The Prince of Eden (13 page)

A few moments after Mrs. Greenbell had left the room, she heard a knock on the door. "Is that you, James?" she called out. "Please, come in."

The door opened and her younger son. Lord Eden, appeared, his face still ruddy from his morning ride across the moors. She was in the process of opening her arms to him, when behind him she saw Caleb Cranford, the two men moving in tandem into the room.

She withdrew her arms, refusing to share such intimacies with the man following behind her son, a taller, male version of the woman whose presence still contaminated the sitting room.

As though uncertain of himself, James started across the room and delivered a light kiss to her cheek, then stepped quickly back, a perfunctory gesture, nothing more, as though he'd been told to do so. She saw him turn immediately toward the man in the doorway as though awaiting the next command.

"Good morning. Mother," he said, politely, bobbing his head.

Then Caleb Cranford echoed the greeting. "Good morning, milady," he smiled, bowing from the waist.

"I trust you enjoyed your morning ride," she said pleasantly to James. "I saw your return a few moments ago. In which direction did you ride?"

"To the Hanging Man," James replied, standing awkwardly at the center of the room.

At thirty-five, he still looked like a little boy, with the exception of the fact that what had passed for charming passivity in the child now conveyed itself as weakness in the man.

Lightly Marianne scolded him. "That disreputable place," she smiled. "With miles of magnificent headland, I don't know why—"

"We went for the news, madam," Caleb interrupted from the door. "The pub is the only place this side of Exeter where a gentleman might avail himself of London newspapers."

Marianne looked up at the pencil-thin man, resentful of the intrusion. "And what is happening in London that is of such importance to—"

"A trial, madam," Caleb replied, "a most interesting trial."

"What trial?" she demanded.

Again Caleb Cranford took over. "Surely you've been aware of it, milady," he said. "The adultery trial concerning a Mrs. Charlotte Longford, and—"

"I don't follow gossip, Mr. Cranford," she interrupted. "I never have. The majority opinion on any subject is always wrong. Street gossip is just that."

"This isn't gossip, milady," he persisted. "The accounts of the trial are fact—"

"And how do they concern you?" she asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.

He stepped further into the room, uninvited. "Regretfully Edward's name has been attached—"

"To what?"

"To the lady in question."

"But nothing has been proved," she countered.

He smiled, like his sister, with just a hint of triumph. "Then you do know of the trial of which we speak."

Trapped, she tried to stay calm. "I know of it," she admitted. "What I fail to understand is your interest in it."

"Oh, not my interest, milady. I was only thinking of James. What an embarrassment with his future in-laws coming."

She glanced at James, saw him following the conversation like a tennis set. She'd had enough. Both Cranfords in one morning were too much. She stepped to James's side and lightly took his arm; he seemed to stiffen at her touch. She ignored the unpleasant sensation and spoke softly to the man standing a distance away. "Mr. Cranford, with your kind permission, I'd like a word with my son alone. You occupy most of his attention out of these chambers. Here, I'd like to lay claim to a mother's right to privacy." She smiled, hoping to conceal the rage she felt inside. "I'm sure I can count on your understanding."

Apparently taken aback by the dismissal, she saw a blush creep over his face. "My apologies, milady," he murmured.

She thought she saw a look pass between the two men, but it was over before she could interpret it. As Caleb started through the door, James called after him, "I won't be long, Caleb. Wait just outside for me.

Again Caleb bowed low, with a deference which verged on idiocy. "As you wish. Lord Eden," he murmured.

Marianne turned away to hide her disgust, overcome by the difference between the man who had previously worn that title and the boy who wore it now.

From behind her, she heard his voice, soft, almost feminine in its pleading. "I wish you wouldn't speak to Caleb like that. He's very good to me. I feel a deep affection for him."

She decided to let that pass. There were other more urgent matters at hand. "This trial," she said, picking up the thread of the foolish conversation. "Is that what you wanted to see me about?"

He shook his head and sank wearily into a near chair, as though suddenly overcome with fatigue. "No, but it is important."

"How so?" she asked, prodding.

