The Eden Passion (82 page)

Andrew nodded. "An admirable young man, once I'd convinced him that I meant them no harm. He looked to be about eighteen,

frail, with dark hair, and a pleasing manner." Andrew walked slowly about the room. "I became quite fond of him. We had good chats. And he spoke two names constantly. Yours, and God's."

Andrew looked back toward the fire. In spite of the fact that the length of the room was between them, he saw new despair on John's face. For the first time Andrew began to understand why he had been sent as the first emissary. Clearly for John there was a source of pain connected with Eden that was unendurable, even hearing about it secondhand.

Then Andrew recalled an incredible piece of news and hurried back to the sofa. "They didn't know, John. They didn't know about anything, about the delinquent taxes, why their allotments had ceased, had no idea that in six months the castle would have been sold out from under them."

Overcome by his own incredulity, he shook his head. "Of course, I presented him with the new deed, issued in his name, Lord Richard Eden, fifteenth Baron, seventh Earl of Eden Point. I told him that you were responsible. He was very moved. He asked endless questions about you, as did they all."

"All?" John repeated. "Who . . . else was there?"

Andrew spied the decanter of brandy, changed his mind, poured himself a small snifter and breathed heavily. "Mary," he said, in answer to John's question, "a shy thirteen-year-old girl who hid behind one of the columns in the kitchen and would not at first come out. I called her Lady Mary and she seemed surprised at the designation, as though no one had ever informed her that the title was her birthright. She looked more like a scullery maid, and her favorite companion, her only companion, is a white-haired senseless old lady named Jennifer. Your aunt, I believe Richard said, your father's sister."

He saw John nod, confirming the relationship, and heard his voice again in urgent inquiry. "And who else?" as though he were waiting to hear a specific name.

Andrew sipped at the brandy, thinking how much easier it would be if John would simply give him the name of the individual who held such interest for him. But he didn't, and Andrew struggled on.

"And I met the old cook, by the name of Agony Fletcher."

"Aggie . . ." John repeated softly.

Andrew nodded. "I suspect that she is largely responsible for holding things together even in so tenuous a fashion. And there was another woman named Clara Jenkins who received me warmly and again asked continuous questions about you."

He saw John nod, though saw no other movement in that hunched frozen statue.

"And there was an ancient man, I think his name was Dana, who said nothing and passed every day before the kitchen fire. Aggie told me he'd been a footman at Eden for over sixty years, and while he was good for nothing now, he had no place to go and none of them could bear to turn him out."

Andrew paused, seeing the bleak scene in his mind. "They all live together, John," he went on, "in the servants' hall. Richard told me that the rest of the castle had been closed off for years. He took me up to the Great Hall one morning and I could see why. Several windows were broken and sea gulls were nesting in the ceiling. It appeared as though at one time they had kept their livestock there. Bales of scattered hay were everyplace, as well as dried animal excrement. . . ."

Abruptly Andrew took a deep swallow of brandy and welcomed the burning sensation. "Richard informed me that everything of value within the castle had been sold over the years, for food, for fuel. He said he regretted it, but that they had had no choice."

He shook his head in an attempt to put the memories out of his mind. "I've never seen such wretched conditions," he muttered, "and I don't know how much longer they can persist. Richard told me that they tried to garden in spring and summer, and while I was there, two women from Mortemouth brought fish to the door, and freshly baked bread. According to Clara, they remembered the Eden family from better days, and not a week passed that some kind soul from the village didn't climb the cliff walk bearing a covered basket of some sort."

Abruptly he slammed the snifter down. "Charity, John. They couldn't have survived without the charity of the village. And you don't want to bring criminal charges?" he concluded in amazement.

He saw John's head still bowed, and at that moment heard in soft repetition that same question that he'd heard before. "Anyone . . . else, Andrew. Did you see . . ."

At last he looked up. Andrew had never seen such an expression on that normally strong face. "No," he said, shaking his head, "no one else, except those that I—"

"Are you certain?"

Mystified, Andrew nodded.

"A . . . lady," John whispered. "Her name is Harriet. She's . . . blind."

