The prince of Eden

by Harris, Marilyn, 1931-

  Now as the enormous locomotive rumbled into Euston Station, she felt giddy, as though the wild ride had robbed her of her sense of gentility and decorum.

  The train was now screeching to a halt, belching great white puffs of steam. Outside her window she saw the crowds pushing dangerously close, their heads uplifted as though in admiration for the passengers who had successfully completed such a perilous journey.

  Then through the crowds she saw them, those two familiar faces from her childhood.

  She caught sight of Daniel first, his neck craning first one way and then the other as he searched the line of coaches. He seemed thinner from that distance, not as robust a figure as she remembered. Still, he appeared well groomed, as she knew Daniel would, neatly dressed with a broad, clean-shaven face and direct brown eyes.

  Abruptly she blushed under her own close scrutiny, as though she were the one being studied. But in truth he had yet to find her and she rather liked it that way. In spite of her safe obscurity, she was incapable of sorting out her feelings. Even after her extreme punishment by Sophia Cranford, she still had nursed a secret affection for her brother's best friend. A scraped knee, a splinter wedged into the palm of her hand, or just a general sinking of her spirits always brought him running.

  She smiled softly, keeping her eye on the tall man caught in the press and pull of the crowd. How safe they all had been on those windy sunny days!

  Quickly she banished her thoughts of the past as all around her she was aware of passengers preparing to alight from the train, women gathering baskets and children, men self-consciously adjusting their hats and waistcoats. As her eyes moved rapidly over the faces, she found him again, or at least found his red hair, his face turned away as apparently he motioned behind for someone to join him in the search.

  Edward. As he drew even with Daniel, she saw him clearly for the first time, and gasped audibly. What had happened? There was a gauntness to his face she'd never seen before, as though he'd recently been ill. She saw Daniel draw him close, a protective gesture, as though he were someone who had to be looked after. Again, as with Daniel, she was capable of viewing Edward only as a boy. And that face had never borne such a look in his boyhood. Then he had moved with directness, had been the only one who had possessed the courage to talk back to the Cranfords, had possessed a personality of such unbending strength that even without trying, he'd won every battle, scaled every height, run the fastest, the farthest.

  But now! She saw nothing in that pale demeanor that even vaguely reminded her of the boy. Dearest Edward, poor Edward, bearing the brunt of their mother's vanity, a true bastard, conceived without benefit of vows, her mother's sinful device, according to Sophia, for tricking her father into marriage.

  In the aisle opposite her, she was aware of the crowds beginning to

  thin. The station platform was filled now with warm reunions. She could not postpone her own appearance forever. To that end, she leaned forward against the window, making herself clearly visible to anyone who might be looking from the platform.

  Then suddenly Daniel spied her. Within the instant a reassuring light covered the ruddy features; he lifted one hand in a broad wave while with the other he drew Edward nearer and proceeded to point out her position on the train.

  Edward too smiled and lifted a hand in greeting, though under the weight of his direct gaze, she thought again how tired he looked, how ill. With what?

  Quickly she stood, grasped her portfolio beneath her arms, again adjusted her bonnet and went to meet them.

  They met in the narrow door, she looking down on their faces, which now were covered with expressions of extravagant merriment. "We'd about given up on you," Daniel shouted over the crowds. "I was afraid that you—"

  He broke off speaking as Edward lightly pushed him to one side and held out his arms to her. He placed his hands about her waist and swung her to ground and stood a moment holding her at arm's length, his eyes squinting at her as though his vision was impaired in some way.

  "Edward," she whispered. "It's so good to see you."

  Without warning, he drew her close and enclosed her in his arms. Inside his embrace, she pressed her face into his neck and realized that he had lost flesh. Disengaging herself at last, she looked directly up at him. "You look ill, Edward," she said bluntly.

  He laughed openly. "And I was about to lie and tell you how lovely you look. I don't think I will now."

