The Women of Eden (71 page)

For one fearful moment he thought she'd answer 'Tes." "Good Lord, Eleanor," he scolded, "we'll be kinsmen soon. Come, let's lift a glass to the future, then we'll return to our guests and I promise I shall produce Richard for you, if I have to go and drag him away from that damnable chessboard myself."

All the way up the stairs he talked lightly of inconsequential matters, of Aslam, listening for the light pressure of a footstep behind him. Then he heard it, heard as well her contribution, as though as an imminent member of the family she was justified in speaking her mind. "Of course, I didn't know him when he was at Cambridge, but he seems happy here. And Richard adores him."

"Then you think it was a wise decision?" he asked, luring her forward one step at a time with innocent conversation.

"For now," she said, almost catching up with him at the fourth-floor landing. "I'm afraid his studies have suffered since Richard and I have been in London, but—"

"Do you enjoy London?" he interrupted, spying his chamber door, aware that he must keep her talking for at least a few more steps.

"Oh, yes!" She walked even with him now, not a trace of apprehension on her face. "Compared to the isolation of Forbes Hall it's merely the world."

"And Eden?" he persisted. "What are your impressions of Eden?" He had his hand on the door and pushed it open, delighted to see her move through it, propelled forward by the enthusiasm of her own response.

"I adore it," she said, "even though it is overpowering. It will take me forever to learn every passageway. But I shall do it, I promise you that, and—"

At the sound of the door closing, she ceased talking and looked about, as though unable to determine how she had arrived here.

With his hand out of sight behind him, he turned the key in the lock, then moved forward to soothe her apprehension before it grew to damaging proportions.

"Ah, there it is," he smiled, spying the champagne on the sideboard, cork conveniently removed, the entire setting courtesy of Alex Aldwell, who had followed John's instructions to the letter. As he presented her with a glass of champagne, he observed a faint trembling in her hands and retreated to the safety of the sofa, vowing, within reason, to give her all the time she needed.

WTien a few minutes later she had sipped once and placed the glass on the mantel and still seemed disinclined to say anything further, John settled back and started a considerable distance from the heart of the matter.

"Spring," he announced. "I think a spring wedding would be nice, don't you?"

She bowed her head, pleased with the subject, though hesitant. "Spring would be lovely," she agreed, "but—"

"But what?" he teased. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"No, of course not. It's just that—Richard seems—reluctant."

"Oh, my Godr he scoffed. "Richard was bom reluctant. A firm push from me and he'll come around."

"I really wish you wouldn't, Mr. Eden," she said with a formality that appalled him.

"Mr. Eden?" he parroted. "Is that how one cousin should address another?"

"We're not cousins yet."

"No, but we will be, I promise you."

The chamber was silent except for the crackling fire. She stood before it as though presenting herself to him in lovely silhouette against the gold and red glow. That implacable force was still moving through him, the need to act strong and growing stronger. In a way she reminded him of Lila, her youth and innocence, and in another way of Mary, her bravado under most tenuous circumstances. He had a feeling that she could bluff her way through any challenge.

"Are you—a virgin, Eleanor?" he asked, and recorded the embarrassment on her face. "It's a legitimate question. I have a right to know."

"Yes."

The news worked an incredible effect on him. Though he'd known it all along, having posed the same question to her parents before he'd signed the marital agreement, hearing it from those lips caused him to suffer a pronounced and identifiable sensation. He had endured its absence too long to lightly ignore it.

Slowly he rose, abandoned his glass on the table and approached her. "No cause for alarm," he soothed, taking her hands in his. "Less than a century ago I would have had the right to check for myself, a chnical examination to ensure health and purity of line."

She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. "I said, no cause for alarm," he repeated, mourning the loss of her bravado.

"Please," she whispered, "let's go back. Richard will be—"

All he had done was simply place his hand over her breast, a gen-tie, cupping gesture. But her voice halted in midsentence and she stepped back, dangerously close to the fire.

Unable to play the charade any longer and fast losing what littie control he had, he grasped her by the shoulders and begged, "Let me be the first. Then you will know what to expect, and—"

Suddenly she was weeping before him. The image reminded him of another time, another place, Lila begging to be reheved of marital duties.

