The Other Eden

by Sarah Bryant

  He took my hand. “I don’t think that even Dorian could find a way to harm you in the presence of so many others.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Besides, I would kill him before I let him hurt you again.”

  I couldn’t answer, only kissed his hands and wished once again that I had never given Dorian the credit of listening to his lies.

  Saturday was overcast, the air as close and damp as that of a hothouse. I deliberated for most of the afternoon about whether I really wanted to wear the old-fashioned dress, with its tight bodice and layers of fabric. In the end Mary insisted.

  “You don’t have another costume,” she said, tugging at the laces of the corset she had unearthed to go with the dress. “You can’t be the only one without one at your own costume ball!”

  I groaned as the bone caging tightened around my waist and ribs. “Thank God I was born too late to have to wear one of these!”

  “As well you might,” Mary agreed. “I wore one from the time I was thirteen, and burned it when the fashion world finally came to its senses.” She pursed her lips. “It’s a hot night for it, especially when you’re not used to wearing one. But the dress will never fit without it. There.” She fastened the back of the dress. “Have a look.”

  Obediently I looked in the mirror, knowing already what I would see. But for the fair hair, I could have been my mother in the painting. I sighed.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. It’s a lovely dress.”

  She put one bird’s-wing arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, as she had when I was a little girl. “Cheer up, Eleanor. I’m certain that the party will be a success.”

  I noted that she said nothing of Alexander’s and my planned announcement. She had hardly said a word about it, in fact, since the morning I told her. This would have worried me, if so many other things hadn’t.

  When Mary finally left I sank onto the bed, resting my aching forehead against my palms. I had sat like that for some time, the shadows deepening around me, when there was a soft tapping at the door. I roused myself, smoothed my hair, and then went to open it. Alexander was standing there in a suit of approximately the same era as my own gown. He looked me up and down, then smiled wryly.

  “Coming out of the darkness like that, you looked like a ghost.”

  “My mother’s ghost, or Eve’s?” I asked dismally.

  “Come, Eleanor, cheer up. Remember that we’re celebrating our engagement.”

  I tried to smile. “I think I would have preferred a bottle of wine and an early night.”

  He put a reassuring arm around me and kissed my forehead. “There will be plenty of those. For now, we are where we are. Shall we go?”

  Hand-in-hand we walked downstairs and out to the car, where Mary was already waiting, wrapped in a peony-pink kimono.

  The first guests were pulling up to the house on the hill when we arrived. I had kept clear of the preparations, so the house’s appearance was as much a surprise to me as to my guests. The windows had been washed, the worst of the broken stonework repaired, and the closer gardens replanted. Inside, the transformation was even more profound. Though the house was wired for electricity, Mary had chosen candlelight. Everywhere I looked were vases of flowers. There were tables laid with hors d’oeuvres, and maids stood ready with trays of drinks.

  In no time at all the room was full of people, many of whom I remembered from the last gathering. They seemed to revel in the decrepit state of the house and furniture; several of them congratulated me on the ingenuity of the idea of having a costume ball in such an atmospheric setting. I thanked them and deferred the compliments to Dorian.

  I wasn’t aware of his arrival, but about an hour into the party I noticed him standing at the opposite side of the crowded front hall, in a magician’s dark cape. He caught my eye and raised his glass to me, his own eyes lingering for a moment on my dress. I turned away, but I knew that I had not been quick enough for him to miss my anger, and I was uncomfortably aware that this was precisely the response he had sought to generate.

  Alexander touched my elbow. “You must not let him intimidate you,” he said softly, so that the people around us would not hear. I nodded. “The musicians are here and ready to play. Perhaps you should call everyone into the ballroom?”

  “Let’s just tell them to start playing. People will come when they hear the music.”

  I took the arm Alexander offered, and we walked into the ballroom. At my signal, the string quartet struck up a Brahms waltz. We began to dance, and soon the rest of the guests were pouring into the room to join us. The illustrations on the ceiling came alive in the candlelight, seeming to leap and waver across the blue expanse. The open doors to the garden let in the hard white light of the gibbous moon, and the heady smell of night-blooming flowers.

  As we danced, I caught sight of Dorian again, this time speaking with Mary by the spiral stair. Both of their faces were serious, and from time to time I caught Mary stealing glances at us. No doubt she had told him our news; I wondered whether he was attempting to poison her mind toward Alexander as he had tried to poison mine.

  Or perhaps, I thought, he had already begun. All at once, Mary’s reaction to my engagement began to make sense. As I thought of the morning after the rainstorm, and the conversation between Dorian and Mary that I hadn’t quite been able to hear, my heart sank.

  Alexander caught my look and its source, and said again, “He can’t harm you here.”

  “No,” I answered, “but I think he may have gotten to Mary.”

  Before Alexander could answer, an elderly lawyer from Baton Rouge cut in on us. Next I danced with his son, who had recently bought a tobacco plantation, then a young man who had just moved from Savannah, whose occupation I never learned. After I had thanked this last partner, I made my way toward a clutch of chairs. Halfway there, though, a hand caught my elbow. I knew immediately that it was Dorian’s; no one else would have dared. I whirled around.

