The prince of Eden

by Harris, Marilyn, 1931-

  At that moment, an idea occurred to him, so breathtakingly satisfying that for a moment he couldn't breathe. A permanent brand. On the boy's chest. With the point of a sharp knife. It could be done. While still an infant, the ritual would be painless.

  A piece of grit got in Humphrey's mouth and his teeth grated.

  He shifted abruptly in his chair and looked back out the window where the snow was increasing. He could still see it, that impressive hulk of Hadley Park, a few lamps burning in the lower windows. It could be any time now, the old Swedish woman had told him.

  Any time now—

  In his state of ecstatic anticipation, he did not at first see the carriage draw up outside the window. He was only aware of the possibility of a new guest when he heard horses neighing.

  With the natural-born instinct of a proprietor who senses a paying guest, Humphrey sat up straight and leaned closer to the window. A handsome carriage it was, though a bit soiled.

  On a note of happy anticipation, Humphrey started away from the table, hurrying through the low arched doorway which led to the outer reception hall and front door.

  But as he passed a wide-eyed serving girl, he stopped, better judgment intervening. No! One sure way to annihilate any conversation he might have with the fine gentleman would be for him to appear in the reduced role of steward. Determined to play his proper role, he shouted at the retreating serving girl, "Fetch the boy! We've a late guest!"

  For a few moments, Humphrey paced the long reception hall, stopping now and again to peer out the windows near the front door.

  Where in the hell was that boy?

  Suddenly in anger he raced to the top of the kitchen steps and shouted down, "Send up the boy!" When there was no reply coming from the basement, he grasped the hand railing and shouted again, "I'll shred his back for him, I swear it, if he doesn't—"

  Then at the bottom of that dark staircase he saw the beam of a lantern, saw the flat-faced boy himself. As the boy started up the stairs, Humphrey blotted out in his imagination the dull-featured farmer's son

  and replaced the face with the finely drawn features of the Powels family. He saw clearly before him the unborn bastard, dependent upon him.

  As the boy drew near the top of the stairs, Humphrey leveled his eyes, still seeing in his imagination the outline of the face which had caused him a lifetime of grief. Without warning he lifted his hand and delivered a stunning blow to the side of the young impudent face. The impact clearly took the boy by surprise. He emitted one sharp cry and fell a few steps backward.

  He grabbed the hand railing at the last minute and, clutching his stinging cheek, he stared back at Humphrey. "Sir?" he whispered, clearly failing to understand the reason for his punishment.

  Humphrey rubbed his own hand, smarting from the force of the blow. "I called for you five minutes ago," he pronounced coldly. He reached down and dragged the boy up and shoved him in the direction of the door. "We've guests," he muttered. "See to them."

  He watched as again the witless boy righted himself. As he opened the door a gust of wind blew snow flurries across the floor. Humphrey hurried back to the window and stood carefully out of sight so he could not be seen from the front terrace.

  Agitation mounting, Humphrey pressed closer to the window, suddenly fearful of what the boy may be saying. A wrong word, or an impudent gesture might cost him a distinguished client.

  But at that moment he saw the old driver point up toward the trunks secured to the top of the carriage, saw the boy place his lantern on the snow and scramble upward.

  Good lad! Apparently the Mermaid would indeed house a peer this night. Confident that all was going well outside in the cold night, Humphrey turned back toward the kitchen staircase, ready to shout again, only to find an obedient line of half a dozen serving girls, awaiting his command.

  From the door he ordered, "Prepare the suite at the top of the stairs." As the girls hurried toward the central staircase he added, "And use the silk linens and the china pitcher. And lay five logs on the fire, and place a decanter of claret on the night table. Hurry!"

  As the girls disappeared at the top of the stairs, Humphrey smiled. By God, let no man say of him that he was a bumpkin. He knew the requirements of class.

  Then all arrangements under way, he took a moment to straighten his satin waistcoat, to lick both his forefingers and run them across his red and bushy eyebrows. Tomorrow morning, if the Fates were kind, he

  might share breakfast with the mysterious gentleman.