"Please," she begged, 'let me go."

He stared down on her, his need blending with disappointment, both accelerating into rage, that the world was filled with cold women. Lacking the appetite to take her by force, he pushed her roughly to one side and strode past her, heading toward his bedchamber where he slammed the door and bolted it, and conjured up the image of a nameless, faceless woman and placed her naked on the bed and was about to mount her when suddenly he felt the tension leave his body, the desire diminish until, limp, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared, unseeing, at the floor and heard the sound of weeping.

Whether it came from beyond the door or inside his own head, he couldn't tell.

"Have mercy," Richard protested, as Aslam commenced to arrange the chess pieces for the fourth game. 'Three defeats in one evening are enough for any man." He smiled and glanced toward the clock beyond the Billiard Room.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, on his feet and stiflF from the sedentary position. "A quarter until twelve. Come, let's rescue Eleanor and make for White's. I'm starved."

Reluctantly Aslam concurred and began carefully to arrange the small ivory chess pieces in the velvet chest. "You play very well, Richard," he said generously. "Up to a point. And then your mind wanders. At the very moment when you should be most alert to my queen you seem mentally to drift off."

Richard laughed at the accurate assessment of his chess capabilities and settled into the chair again. "The story of my life, I'm afraid," he said, enjoying the companionship of the young man, watching with bemused resignation the meticulous manner in which he was storing the chess pieces. Based on experience, Richard knew they would be detained for at least another quarter of an hour. Every piece had to go in just so, a few receiving a loving polishing from the young man, who at eighteen could qualify as a chess master.

In the distance, coming from the Ballroom, Richard heard the sounds of a waltz. Strange how he looked forward to seeing Eleanor again and he hoped that she wouldn't be too angry with him. Of course he'd have to tender countless apologies to John as well. But no matter—he was feeling well, better than he had a right to feel.

considering the bottomless pit of grief out of which he'd recently climbed.

Bertie.

The man still went with him everywhere, but in Lady Eleanor's constant companionship the pain eased. He did like her company and he enjoyed as well the ease of their comings and goings. In public places, restaurants, galleries, no one looked askance at them, those weighted looks which he and Bertie had received so often. Somehow now he felt "proper," and after years of fear and apprehension it was as though a weight had been lifted.

Of course there were awesome questions in his relationship with Eleanor. For one, there was no physical attraction on his part and he hoped that she would not press for more.

"Richard." The inquiring voice belonged to Aslam. "Are you well?"

Richard nodded and walked away, in an attempt to cancel his emotion while he could still control it. "Put your treasures to bed," he called back. "We have an apology to tender and a lady to rescue."

After having aimlessly circled the room twice, he returned to the chess table to see Aslam absentmindedly polishing the head of a queen. "Let me help," Richard offered, convinced that they both needed movement and the distraction of Eleanor's warm personality.

"I'll do it," Aslam snapped.

Richard lifted his hands to stay the annoyance and leaned back in his chair and tried to fill his head with safe thoughts.

"Richard?"

He looked up at the voice. "Yes?"

Aslam bowed his head as though now that he had Richard's attention he didn't know what to do with it. It was while his head was still down that he asked a peculiar question. "Are you—happy?"

Richard almost laughed, but didn't, seeing the seriousness with which the question had been asked. In an attempt to honor that seriousness, he answered truthfully, "No, not happy. But I'm reasonably content, more so perhaps than I have a right to be."

Aslam looked up. "Were you happier at Cambridge?"

Although baffled by the questions, Richard responded honestiy, "Yes, happier than I've ever been in my life."

"Why?"

"I felt, rightiy or vnrongly, that I was being productive, was contributing in a small way."

"And you don't feel that now?"

Richard smiled. "What am I doing here but living a life of pampered luxury? You at least have your studies in the Temple, and John calls on your services from time to time." He rubbed his eyes as though to dismiss the vision of a useless life. "All he asks of me is that I smile on cue and dress properly and be charming to pretty ladies."

"Will you ever go back to Cambridge?"

