The Eden Passion (78 page)

"I was wondering," Alex began, "if perhaps I shouldn't send Mr. Rhoades a message of some sort."

It seemed a sensible suggestion, and he was in no way prepared for the surprised look on John's face. "Why?" he asked bluntly. "What sort of message?"

"Well, accounting for ourselves, you know, where we are and . . ."

John smiled. "We know where we are. What difference does it make to Andrew?"

"Don't you think he's worried, as are all the—"

"Why worried? I left him with enough work to keep him busy for several months. As for the crews, they certainly know what to do."

"We've been gone, John, for over two weeks."

"Yes?"

"Miss Elizabeth. Don't you think she's probably beside herself by now?"

Apparently Alex had said something that had penetrated. "I know, I know," John said, retreating a step, as though he did not like to be reminded of certain obligations. "You're right, Alex," he conceded, "and I promise we'll leave—perhaps tomorrow, no later than noon."

How many times Alex had heard those words before. "Just let me send a message, John, telling them all where we are and what—"

"No!" He stepped closer, with an expression which resembled anger. "Can't you see? Can't you understand?"

But Alex couldn't, though before John's anger he retreated. "Perhaps . . . tomorrow, then," he muttered, repeating the vague promise. He turned about and walked away from the mud-covered man, deciding just then to seek out old Max and lift as many pints as necessary to dull his thoughts of neglected duties, of the keenest mind in all of London gone suddenly balmy.

John watched him go and started to call him back, but ultimately said nothing. How could he possibly explain to that pragmatic man what he himself did not understand?

He turned back to the wall and looked out over the garden to the font of the mystery, the bowed head of Lila Harrington, who perhaps had worked a spell on him. She'd laughed about it often enough, and now he wanted nothing more than to remain in her

presence, to live forever in the atmosphere of boyhood and youth which she had created for him.

During these last two weeks he'd felt blood flowing in his veins for the first time in years. All the remembered tragedy through which he had walked had fallen away from him, and he was young again. Beyond a simple clasp of her hand, he had never touched her. It was as though he had willingly placed all his ardor and ambition before a temple of innocence.

He leaned heavily atop the brick wall, still watching her. How beautiful she was, how healing, freeing him from his deepest guilt. He'd never known anyone so confident of her right to be in the world.

And what a magnificent world she had shared with him these last two weeks. He'd seen things he'd never seen before: the way the sun striking underwater fern turned the stream chartreuse; the dilemma of the rising stream itself, which they had never solved; the awesome three-day vigil during which they had knelt in meadow grasses and kept a sharp watch on the butterfly struggling to free himself from his cocoon. John had never witnessed such drama, and as the creature had thrashed itself loose and soared to the tops of trees, John had felt tears in his eyes and had done nothing to brush them away.

Still he looked down on her. With absolute confidence he realized that he could survive and accomplish anything if only he had the assurance that this one small paradise would always be waiting for him.

But he didn't have that assurance. In fact, sitting with her father late at night, he'd heard tales that had chilled his blood, the hysteria of the villagers and even some of the staff who thought her a witch. He couldn't believe it, such mindless superstition in this modern age.

He'd learned more as well, not through direct confession from Lord Harrington. But there were worrisome signs which John had observed for himself, the reduced staff—merely six for a Hall this size, which meant that some had been let go; an obvious disintegration of the outbuildings, broken farm machinery, overgrown fields, crumbling stone walls.

Twice Lord Harrington had spoken of returning to Ireland and taking Lila with him. His only emotional link to England had been his wife, and now that she was dead, he was certain he would feel more at home on the old sod.

No, John wouldn't permit it. He needed the warmth and inno-

cence and wonder of Lila Harrington to keep before him an unfaltering image of purity.

An idea occurred, incomprehensible at first, but flaring rapidly into the realm of lightness. Why not? All he needed of wifely love was that one sweet face. Even before he had fully grasped all the implications of what he was about to do, he left the wall and hurried around the path until he was standing directly over her, suffering anguish for fear that she would reject him, yet posing the question anyway. "Lila," he began, his voice low, "will you marry me?"