  A little hurt by his directness, she stepped back, though managed a smile. "Why lie?" she asked lightly. "It's my best gown," she added, lifting the folds of the dark brown fabric.

  Edward gave a mock shudder. "Is that what they wear in Yorkshire?"

  "And what would you suggest?" she asked, standing before him as though ready and willing to be transformed.

  He assessed her again, with Daniel grinning behind him, joining in the inspection. "Yellow," he murmured at last. "Yes, yellow silk to contrast your hair and cut low to reveal your breasts."

  His hand had lifted as though to assist with the description of the gown. She felt heat climbing the sides of her face. And it was in this

  state of mind that she greeted Daniel, who was now being led forward by Edward.

  When he continued to draw nearer as though he intended to embrace her as Edward had done, she quickly extended her hand. "Daniel, how good to see you."

  Never had she seen such an expression on a man*s face. While she had never suffered any pretensions to beauty, she felt that if, at that moment, she'd caught a glimpse of herself in a glass, she might have been beautiful. The expression of simple adoration on Daniel's face would have made her so.

  But there her observations stopped as she continued to find herself held in Daniel's relentless gaze.

  "Unlike you both," he murmured, "I find no fault with you. Brown becomes you, as would every color in God's rainbow."

  She lowered her head for a moment's respite from the intensity in his eyes. While what he had said was not particularly intimate, it had been spoken with great intimacy.

  "Thank you, Daniel," she said, at last wresting her hand free. She must make every effort to restore his light mood, for his present one terrified her. "Now, as when we were children"—she smiled up at him— "it's reassuring to know that I can count on your kindness."

  Then Edward joined them again, stepping between them, placing a hand on both their shoulders. "Come," he urged, "let's leave this place. We have a reunion to attend to. Our own." He drew them close for an instant, then released them as he inquired, "Your luggage? Is it with you?"

  She shook her head and looked about. "The porter took it for me. I have no idea—" She strained to see over the crowds around her. But it was impossible. Instead of decreasing, the throngs seemed to have multiplied as curiosity seekers rushed in from Euston Square to stare at the black locomotive. The costermongers had followed them and were now selling pickles and onions and herring, the whole platform resembling a picnic.

  "Then come," Edward urged. "I'll send John Murrey back while we wait in the carriage."

  Predictably, Daniel objected. "I'll fetch it," he offered kindly. "You two go along and wait for me in the carriage. I'll only be a minute."

  Then Edward was steering her through the crowds, his arm protectively about her. She looked up several times into his face and saw that strained quality again, saw a dampness of perspiration on his forehead. It was during one of these close observations that she noticed for the

  first time a slight wound on his forehead, the laceration scabbed over and clearly healing, half hidden beneath his hair. The realization that his blood had recently been spilled stirred her strangely. And when halfway down the long platform, he seemed to falter and wipe his hand across his sweating brow, she took the lead, shifting her portfolio to her other arm and with her free hand grasping his arm where, beneath his black jacket, she felt him trembling.

  She could see his desperate attempt to compose himself as he looked about at the traffic. Then she glan
ced around and saw, about fifty yards away, a carriage with an old gentleman sitting atop, waving at them with his whip.

  When still Edward seemed incapable of response, she turned him in the direction of the old man and hoped for the best. As they approached, the man smiled down as though in recognition. "Are you John Murrey?" she called up.

  He nodded and grinned. As he climbed awkwardly down from his high perch, she released Edward's arm and watched, concerned, as he pulled himself weakly forward into the carriage. For a moment, her attention was splintered between the strange behavior of her brother and the grinning John Murrey.

  "John Murrey, I am. Miss," he pronounced, bowing. "And you must be Mr. Eden's sister."

  She nodded and was on the verge of saying more when suddenly her attention was drawn to Edward inside the carriage, his head fallen back against the cushions, something pressed against His mouth, a vial of some sort which he tasted with the tip of his tongue, then hurriedly restored to the pocket of his waistcoat.

