Aware of the women hovering about her, awaiting either dismissal or further instructions, Harriet felt a question forming.
"One of you mentioned a relation earlier, a woman who had suffered a similar—"
"Aye, milady. My old auntie it was—"
"What—happened?"
"She died, milady, and the richest of God's blessings it was when she drew the last breath. I never heard such screams and I never want to hear them again."
"And what was the medical decision on your aunt?"
*The doctor said it was a tumor, a mal-ig-nancy, I believe he said, something growing where it ought not to be, and blocking everything that oughtn't to be blocked, if you know what I mean."
She did. Lila's fever was the result of her own body wastes. She was poisoning herself.
She asked quietly, "Was it—a hard death?"
"The hardest I ever hope to see again," came the quick reply. "Our old sawbones was good enough to give Auntie opium. And it helped some, but she still died the death of the damned."
Harriet lowered her head. She despised opium. Still, if it would ease Lila's agony. . . .
"Then fetch some opium," she commanded. "She will not suffer more than is necessary."
"Yes, milady. I tried to tell old Cockbum that, but he said no, that opium would effect the babe."
"The babe!" Harriet gasped, overwhelmed by the man's ignorance, shocked by John's willingness to place his wife in such inept hands.
"Aye, the babe," one repeated sarcastically. "He claims to hear a heartbeat, and even suggested once—"
"Fetch him!" Harriet ordered. "Fetch him immediately, then see to the rest of it."
While she was aware of how awkward she must look, she didn't care. At this moment there was nothing in the world that mattered more than the fact of death itself, obscene in this case, a young woman who had committed no crime, no sin, whose sole reason for being had been to bring happiness to others and who by now, by some whimsy of nature, had been condemned to death.
Harriet waited until she heard the outer door close. Then she sat
on the edge of the bed and felt for the fever-dampened brow and caressed it, and wondered how it was possible that many human beings judged this world to be heavenly when in reality it was heU
It was well after midnight before she'd accomplished everything she'd set out to do. Now, seated fully dressed on her couch in the room next to Lila, the sleeves of her gown still damp from the cool lavender-water with which she had bathed the young woman, she was awaiting Peggy's return from the kitchen with a light meal.
In the silence she listened for the slightest sound coming from the next room. Nothing. There had been nothing all afternoon. Several times, alarmed by the silence, Harriet had felt for and found a pulse, mute evidence that life was persisting.
She shivered, not from cold but rather from a combination of fatigue and grief. Would anyone arrive in time? At best it would take the couriers a day and a half to make London. Then would John and Lord Harrington leave immediately? She'd tried to make the message clear and had urged the greatest haste.
She lifted her head in the direction of Lila's room, thinking that she'd heard something. But she decided finally that it was only the cat. Wolf, who had been found midafternoon and lured upstairs with a bowl of rich cream and who, according to Peggy, had settled comfortably on the foot of Lila's bed.
Abruptly she stood. In this unfamiliar environment she suffered a collision with a low table, quickly righted both herself and the table and with both hands outreaching, she commenced to fed her way about the small chamber.
Near the mantelpiece a bleak thought occurred to her. A transient guest had occupied these chambers, a brief, though dazzling, ray of light which had illuminated all their lives and which now was on the verge of being extinguished.
Could it have been avoided? Is Lilcfs death unnecessary. . . . What was that? Looking up toward the footsteps in the corridor, she heard Peggy's excited voice even while the door was still closed: "Milady, someone is here, a miracle!"
She heard the door open and was on the verge of demanding, "Who?" when a deep, fatigued though familiar male voice broke in.
"Milady, it's me. Lord Harrington."
"Lord Harrington?" she murmured, and reached out her hand and thanked God for at least one favor.
"How did you-"
"Where is she?" he cut in.
Aware of their cross-purposes, she found his arm and tried to place a restraining hand on it. "Lila is quite ill. Lord Harrington," she warned, feeling the need to prepare him.
