If Harriet remembered correctly, there was an elder son as well. A bastard. James had mentioned him once in passing, the man apparently an embarrassment to the entire family, living scandalously in London.
The sky overhead was a blue endlessness. She sent her eyes there now and wished with all her heart that she was back riding Falstaflf to their secret meadow, or reading by her little rounded turret window which gave such a splendid view of the Shropshire Hills. But to what end? She couldn't very well become a recluse at twenty-five, although that was her natural inclination.
If only she were capable of defining love. There had been Humphrey Hills, but that had been companionship more than love. And she had known one infatuation, safely platonic and from a distance, a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl infatuation with her German tutor, Herr Swartz. He'd been thrice her age, but she'd felt an unprecedented stirring in his presence as he'd read to her from Homer. She'd written a love poem to him and had carelessly left it about on her dressing table. Apparently someone had found it, and a short time after that, Herr Swartz had been dismissed.
Now in the cold light of growing older, she did not look forward to life without a definition of love. But as her mother had sternly pointed out, love had little to do with it.
Across the way, she heard her father speaking. He was listing as
usual his projections of possible catastrophes. It was a sport with him, quite probably because it upset her mother so.
"Not an easy journey, this," he muttered, "particularly dangerous in early summer after spring thaw. My God, when I think on it. Two rivers to ford, the current capable of washing us away. That axle on the second carriage is weak, might break at any moment and send the horses down upon us. Did I tell you, there's a lame horse in the fourth team? Sorely lame. Could unbalance the others and cause a collision. And that stretch of road between Berkeley and Taunton? Particularly bad, or so I've heard, ruts as high as the carriage floor. We could be ripped in half—"
With her eyes closed, Harriet listened. Dear God, she prayed, just let any one of them happen ...
But nothing happened.
In fact, to the contrary, the journey was placid and uneventful. And in the late afternoon of the following day, after a pleasant interval at Berkeley Castle during which time the Berkeleys had more than filled her parents' ears concerning the Edens, she caught her first glimpse of the stark outline of Eden Castle, black in silhouette against the red sunset. She sat up, resolved to meet her responsibilities.
During the journey, something had passed from her, something which was above both happiness and grief, that something being her girlhood vision of romantic love. She had only duty ahead of her now and she divined without fear that she would become yet more lonely, that from now on she was a force enclosed within herself.
Then she heard shouting outside the carriage, saw an escort of Eden watchmen on horseback, each carrying a blazing torch. Opposite her, she saw her mother nervously adjusting her person.
And her father was there, peering excitedly out of the window at the escort. "Fine horses, those," he said, clearly making a value judgment of some sort.
As they approached the central gate, the carriages slowed for entry, and in that moment Harriet caught her first glimpse of the inner courtyard, festooned with hanging lanterns, while atop the walls of the castle watchmen stood at close intervals with lit torches, a colorful spectacle, culminating at the broad expanse of stairs which apparently led up into a Great Hall.
In the carriage's slow progress around the courtyard, Harriet leaned close to the window for a better look at what might well be her future home. There was a roughness to the castle, quite alien to her after the classical elegance of Hadley Park, something almost overly dramatic
about the high stone walls, purple and gold-appearing in the mix of diffused sunset. It was vast as well, she decided, looking up at the high battlements, clearly designed as a fortress, a lonely outpost to withstand any ancient enemy who foolishly thought they could enter England by the channel.
Seeing it thus in an imaginative blur of past and present, Harriet felt mildly intimidated. Would it ever be possible to be mistress of such a place? The carriage was slowing even more, preparatory to stopping at the foot of the Great Hall stairs, where a considerable crowd of people had gathered.
"Straighten yourself," her mother whispered sharply. "Your bonnet is askew."
Harriet did as she was told. Poor Mama, she thought. How troublesome it must be to have an unmarriageable daughter. Seeing her mother's tense face, Harriet again vowed to do her best to snare Lord Eden and endure him for the rest of her life. If she were truly fertile, perhaps once in a communal bed would be enough.