  The roar of the crowd sounded fainter here. As her concern for Edward increased, she looked back in the direction they had just passed, hoping to glimpse Daniel. Nothing. Now to John Murrey she said, "I'm afraid Mr. Eden is ill. We were to wait here for Mr. Spade, but perhaps we should—"

  Quickly the old man cut in. "Oh, Mr. Eden isn't ill, Miss," he grinned broadly. "Just give him a minute to catch his breath and he'll be right enough. I'll go fetch Mr. Spade, and we'll be out of here in no time."

  Without giving her an opportunity to protest, he held the carriage door for her and supported her arm as she climbed up the high step. Seated anxiously opposite Edward, she called after the old man, "Hurry, please—"

  Then she was aware of Edward looking at her, his head still resting against the cushions. "Don't worry, Jennifer."

  With a faint accusation in her voice, she scolded Hghtly, "You're ill. Why didn't you tell me?"

  He began to sit up now, color returning to his face. "John's right," he said quietly. "Just give me a minute and I'll be right enough."

  Half angry, she again scolded, "I'll be happy to give you all the minutes I have. But you're ill. That would be apparent to—"

  He leaned forward and took her hand and lightly laughed. "Don't concern yourself, Jennifer. I'm fine. Look!" He held out both his hands as though to display to her his steady nerves.

  "Then what happened?" she demanded. "You were quite undone a few minutes ago. I could feel you trembling."

  He laughed and eased over to join her on her side. "That place is enough to make anyone tremble, wouldn't you say? Now, tell me everything about the railway ride. Was it terrifying? Do they make a tremendous amount of noise?" He leaned still closer, a fount of curiosity. "And tell me too about that dreadful school of yours? How long do you intend to waste your life in that barren region, teaching children to make music?"

  As yet he had given her no opportunity to answer any of his questions, and still he rushed on, his eye falling on the portfolio of music resting on her lap. His face seemed to brighten. "Will you play for me, as you used to?" He leaned back suddenly against the cushions, his eyes closed. "Have I ever told you how rich your music made my youth? I can hear them still, the melodies pouring forth from that old pianoforte in the corner of the Great Hall." He shook his head, the pleasure of his recall extreme. "From the courtyard it always sounded as though a sprite of magical powers had been turned loose on the keyboard." He opened his eyes and smiled warmly at her. "But it was always you, sweet Jennifer." He leaned forward again, a look of intensity on his face. "You will play for me, won't you? Promise me that you will."

  She watched and listened carefully. His face, which a few minutes earlier had resembled a death mask, now seemed alive with movement. In response to his plea, she said quietly, "According to Sophia, the old pianoforte collapsed, a victim of coastal dampness."

  "Then we shall buy another," he proclaimed. "The finest in all of London. Tomorrow we shall purchase it. You shall select it and we'll transport it behind us in a special wagon all the way to Eden Point."

  She laughed and shook her head as though at a generous child. "Then I shall play for you," she agreed, "as long and as often as you wish."

  Pleased with her response, he again leaned back, his eyes closed as

  though already hearing music. "It will bring pleasure to us all, Mother as well. She always complains about the castle being so silent."

  Then it was Jennifer's turn to look away out of the opposite window and maintain a guarded silence. "If only we didn't have to go home," she whispered.

  She was aware of nothing until he took her hand. "Please try to be kind to her, Jennifer," he pleaded. "Her allotment of time is about up. She hasn't many years left."

  She permitted him to take her hand but continued to gaze off into the distance where fog encircled the gaslamps. "I try always to be kind to her," she said. "I see no reason why I should alter my behavior."

  She was aware of his taut silence, as though he too wanted to say more, but realized it would only lead to grief for both of them.

  Gazing out opposite windows, though still connected by their clasped hands, they sat in silence, as though both needed time to absorb the buffeting of their emotions.

  She moved into a safe arena. "And what do you think of James's engagement?" she asked, wondering if he shared her difficulty in trying to imagine their brother as a bridegroom.