  So engrossed was he in his fantasies of deHghts to come that only at the last minute was he aware of the curious shuffle outside the door, the old man appearing first, his face strained with effort as he supported the gentleman following behind him.

  From where he stood, Humphrey's first impression was that the gentleman was ill. But once inside the reception hall, Humphrey saw him lift his head, and while he saw a face ravaged, he also saw clear and impressive evidence of breeding.

  As Humphrey stepped forward to greet him, he counseled himself moderation.

  "Gentlemen," he smiled, smoothing both hands down over the satin waistcoat. "Welcome to the Mermaid."

  The old man stepped forward, momentarily abandoning his master. "We seek shelter, sir," he muttered.

  For a moment a twinge of inadequacy swept over Humphrey. The master had not deigned to speak himself, but instead had let his man make inquiry. "The Mermaid offers you shelter," he pronounced. With a hand he motioned to the gaping boy to take the trunks upstairs. And when no one in the reception hall seemed inclined to move or speak, Humphrey side-stepped the old man and moved in the direction of the gentleman. "My name is Humphrey Hills, sir," he announced. "I am proprietor here and I am honored by your presence."

  The gentleman seemed to be looking at him, but not seeing him. Humphrey moved a step closer, determined to force some sort of utterance from the gentleman. "May I offer you food, sir, or drink?"

  Behind him he heard the old man cut sharply in. "We seek only warmth and rest."

  Burning from the sharp retort, Humphrey glanced over his shoulder at the old man. Now assuming a hauteur of his own, he turned aside from the fruitless encounter with a rather curt announcement. "At the top of the stairs," he said. "A maid shall direct you there."

  From his position near the door, Humphrey watched them both, a most curious pair, one clearly from the gutter, the other from the mountaintop, both exhibiting great fatigue.

  Then an idea occurred to Humphrey. The old man had already disappeared at the top of the steps. The gentleman, facing a direct statement, would be forced to reply. "I beg your pardon, sir," Humphrey began. He hesitated at first under so direct a gaze. "Your horses, sir," he went on, "and the carriage. I'll have the boy take them around to the stables in the rear. They will be cared for.'*

  He looked as though he might speak. At least his head lifted, but no words came out and to Humphrey's surprise and anger, he realized that he'd been ignored again.

  Still smarting from the rebuff, suffering from his inability to force the arrogant man into discourse with him, Humphrey threw caution to the wind, stepped toward the newelpost, and demanded angrily, "Your name, sir." Then alarmed by his own daring, he backed away and meekly added, "For the guest book, sir. The name will be entered in the guest book."

  Slowly the gentleman nodded. In his eyes fever burned, though with impressive assurance he lifted his head.

  "Eden," he said softly. "Edward Eden."

  The following morning, after a night as miserable as any that Edward had ever spent, he dragged himself to the narrow, diamond-shaped window glass of his second-floor lodgings in the Mermaid Inn, glanced out at the pristine landscape, and found himself blinded by the brilliance of sun on new snow.

  His head ached. Each limb felt heavy and unresponding. Complete and total abstinence, as he knew all too well, was the most painful of all. Now as he pressed his forehead to cold window glass, he looked out and caught his first glimpse of Hadley
Park. In silence he studied the distant elegant structure, deeply moved by his awareness of her close proximity, yet baffled as he wondered what exactly it was that he had hoped to accomplish by coming here. If James had been denied an audience with her, what chance would he have?

  His head clearing, he drew his dressing robe about him and looked down at the black iron gate across the road, a fortress with two sentry boxes on either side and four guardsmen walking back and forth through the snow. No entry there without the express approval of a voice of authority coming from the estate itself.

  With some effort Edward dragged a chair nearer to the window and sat heavily. Then how to reach her? Disguised? No, the idea was absurd on the face of it. And even though he might clear the gate, where, inside that pile of masonry, would he know where to look for her?

  Perhaps he had yet to face the most disagreeable truth of all, that she was indeed lost to him, had been lost to him since that awful night in the Banqueting Hall.

