Slowly he turned over on his back. He shouldn't have spoken to her as he had. He had no desire to add to her unhappiness. Yet she had provoked him into it, clearly baiting.
Now he cautioned himself that he must move with greater care in the future. His brief life as an odd-boy may have been dangerous and full of hazards. But all that appeared as nothing compared to the unseen hazards which he sensed about him in the upper corridors of Eden Castle.
London, July 1851
Although Morley Johnson had been at work for over a month on the laborious preparations for his journey, at last everything was ready and all that detained him now was the weeping woman who stood on the pavement, her linsey-woolsey dress smelly with July perspiration.
God! With dwindling patience Morley sent his eyes heavenward, as though for divine intervention. As a new wave of inconsolable weeping dragged Minnie's head downward, Morley cast his eyes in a more appealing direction, to the elegant coach and four waiting just beyond the pavement, capable of taking him the length and breadth of England, if he so desired.
Morley Johnson with his own coach! He smiled in spite of the lamentation going on behind him. Securely tucked away in his pocket and of even greater importance than the coach and four was a letter of unlimited credit, made out in his name and bearing that most remarkable of all designations, the Eden seal. And tucked safely in the same pocket was the letter from Lady Eden which had started the wheels of this adventure rolling. Come about a month ago, it had, requesting that he make all the necessary arrangements for a journey to the Lakes, or wherever the clues might lead him, a journey of unlimited duration, to be concluded with a stop by Had-ley Park for a firsthand account of how Lady Eden's childhood home was faring under the dubious hand of her old uncle.
He patted the inner pocket where the letters rested. Now he was aware of Minnie moving up close behind him as though to summon
his attention. As he turned to face her, he smelled the sourness of regurgitated milk, the tiny babe in her arms nursing hungrily at her tit.
My God, when had that happened? Undoubtedly while he'd been admiring the coach, the witless woman had dragged out her shapeless breast and had given it to the infant. Adding to his embarrassment, Morley now saw the driver of the coach, a blank-faced knave named Gavin, look sideways, clearly amused by the maudlin scene on the pavement.
Hurriedly Morley stepped between his nursing wife and the sly amusement of the man sitting atop the coach. "Have you lost your senses?" he whispered. "Cover yourself. Now!"
Confronted with her husband's anger, Minnie pulled her breast, still dripping milk, from the babe's mouth and stuffed it back into the bodice of her dress.
The tears were at last subsiding. As again she dabbed at her eyes, he cast a glance over his silent brood, all staring wide-eyed at their distraught mother. "Look to her," he said sternly to the oldest ones. "And help her as much as you can. If you're all good, I'll bring you surprises. If not, I'll throw the surprises away and give you my belt."
Then he found that he could look upon them no longer. A feeling of excitement crept over him. Then leave! To that end, without even the courtesy of good-bye kisses, he swung himself rapidly up into the coach, enjoying immensely the instant elevation. As he looked back down on the pavement, he saw poor Minnie all but collapsed among the circle of weeping children.
As the coach picked up limited speed along Holborn, Morley looked eagerly out of the windows on both sides, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face, someone who knew him and would look with admiration at his new status.
But he saw no one, and in the limited foot traffic on the pavement, not one face seemed interested, not one set of eyes looked admiringly up.
They were moving down New Oxford Street now. Tottenham Court Road would be the next turn, then Barnet and the Great North Road. He knew no one in those districts, and someone must admire him.
At that moment, above the rattle of the coach wheels, he had a brilliant idea. He sat still in the carriage seat for a moment. The little whore, Edward Eden's whore, done perhaps in the house in Ber-mondsey.
He made a peculiar grunting sound. What a fitting way to com-
mence this journey of liberation, freed for the first time in his life from domestic obligation!
"Driver!" he shouted, lowering the window. "Turn left here and make for the river."