Then with a rattle, the carriages came to a halt. Outside the window she caught a glimpse of the silent group of people, all faces turned toward the lead carriage. Stewards bearing lanterns lined the steps and in this faltering light she caught sight of James, the one familiar face, yet not familiar. In a sudden panic, she realized she'd not remembered him being so short. At the Carlyles' Christmas masque only last season, he'd not appeared so short. When she alighted the carriage, would she be taller than he?
Her father alighted first, leaning heavily on the stewards for support, his old joints clearly stiff from the journey. Once down, he turned back and extended a hand to her mother. Still inside the carriage, Harriet saw a frail old woman step forward, as bejeweled as her mother. It must be the Countess Dowager, the notorious Lady Marianne. To Harriet she looked neither scandalous nor notorious, merely frail and tired and perhaps a little unhappy.
So fascinated was she by the appearance of Lady Eden that Harriet failed to notice James smiling at her from the door of the carriage. Now he gave her a somewhat stiff bow and extended his hand to her. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "I assure you we are harmless."
She returned his smile and permitted him to lead her down from the carriage until they were standing side by side on the ground. She was not taller than he, thank God. As tall, but no taller. She sternly scolded herself for such vanities and looked up to see the Countess Dowager moving slowly toward her parents.
The greeting was warm, her voice extraordinarily musical as she
welcomed them to Eden Castle, trusting they had had a safe journey, recalHng graciously the beauty of Shropshire as she'd seen it on a visit with the late Lord Eden.
Her mother, Harriet noticed^ seemed to be having difficulty lifting her eyes from the dazzling diamonds gracing Lady Eden's throat. Finally she did though and returned the greeting with admirable warmth, apparently unable, as Harriet had been, to see any traces of the fisherman's daughter in this elegant face and voice.
Then it was her father's turn, Lady Eden seeming to act with even greater warmth, as though in her passage through life, the male of the species had always been of sharper interest to her. As she launched forth into an impressive and informed discussion of woolens and process manufacturing, Harriet waited beside James, feeling like a prize hog on the block. She noticed other faces in the silent group focusing on her rather than on her father. She felt like shouting at them. Yes, I'll breed well. And in an attempt to gain some relief from the gaping faces, she lifted her eyes to the top of the Great Hall stairs, allowing her vision to skim over the staring heads and up the line of stewards bearing lanterns to—
With a quick glance she looked up, then looked away. She had hoped for an empty space which would be incapable of staring back at her, but she had yet to find it, for at the top of the stairs, she saw a man, a tall man with fair hair. Unlike the others, this man wore casual dress, coatless, his shirtwaist opened at the neck. He leaned with one shoulder against the stone archway which led into the Great Hall, one booted leg crossed and propped up before the other one, his arms crossed on his chest, a peculiar expression on his strong face as though while he was interested in the arrival, it was only a clinical interest, as though confident that nothing would be required of him, and grateful that it was so.
Quickly Harriet lowered her head, embarrassed to have looked directly at him. She fell into a brief examination of her gloves while to one side her father and Lady Eden were apparently getting on famously. Beside her James restlessly shifted his weight. An old man was now stepping out of the little knot of people, looking quite dandified in his scarlet satin waistcoat. Meticulously he extended a hand to her mother as Lady Eden presided over the introductions. "Lady Powels," she smiled, "may I present Sir Claudius Potter. Since Lord Eden's death," she added, graciously, "my right hand and, on occasion, my left as well."
The old man made an obsequious bow and took her mother's hand.
Harriet could not hear what was being said, indeed had Httle interest in it. Apparently the introductory ritual was to be formal, all tedious custom to be observed. Certainly without meaning to, she let her eyes move slowly back up to the top of the stairs.
He was still there, his gaze focused rigidly upon her. Even though his face was largely in shadow, she thought she could see the light of a smile in his eyes. He seemed excluded, standing alone at the top of the stairs, though in truth the exclusion seemed not to bother him. She wondered who he might be. Not a servant certainly.