Again Andrew saw the incredible need on his face and wished that he could satisfy it. "No," he said. "I met no one by that name. And I was told that the rest of the castle was empty."

John's head fell forward until it was resting on his clasped hands. Andrew had never seen such desolation, and was on the verge of going to his side to comfort him in his mysterious grief when suddenly he stood and reached out for the mantelpiece.

"Then she must be . . . dead," he whispered.

For several minutes the room was silent except for the crackling of the fire. Then he saw John push away from the mantel, reach into the pocket of his dressing robe, withdraw a handkerchief and wipe it across his face.

He was still restoring the damage when he turned about, his expression outwardly submissive, though Andrew knew the man all too well, knew that something was beginning to churn behind that broad forehead.

Slowly he commenced pacing in front of the fire, then the area widened to include the sideboard. Andrew felt it as he'd felt it so many times before, energy being generated, plans being laid.

Fascinated by the metamorphosis taking place before him he sat up on the edge of the sofa.

Then finally: "I'm going home," John pronounced, his voice breathless, as though such an expenditure of energy had taken a toll within himself.

"I'm going home, Andrew," he repeated, hurrying back to the sofa, as though at last the scheme had to be shared with someone. "And you're coming with me." He grinned. "All of us are going, everyone, Elizabeth, Dhari, Aslam . . ."

Suddenly he laughed aloud, as though he'd moved so swiftly from grief to joy that he still hadn't found an emotional center of balance. "I want you to leave immediately, Andrew," he instructed, "and take a crew of workmen with you, as many as you need." He sat on the edge of the sofa, then immediately stood.

"I want you to stop first at Harrington Hall, and tell Lila to have her trunks ready. I'll come for her within a fortnight." From the fireplace he waved a hand backward. "And Lord Harrington, too. We mustn't leave him alone. He'll enjoy fishing off Mortemouth,"

Andrew leaned back into the sofa, shaking his head. This amazing friend of his was up to his old tricks again, playing God, remaking the world, and reordering everyone's life in the process. And some-

how he would make it all work. Andrew knew this from experience as well.

John was now hurling a barrage of instructions toward the sofa. "And after you stop at Harrington Hall I want you to proceed to Eden and start the construction of a barracks outside the gatehouse, nothing fancy, but comfortable. The workmen will have to have a place to stay. And fix that damn grille," he added. "It's on a system of pulleys, if I remember. The men will know what to do."

For the first time he paused as though his thoughts were coming too fast for his tongue and he'd momentarily lost the sequence of his new vision. Andrew asked quietly from the sofa, "To what end the barracks, John?"

"To what end?" John repeated, back on track. "The complete modernization and renovation of Eden Castle." He smiled. "That's to what end." He turned rapidly about and grasped the mantel as though he needed support for the weight and excitement of his vision. "Andrew, it will be marvelous. Can't you see it? Those old stone walls filled again with life. I want every chamber remodeled, I want only the finest fabrics and furnishings. I want our most skilled craftsmen on the job, woodcarvers, carpenters, designers."

Andrew nodded, "You want it restored."

"Restored? No, I want it better than ever. I want it to be the most magnificent castle in the West Country, in all of England, and I'll spare no expense or effort to accomplish that goal. Is that clear?"

It was, and Andrew began to feel the excitement himself. But there were one or two remaining questions he felt he must raise. "And our work here?" he asked.

"What about it?" John demanded. "I pay handsome salaries to eight professional foremen. If they don't know what to do, then we'd better look about and hire those who do."

"Aldwell?"

"Alex will go with us. I need him. He's the best of the lot."

"And how long will we be gone?"

"As long as necessary." Then he was seated beside Andrew, color rising on his face as the dream grew. "A holiday, Andrew. Let's take a holiday. How long has it been since we've had one? Things will progress well here. We have a good organization with good men. I'll tell everyone who needs to know where I can be reached. If something goes wrong, one or the other of us can be back in London in two days."

Andrew smiled at the soft pleading opposite him. He looked al-

most boyish, this young "king," as though he were pleading with his father to be taken to Eden.

Before such an expression, Andrew found he had no resistance. "We'll need at least one hundred men," he said, working out logistics in his mind.

