The Eden Passion (79 page)

"Lila . . ." Lord Harrington commenced, drawing a deep breath as though for a final ordeal, having vowed that at the first hint of her objection, the entire, unorthodox scheme would be abandoned. "I've been talking with Mr. Eden," he went on. "Have you heard what we've been saying?"

Without looking up, she whispered, "I've heard everything, Papa."

He waited to see if she would say more, and when she didn't, he urged, "Well? What is your wish?"

He was aware of Eden close behind him, both staring down with interest on the object of their discussion.

For several long moments he thought that she would not say anything at all. Then all at once she laughed and looked up. "I've never heard such a prolonged discussion on a matter that was settled years ago."

The laugh died, but the smile remained. "Of course I'll marry Mr. Eden," she murmured. "Tomorrow." She paused; then her eyes brightened as though an idea had just occurred. "In the orchard."

All at once she was scrambling to her feet, scooping up the cat in her arms. "Now, if you both will excuse me, Wolf and I have a hundred things to attend to."

With that she was gone, the room seeming to suffer from her absence, Eden standing as though in a trance, staring at the doorway through which she had departed.

Lord Harrington walked slowly back to his open window, his hand cupped about the entire rosary, still not certain what had transpired here tonight.

Perhaps one day he would understand it, but for now he closed his eyes and thanked God for what he hoped would be a blessing.

Sometimes it was so difficult to tell the blessings from the curses.

At twelve noon, on August 29, 1859, in the unique setting of an apple orchard, green with late-summer ripeness, John Murrey Eden, son of Edward Hartlow Eden, grandson of Lord Thomas Eden, wed

Lady Lila Harrington, only daughter of Lord Liam Harrington of Tully Cross, Connemara, Ireland.

A bewildered and red-faced local magistrate with the ominous name of Josiah Blunder performed the brief civil ceremony, his bewilderment somewhat eased by the fifty-pound note in his pocket which had been given to him by the bridegroom to cover the inconvenience of the journey out from Salisbury.

The bride wore a becoming though simple gown of white silk and carried a small nosegay of lily-of-the-valley and watched solemnly as the bridegroom placed a simple gold band on her left hand. He'd purchased the ring only that morning from Mr. Tweeds, Salisbury's only jeweler.

The ceremony was witnessed by Lord Harrington, the bride's father, Mr. Alex Aldwell, the groom's friend and driver, and a handful of loyal servants, which included old Max, who wept throughout the brief interval.

The wedding certificate was signed and dated by both parties on the stump of a tree. Glasses of chilled champagne were lifted in brief toast to the newlyweds. Then, with her cat trotting behind her, the bride followed the groom to his carriage, lifted a sprig of lily-of-the-valley from her nosegay, placed it in his buttonhole and received his promise that he would be back, hopefully within a fortnight

Then, with the somewhat stunned wedding guests looking on, the carriage rolled forward, picking up speed as it proceeded down the country lane, the bride waving until it was out of sight, then suddenly scooping up her large gray cat, lifting him high into the air over her head, and laughing with pure joy as she stared straight up into heaven.

London, September 1,1859

"You are what?" gasped Elizabeth, staring at John, then glancing about the table to see if anyone else had heard the incredible announcement. Still exhausted from her worry of the last two weeks when John had simply dropped from sight, she was certain that her ears had deceived her.

She glanced to her left and saw the same shocked expression on Andrew's face, while opposite her Alex Aldwell grinned and launched forth into his fourth serving of steak-and-kidney pie. Beyond Alex, Dhari looked up.

"You ... are what?" Elizabeth repeated, again looking at John, who lounged backward in his chair at the head of the table, clearly enjoying the shock waves caused by his announcement.

With deliberation he refilled his wineglass, sipped and again uttered the amazing words, which Elizabeth noticed had attracted the shocked attention of the servants near the sideboard.

"I am married." He smiled, measuring the words out as though astounded that he would have to repeat such a simple message.