Again she felt a blush of embarrassment at the intensity of his gaze and lowered her eyes in time to see Lady Eden approaching her, the magnetic warmth of that smile now aimed in her direction.
Feeling no need for a formal introduction, greeting her as warmly as though she'd known her forever. Lady Eden embraced her lightly, and called her by name. "Harriet," she murmured, "how I've looked forward to this moment."
Confronted with such a generous and hospitable spirit, Harriet responded generously, "And I, too. Lady Eden."
For a moment, the woman seemed to be silently assessing her. Apparently she found something that pleased her for now she patted Harriet's hand warmly. "I know we shall get on beautifully," she said. "How pleasant it will be to have young people again at Eden Castle."
Then with gentle and diplomatic skill, Lady Eden arranged a reception line, guiding Harriet close to where her mother and father stood, inserting James between them while she took up a position to Harriet's right. As everyone was taking their appointed place, Harriet again looked up toward the top of the stairs. Still there. Unmoved. He might have been a statue. Who was he?
Then Lady Eden was saying, "I would like to present my sister. Miss Jane Locke—"
Harriet's attention was drawn back to a tall angular old woman now standing before her in a brilliant cerise gown, cut a little out of fashion but becoming nonetheless. The Berkeleys had spoken this name as well. Again Harriet found the tales hard to believe. The old woman standing before her now looked only slightly less elegant and serene than Lady Eden herself.
"So you're Harriet," she pronounced somewhat bluntly. Before Harriet could respond, she rushed on. "Well, I hope you brought your dancing legs. There's five nights of balls ahead of you." There was a gruffness about the old woman, reminiscent of Harriet's father. Age had been less kind to her than it had been to Lady Eden.
Now Harriet smiled pleasantly. "I love to dance," she said, "though I'm not very good at it. Still, I look forward to the festivities."
Jane Locke started to respond, but Lady Eden apparently applied delicate pressure to her arm and moved her along to make room for Sir Claudius Potter.
Here was an inspecting face if she ever saw one, the old man almost lasciviously viewing her.
She did not like him and delivered her greeting quickly, leaving Sir Claudius to Lady Eden while on the other side a pleasant-faced, grandmotherly type was engaged in earnest conversation with her mother. Clearly there would be a pause. She was acutely aware of James standing stiffly beside her as though still at attention. She considered speaking to him, but she could think of nothing to say.
At the same moment, he apparently felt the same need and asked politely, "How was the journey?"
"Very calm, thank you," she replied.
"No difficulty?"
"No. None at all."
"Good. Very good."
Silence.
She looked back up at the top of the stairs. Perhaps it was a statue. As far as she could tell, the man had not altered his stance in any way. How would it hurt to inquire about his identity? Obviously she was going to meet everyone sooner or later, and the man's distant involvement in the affairs of the moment greatly appealed to her and even caused a flare of envy. How pleasant merely to stand and watch with nothing required of you.
She leaned close to James. "Who is—"
But at that moment the old woman with the kind, grandmotherly face was now approaching. Lady Eden stepped forward as though this introduction would require something special. "And this is Mrs. Greenbell. If you're ever in need of anything, from a ready and understanding ear to a hot water bottle, this sainted soul is the one you should call for."
Harriet returned her smile and felt instantly a very positive and good relationship with the woman.
Again the line seemed stalled in the vicinity of her mother and father. A rather sad-faced young woman stood before them now, listening attentively to something her mother was saying. Harriet watched them, envious of her mother's ability to speak with ease. Harriet had never seen her at a loss for words. Of course those words
were generally empty, but nonetheless they were words, capable of filling a silence. And since the one around her was now deepening to an oceanic depth, she tried to clear her mind of all superfluous concerns and addressed James directly.
"Eden is lovely," she murmured.
He nodded. "It is," and looked vaguely about at the castle walls. "I suppose in a way," he added, "it's seen better days. We try to keep it modern and up to date—" He shrugged. "There's only so much you can do with it."