  He made a motion upward when, below, coming from the direction of the front terrace, he heard noise, feet crunching snow, a horse. He leaned forward. Below at the edge of the terrace he saw two men, one

  astride a horse, the other receiving an envelope of some sort. He recognized the one standing, the pecuHar proprietor who had received them the night before. The man on horseback appeared to be a servant of some sort. A moment later, Edward saw the proprietor take coins from his pocket and hand them up to the servant.

  Here Edward leaned closer to the window, his attention totally engaged. The servant on horseback was slowly guiding his horse back across the road where he saw the high iron gates wide open, the watchmen standing calmly to one side as the horseman rode through without interruption.

  Still Edward stood by the window, concentrating now on the proprietor, who appeared to be rereading the message with great interest. Then all at once and to Edward's complete amazement he saw the little man perform a most exuberant jig. In a bizarre performance he lifted his right leg and held out his hand as though to an invisible partner and danced a few steps in one direction, then reversed legs and danced in the opposite direction. It was a most strange spectacle, the dandified little man dancing with himself on a cold snowy morning.

  For several minutes Edward continued to watch by the window, until at last the man obviously came to his senses and made a hasty retreat back into the warmth of his inn. Still Edward stared down, seeing the beginning of a plan. The little proprietor had seemed eager last night to make his acquaintance. The smells of breakfast were floating up from below, and while Edward had no appetite, it occurred to him that a discourse with the man over coffee might prove profitable. The inn was in a perfect position for observing everything that went on at Hadley Park. And he had the feeling that the little proprietor had sharp eyes and would, if he could, tell a great deal.

  Then if he was to play the part of the city sophisticate he must dress the role. He spied his trunk in the far corner of the room, made his way to it and lifted the lid. After some searching and discarding, he lifted out a well-tailored London suit of pale gray with pearl-colored waistcoat and gray silk neck scarf. He bathed and dressed carefully, paying attention to his grooming, a bother which he'd not done in long months.

  A short time later Edward entered the dining hall and selected a small table near the window which gave him a perfect view of the iron gates across the road and the estate beyond.

  A moment later he heard steps approach and turned to see a plump serving girl standing before him, the buttons on her black dress straining against the excess of flesh. "Sir?" she curtseyed prettily.

  While Edward's true appetite dictated only coffee and perhaps a

  piece of preserved fruit, the ruse which he hoped to work upon the proprietor demanded more. "Eggs," he said, "poached, and sausages would be nice as well." He paused and sniffed broadly at the air. "And is that fresh baking I smell?"

  The girl blushed and ducked her head even lower. "Tis, sir. Cook's quite good. Both cakes and cinnamon buns, fit for angels, she makes 'em."

  "Then bring me a full selection," Edward requested, "and we'll share a platter."

  "Oh, I couldn't do that, sir."

  "And why not?"

  "Mr. Hills would have me hide, then me job," she gasped. She began to back away from the table. "I'll see to your breakfast, sir."

  As the girl, still moving away, looked back, he called out, "And where is Mr. Hills this morning? I had hoped to greet him."

  "He's in his office, sir. Shall I fetch him for you?"

  "No," Edward answered. "Don't bother." He didn't want to be quite so obvious.

  The girl still looked expectant. "Anything else, sir?"

  Edward smiled, wanting very much to put her at ease. "Your name, please," he inquired softly.

  Again the girl blushed. "Elizabeth, sir."

  Elizabeth! With unexpected clarity the image of that other Elizabeth appeared before him. "Have you ever been to London, Elizabeth?" he asked now, knowing what the answer would be.

  She looked at him as though he'd lost his senses. "London, sir?" she smiled. "Sweet Jesus, no. I've no business in London. Me Mum's here. Nothing for the likes of me in London."

  He smiled at her protestations. "But no desire to see the sights?" he persisted.

  "What sights?" she scoffed prettily, moving her bulky figure back through the arrangements of tables and chairs, apparently drawn into the conversation in spite of herself. "I've all the sights I care to see around here, sir," she stated with admirable confidence. "I feel best with little things, I do, if you know what I mean, sir."