He felt the horses slow as the coachman, bewildered, called back, 'The Great North Road is to the right. What in the hell—"
"Do as I say, man," Morley shouted, "or else I'll sack you and find another driver before we leave London."
Apparently the threat was effective, for with some difficulty the driver angled the horses through the traffic and turned left on Charing Cross.
Morley shouted again. "It's a business stop, in Bermondsey. Turn left after you cross the bridge."
If the driver heard, he gave no indication of it, though he made no protest either. Relieved, Morley leaned back against the cushions. The carriage was moving at a good speed now, the rhythmic clatter seeming to keep pace with his accelerating pulse. How impressed that little prostitute would be as this grand coach drew up in front of her wretched house.
Incapable of thinking any more, he closed his eyes. Oh, God, how wonderful the world was and all creatures who inhabited it. How marvelous the thought that he did not have to return that night to that smelly flat on Holborn Street, and that dripping woman and those somber children. How magnanimous God had been to create whores. Why, there must be whores the length of England, and he intended to sample them all, as proper gentlemen did, whenever it suited his fancy.
Bermondsey, July 1851
The thought weakened her, and all her bravery was for naught, the thought that Edward should be here, or John, helping her to clean and straighten the long table in their kitchen, the house fragrant with the good smells of boiling spuds and joints, and in honor of the reopening of their Common Kitchen, a pot of furmenty bubbling on the back of the old stove, a lovely treat of wheat and raisins, sugar and spices.
She paused a moment in her labors in an attempt to deal with those persistent ghosts. Weakly she sat on one of the broad benches. For a moment she experienced new feelings of grief as acute as she'd ever felt, as though no time at all had passed.
Perhaps it was too soon. She'd tried to tell Jack Willmot that. But the man had simply outtalked her, had pointed out that she needed diversion and occupation as acutely as the poor residents of Bermondsey needed the Common Kitchen.
And he'd been right in all aspects. As long as she kept busy and did not dwell on the past, she had found survival, if not easy, at least possible.
She smiled now and ran the damp cloth over the table as it occurred to her that for these past difficult weeks she'd been surrounded by love in a way that was unprecedented in her life. Of course, she was smart enough to know that it was merely residual love for Edward, everyone viewing her as a living link with that great man. But what matter? And as Jack Willmot had pointed out, what better way to keep alive his memory than to reopen the Common
Kitchen? Of course she hated being dependent upon Jack Willmot for funds. But what could she do? She knew no profession save one. And she could not now return to that constant humiliation.
Newly troubled by her sense of dependency, she eased around the end of the table near the window. Still bent over, she heard a noise, the rattling approach of a carriage. She lifted the near curtain and looked out. Jack Willmot had promised to stop in later in the day and assist her with final preparations. But it was morning, and Mr. Willmot would never travel in such a conveyance. She leaned closer to the window. Then who?
Then she saw who and recognized him immediately. What had brought him back here? She'd answered all his questions, at least all that she was capable of answering.
He was standing on the pavement now, saying something to the driver atop the high seat. Suddenly it occurred to her that perhaps she should run and bolt the front door and deny him ent
rance.
But halfway across the front parlor, another thought intervened. What if he had brought her news of some sort concerning John? What if the boy were ill and in need of her, or wanted simply to come home, having found Eden lacking?
Thus, instead of throwing the bolt, as she reached the door she flung it open, apparently taking Mr. Johnson by surprise.
"Miss . . ." He smiled, bobbing his head, then stood curiously to one side, as though eager not to block her vision of something at the pavement.
But she saw nothing at the pavement except the rather overlarge carriage and the driver who sat with suspect rigidity.
"Mr. Johnson, won't you come in?" she murmured, remembering her manners and trying to forget the unpleasantness of their last meeting.
He ducked his head through the low doorway and apparently detected the various good odors coming from the kitchen. He lifted his head, his long straight black hair cupping about his collar in the process. "Smells of my youth"—he smiled—"my mother's kitchen at harvest time."
