The Prince of Eden (80 page)

At his mysterious approach all those seated about the table seemed to draw visibly back. Still he moved forward until at last he was in a position to place the leather case on the table before them.

"James," he smiled down on his bewildered brother, "you take it for a while. I'm weary of it. If I have abused it, I offer my apologies. If it abuses you, I offer my sympathy in advance." He paused here, but did not look away. "You have a wife now, and a son, or so I hear. For their sakes, I surrender all claim."

Sir Cedric could not believe it. Halfway out of his seat, he said, "The judgment was on your behalf, Mr. Eden. This is not necessary."

"The judgment was not on my behalf, milord," Eden said.

Suddenly the young boy was on his feet, his face angiy. Some deep resentment was spilling out from behind those youthful eyes. "You have no right," he cried aloud.

Alarmed, as though the enemy had approached on the blind side, Eden looked up. "John, I—"

But at that instant, the boy stepped out from behind the table and ran for the door, not minding the clatter of his boots on the hardwood floor, nor apparently the shocked, stunned expression on Edward Eden's face.

"John—" he called again.

But the boy was gone, the door flung open against the wall, the angry footsteps diminishing down the arcade, leaving silence within the chambers.

Sir Cedric noticed Eden start toward the door, then stop, clearly a man facing complications he had not counted on. He was standing very close to Lady Eden now, so close he might have reached down and touched her shoulder.

But he didn't. Instead he glanced back toward the desk. "Do you accept my decision, milord?"

Momentarily flustered. Sir Cedric nodded. "Do you know what you are doing?"

"I know."

"Then I have no choice but to accept it."

Still Sir Cedric couldn't quite grasp what had happened. "You understand—your present position?"

Eden smiled. "I can't say that I fully understand it. But I accept it."

"Then legal steps will be taken."

"I'd be most grateful." Now Eden seemed to look about in confusion. "If you will excuse me," he murmured.

And he was gone, leaving a peculiar vacuum in the room, leaving all of them gaping after the open door, as though they too were unable to comprehend precisely what had happened.

Predictably Sir Claudius rallied first. He clamped a hand on Lord Eden's shoulder and extended his other hand in congratulations. The two scarecrows seated behind rushed forward and embraced Lord Eden.

As for Lady Eden, she sat alone and apart from the flurry of congratulations, her eyes still fixed on the empty doorway.

Then Sir Cedric had had enough and stood rapidly and enjoyed the dampening effect his movement appeared to have on the whispering, grinning people about the table. He considered saying a last word to them, but changed his mind. What to say? Had they lost or won? Never in Sir Cedric's long legal career had he had one of his decisions overturned by the defendant himself. Yet there it was. The foolish man had given away a fortune, a decision which Sir Cedric was certain he would live to regret. Perhaps Eden was a religious fanatic, laboring under the romantic notion that it was impossible for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Well, he was no longer a rich man, and Sir Cedric was certain that within a very short time the projection of Heaven would not be nearly as important to him as the realities of earth. As he swept past the table and the fawning smiles there, he thought with a wave of humor that at least something had been accomplished in that topsy-turvey morning. His gut was strangely at peace.

There were his kidneys, though, and now he moved rapidly into the outer oflfice, passed his gaping clerks, heading for the small secluded room at the end of the passage. There he closed the door and bolted it and hurriedly drew back his robes and unbuttoned his trousers.

Ah! As his hot urine splashed down into the chamber pot, he thought. What a bloody lot of fools all men are.

He would not run far, of that Edward was certain. And indeed he caught up with him in the rose garden of Middle Temple, slouched against the brick wall, his hands shoved into his pockets, head down.

"John?" he called quietly.

The boy looked up, then turned away.

In the heat of the July noon, Edward momentarily foundered. What

to say? How to explain to his son that which he himself did not understand?

It had been fatigue and a hungry desire to see what he could do as a mere man as opposed to a mere rich man. But he'd not counted on John's reaction, or taken into consideration his deep awareness and pride in who he was.

Edward bowed his head a moment, memories of the morning still powerful. Harriet. He'd suspected that she might be present, but he'd not expected to feel anything. And he'd only really been aware of her at the last, standing so close to her beside the door. John himself had passed less than three feet from her. With what effort, Edward had restrained himself from informing her, "That is your son."

But of course he hadn't, and he lifted his head now and stared at his son, still turned away from him. Nearby, within easy reach, Edward spied a pink rose. He reached out and plucked it and approached quietly from behind. "A peace offering," he smiled, extending the rose around John's shoulder.

The boy looked at him, his anger reduced now to a kind of sullenness. "You had no right," he muttered.

Gently Edward disagreed. "I had every right."

"But why?"

As John faced him with the blunt question, Edward felt himself again on uncertain grounds. "Are you really suffering so?" he asked.

John made a despairing gesture, his chin still slumped against his chest. "You have nothing now."

"I want nothing," Edward countered, "except what I have always possessed." He paused. "You."

The boy looked up. "I am nothing," he said, "compared to what—"

Quickly Edward moved forward. "Poor John Nothing," he smiled.

