment they disappeared from her sight, she experienced a curious emotion, regret perhaps.

Then quickly she turned back into the room and held her position by the door, transfixed by the sight before her, Edward knotted now into one tight ball on the muss of blood-stained bed linens, his knees drawn up, his arms wrapped about his body, his eyes open and fixed on nothing.

Hesitantly she stepped toward the bed, keeping her eyes on Edward's apparently conscious face. "Is he asleep?" she whispered.

With effort, John Murrey stepped away from the bed and sank heavily into his chair. He shook his head. "Not asleep, milady," he said hoarsely. "Not awake, either, but at least he's quiet." With that, the white head fell backward against the chair, his eyes closed.

Timidly Jennifer approached the bed and the curled lifeless figure of her brother.

With some effort she dragged a chair from the center of the room and positioned it close to the bed. She maintained a constant vigil, lifting his hand once and pressing it to her lips, wondering at the demons and fiends who had caused him such agony.

The following morning, Edward awakened first to find Jennifer asleep on one side of the bed and old John Murrey asleep on the other, a mismatched pair of guardian angels if he'd ever seen them, though at the moment his attention was drawn to the window, to the rude noise which had disturbed his hard-earned sleep.

Leaving the bed slowly, his muscles clearly objecting to movement after what he'd put them through the night before, he made his way to the window, shielded his eyes against the morning sun, and looked down to see a continuous procession of departing carriages. Obviously the events of the night before had been too much for these noblemen. He watched carefully for the Powelses' entourage and not seeing it, he dared to let his hope vault. Perhaps she was still in the castle, perhaps she would grant him an audience. Perhaps—

But at that moment the large amount of opium still in his system caused him to suffer uncomfortable nausea. He made it as far as the table, feeling certain he could make it back to his bed, not wishing to disturb the two who obviously had sacrificed much on his behalf

The nausea increased. He felt a cold sweat on his forehead. His breath seemed to be blocked in his lungs. A suff'ocating sensation was his last awareness, that, and the table rising up to meet him.

When he fully awakened again, he was back in his bed. It was raining outside his window and the room was dim with evening light. Jennifer was beside him and it was she who told him,of the events of the day; the curious brunch at mid-morning with less than a dozen guests present; their mother, ill-looking and dressed in severe black, on the arm of Lord Powels, announcing in a voice which was scarcely audible the coming union of their two families; then all the guests disappearing, the Powelses taking their mysteriously ill daughter home to recover, to publish the banns and to set a nuptial date. James had left immediately with Caleb Cranford on horseback for a day-long ride across the wet moors; everyone absent from the reception halls save the servants; the whole castle locked into a gloomy cold silence.

Edward listened closely and noticed how suddenly Jennifer paled and then blushed. He wanted to reassure her but found he could not speak. His memories turned constantly back to Harriet, to the perfect now they had shared together. He had thought his love had made a difference. But obviously the engagement had been announced, the wedding would take place.

"Edward, please don't," Jennifer whispered, apparently seeing his grief He looked up at her in the soft light of the rainy evening. A curious thought entered his head and he voiced it. "You really should go to Daniel, you know," he whispered. "He loves you very much."

But the words, instead of pleasing her, seemed only to cause her pain. He saw her quickly turn away in the chair, hiding her face from him. Seeing her repudiation and still suffering from his own, he raised his voice and called for John Murrey, who could provide him with at least a limited escape from this gloomy hell.

Thus the pattern was established and thus it held through all the long dreary rainy months of summer. From the night of the chaotic engagement banquet in late June until well into September, not once did the residents of Eden Castle gather for a common meal. To the distress of the staff, which had now shrunk back to its normal size, each member of the family demanded private menus served in all corners of the castle.

By unspoken signals, they each seemed to know when the corridors would be free for passage without running the risk of encountering one another, although in truth there was little passage save for that of the servants, who were kept running at all hours of the day and night, carrying warm milk up to Lady Eden, endless bottles of claret up to Mr. Eden, hearty six-course meals to Lord Eden, who alone seemed to have retained his good appetite, and mainly soft boiled foods to the Cranfords' rooms, where at least for the time being, Sophia Cranford seemed to have gone into hiding, appearing only when necessary to deal with the agent from Exeter.

But of course, as all the older servants knew, this family had never known good days, had known only evil and less evil. Still, this was the worst, this wet, gloomy, miserable summer when no one met and no one spoke, where no foot moved for fear of making a false step.

In the pre-dawn hours of September 23, Jennifer slowly raised her head from off the cot to see if Edward was still sleeping. He was. The night, thank God, had been peaceful. In fact they had not had to use those hideous leather straps which had become permanent fixtures on the bedposts for several weeks.

Edward had told her repeatedly that ultimately the violent nightmares would abate. And apparently they had. Further he had told her not to worry when he entered the "abyss of divine enjoyment." In spite of how he might look, how ferociously he might rage, he had assured her time and time again that the pleasure far outweighed the pain. She'd not believed him then, nor did she believe him now, but at least he gave the appearance of peace.

Carefully now she sat up on her cot beneath the window and

surveyed the wreckage of the chamber. There on the opposite side of the room was John Murrey. How well she knew him now, that toothless wonder of loyalty and blind devotion. The fact that they were sharing the room communally had at first appalled her. In the beginning she'd used the cot only for brief afternoon naps. But for the last several weeks she passed nights here as well, generally slipping out in pre-dawn hours when she could be assured that the corridors would be empty. Then she'd go to her chambers to bathe, brush her hair, slip on a fresh dress and return, ready to face another day, relieving John Murrey, sitting with Edward. Sometimes the two of them passed the entire day without words as, helpless, she watched his illness increase.