Her hand, reaching out for the trowel, halted in midair. Her head seemed to incline forward for a moment. She looked up at him almost shyly. "I've known for years that I'd marry you one day, John. Surely you knew it as well."

Before he could respond, she reached for his hand and drew him down beside her, and with great tenderness she pushed a soft mound of earth to one side, revealing an earthworm. "Look." She smiled, urging him to come closer. "There on his back. The colors of the rainbow. Do you see them?"

As she marveled at the mystery, he found himself as always captivated by the discoverer as well as the discovery. As he took careful note of the earthworm, he felt the world become quiet around him, as though eternity were smiling down on him, like a beneficent father who derives joy from the realization that one of his children has discovered the secret

Later that evening, in the library, Lord Harrington threw open one of the windows, certain that his ears had deceived him. "You're asking ... for what?" he said, looking at the young man.

Mr. Eden merely smiled, a rather indulgent expression, as though he were aware of the madness of his own words. "I'm asking for Lila's hand in marriage," he repeated, as though perfectly willing to give Lord Harrington all the time he needed.

Lord Harrington stared at him, then stealthily reached inside his pocket, enclosing his fingers about his comforting rosary.

Marry Lila! The incredible words echoed about the room, and he looked back at the young man who had posed them. "I'm afraid . . . I don't understand, Mr. Eden. Is this... a jest?"

"I assure you it is not, Lord Harrington."

"But... we scarcely know—"

"I know enough," he interrupted, displaying a forceful ego. It was not his knowledge with which Lord Harrington was concerned.

"You've only been here two weeks," Harrington went on.

"We have corresponded for the last four years," Eden countered. "Surely you were aware of that."

Lord Harrington nodded. Of course he had been aware of it, had within the last few months instigated a brief investigation of John Murrey Eden, had discovered through his solicitor's efforts that the young man was peripherally connected with the Edens of North Devon, and was now a successful master builder in London. Still, there was a vast difference between a romantic schoolgirl correspondence and marriage.

He looked back at the young man, beginning to fear the worst, that he was quite serious in his proposal. Then Lord Harrington would have to deal with it seriously, though he'd never felt less equipped to handle such a delicate matter in his life.

As he stared out of the window, over the dark peace of his Wiltshire estate, his fingers, out of sight in his pocket, worked steadily at his beads. If only his wife were here, and as fresh grief rose, he moved faster down the beads, as though to make up for lost time, connecting in his mind the recent disintegration in his life with his earlier rejection of his beloved Catholic faith. To be sure, God's punishment had been slow in coming, but it had been thorough once it had arrived. Now look at him. Childless, except for Lila, alone, his wife recently buried, his portfolio of stock melting away before his eyes, unable to pay for the services of a full staff, unable to make needed repairs. . . .

And now, here was another mystery with which he had to deal, and he looked directly at the prosperous young man who was asking to marry Lila, poor Lila, who in her entire life had never even managed to turn the head of a passing stableboy.

As though his confusion could not be contained, he muttered, "I . . . still do not understand, Mr. Eden."

"If you'll forgive me," the young man said, drawing near, "you're making it more difficult than necessary. It's a simple matter really. I've discovered during these past two weeks when you have received me with such hospitality that your daughter fills a very important vacuum in my life. I must return to London immediately and I don't want to return without knowing that she is safe, and mine."

Lord Harrington listened closely, trying to find something to which he could say no. But he was forced to admit that during the last two weeks he'd found the young man to be a gentleman and quite good company. He appeared to be well-educated and articulate,

his wealth rapidly increasing, a prime catch for any number of titled young women. And again the overriding question. Why Lila?

"So in order to be assured of her safety," Eden was saying, "and to assure myself that her company will always be available to me, I feel that marriage is the only sensible solution."