She smiled, flattered, though still a bit nervous, and watched as he fell into a close examination of the clean well-ordered room, quite a change from the chaos of his last visit. She managed a timid, "Please sit down, Mr. Johnson. May I offer you something? Coffee? Tea?"
"No, no, I don't want to inconvenience you."
"It will be no inconvenience, I assure you."
"It's clear you are expecting guests."
"Guests!" She laughed at the generous description of the wretched humanity who would be seated at the long table in the kitchen that evening. "Not guests, Mr. Johnson," she corrected. "With the help of Edward's friends, I'm reopening the Common Kitchen. The first serving will be this evening."
He seemed perplexed. "Charity?"
She nodded.
He still seemed mystified. "I had no idea." He sat up as though fascinated by the subject. "And where, may I ask, was Mr. Eden getting his funds?"
"Oh, he worked, he did," she said proudly, "as did John. It wasn't much. But we shared everything."
He looked at her now with intense interest. "And how are you paying for such philanthropic acts?"
She was on the verge of informing him of Mr. Willmot's generous support when, without warning, she felt his hand covering hers in an intimate touch, and looked up to see a strange smile on his face.
"No need for deception with me," he murmured, moving closer to the edge of his seat. "Old ways die hard, I know, though God has a reason for everything."
While she was still puzzling this, he stood and moved to the side of her chair, his hand in the process stroking her shoulder. "You've made a pleasant little den here," he went on, lifting his hand just as she was about to draw away, finding the gesture intimate and repellent. "Any man would pay handsomely to pass a few hours in this comfortable retreat. How clever of you to locate here in this remote spot in Bermondsey, where a gentleman's friends are not likely to see his carriage and make a damaging report to an offended wife. May I ask," he said, grinning from the far side of the room, "how many do you . . . feed here in the course of a day?"
What was the matter with him? His manner had become extremely familiar, every word weighted with innuendo. In an attempt to answer his question, she said, "They come at night only."
"Of course."
"And I don't recall how many. As many as I can accommodate."
He was approaching Edward's door, closed now, the room itself tidied, though left for the most part exactly as it had been when he had inhabited it. Mr. Johnson looked back at her again, a look of admiration on his face. "You . . . must have remarkable stamina." He smiled.
"I don't understand," she murmured. "It's hard work, to be sure, but the rewards are great."
"I'm sure they are."
Before she could protest, he pushed open the door to Edward's room and peered in. As his rude inspection stretched on, she considered asking him to leave. "Mr. Johnson, I'm afraid that I—"
"Of course, of course," he said, turning away from Edward's room, though leaving the door ajar. "Business first." He smiled, returning to the chair and with a gesture inviting her to do the same.
Business! Then he did have something of importance to discuss with her. On that note of hope, she settled opposite him. "Does it concern John?" she asked, taken aback by the focus of his eyes, which seemed to be resting on her breasts.
"Yes, it concerns the boy," he said. "I have been authorized by Lord and Lady Eden to undertake an extensive journey for the purpose of trying to discover the true identity of the boy's mother."
Sweet Lord! With a sigh she turned away. Why was everyone so concerned with that ancient mystery?
"I am just now," he continued, "on my way out of London, in my own carriage, as you can see, and I thought it might be wise if I made a final stop here in the hope that during the intervening days since our last meeting perhaps you have remembered something that might seem innocent to you, but that could be of vast importance to a trained mind?"
No, she'd remembered nothing, and lowered her head in an attempt to swallow her disappointment. No message from John, apparently, though still she felt compelled to ask, "And how is he? John, I mean? Have you received news? Has he—"
He seemed annoyed by her digression. "The boy's present state is none of my concern," he said. "But his past is of vast concern to everyone at Eden." He leaned forward in his chair as though to force her attention to the matter at hand. "Do you remember anything?" he asked sternly.
