The Prince of Eden (18 page)

William buried? William gone? If three days had passed, then was this the fourth or the fifth? Seven in a week, and on the sixth the sentence was to take place.

Suddenly he struggled upward. He was not expert enough to solve the mystery now. "Charlotte," he whispered, again trying to run the perilous course from the floor to the wardrobe with Daniel still restraining him, dragging him back, lifting him finally and assisting him back to the pallet.

"There's time for that," he promised. "She sent word. I'll go with you tonight. Together we will try—"

Edward was only vaguely aware of Elizabeth returning, heard Daniel's command for the girl to lift his head. At his firm insistence, he obediently swallowed spoonful after spoonful of the hot soup.

A little while later he closed his eyes, his mind calm. Elizabeth was still there, bending over him, stroking his head with a cloth. And Daniel was still there.

"Edward?"

"I've promised you, Daniel," Edward murmured. "I'll not go there again. There's no need—"

But Daniel merely shook his head. "It's not that," he said quickly. He hesitated. Finally he said, "Do you remember that we have guests coming tonight? Do you think that you'll be able to—"

Guests? Edward faced him, trying again to clear the fog from his brain. So many problems intersecting simultaneously.

Quietly Daniel said, "I told you some time ago. You said that you would—"

Edward shook his head and lay back on the pillow. "I'm sorry, Daniel," he said. He was in no mood for society. "I'm afraid you must excuse me," he apologized.

He sensed Daniel's disappointment and tried belatedly to relieve it. "Who are these guests?" he asked, clearly a perfunctory question.

"Robert Owen," Daniel replied, as though the name spoke for itself.

The name meant nothing to Edward. Undoubtedly one of Daniel's radical friends. He felt resentful now that Daniel would broach such a subject.- "I must go to Newgate tonight," he said forcefully. "He's your friend, not mine. I'm afraid you'll have to—"

"There are others coming and they wanted to meet you," Daniel persisted. "They're coming to see the school. Owen is interested in establishing others throughout London."

"You're the schoolmaster, Daniel. Not I. I serve no purpose here."

"That's not true."

Weary of the conversation, Edward wanted only to end it. He'd never been able to win an argument with Daniel. False acquiescence, that was the solution. "You must be doing a good job, Daniel. When other men take notice, that's always a good sign."

It worked. Daniel softened. "Without you, none of it would have been possible."

Edward quickly dismissed this for the foolishness it was. "All I did was provide you with an old house that should have been torn down years ago."

"You've done more, much more. They all want to meet you."

God, enough! With his eyes closed, Edward promised, "If I'm capable of standing upright, Daniel, I'll be there."

Apparently that was all Daniel wanted. He smiled and gently arranged the coverlet over Edward. "And later, after they have gone," he said, making a promise of his own, "we'll go together to Newgate. Charlotte will need all the sustenance we can give her."

The name alone was capable of causing pain. Edward tried not to

think on the young woman who'd passed the week in the Common Cell. Charlotte needed more than their sustenance. She needed an escape route. And he intended to see that she got it.

Daniel stood then, apparently at peace. "Rest," he smiled down. "I'll leave Elizabeth with you."

A moment later Edward heard Daniel leave the room.

Then Elizabeth was there again, stroking his forehead. Edward had no great pain now. The nourishment of food had helped. There were two certainties at work in his mind: one, that he was totally unworthy of the love and care which were being carelessly heaped upon him, and two, he had to devise some way to clear the room of that love and care so that he might flee this house.

He looked up at Elizabeth and again caught her hand. "You've wasted enough time here," he smiled. "Go and attend to your own needs. I'll sleep now."

She gave him a smile and a sigh. "I'm not wasting time, sir, and I have no needs to attend to, save yours."

Frantically his mind turned. He did not want to hurt or offend her. "Then go to your studies," he suggested. "I want to hear a quote from Wordsworth tonight."

She looked puzzled. "Who, sir?"

"Go and find out," he smiled. "Ask one of the volunteers. And tonight, tell me what you have learned."

The bewilderment on her face softened as she agreed. "I'll be back, sir."

It was a promise he eagerly received. As she stood, it occurred to him that possibly she was the only human being in his existence whom he had not wronged, or betrayed, or disappointed, or failed.

Wearily Edward turned from the confusion in his mind, his eyes closed, as though within the instant he'd dropped off" to sleep. He was aware of her looking down on him, was aware a moment later of her footsteps moving across the floor. The door opened, then closed, then silence.

Then, action. He sat up, pleased to see that his body at least in part was capable of obeying the dictates of his mind. In the past, he'd always had the feeling that everything could be put to rights again. Not now. And it was this sense of urgency that accounted, in part, for his ability to stand, to make his way falteringly to the wardrobe, where he withdrew clothes, stopping now and then in his labor for balance, for breath, still hearing Daniel's words: dead and buried, three days ago.

The boots proved troublesome. After almost half an hour of effort, he accomplished the simple task of dressing and sat up, listening. He knew

the routine of the house, the children at their books, all the volunteers, including Daniel, busily engaged. His absence would go unnoticed for a while.

Quickly he stood. The room reeled momentarily, then grew steady. Carefully he reached into his bureau for the fifteen hundred pounds. He tucked the packet of money inside his coat, then he went out the door. He would not bother with the carriage. He would walk a distance down Oxford Street and get a cab.

He took the stairs, the entrance hall, and at last was out on the street darting between carriages, taking refuge on the opposite side and blending quickly with the foot traffic. At the end of Oxford Street he hailed a passing cab.

"Newgate," Edward called as he crawled into the narrow seat.