Again Lord Harrington looked beyond Eden's shoulder to where Lila knelt before the fire. No response at all from that quarter. He wondered if she was even aware of this discussion, her future being plotted with such deliberation. He did love her, in spite of how difficult a child she had been, and he feared for her as well. At twenty-three she was well on her way to spinsterhood. Who would care for her if something happened to him? With the urgency of this last thought, he looked back at John. "She's ... all I have now," he muttered.

But Eden merely stepped closer. "I'm aware of that, Lord Harrington, and I have only one condition if you approve of the marriage, and that is that Lila be permitted to stay here with you."

Harrington looked up, amazed to hear Eden voicing his own fears. "She doesn't belong in London," John went on. "In spite of everything I could give her, I know she would be vastly unhappy. I'll come for her one day and take her to her proper home. In the meantime, I will send a generous monthly allotment for her care as well as yours, plus additional staff of my own choosing. With your permission, I want her protected at all times."

Lord Harrington continued to listen closely, amazed by Eden's businesslike approach. "The allotment will cover the cost of much-needed repairs," John went on, "and I think that with the exception of my occasional visits, you'll find your life little changed from before." He stepped back. "What I'm saying, Lord Harrington, is that the arrangement would be profitable to you as well as to Lila. I'm not asking her to leave your world. I'm asking for permission to enter hers."

Out of sight in his pocket, Lord Harrington continued to say his beads. Had God at last decided that he'd been punished enough? "The . . . banns, Mr. Eden, when would you want them—"

"No banns," Eden said.

Harrington looked up. "I. . . don't understand."

Eden smiled. "I find it difficult to believe, Lord Harrington, that anyone in England gives a damn what I do, or what Lila does."

"Still-"

"No banns, Lord Harrington, and I prefer that it not be a reli-

gious ceremony. The local magistrate from Salisbury will do nicely, a simple civil—"

"No!" Lord Harrington said, at last finding something to protest. "You cannot ignore the church."

"Whose church?" Eden asked. "Catholic or Anglican?"

Embarrassed, Lord Harrington turned away to the window. So! Apparently Eden knew his conflict as thoroughly as he knew everything else, and in a way he was now forcing him to confess his Catholicism. And that he couldn't do. He'd lose what little staff he had left, and bring the wrath of the High Anglican village down upon him and give them new cause to persecute Lila.

Again he agreed, and prayed for God's forgiveness, and with a nod confirmed that a private civil ceremony would be best, and asked the most fearful question of all. "When?"

Without hesitation came the reply. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Lord Harrington repeated. It was out of the question, lacking even the most rudimentary outline of decorum and decency.

"Tomorrow, Lord Harrington," John repeated, "and shortly thereafter, I must return to London."

Feeling a pressing urgency to inform Eden of everything, Lord Harrington walked a step or two beyond the window and motioned for John to follow after him. "I feel you must know, Mr. Eden," he began, finding the words painful, "my daughter is considered by many to be . . . slow-witted."

Mr. Eden laughed openly. "We both know that's not true, don't we, Lord Harrington?"

Before such a confident reply, Harrington didn't even try to pose an argument. There were other, more important matters to be raised. He lowered his head in an attempt to hide his mortification at the mention of such a subject. "She ... is still a . . . child, in all ways, Mr. Eden," he faltered. In the event that Eden had missed his point, he added, "She . . . knows. . . nothing."

"And I will place no demands on her," Eden said. "It is her innocence that I covet. How foolish of me to sully it." He pledged again, "I will place no demands on her—until I want children. Then she'll understand." His earnest face softened into a smile. "Can you imagine how richly blessed the child would be who found himself the beneficiary of that maternal love?" He shook his head, as though he were envying the unborn child.

For the first time, Lord Harrington felt almost pleased with this

incredible conversation. Clearly the young man adored his daughter, had seen in her a richness that had eluded all other eyes, including his own on occasion.

Still there was one problem remaining, and as Lord Harrington left the window, heading toward the fireplace, he was aware of Eden following behind him. As he drew even with Lila, he waited for her to look up. But she didn't, her interest still focused on her cat.