Wearily she shook her head, wanting only to be rid of him. "No more than what I told you the last time you were here."
"You mentioned that on that day long ago, Mr. Eden had returned from the Lakes. You don't remember what part?"
"If he said, I never heard. He was ill. . ."
Suddenly the man leaned forward, as though at last she'd said something that interested him. "111? In what way ill?"
His demanding voice seemed to penetrate all aspects of the quiet
room. Prudently she wondered how much she should reveal of Edward's addiction. It had been a sad chapter in his life, and he was gone, so why resurrect it?
But Mr. Johnson was there again, his face reflecting his interest. She'd had more than enough of him, and now, in an attempt to speed his exit, she confessed softly, "He was an opium eater," then amended her statement, "at that time in his life, he was. After his return with John as a babe, he ceased altogether. Never indulged again." She closed her eyes. "I remember nothing else, Mr. Johnson," she whispered. "I swear it. I'm sorry that again I can be of no service to you."
She was in the process of leaving her chair and heading toward the door. But as she passed him, he reached out and grabbed her hand and with unexpected force drew her close. "You've been of immense help." He smiled up at her. "There are several well-known opium cottages in the Lakes. You have narrowed my search considerably, and I'm grateful."
"I'm glad," she said, embarrassed, not wanting yet to struggle openly for possession of her hand, feeling certain that he would release it.
Her embarrassment increasing, she tried to back away. "It's getting late, Mr. Johnson," she said. "We both have duties to attend to. You must be on the road, and I must make certain preparations for the evening."
As the struggle of hands persisted, he stood and reached for her upper arm and drew her to him in a close embrace. "I'm afraid I haven't made myself clear," he whispered. "I've come this morning on both business and pleasure. The business is over, and I. . ."
Holding her fast about the waist with one hand, he reached up for her breast with the other, and at last his incredible intention became clear. Her first impulse was to laugh. Now she tried to push his hand away, and unwittingly parroted his words. "Nor have I made myself clear, Mr. Johnson," she said, still struggling. "I'm asking you to leave, and if you do so immediately, nothing will be said—"
"Oh, what a pretty lady." He grinned down on her. "And what an eloquent protest. Heightens the fun, eh, what, and
warms the blood. No wonder you could please a man like Edward Eden."
Still his amusement increased, along with the activity of his hands. "What a charming switch," he whispered, growing quite breathless close to her ear. "I've seen many a lady behave like a whore. But you're the first whore I've ever seen to take on the airs of a lady."
"I am not a whore/' she gasped, struggling futilely against his superior strength. Both his arms were around her now, pinning her hands at her sides, while she, with rage and fear increasing, tried to avoid his mouth, which was coming closer.
Still not quite able to believe her predicament, she tried reason for a final time. "Mr. Johnson, I beg you. Please release me. You're making a fool of yourself."
"Morley Johnson does not make a fool of himself," he pronounced angrily, "nor does he permit a whore to do so. I came prepared to pay like all your clients. Now I think I'll insist upon a free meal."
Suddenly he spun her about and twisted both arms behind her, a painful wrenching which caused her to moan. Fully conscious of her fate, she commenced a mighty struggle, her fear at last made manifest in a prolonged sirenlike scream as she felt him propel her forward across the room, half-shoving, half-lifting her, but moving her steadily towatd Edward's bedchamber.
Between screams, she begged him to release her, a witless refrain, her mind racing ahead to the ordeal itself, the degradation and humiliation that she thought she'd put behind her years ago.
At that moment, with the bed drawing nearer, she summoned all the strength she could muster, whirled about and brought one knee up, a select blow, carefully aimed, which caused the man to buckle, releasing her altogether as both his hands were summoned to the area of his groin.
She struggled free, as shocked as he by the accuracy of her assault. She watched him a moment, bent over on himself, a sputtering sound escaping his lips. She looked down upon him with contemptuous indifference, confident that she had won, determined now to make it to the front door.
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