Then John looked directly at him. His sturdy frame, already grown tall, seemed to straighten. "What will we do?" he asked.

"I don't understand."

"How will we live?"

"By our wits," Edward suggested, "by our backs, by our hands."

As far as Edward could discern now, there was not a trace of anger or sullenness in that young face. He seemed merely to be turning his attention in a most practical manner to the problems of tomorrow. "Well, never mind," John sighed, pushing away from the wall. "I'll think of something. For now, I think we should go home and take stock." With that, he moved past Edward and commenced walking steadily toward the street and the traffic beyond.

For a moment, Edward could only stare. He had the sensation that

at some point they had exchanged roles, that John was now the father and Edward the son. "Wait!" he called after the rapidly moving figure. "Wait, John."

Hurriedly he stepped away from the wall and caught up with him on the pavement, and tried to fall into the rapid pace which the boy had set. "I assume then that you're no longer angry?" Edward inquired, breathless from his sprint, trying to find some revealing expression on that blank, strong young face.

"Anger serves no purpose," John said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "You've said so yourself."

"Then what is it?" Edward asked.

But the boy gave no reply and continued to set a fast pace through the crowded foot traffic. At some point Edward fell behind, mystified by the transformation which had come over his son.

"John?" As Edward called out again, the boy stopped and Edward caught up with him and put his arm around his shoulder. And the boy permitted it.

Grateful, Edward thought how strange it was that with this son beside him, he didn't feel like a poor man. A whole train of fresh ideas, incoherent but interesting, stirred in his soul in connection with the events of the morning. And during that walk he thought over his whole life anew, and came to the calming conclusion that now he must live what was left of his days, dreading nothing, desiring nothing.

MyS4S

Content to leave the sense of victory to others, Harriet sat well back in the carriage seat and watched dully the approach to Eden Castle. At last she felt a reviving sea breeze after the stifling heat of London. Opposite her, James stirred out of an endless sleep.

"Home?" he muttered, struggling upright in the seat, trying to straighten his twisted waistcoat, his eyes still sleep-gazed.

Harriet nodded. She felt broken somehow, dismal feelings which had plagued her from the onset of this obscene journey. Well, no matter. She had played her role and was now about to extract her price.

She raised up and looked over her shoulder through the small, oval-shaped rear window. The malignancies were still there in the second carriage, following them. Although they had journeyed to London in a communal carriage, Harriet had insisted that they return in two. Why not? As Sophia had pointed out, they could afford it now.

Abruptly Harriet closed her eyes. She'd known from the beginning that it would be difficult. But how impotent that word sounded now compared with what truly had transpired. For that depth of agony there were no words. He'd changed, yet he was still the same. To be so close, yet so—

"My dear, are you well?"

It was James, apparently wide awake, sensing something wrong, as he'd done during the entire journey. "It wasn't—pleasant," he murmured kindly. "But we knew it wouldn't be, didn't we? At any rate, it's over."

Over! She looked sharply at him, her bewilderment surfacing in spite of all efforts to keep it hidden. "You—felt nothing?" she inquired, amazed.

He shrugged. *T said it was unpleasant. Yet it had to be done."

"Why?"

"For your sake, and our son's."

Oh dear God, she was so sick of that excuse she never wanted to hear it again. Quickly she reined in her emotions. It was not her intention to waste energy on a scene. She'd played her part in one of the most humiliating, degrading episodes in her life. Now she would demand payment.

"James," she began, her voice low, almost pleasant. "I have a request."

Hearing the tone, James looked up, as though hopeful that, at last, his difficult and moody wife would behave herself. "Anything, my dear. You've earned a treat. Name it."

A treat! It came to her then that at least a portion of her irritability was due to having been confined with James for the entire journey. Their marriage worked best with long separations.

"No treat," she smiled, "a request."

He nodded. "Name it."

"I want you to dismiss the Cranfords immediately."

For a moment he gazed at her, rapidly blinking as though he'd failed to hear. Thus for his benefit and because the words brought her pleasure, she repeated them. "I want you to dismiss the Cranfords immediately."

He stared at her as though resisting the meaning behind those simple words. "You're—joking, of course."

"No. I want them out of Eden Castle as soon as possible.'*

"But that's—impossible," he stammered.

"Why? Do they have some legal right to be there? We've been fully submerged in legalities of late. Is there something about the Cranfords' position at Eden that I should know about?"

"No, of course not. It's just that—"

"Then I want them gone," she repeated, her voice less even.

She was aware of James closely watching her and equally aware of an unprecedented look of defiance in his face. "I'm afraid I can't honor your request," he pronounced at last.

"Why?"

"I have no desire to do so. Sophia and Caleb are my closest friends. I owe them a great deal."

Slowly Harriet settled back in the seat. "Then I shall leave you," she

smiled pleasantly. "I shall take our son and return to Hadley Park, and you might as well say prayers for both of us because you'll never see us again."

She saw the mild look of defiance on his face change. She knew that her absence would mean little to him. But his son was another matter.

"I—don't believe you," he faltered.

"We shall be gone within the week, I swear it."