  “Mary told me your news,” he said in his smoke-smooth voice, half-smile firmly in place. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations.”

  “Many thanks,” I replied coldly, attempting to disengage my arm.

  “Still angry with me? Well, I suppose it can be difficult to hear the truth.”

  “The truth?” I hissed. “No doubt you’ll understand if I credit the word of my fiancé over yours.”

  “So Alexander denied it all, did he? I’d taken him for more of a man than that.”

  Despite my anger, I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Or was it you I misjudged?” I tried again to pull away, and Dorian laughed softly. “You never told him, did you. You must be going absolutely mad, wondering.”

  I battled a sudden urge to cry. “Lord, if you knew how I hate you!”

  “It really isn’t worth the effort,” he said benignly. “Listen—a waltz. Dance with me, Eleanor.” He had already taken me firmly in his arms.

  At first my fury was such that I couldn’t look at him. Yet as I felt his eyes unrelentingly fixed on me, I soon found that I couldn’t look away.

  “Why can’t you leave me alone?” I demanded.

  “You fascinate me.”

  “How trite.”

  “I’m being quite frank. You’re such an unusual . . . mix of things.” There seemed to be a slight emphasis on the word “mix.”

  “Can’t you answer a question directly?” I asked.

  “You don’t seem to like it when I do,” he returned. Seeing my anger flare, he added, “But if you doubt my directness, why don’t you ask me something? I promise to answer you with the utmost honesty.”

  I had intended a sharp retort, but something occurred to me then. “All right,” I said. “Whatever became of Elizabeth Ducoeur?”

  For a moment he appeared taken aback. By the time he an wered, though, the half-smile was back. “What an odd question.”

  “Why odd? I never knew my aunt. You did.” I watched carefu
lly for any indication that he knew about the switch, but his face remained impassive as he answered:

  “Only as a child. I recall receiving an invitation to her wedding. I also remember hearing that the marriage didn’t last. No doubt there’s more, but it’s not for lack of honesty that I don’t tell you.” He paused. “And now perhaps you can tell me something.”

  “What could I possibly know that would be of any interest to you?”

  We were close to the French doors now. In the cold light of the moon, Dorian’s smile became a leer. “What became of Elizabeth Ducoeur?”

  For a moment I could only stare at him. Then I whispered, “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “Looking for information—like you.”

  “It ought to be clear to you that I know nothing about her.”

  “And yet, you dream of her.”

  I tried to remember whether I had ever actually said this to him, but my mind was numb. I looked for Alexander, but he was engaged in conversation with the tobacco planter, his back to us.

  “You’d do better to rely on yourself,” Dorian said, following my glance. Then, before I could reply, he asked, “Do you remember what I told you about your grandmother’s illness?”

  “I doubt you meant me to forget it.”

  “I’ve wondered since then whether her dreams were not madness at all, but some kind of divine insight.”

  I couldn’t help the pause before I answered, “It would be folly to give so much credit to dreams.”

  “Ah—I see that I’ve touched upon something. Miss Rose is suddenly quite pale.”

  “You’re mistaken—about all of it.”

  He clutched me tightly then, pinning my arms to my sides. “You don’t lie any better than he does,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, real fear beginning to take hold.

  “I know what you think you’ve discovered!”

  His face was inches from mine, his eyes narrow and menacing, but behind the anger I saw stark fear. I didn’t have much time to consider its meaning, however. At that moment, Alexander’s face loomed behind Dorian’s shoulder, dark with rage.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  Abruptly, Dorian let me go and turned. “Miss Rose and I were simply clearing up some differences,” he said, his face unruffled again.

  “You had no right to touch her!”

  Dorian’s face was contemptuous, Alexander’s contorted by hatred. I put a hand on Alexander’s arm, to try to draw him away from this confrontation, but he paid me no heed.

  “I’ve warned you before to leave her alone,” he said to Dorian. “If you can’t do so, then I think it’s best you go.”

  “Leave my own party?” Dorian asked incredulously. “Why do you so fear my contact with her?”

  “I have already witnessed enough of your contact with her to make me long to see you dead!”

  By now, some of the guests had noticed the commotion and turned unabashedly to watch.

  “Those are strong words, Mr. Trevozhov,” Dorian said. “Are you certain that you mean them?”

  “Alexander, please, let it go,” I said, gripping his arm.

  He shook his head. “I’ve let it go long enough. I don’t know what this man is after, but it is clear that he means to use you to get to it.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Trevozhov. You know very well what I’m after.”

  I looked at Alexander. His arm came around my waist, but his eyes remained fixed on Dorian.

  “And if you are still under the illusion that your Alexander is innocent,” Dorian said to me, “then I suggest you consult the proof to the contrary. Either that, or embrace your grandmother’s fate.” He turned, and the crowd parted to let him through.

  “Wait!” I heard myself call, before I even realized that I meant to do it. Alexander’s arm jerked convulsively against my back, and then, slowly, dropped back to his side. When Dorian turned, there was a look of triumph on his face that nearly made me shrink from my purpose.