  He shrugged. "If it suits him," he muttered. "I don't know the lady. Do you?"

  "I've met her, years ago at Francis Roberts's weekend party. She seemed pleasant enough, rather pretty, shy—"

  As she struggled to describe Lady Harriet Powels, she was again aware of his close scrutiny. "And what of your own future?" he inquired softly. "Do you plan to spend the rest of your life in that Yorkshire purgatory?"

  She ducked her head, mildly resentful of his criticism. "It suits me well enough," she replied, an edge to her voice.

  "How could it?" he demanded bluntly. "It's unnatural."

  "Why unnatural?" she asked, facing him, her resentment increasing.

  "Women locked up together?" He shook his head and repeated himself. "It's unnatural."

  Feeling herself growing defensive, she retorted, "Nonsense. It's a pleasant existence. It provides me with a sense of service and the companionship of good, intelligent women. I sometimes think I would be perfectly content spending the rest of my life there."

  He looked at her, appalled. "I would never permit it."

  "And who are you to stop me?" she demanded, a sense of play still running between them, with the heavier tone muted in the background.

  Before her determined face, he retreated slightly. "I wouldn't prevent

  it personally," he smiled. "I'd simply pay some good man to kidnap you and take you to his bed."

  "Edward!" The shock in her voice was genuine. He'd never spoken of such matters to her before.

  "Oh, not just any good man," he soothed, leaning closer, the side of his leg pressed firmly against hers. "There is one good man who would gladly lay down his life for you, a noble man who would give you children and a lifetime of loyalty, and—"

  "Please, Edward," she whispered firmly. "I don't want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever." She tried to move a distance away, embarrassed by the intimate nature of his words.

  He leaned closer, still pursuing. "Do you know who I'm talking about?" he asked.

  Rigidly she shook her head. "I beg you, Edward," she pleaded.

  But he pressed on. "Daniel," he said. "I'm speaking of Daniel."

  "Leave me alone," she begged.

  But he wouldn't. He slid opposite her, forcing her to look at him. In those close quarters she thought she saw anger in his face, was convinced of it when he demanded impatiently, "How long do you intend to keep him waiting? He has a right to know your feelings,"

  In desperation, she confronted him directly. "He knows my feelings," she cried. "I have never deceived him or led him to any degree of hope
or expectation." As her voice rose, the stinging behind her eyes increased. "I have no feeling for him," she declared. "No affection save that of a good friend."

  Apparently her words registered. "Poor Jennifer," he mourned. "I fear you have no affection for anyone, are capable of none so long as you maintain that death-line to Sophia Cranford."

  Incapable of speech, she shook her head, begging him without words to cease. Seeing her tears, he leaned back, though still pitying her. "Oh, Jennifer," he said^ "how lonely you must be, and how ready is the door out of your prison—"

  "I am neither lonely nor imprisoned," she wept. "Now, please, I beg you, leave me be."

  This time he obeyed, as settling back into the cushions, he maintained his silence, staring glumly out the window.

  As she reached frantically inside the pocket of her cloak for a handkerchief, she tried to draw a deep breath. How warm had been their reunion and how quickly he had plunged her to the depths. She remembered how often Sophia Cranford had warned her away from Edward, condemning him in the same tones as she had condemned her

  mother, as corrupting influences, both capable of harm. And what had he meant by the "death-line" which attached her to Sophia, strong, pure Sophia, without whom she would never have survived her childhood?

  She struggled for self-control. Abruptly she felt the carriage rocking. Raising her eyes to the window, she saw Daniel hoisting her trunk upward to unseen hands. She heard him shout, "Secure it tightly, John."

  Hurriedly she passed the handkerchief over her face in a desperate attempt to look normal. Opposite her she was aware of Edward, sunk into a gloomy silence.

  Then Daniel was pulling himself into the carriage, his face flushed with exertion, his spirits high and intact. "What a mob!" he gasped. "Was there anyone left in Leeds? I've never seen so many trunks and-"