Slowly he shook his head, a clear look of pain in his eyes. "But why? I don't understand. What have the Cranfords done to you?"

"Nothing. But I can see, even if you can't, what they've done to you, and to Edward, and poor Jennifer."

"They had nothing to do with Jennifer's illness," he protested.

Harriet was on the verge of speaking further, but changed her mind. She'd promised herself not to waste energy on argument. "I want them gone," she repeated calmly, "or you'll find yourself without wife and son.

During the next few minutes he argued and raised objections of every nature. His voice became shrill and with no great effort she saw and felt his pain and was sorry for having caused it, but not sorry enough to alter her command.

As at last he fell back against the cushions in mute agony, she offered a serene suggestion: "Pay them," she said, "any amount you wish. Tell them that they are due retirement and offer them a generous purse."

"They would never take it," he snapped, glaring out the window. "They are too devoted."

At that Harriet smiled. "They are devoted," she agreed, "to their own mean and selfish ends." She leaned forward now and altered her approach. Steeling herself against sensation, she reached for his hand. "We are in the process of raising a son, James," she murmured, filling her voice with wifely concern. "God willing, there will be others. I want no influences about save those which I select." She patted the lifeless hand and abridged the last statement, "Save those which we select. The Cranfords are old, long past their prime. Our children deserve better."

He appeared to be listening. "They won't understand," he grieved. "They'll be deeply hurt."

"Pay them," she repeated with emphasis. "You now have control of the pursestrings. Pay them to salve their hurt."

He listened, then abruptly twisted in the seat. "I don't understand," he groaned, something petulant and childlike in his face.

With an effort of will, Harriet sent away the image of Edward which had mysteriously appeared before her. The comparison was brutal.

A few minutes later, she felt the carriage slowing for the approach to the gatehouse, heard the rattling vibrations as they moved across the double grilles.

Inside the inner courtyard, she saw, standing at the top of the Great Hall steps dear old Jane, holding young Richard in her arms. And with the sense of putting the meanness of the last few days behind her, she left the carriage even before it had come to a complete halt and ran up the stairs and threw her arms about the old woman.

In the closeness of the embrace, and with her son cooing in her ear, she looked back down on the courtyard, James apparently still seated inside the carriage, the second carriage just turning into the gatehouse.

With old Jane spilling out a hundred questions—"Tell me of London, the latest fashions, are there feathers this season, and what of the theater, did you see—?" Harriet took her son in her arms and tried to pacify Jane, and stole a final glance down on the second carriage, Sophia and Caleb just emerging, though still no sign of James.

What would he do? Would he honor and act upon her request? Would she be Lady Eden this time next week?

It was incredible, almost frightening, how little she cared.

Six days later, from her new private chambers high in the east wing. Lady Marianne's old chambers, Harriet stood at the window and watched the departure.

Stewards had been loading trunks all morning. As a going-away gift, James had given them the handsome carriage and a coachman, plus an incredible severance pay of thirty thousand pounds. No matter. Harriet would have approved of three hundred thousand pounds if that amount had been necessary.

She leaned closer to the window. James was there. Apparently he'd cancelled his customary horseback ride to the Hanging Man in honor of the occasion. Poor James. She knew he was shocked at how well the Cranfords had taken their dismissal.

And there they were, just emerging from the Great Hall, Sophia dressed elegantly in peacock blue, a gown she'd bought on their recent trip to London. And Caleb as always at her side.

As the two approached James standing by the carriage, Harriet considered averting her eyes. She could feel the intimacy of the parting even from this distance. There was a final whispered exchange, then James stepped back, his head and shoulders visibly bowed.

When the carriage started forward, she saw him raise his hand in parting, as though bereft. A few moments later he swung up onto his

horse and accelerated to a rapid gallop, passing beyond the gatehouse in rapid pursuit of the carriage.

Now below, she saw the courtyard empty save for a few stewards who were cooling themselves in a patch of shade near the castle wall. The guardsmen were lowering the grilles and closing the gates. Apparently they knew, as Harriet knew, that James would ride with the carriage as far as the Hanging Man, where there would be another tearful separation, and James would stay and ease his thirst and his grief and return sometime after nightfall.

Slowly Harriet looked back into the chamber. It was hers now. She had everything: titles, wealth, complete autonomy of Eden Castle, a son and heir.

Everything. Everything. As she left the window, she stopped at the edge of the Persian carpet, her left hand moving vaguely out as though for support.

All that remained for her to do now was to devise a manner in which she could learn to live with her impressive victory.

,yss<9

Seated atop the wagon in a cold drizzle, reins in hand, with Elizabeth and John beside him, Edward stole a final glance back at the house on Oxford Street. He'd hated to sell it, but as Elizabeth's meticulous bookkeeping had informed him, he'd had no choice.

In the beginning it had been fairly easy. Within a week of that morning when he'd ceded all claim to the Eden wealth, Edward had received word from Sir Claudius Potter that Lord James Eden very generously had signed over to Edward the deed to the house on Oxford Street plus an allotment of one hundred pounds per month.