"I know."
"How did you know?"
"A friend, Charles Pamell, stopped off here on his way to Ireland some months ago."
"He was—permitted access to these chambers?" she inquired, amazed.
"He took access for himself," Lord Harrington said. "Charles asks for nothing and thus avoids the possibility of being rejected." He paused, waiting out her questions before he could move on to the next room and the source of his love.
"Then John knows as well?" she asked, struggling to put the puzzle together.
There was another pause. "He knows Lady Eden—"
"Then why isn't he here?" she demanded.
"He said he was too—busy."
The simple words fell like rocks about her head. While she was still trying to recover, she heard movement and knew that Lord Harrington was proceeding on to his daughter's bedside.
"Peggy, please," she whispered, but too late. As they reached the door, she heard a deep groan.
"Lord Harrington, let me help," she murmured. But Peggy exerted pressure on her arm.
"He's at prayer, milady."
For over half an hour the ritual of prayer persisted. At some point she heard the sound of a rosary, and when she was just growing accustomed to the silence, she heard a male voice so constricted that it sounded as though the man were undergoing torture.
"Lila, it's me—Papa. Can you hear me? Please look at me. I've come back, my darling, to take you home again."
For the better part of that long night she sat with Peggy at her side, neither speaking, for what could either of them say that would match the eloquence of that deep voice as he tried to work his way through his grief.
Harriet had just heard Peggy's whisper of **Dawn'' when suddenly the male voice fell silent, followed by a moan, then a lament which lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.
They reached the door at the same time, but Peggy left her and went forward to confirm what Harriet knew was true.
"She's dead, milady," came the soft announcement. Harriet leaned back against the door, thanking God, thinking. Could it have been avoided?
She was in no way prepared for what she heard next, Peggy's sharp cry coming from a far corner of the room, her voice laden with disbelief.
"The cat, milady! I thought he was sleeping. He's—dead.**
As the wailing lament of Lord Harrington rose and joined Peggy's irrational announcement, Haniet suffered a sensation as though she were being torn in half.
For the first time since her own crucible over ten years ago she bowed her head and thanked God for her blindness. . . .
Cambridge December 1, 1870
Bertie wrapped the rope around the trunk which contained the last of his books and looked about the drab empty room, relieved to be seeing it for the last time.
Richard was right. He had proved nothing by moving out of their comfortable flat except what they both already knew, that neither had any life without the other, and if John Murrey Eden was determined to find them out, then let him do so. Together they had a chance to survive, whatever fate had in store for them.
The thought that Richard was waiting for him with the tea kettle bubbling spurred him on a final inspection. He didn't want to forget anything, for he planned never to return.
Well, then, hoist this one trunk out to the pavement, then lock the door to this dingy room in which he'd passed one of the most miser
able intervals of his life.
Before hoisting the trunk to his shoulders, he swung his cloak into place and thought on their plans for the future: the south of France, maybe fifteen years from now, a shared masterwork, a detailed study of the effects of Christianity on pagan Graeco-Roman life, a project which would challenge both their disciplines.
He shook his head at his own enthusiasm. There was time. Life had to be lived in logical progressive steps. The masterwork, the south of France, would come in time. For now all he needed was Richard's quiet company and love.
"Then—go—home!" he said aloud and was just in the process of lifting the trunk up onto his shoulder when he heard a noise at the outer door.
Riehardf he thought, smihng. Richard had come to assist him with this last trunk. He was more than ready to receive that belovai face when suddenly the door was pushed open.
"Aslaml" he exclaimed, confused to see the boy standing on his threshold. He hadn't even been aware that Aslam knew where he was staying in town.
"What a pleasant surprise." He smiled at the young man, who had yet to say a word. "Well, come in," Bertie urged. "I'm afraid I can't offer you the comfort of a fire. In fact, I was just leaving. But I have a splendid idea. Why don't you come with me to Richard's and we'U all have a cup of tea?"