A most peculiar line of questioning! "I don't know. It has occurred to me. But—"

Again the past and all its pain rose up before him: Bertie laughing; Bertie racing across the Commons, late as always; Bertie counseling a young reader with wisdom and tenderness; Bertie's hand; Bertie ... He lowered his head, aware of the emotion in his face and equally aware that he lacked the vwll to hide it.

While he was still struggling for control, there came another question. "You—miss him, don't you?" Aslam whispered. "Professor Nichols, I mean."

Sweet God, what is the boy doing? "Yes," Richard said, angry at the senseless conversation. "Now hurry. Eleanor's waiting and—"

"Then why didn't you come?" Aslam persisted.

Still recoiling from the earlier questions, Richard looked baffled across the table. "Come—where?"

"John said that you would be there, said that all he wanted was to speak to you, to both of you."

Bewilderment increasing, Richard confessed, "I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about, Aslam. Come where? Speak to whom?"

Aslam ceased to lavish attention on the chess set and returned Richard's stare. "That night in Cambridge," he said, "that terrible night at Professor Nichols'. John told me that he had stopped by your flat earlier and that you had promised to be there."

Richard looked up. The room had gone still around him. "Be-where?"

"At Professor Nichols'," Aslam said impatiently.

Richard wasn't faring so well himself. All the fragments of half-information seemed to assault his mind, and he had the curious sensation that if he rose to his feet he could not stand. "John saw—Bertie?" he asked, hoping that something would be denied.

"Of course," Aslam explained, "and you were to have been there as well. John said—"

"What did John say?"

Aslam appeared to be suffering embarrassment. "He—knew everything-"

"What do you mean, 'everything'?"

"You know," the boy protested, "that you were Sodomites." His face flushed, his eyes became confused. "Neither of us had any idea that Professor Nichols would—"

At that point in the room where earlier the fire had blazed there now, in silence, crept masses of shadows which consumed all the light and warmth. In the manner of a self-flagellate, Richard wanted to know more. He tried to speak and thought he had, but as there was only silence about him, he tried again with all the remaining strength at his disposal.

"What—did John say to Bertie?" he whispered, trying to fight off the image of the noose.

It was Aslam who felt that enough had been said and, as he closed the chess case with a snap, he said, "No matter. John did what he thought was best and, of course, he had no way of knowing—"

Suddenly Richard felt himself driven forward by a force that literally lifted him to his feet. His hand, which never in his life had been raised in violence to anyone, moved as though of its own accord, grabbing Aslam's jacket and holding fast. "Tell me," he demanded, "what was said." When the boy either couldn't or wouldn't speak, Richard shouted, "Te/Z mel"

Aslam stood motionless, terrified. "He told Professor—Nichols to —leave England," he stammered. "He said it was for the best, for both of you. He said no charges would be brought if—he left right away. If he didn't he said he would have both of you—anested—"

The darkness steadily thickened. It was as though a ragged wound incompletely healed had been opened and the pain and odor of infection had been loosened. Stumbling on the leg of the chair, Richard stepped back.

He would have both of you arrested. . . .

"Richard, please. It's over. I—thought you knew."

"No!" Richard whispered in an attempt to digest what was now a double horror. Bertie dead and John behind it. John the cause, John-He took another step backward, then turned and ran, his initial

instinct to seek out the fiend himself and relieve him of life, as he had relieved Bertie.

But as he reached the Entrance Hall he changed his mind, and chose the direct path which led to the front door, pushing past gaping stewards and Alex Aldwell, intent only on putting as much distance as possible between himself and this place of evil.

The first blast of cold January air greeted him like a slap in the face. He found his carriage and shouted up an indefinite direction of "Drive!" and, just as his strength deserted him, he fell across the cold cushions and wept openly for the double loss of the two main supports in his life, Bertie Nichols and John Murrey Eden. Both were dead to him now and would remain so for the rest of his life.

Alex Aldwell stood in the doorway of the Belgrave Square mansion and tried to make sense out of what was going on. Damn—I have to straddle two worlds, that's the trouble! He glanced back up the stairs where the music was going on, then turned his attention to the lower entrance hall where the disintegration was going on. As always, John was no place in sight, leaving it all up to Alex to hold the pieces together.