"Caleb says-"

"I don't care what Caleb says," she interrupted. "I want to hear your thoughts."

From his leisurely position, legs extended, he faltered. "Well, he is behaving scandalously. Caleb says—" He caught himself in time and apparently converted the thought to his own. "In my opinion, he might very well end up in prison himself. Then where would we be?"

Marianne looked at him, not totally unsympathetically. Again, the blame was her own. While Thomas was still alive, it had occurred to her to suggest that he divide the estates equally between the two boys. But it had never been done. That ancient deed, with which Thomas had regained her love, still stood as valid today as it had been thirty-seven years ago, the signing over of the castle and all the estates to the illegitimate Edward.

Her manner and attitude softened. "Don't worry, James," she counseled. "He would never do anything to hurt you. I'm confident of that. And his involvement in this sordid little matter is unimportant. If you don't trust me, believe Sir Claudius, who I'm quite certain will make every effort to keep a sharp and watchful eye."

Abruptly James sat up, as though unwittingly she had struck at the heart of the matter. "But why must someone have to keep an eye on him. Mother? And how long can we count on the watchful eyes of others?" He pushed himself forward out of the chair and began to pace restlessly. "It's an absolutely impossible situation," he muttered. He

turned and confronted Marianne directly. "If I'm to take a wife, how am I to support her?" he pleaded. "On the allowance given to me by my brother?"

While Marianne did not have the solution to that problem, she had given it thought. "I plan to talk with him," she promised.

He looked at her, hopeful, then doubtful. "Poor Mother," he smiled, almost prettily, a little boy's smile which touched her. "Your neck is in the same noose by which he controls all of us."

She disliked such a sentiment. "He doesn't control us, James," she corrected. "He's been very generous in all matters,"

At that, James pulled away from her nearness, casting a mistrustful look on her last words. "Generous," he scoffed. "Out of an income of over a hundred thousand pounds per annum, we are given a token handout of—"

"I'm sure he will increase it. All we need do is ask—"

The derision spread across his face. "How? On our knees? With our hats in our hands?" He hesitated, then looked directly back at her from across the room. His manner had changed, the little boy look gone. "Caleb says it cannot continue."

Oh God, it was a round-robin, all avenues of conversation commencing and ending with Caleb Cranford. Out of sorts from the splintered morning, Marianne gave voice to a harsh sentiment. "And what does Caleb have to do with it?" she demanded, half in anger. "Whatever problems exist in this family, we are quite capable .of solving them without the help of either Cranford."

From where he stood about twenty feet removed, she could see the shock on his face. "How can you say that?" he demanded, his voice shaking slightly. "Sophia and Caleb Cranford have devoted their lives to this family. By your own command, Caleb keeps the household books, books on the entire estate for that matter. And without Sophia, that untrained and undisciplined nest of girls in the kitchen would run riot, and you know it." He stepped closer, as though she weren't paying the proper attention to him. "They are part of this family, Mother, as much as any of us, and by right of years of loyalty and devotion, I put a great deal of stock in their opinion, on all matters, as did Father, as should you."

Defeated, she sank slowly into the chair near the table. Whatever fleeting and wistful thoughts she had ever had for dismissing the Cranfords lay in a shambles about her. Her grasp on her two younger children was tenuous at best. Now it was as she had suspected. The weak glue that held them together was the Cranfords. She remained

immobile and wondered if it was customary for a mother to feel such an alien in the presence of her son.

Finally, without looking at him, she asked, "And what does Mr. Cranford suggest?"

He took her hand, an affectionate and totally unexpected gesture. "I love you dearly," he confessed, his eyes seeking hers, the child again. The smile changed, grew mournful. "But you really did leave me in a topsy-turvey world."

She looked at him. Against those words she had no protection. If he sensed her vulnerability, he gave no indication of it and went on speaking. "How much better for both sides and more honorable had the estates been divided. As it is, I'm a pauper in my own home. I cannot go on forever, as Lord James Eden, taking handouts from an older brother." His voice grew hard. "I will not go on like that. I am thirty-five, on the verge of taking a wife, yet here I am, still dependent, still running for favors to a—"

Suddenly he stopped speaking. She knew what word had been forming on his lips. Bastard. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. He had spoken the truth and as always the truth was a prologue to pain. Again she asked, "And what do you suggest?"