  “What proof?” I managed to ask, though my voice shook, and I was suddenly light-headed.

  Dorian’s smile was like a crack on a winter pond, his eyes full of the moon’s piercing light. “You’ll see,” he said. After a moment’s consideration, he added, “It may seem that time keeps its secrets, but given long enough it always unravels them again. Wait a little longer, Eleanor. You’ll find I’m right.”

  He turned, laughing softly to himself, and in a moment he was lost in the silent crowd. They stared at Alexander and me for what seemed an eternity, and then Alexander called, “Musicians!”

  The quartet took up their instruments again and people turned away, the gradual crescendo of their resumed conversations obliterating the echo of Dorian’s words. I turned to look at Alexander. He was looking back at me in disbelief.

  “What?” I flared.

  “If I didn’t know better,” he said tightly, “I might think you believed whatever he has been saying about me.”

  Though I had anticipated a reprimand, the starkness of his anger was like a physical blow. “Alexander, he thinks that we know something we shouldn’t. I had to ask him what he meant.”

  His fine face twisted so at that, it was almost ugly. “And what, exactly, have you learned from his answer?”

  I couldn’t answer.

  “Precisely—nothing! It is always the same with him, always shadow and trickery.” He looked at the door’s dark glass. “It would have been better for both of us never to have known him, or any of this.”

  “How can you say that to me?” I cried. “Do you wish that I had never known the truth about my family?”

  “You know that I was not referring to your family,” he said wearily.

  “To me, it’s one and the same.”

  Alexander took me by the shoulders. His eyes were dark and heavy as storm clouds. I wondered then how I had failed to see his exhaustion before.

  “Have you ever considered that Dorian’s interest in you might have nothing to do with your family at all?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Eleanor, I have told you of my history with that man. Have you never thought that he might see you as an easy way to get at me? And what better way to gain control of you than to dangle the twins as bait?”

  “Why would he be so intent on hurting you? Unless there’s something you haven’t told me.”

  Alexander looked away. We stood in silence for a few moments: long enough for the anger to drain out of me and leave a heavy pessimism in its place.

  “I want to go home,” I said.

  I thought he would argue with me, but he only said, “All right. I’ll take you.”

  I was angry at his acquiescence in the same way I used to be angry with my grandfather when I’d storm out of a room and he wouldn’t follow me. But I’d left myself no choice other than to push toward the door, trying my best to ignore the curious stares that followed me.

  Mary was just outside the ballroom with a group of people who were complimenting her on the decorations. She smiled when she saw me. “Oh, Eleanor, everyone’s been asking about you. You must come and meet some people—”

  “I’m not feeling well,” I said. “Alexander’s going to take me home.”

  Mary’s smile faded. “Not again!”

  I smiled wanly. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh, I knew the corset wouldn’t work out. It’s just too hot, when you aren’t used to it.”

  “That must be it,” I agreed.

  “And your announcement—”

  “It can’t be helped,” I interrupted. “Now, we really must go.”

  “Will Alexander be coming back? I just saw Dorian leave, and I could use the help.”

  Alexander and I looked at each other in confusion. He said, “If Eleanor doesn’t mind.”

  I did mind, of course, but I didn’t want Mary to guess how unsettled I was. So I answered, “It’s all
right. Colette and Tasha are there.”

  “Well, then,” Alexander said, “we had better be going.” He took my arm and, with a feeling of foreboding, I allowed him to lead me away.

  FIVE

  A pensive silence hung between us all the way back to Eden. I knew that Alexander was still angry, and though a part of me wanted to apologize for my contribution to this, my pride was stronger.

  Yet when we arrived back at the house and Jean-Pierre opened the door for me, Alexander held out his hand with his old, gentle smile. “Truce?” he asked.

  I threw my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “So am I,” he answered.

  ALL of the maids had been requisitioned for the party, so the house was dark and quiet when we entered. Alexander followed me upstairs and, after we’d looked in on Tasha, helped me get out of the constrictive costume and into bed.

  “Is there anything you’d like? Some books, or a drink?”

  “Some tea would be nice.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  In a short while he returned with a steaming mug. I took a sip. The liquid was sweet and fruity; Alexander laughed at my surprise. “That is how we make tea in Russia. With jam instead of sugar.”

  I smiled. “It’s good.”

  “I thought you’d like it. Sleep well, Eleanor.”

  “Will you come back?”

  He paused. “I know how tired you’ve been. You don’t need me waking you up again. I’ll come in the morning.”

  I didn’t like this, but I didn’t have the will left to argue. “All right,” I said. “Alexander—take care.”

  He smiled, leaned down and kissed me, then shut the door softly behind him. For the first time in months I felt utterly alone. I had to fight the urge to run after him, to beg him not to leave.

  In an effort to distract myself, I picked up Eve’s journal, which had lain with my mother’s on the table beside my bed since Mary and I first found them. I reread the passage describing the onset of their mother’s illness, but there wasn’t any reference to dreams, let alone the nightmares Dorian had spoken of.