Elizabeth had heard correctly, though still she couldn't believe it, and apparently neither could Andrew, who let his fork clatter noisily back onto his plate. "You're . . . joking, of course," he muttered.

"I'm not," John countered. "Ask Aldwell there. He saw me through the entire ceremony, a rock of a man, he was."

Elizabeth looked across the table at the now blushing rock of a man. Unfortunately he'd just inserted a forkful of kidney dripping gravy into his mouth, and his blush turned crimson as he was aware of everyone watching him.

John laughed heartily, taking mercy on him. "But please, if it's blame you're interested in placing, spare Alex. I sensed his opposition from the beginning. It was all my doing, though I don't know why such a felicitous announcement should warrant such shocked expressions." He paused, a look of delight on his face that Elizabeth had never seen before, not recently at any rate. "People do marry," he added almost shyly, "every day."

Andrew rallied first. "Forgive us, John," he muttered. "Would you indulge us in a few questions such as: Who is she? How did you meet? And where is she?" He looked comically about as though the mysterious bride might at that moment be hiding someplace in the room.

John laughed. Elizabeth had never seen him in such high spirits. Obviously whatever had happened had had a marvelously medicinal effect on him. She listened carefully as he addressed himself to the questions one at a time.

"First," he said expansively to the entire table, "her name is Lila Harrington, Lady Harrington, I might add. I came under her spell years ago when I was in dire need of a kind spirit."

"Then where is she?" Andrew demanded, apparently growing accustomed to the idea.

"Not here." John smiled. "She doesn't belong in London, though all of you will meet her soon enough. I promise you that."

Silence descended on the table, as though all questions had been answered, all mysteries solved.

John seemed to settle into a soft reverie, though Elizabeth noticed that he reached out one hand to Dhari, who received it without hesitation, as though nothing had been said during the last ten minutes which altered anything between them.

As for Elizabeth, she tried to deal with the shocking announcement, realizing that she still was weak with worry from his unexplained absence. How greatly he resembled his father in that respect as well, Edward taking off without a word, reappearing with a smile of innocence several days later.

John married! Softly she shook her head and looked up, to see him watching her, as though awaiting her approval above all others. And at last she gave it to him, for who was she to withhold it?

"May I write to your new bride, John?" She smiled. "From one who loves you as much as she?"

He seemed to regard her with silent gratitude. "She'd like that very much, Elizabeth," he said. "And I as well."

Then, as though everything had been said, he clasped Dhari's hand and with tenderness invited, "Come . . ."

The simple invitation carried a weight of meaning, and everyone watched as he led her across the dining hall and up the staircase, heading toward the privacy of his upper chambers, where the bride in Wiltshire would be momentarily forgotten.

Elizabeth watched along with everyone else, as though mesmerized by the sound of retreating footsteps, and prayed that the new bride possessed vast quantities of understanding.

"I still can't believe it," she heard Andrew mutter to one side.

"Well, it's there to be believed, Mr. Rhoades," Alex responded enthusiastically, "and I apologize again for not sending word where we were."

As Andrew dismissed the apology, Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair, hungry for specific information. "What's she like, Alex?"

The big man seemed to think on the question. With reflective tenderness he murmured, "Well, she's like a child, she is, Miss Elizabeth, as innocent as the day she was born. And John there becomes a child when he's with her." He shook his head as though all aspects of the curious episode were beyond him.

But suddenly Elizabeth understood, perhaps more than she had a right to understand. John had recaptured his own lost youth. And in order to assure himself that he did not lose it again, he had married it.

Softly she laughed, and shook her head, feeling curiously alive and in need of love herself. Abruptly she stood, announcing that the hour was late, though it wasn't, and that she must return home.

Rather sedately, as though to mask her need, she walked the length of the dining hall and down the stairs to the foyer, where the old butler held her cape for her and bid her a courteous good night.

She paused on the threshold, listening, hoping that Andrew was following after her.

He was.

It was the March 16, 1861, edition of the London Times which noted in its financial section that there scarcely was a district of London now which did not boast a structure bearing the imprint of John Murrey Firm.