It was Harriet's turn to nod. Oh God, now what? She noticed the old man. Sir Claudius Potter, climbing laboriously up the stairs. He stopped by the man in shadow, leaning against the wall, and said a few words.
In her desperate need for distraction, Harriet watched. The old man might as well have been addressing a post. There was no response. She thought she detected an angry look on the old face, and continued to watch, fascinated, as the old man strode rapidly past the leaning statue.
It occurred to her that if the man was a servant, he would have moved immediately at Sir Claudius's command. But still there was no movement. She wished she could get a closer glimpse of his face.
Now her mother's chatter was coming to an end, the line moving again, the young woman extending her hand to Harriet's father. Harriet watched her closely and noticed a painful timidity about her. In fact on almost every face that Harriet had met, there was an expression of personal sorrow. The sea air may well have provided them all with long lives, but the quality of those lives was sadly questionable.
For just an instant, Harriet had a glimpse of herself fifty years from now, standing on this same spot, perhaps welcoming a young lady to whom her unborn son was engaged. Between that point and where she now stood stretched long black miles, unbroken even by occasional intervals of joy, condemned to a loveless marriage, although there was always the possibility that love might come later, as her mother had assured her it frequently did. But if it didn't—
She tried to stand a bit straighter and draw deep breath. Lady Eden was saying, "And this is my daughter, Jennifer, Lady Powels—"
Grateful to leave all bleak thoughts behind, Harriet took the small hand extended to her. "Jennifer," she murmured. The girl was probably very close to her own age yet her left hand bore no ring. Apparently the Edens had seen fit to leave her alone to enjoy her spinsterhood.
"Welcome to Eden Castle," Jennifer whispered, her timidity so painful she could scarcely lift her eyes to Harriet.
"Thank you, Jennifer," Harriet responded, vowing to herself to be very kind to the young woman. "Perhaps we might go for a walk tomorrow," Harriet boldly suggested. "I'd like very much to see all of Eden, with you specifically as my g
uide."
Unfortunately the request had an adverse effect. A burning flush crept up the pale cheeks and she looked continuously over her shoulder at the tall thin woman just coming up behind her.
This same woman had overheard Harriet's request and now answered for her. "Jennifer has not been feeling well of late," she pronounced, stroking a notebook in her hand. "But I assure you, we will find you a competent guide elsewhere." The stern face brightened, "James here, perhaps. He would be an appropriate guide."
At this, James rallied from his lethargy and for the first time took over the chores of introduction himself. "Harriet, I would like for you to meet Sophia Cranford."
Harriet waited for further explication and when none seemed forthcoming, she extended her hand to the woman. In a quick gesture the notebook was shifted to the opposite hand and the two women met. "Forgive my intrusion into your conversation with Jennifer," Miss Cranford now murmured. She leaned close as though for a confidence. "The child is not ill, but neither is she well. She is not, by her own choosing, of the idle class. She works very hard during the winter at a school for the daughters of the clergy in Yorkshire."
A man who appeared to be a male version of Sophia Cranford was approaching Harriet now. Miss Cranford did the honors. Reaching for his arm, but stopping short of contact, she smiled, "Permit me. Lady Powels, to present my brother, Caleb Cranford."
The man, she noticed, was slim to the point of emaciation. And in that moment, Harriet observed something else, a feeling of disquietude emanating from Lady Eden, who continued to stand on her right and who had been totally passed over in this latest flurry of introductions. Fairly skillful at recognizing a battlefield when she saw one, Harriet was now convinced that she was standing squarely in the middle of one.
Then Miss Cranford was there again, filling the silence. "I've assigned quarters in the servants' hall to your attendants," she said, suddenly adopting a manner of efficiency. She flipped open the small notebook and withdrew a single sheet of paper. "Here are the numbers," she explained further. "In your chambers, you will notice a system of bells. The numbers there correspond with these rooms. If you
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