John nodded. "Take fifty with you now to start on the barracks. I'll bring fifty with me. But only the best, Andrew."

"And I'll have to replenish the staff at Eden. Poor Aggie can't—"

"Hire all of Mortemouth if you wish. The village has served my family for generations. They'll come willingly, I know."

"And we'll need buyers. Everything is gone, china, silver. . ."

Again John smiled. "Hire as many as you need. Give them unlimited letters of credit. My only instruction is that they buy only the finest."

For a moment both men stared at each other. John sat erect, as though he needed the answer to one more question. "Are you with me, Andrew?"

Without hesitation Andrew replied, "Haven't I always been?"

The brief declaration of love was warmly received. John grasped Andrew's hand, then strode toward his desk, taking a lamp with him, calling back, "Then we both have work to do. I want you to leave immediately, Andrew. Gather the men you need, and the equipment. Make a brief stop in Wiltshire, then proceed on to Eden." He sat behind his desk, drew the lamp close, the light casting a soft glow over his face. "Tell them I'm coming home," he said quietly.

He dismissed the mood and drew forward a scattering of ledger sheets, ready to get to work. A few minutes later he looked up, surprised to see Andrew still sitting on the sofa. "What are you waiting for? There's work to be done."

Andrew shook his head and pushed wearily to his feet. "Might I take time for a bath?" he asked in good-natured sarcasm.

A look of remorse crossed John's face. "Of course. I'm sorry. Take all the time you need. A full day, if you wish."

A day's rest after a tedious journey of over two weeks! "Thank you," Andrew said with mock gratitude. He gathered up his cloak and moved to the door, where he stopped and looked back at the man crouched over his papers. Andrew heard his voice in memory: I'm going home.

Perhaps there he would find the peace which had so consistently eluded him.

London, May 1,1861

Amidst the confusion of carriages, John stood on the pavement outside his mansion in Belgrave Square and suffered a curious thought. It was ten years to the day that he and Elizabeth had taken his father's body home in that grim wagon with those thousands of pathetic mourners trailing behind.

The thought did not belong to the day. He called, "Aslam, come! You will ride with me."

As the little boy climbed down out of Dhari's carriage, he saw Elizabeth now climbing down from hers. She looked elegant in her pretty dark blue silk traveling suit, her face flushed with the excitement of the journey.

"No need for Dhari to ride alone," she called out cheerily, and John lifted his eyes heavenward, as a waiting steward assisted her up into Dhari's carriage. They should have been under way an hour ago, and would have been except for this constant shifting.

In the spirit of a harried father trying to organize a large family, he shouted, "Is everyone settled? Luggage secured?"

The various coachmen responded all along the line, and with a smile John took note of the lengthy entourage; his carriage in the lead, followed by Dhari and Elizabeth, followed by Elizabeth's empty carriage, followed by two large carriages filled with luggage, and two more filled with servants. Fortunately the hour was early and the traffic would not be too severe.

Now he hurried toward his carriage, where Aslam was waiting, his dark eyes reflecting the excitement of the adventure. As John swung

the little boy up, he noticed the ever-constant book beneath his arm. "What did you choose for the road?" he inquired, climbing in after the child.

"Rousseau."

"Ah, good." John smiled. "A perfect choice. We'll have a discussion to pass the hours." He lowered the window and leaned out for last-minute instructions to his driver. "Take it slow through the city," he shouted. "We're to meet the men just beyond Bayswater. After we have joined with them, keep to the turnpike until Salisbury. I'll direct you from there."

As the carriage started forward, John looked back at the entourage. By God, they presented a spectacle, they did. With a growing sense of excitement that was almost insupportable, he leaned against the cushions and closed his eyes, allowing the fresh lilac-filled air to rush over him, his mind still turning on that other morning ten years ago.

How changed they all were! How hopeless the world had appeared that morning and how full of hope on this one. With the exception of that deep grief for Harriet which he knew would be with him always, he reached the conclusion that he'd never been happier, and suddenly he laughed and leaned forward and slapped Aslam's knee playfully and invited, "Tell me all you know about Rousseau."