  Edward listened closely for two reasons: one, the girl's quiet and self-assured wisdom, and two, at some point they had been joined by a third. Edward could just see him over her bulky shoulder, the sharp features and ferret eyes of Mr. Humphrey Hills.

  Mr. Hills spoke, sent his cold voice across the width of the dining hall in the sharpest of reprimands.

  "Elizabeth!"

  Then he was upon her, jerking her about and delivering a stinging blow to the side of her face.

  As the girl reeled backward with a soft cry, Edward was on his feet. "You have no right, sir," he objected strongly. "The fault was mine. I invited her to speak.'*

  But Hills said nothing. He followed the physical assault with a verbal one, literally driving the girl back toward the kitchen stairs, warning her that if ever again he caught her speaking to the guests, she would pay.

  The girl was weeping now, still holding her injured face, and as she drew near the stairs, she bobbed her head and promised to be a good girl. Then she was gone.

  Still standing before the table, Edward felt incredible anger. He considered pursuing the man and giving him the same treatment he had given to the girl. But it would have accomplished nothing, indeed would have closed the man's lips to him forever. Slowly now Edward returned to his chair, keeping a close watch on the man still looking down the kitchen stairs.

  Then he was walking toward Edward, his hands behind his back, something in his attitude which suggested the harassed and overworked proprietor. "My deepest apologies, sir," he murmured, bowing his head. "I try very hard to maintain a quality establishment. For a staff I'm forced to rely on milk-maids and hay-girls, creatures more at home behind a plow than a tea service."

  Still practicing self-restraint, Edward watched the manner in which the man curled his lips about each word, an affectation of speech which Edward found wholly repulsive. "I understand," Edward muttered. "Still, it was my fault. I coaxed her into speech and required her to stay. You should have delivered your blow to me. I was the offending party."

  At that, the man became even more apologetic. "Never, sir," he pronounced with fervor. "You are my guest and, as such, incapable of causing offense."

  My God, the man was both stupid and brutal. Again Edward smiled. "Even if I desire to engage a serving girl in conversation?"

  Aware that he'd walked into his own trap, Mr. Hills gazed be
wildered down on him. "I trust, sir, that for all her rudeness, the wench saw to your needs."

  Edward nodded.

  "And may I inquire," Hills went on, "did you sleep well? Again, with your forgiveness, you looked quite road-weary last evening."

  "The chamber was comfortable."

  Still fingering the back of the chair as though hungry for an invitation to sit, Hills smiled. "Have you been abroad long, sir?"

  "Forever, sir, or so it seems."

  Then all at once, Edward issued a brusque invitation. "Well, sit, man. Don't just hover. If you are the true owner of this place, see if you can produce coffee for us."

  Edward saw a blush spread over the man's features, heard his command for coffee aimed at another serving girl who was lurking near the end of the hall. That done, he quickly slid into the chair opposite Edward, as though fearful that the invitation would be withdrawn.

  Edward watched with quiet amusement as the girl deposited a coffee tray on the table between them, continued to watch as Hills waved her brusquely away and took over the serving duties himself

  The cups filled, it was Edward's turn again. "You run a comfortable inn, sir," he commented blandly. "Indeed, last evening your beacon appeared to us as a light from heaven."

  The little man beamed. "It was a fierce storm, sir. Winter's worst thus far, a terrible night 16 be abroad—" He paused, then added, cunningly, "That is, if one had a choice."

  All at once, Edward was aware that their purposes were identical, each seeking information. Now, in his most generous gift of all, he extended his hand across the table. "Edward Eden," he pronounced, "from London."

  Hills responded admirably. "My pleasure, sir," and took Edward's hand.

  In an attempt to clear the preliminary stalking, Edward went on. "It was my misfortune last year," he began, in storyteller fashion, "to suffer an illness, a palpitating heart," he smiled innocently. "At least that's what my physician called it. And when I'd recovered sufficiently, the blasted man prescribed a journey, a leisurely excursion, as he put it, down England's country lanes." Again Edward sipped at the coffee. "So here I am," he concluded, "on an odyssey designed to cure, but which at times has threatened to kill."