Has there been a more propitious meeting of man and age? John Murrey's genius has exploded at a time when the last ves-

tiges of protectionism have been discarded, and industry, commerce, agriculture and shipping are all enjoying the benefits of their new freedom. Internally the penny postage, the electric telegraph and the completion of many railway projects are making their influence felt.

Now everybody is an investor, or anybody who has any spare cash. And what is the most popular stock among investors? The answer is simple. John Murrey Firm, which has taken common investment to a height never before conceived and who has made his stock available to his own crew of over a thousand workmen, a private guild whose membership boasts some of the finest craftsmen in all of England, and who now, possessing partial ownership in the parent firm, are more than willing to labor loyally and long for the man who has given them unprecedented prosperity, a man who at an incredibly young age is fast becoming one of the wealthiest men in England and who perfectly embodies the spirit and genius of our expanding empire.

On this night, the "perfect embodiment of the expanding empire" sat sunk with fatigue behind his desk, his head resting on his crossed arms, looking for all the world like an overtaxed schoolboy.

His day had commenced at six a.m. with a conference with three foremen over construction difficulties at the building site in Audley. From there he had moved through four meetings with boards of directors, one committee meeting which had been called by the Bank of England, and a prolonged conference with his new architect—one of six employed full-time by John Murrey Firm.

Now it was approaching eleven p.m. and he was aware of Andrew sprawled on the sofa a short distance away, devouring the financial page of the London Times as it was his habit to do, the two of them awaiting a late-night repast which John had ordered from the kitchen.

Never had he known such fatigue. Even his mind felt bruised, and as far as he could see there was no respite in sight. The meetings of each day only seemed to produce complications which led to more meetings, endless committees filling every hour of the day and spilling over into the night.

He lifted his head and his eye fell on that small stack of pale blue stationery, Lila still writing to him as she'd done years ago when he had been in the Crimea. Suffering an almost mournful feeling, he realized that he'd not seen her in over a month.

Slowly he lifted his head. "Andrew, do you think it would be possible for me to slip—"

But Andrew had spoken at the same time, tilting the newspaper nearer to the lamp. "John, did you see this?"

God! If it was another statistic or column of figures, he'd send the man packing. Before he'd had a chance to answer, Andrew spoke on, angling the paper closer to the lamp in an effort to accommodate his failing eyesight. "Listen," he commanded, "under the delinquent-tax notice, four columns down, Eden Castle, North Devon. In arrears two years. Debt one hundred and seventy thousand pounds. To be put on the block in six months."

John looked up. Andrew stared back, removing his spectacles. "How is that possible?" he asked, perplexed.

Still John stared forward. "What . . . did you just read?" he asked, thinking that his mind had wandered and he'd not heard correctly.

Andrew put on his specs, flattened the paper, and read, " 'Delinquent Tax Notice on Eden Castle. Debt one hundred and seventy thousand pounds. To be put on the block in six—'"

Still John wasn't certain that he'd heard correctly. Slowly he rose from his chair and moved around the desk. He lifted the paper from Andrew and carried it to the lamp, where he read for himself.

There it was, plain enough, though he continued to stare at the small print. Delinquent estate tax. ... It wasn't possible.

He was aware of Andrew beside him, his voice reflecting John's bewilderment. "My God," Andrew exclaimed. "Who is the family solicitor? What idiot would let. . ."

Family solicitor. John closed his eyes and let the paper fall from his hands, seeing in his self-imposed darkness a precise image of Morley Johnson.

"Johnson," he muttered. "Johnson," he said, louder. "Morley Johnson," he said a third time, full-voiced.

All at once his fatigue disappeared, swallowed up by his apprehension. If the estate taxes were delinquent, what were the conditions of the castle itself, and worse, its inhabitants?

Suddenly he grabbed Andrew by the arm. "Come," he commanded. "There are files I want to see, questions I want to—"

"John, do you know the hour?"

"I know it well enough," he shouted back. "You have keys, I've seen them, and friends in the Temple. I must know what's happened, Andrew, as soon as possible."