This time he answered her bluntly. "Caleb suggests a lawsuit." As though he feared an immediate rebuttal, he hurried on. "Oh, not right away. Let me announce my engagement next month. Harriet and I are planning a Christmas wedding. Let that event transpire. Then shortly after the first of the year, I shall journey to London with my bride and confront Sir Claudius with the possibility of a discreet lawsuit." He paused. "I seek for nothing more than what is justly mine. Half of the estates, that is all. And Eden Castle. Edward will have plenty left for his Ragged School and his—assortment of friends."

She had suffered the plan to be outlined in full, had held her tongue throughout the entire recitation, a recitation which sounded well rehearsed as though someone had coached him in the words.

Then it was her turn. She looked up. Although she was late in speaking, the words she was about to utter had been formed years ago. "There will be no lawsuit," she pronounced. "Not now, not ever, at least not until I am in my grave." Out of the corner of her eye she saw his face, the rebuttal taking form. But it was her turn to hold the floor. "There will be no lawsuit," she announced again. "And make no mistake," she added, "there is no such thing as a discreet lawsuit, not where an Eden is concerned. Out of respect for the memory of your father, there will be no lawsuit."

Having made the pronouncement, she now tried to soften it. "I have erred, James. I'm the first to admit it. And further, I will admit that the situation for you is intolerable. With that in mind, I intend to seek a private conference with Edward, at the first opportunity, and see if I can obtain privately what you plan to do publicly." Her voice softened. "Edward is your brother," she reminded him. "He bears you no ill-will. I rather imagine that he will be delighted to get rid of a portion of the responsibility."

Abruptly James stood. "He's getting rid of more than responsibility," he muttered. "If someone doesn't make a move soon, there will be nothing left of Eden."

"He's sold a little, yes," she concurred, "but—"

"A little!" he parroted. "According to Caleb, he's been averaging a thousand acres for the past four years. At that rate—"

She tried to soothe him. "There's enough, James. More than enough—"

From the window, he looked back. "Sophia said that you had received another letter from Sir Claudius this morning. Not a social letter, according to Sophia—"

She turned to face him. The outrage was there, hungry to surface. "Sophia said," she repeated, shocked. "And what right, may I ask, does Miss Cranford have to examine my mail?"

"It's delivered to her from the gatehouse," he replied, coolly. "It's her job-"

"To sort, yes," said Marianne, her voice still rising, "to pry and poke and draw conclusions, no!" Suddenly she became aware of her emotions racing out of control. She grasped the back of the chair. "I will not have it," she cried out. "You may convey that message for me, or better still, send the woman to me and I shall inform her myself."

James now seemed to be suffering from the same lack of control. He stepped down from the window, confronting her, only the table between them. "She has your interest at heart, madam. Someone had better pay attention to what's going on."

"I've minded my affairs very well, thank you," she retorted. "I need no help from—"

"Minded your affairs very well!" he repeated. "You do nothing but mourn in this chamber and live in the past and on occasion talk to a dead man." His voice rose. "Look around you, madam, for God's sake. This place is falling apart. Can't you see? The land is being sold out from under you, the profits dwindle while your fair-haired bastard sleeps with every whore in London and hands out guineas on street corners as though they were posies—" His voice rose still higher, his

face as determined to inflict pain as she'd ever seen it, "You should get down on your knees, madam, every night and thank God for the presence of the Cranfords in your Hfe." He laughed, a harsh sound. "My God, they have done everything but breathe for you for the last thirty years. They've managed your aff'airs, seen to your accounts, protected you from ill-winds, and since you were too busy, they even raised your children for you."

She was incapable of thinking anymore. Without taking her eyes off' his face, she moved slowly around the table until she was standing directly before him. Blindly she slapped him, a stinging blow to the side of his face.