He was talking too much and he knew it. But why in the hell was the boy standing in that defiant position, his eyes assessing the small room as though he were looking for something?
**Aslam?" he began, sensing something wrong. But as he stepped forward he saw Aslam move out into the corridor and turn, as though someone were with him.
Again Bertie thought that it was Richard. The two of them had come together. With a sense of play, he called out, "Come on, Richard. No time for hide-and-seek. I'm bloody well frozen and in need of a-"
But Aslam stepped further back, and the figure that appeared in the doorway was not Richard.
"Mr.—Eden," Bertie murmured, and tried to cover his shock by stepping back and putting the trunk between them. "How—good to see you."
As the silence expanded to an uncomfortable point, Bertie said, "We've been expecting you. Several days ago, actually. Richard is most anxious to see you. Your letter caused him some alarm. You mentioned Lady Mary's illness, but did not specify—"
Will the man never speak? And how did they jtnd me here? He tried again to alter the silence. "Richard—is not here, Mr. Eden. He's-"
"I did not come to see Richard, Professor Nichols," the man said. "Might I step in for a moment?"
Belatedly remembering simple courtesy, Bertie rushed to conect the oversight. "I'm sorry. Of course, do come in, both of you, although I'm afraid it's not much warmer inside. As you can see, I was just in the process of vacating these premises."
"For more comfortable ones, I hope." Mr. Eden smiled.
Bertie counseled himself prudence. ''Yes, more comfortable.**
Tom between the young man at the door and the curious manner in which Mr. Eden was leaning against the opposite wall in a position of suspect ease, Bertie found himself in the middle, trying to look in both directions at once.
Struggling to disguise his fears, Bertie said, "If you want to see Richard, Mr. Eden, he's not here."
"I've come to see you.**
"Then by all means, my attention is yours," Bertie said. "I will try to be of service in any way I can—" He faltered. The mask of ease was slipping. "I'm—sorry. I have no chairs to offer you."
"No need."
"We might, if you wish, walk the short distance to the pub. It's quite a good one and there will be a fire and—"
"No, this place suits me."
Again silence. Bertie felt the need to keep both of them in his sights, a difficult task considering their positions at opposite ends of the room. At last, grovdng weary of trying, Bertie moved back until the three of them formed a triangle, leaving the rope-bound trunk alone in the center of the room.
Eden spoke in a peculiarly gentle tone. "I feel compelled to warn you, Professor Nichols, that my errand here today is not a pleasant one."
Bertie heard the sharp staccato sleet pelting at the window. The storm was growing worse, the room darker and colder. "Please speak openly, Mr. Eden. It's been my experience that one can deal with anything—"
"Fm grateful for your reassurance, and my request is quite simple.**
"Name it."
"I want you to leave Cambridge, Professor Nichols. I want you to leave England. I v^ll give you one week to put your affairs in order. Then you are to come to my London offices and I will have traveling papers for you plus two thousand pounds to cover any inconvenience. A steamer will leave Portsmouth on the thirteenth of December for Australia. I want you on it."
Bertie looked at the quiet man speaking madness. Perhaps it was a joke. Yes, that's what it was, a bizarre ice-breaker to warm the passage to the true subject. Bertie laughed and stepped farther back until he felt the support of the wall. "I—don't understand," he faltered, the laugh fading when he saw that no one had joined him.
"Of course you do,** Eden went on. "For years Richard has done little but boast of the vast scope of your intellect. Surely you can grasp the outline of so simple a proposition."
"Yes, I can grasp it, Mr. Eden, but I don't understand—"
"Then let me make it clearer." Eden pushed away from the wall and walked to the window, obliterating what little light of day was left. "I must make a painful confession," he said. "For several months both you and my cousin have been under observation by a private investigator, one hired by myself out of London."
"For what purpose?" Bertie demanded, angry at hearing his theory confirmed.
Eden shrugged. "For the purpose of gathering evidence, for the purpose of proving my private suspicions, which I have harbored and kept to myself for many years, since you and Richard first formed an —alliance."
The word was sarcastically spoken. With what ease the scene had become his worst nightmare. "And what would those suspicions be, Mr. Eden?" Bertie asked quietly.
The words came as he knew they would. "That you are a Sodomite, Professor Nichols, of the worst exhibitionistic kind, that your one aim is to corrupt men, as you have corrupted Richard, and that England can do very well without your contagion."
A cold wind seemed to be blowing directly on Bertie's face, but cold as it was it could not extinguish the fires of pain at hearing the accusation stated thus. He turned toward Aslam, regretful that the young man had heard, and requested softly, "Aslam, would you be so good as to wait outside."
Eden laughed. "Don't concern yourself with Aslam, Professor Nichols. First, he is well beyond your corruption, and, second, he knows more about your questionable activities than I myself." The laugh faded to a sad smile. "You see, Aslam has been working in concert with the private investigator, as has a woman named Mrs. Pettibone. Do you know her. Professor Nichols? Does the name mean anything to you?"
Bertie turned away. Mysterious whispers seemed to be filling his ear. The walls of the decaying room were closing in on him. Perhaps loneliness wouldn't be too hard to bear for a man who had taught himself to love life in its entirety.
Eden saw his withdrawal and claimed a premature victory. "Oh, come now. Professor Nichols—things could go much harsher for you.
355 In essence I'm offering you a new life, and I hear that Australia is a promised land, and they need teachers. With two thousand pounds in your pocket you can set yourself up in any kind of Hfe you wish, perhaps even find one of your own kind to share it with."
One of your own kind. How unworthy he felt, how empty. On the wall before him was a strip of loosened wallpaper. He pulled at it and saw it disintegrate in his hands. "What if I refuse to go, Mr. Eden?"
There was a pause, then the voice spoke with even greater regret. "I don't think you would be that foolish," Eden murmured. "You see, I have just come from the poHce inspector's office. I've provided him with impressive evidence of certain Sodomite activities in Cambridge
, right under his very nose, as it were. Do you know the police inspector. Professor Nichols? He's a very righteous man, a pillar of support in the local Methodist church and a Bible scholar as well. He quoted endless passages for me, didn't he, Aslam, on corrupt and unnatural behavior between men, called it the handiwork of the Devil."
The voice came closer. "He begged me, Professor Nichols, for the names of the parties involved, so that he could move swiftly to wipe the sinners out. But I withheld the names on purpose, though I promised him that I would supply them later."
He stood very close now. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you what a trial would mean to both you and Richard, a pubUc trial, here in Cambridge with all your colleagues in attendance, the evidence—and it is impressive—dragged out for all to see."
Bertie tried to move away from the threatening voice.
"And neither do I have to tell you. Professor Nichols," the voice went on, "the outcome of such a trial, the judgment, the swift sentence, the persecution of Sodomites by fellow prisoners. . . .''
To his astonishment, Beri:ie felt his eyes fill with tears. StiU there was a weakness in the fabric of everything Eden had said, a flaw which, if only Bertie could find it, might make a difference. There was something too calm in the voice, some aspect to the threat that Eden was trying to avoid.
With effort, Bertie wiped his eyes. With the obstinate egoism peculiar to trapped animals, he found the flaw and turned on it.
"I have no doubt that you are prepared to bring charges against me, Mr. Eden. But what of Richard? I suggest that you consider the
pain he will suffer if you bring charges against him, your cousin, who, by his own confession, loves you deeply."
As he talked, he watched for the slightest change of expression on that self-confident face. But he detected nothing, though Eden did concede, "It would be difficult. But no more difficult than it has been to watch his steady disintegration from full manhood to something weak and unspeakable." His voice fell. "Thanks to you, Professor Nichols, I can hardly bear my own cousin's company anymore. Your malignancy has emasculated him. He is half-woman now, and I would rather see him dead."
The Women of Eden Page 41