The driver seemed to hesitate. "Don't likes to work that end, sir," he protested. "An honest man can never tell when he'll be jumped—"

Edward shouted back, "You won't be jumped, sir, and I'll make it worth your while."

Reluctantly the cab started forward. A thousand problems presented themselves ceaselessly to Edward. Would old Jawster Gray be there? When did his watch commence? Should the escape be attempted now, in broad daylight, or under cover of darkness? And for the first time, this all-important question, where would he take her? Unless Charlotte expressed a desire to organize her own future, he would take her this very night to North Devon, to the isolation of Eden Castle. From that point on, his mother would help. Perhaps one of the larger fishing packets could spirit her across the Bristol Channel to Wales. There she would be safe.

Such a plan could not go awry. Thus relieved, he settled back into the cab, allowing his eyes to wander over the traffic outside his window.

Ahead, as they were approaching Piccadilly, he spied the Gloucester Coffee House. It was a busy establishment, all the western mails stopping there before leaving London. Having decided at that moment that it might be best to wait for night, he called out to the driver, "Stop here."

"Ain't Newgate, sir," the man shouted back.

"I'll proceed alone," Edward replied.

The area around the coffee house was so clogged with carriages that the driver had to stop a distance from the pavement. Edward paid him, then hurried into the coffee house. He spied an empty table near the window, was tempted to order negus, but changed his mind. He

needed his wits about him. So he settled for coffee, hot and strong.

The harsh rays of late afternoon sun struck him in the face. Momentarily blinded, he closed his eyes and recalled the lovely, sinking feeling, the sensation of floating, the glorious dreams provided by his first indulgence in opium. Daniel had extracted the promise from him that he would not indulge again. And he wouldn't. Still, it had been most agreeable, the first time in his life that he'd felt total relief, all burdens lifted, Paradise in a single blood-red drop.

He felt his head drooping forward. He was tired, so tired. But he jerked himself upward. No sleep. Not yet. And just in time the serving girl returned with a steaming mug and he drank it eagerly, in his haste burning his tongue.

He sipped at the coffee and thought ahead to Charlotte's escape. It was only a matter of time.

The buildings of Newgate Prison formed a square, of which the four sides abutted respectively on the Old Bailey, the College of Physicians, the Sessions House, and Newgate Street. The intermediate space was divided into several paved yards, in which the prisoners took such air and exercise as could be had in such a place. These yards, with the exception of that in which prisoners under sentence of death were confined, ran parallel to Newgate Street. On the Newgate side was the main gate and office, through which prisoners entered and departed.

It was toward this gate that Edward now hurried. The hour was half past ten though there still were streaks of light in the sky. He'd walked the entire distance from the Gloucester, and in spite of having to stop several times, he felt good, his head clear.

Across the way from the main gate and the prison office, he stopped to assess the enormous structure behind whose walls human suffering knew no limitations. Edward knew it intimately enough, both as prisoner and visitor. Here was the panacea for all human woes, the red brick abyss into which men and women and children fell and from which, on occasion, they never emerged. He'd seen all aspects of it, the flogging frames, the treadmills, even the execution chamber. There had been talk of reform, much of it led by Mr. Dickens, but thus far nothing had been done.

There were two Peelers standing on either side of the office door, starched in their black uniforms with brass buttons and chimney-pot hats. Edward assumed an air of authority and walked directly past them only to be stopped by one. "You, there! Wait up."

Obediently he turned. The light was dim on the stoop. He waited

patiently as the Peeler drew near in examination. Finally a broad toothless grin broke on the sober face. "Oh, it's you, sir," the man exclaimed. "The Prince of Eden. Back for more?"

His companion drew near, apparently interested. "The gentleman, is it?" he asked. "Ain't seen you about for a few days."

Edward endured their inspection and cast a hasty glimpse through the smudged window into the office itself, where behind a broad desk he saw the night warden. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of Jawster Gray.

The first Peeler, still curious, leaned closer. "In what capacity are you here tonight, sir? Visitor or inmate?"

"Visitor," Edward replied, trying to move closer to the door.

But the second Peeler merely followed after him. "Ain't visitin' hours, your Highness," he said.

Slowly Edward reached into his pocket and withdrew two one-pound notes. Both Peelers looked shrewdly at the money in his hands.

The first one reached out and pocketed his eagerly. "I guess it won't hurt none to extend visitin' hours," he grinned.

As Edward entered the office, he heard the door close behind him. Before him, slumped behind his desk in a position of sleep, he saw the old night warden. They were alone in the barren, smelly office. A lamp burned to one side of the desk, casting a flickering shadow over the red-black brick interior.

"I beg your pardon, sir," Edward began, trying to rouse the old man. When that failed, he leaned across the desk and gave the man a solid nudge.

A moment later, sputtering, the old man lifted his head. At first he appeared indifferent to Edward's presence. Then he stiffened, his observation no longer casual. To one side of the desk Edward observed a half-empty flagon of wine. The old man continued to stare sharply up. "What is it you'll be wanting?" he demanded. "I warned that clerk the next time you should turn up it would be twice the bond."

Quickly Edward reassured him. "I've done nothing wrong, sir. I came by myself, as a visitor—"

"This ain't visitin' hours," the old man snapped. "The prisoners is all asleep."

"I'm not here to see the prisoners," Edward replied. "With your permission, I'd like to speak in private with Jawster Gray."

The name seemed to have a peculiar effect on the old man. He sank heavily back into his chair. He made a strange gesture, wiping his hands across his lips, as though there was a disagreeable taste in his

mouth. Finally he muttered, "You'll not be finding him here, sir. Now, be off with you."

Puzzled, Edward stepped closer. "Could you tell me the hour of his watch, please. I'll wait if necessary."

"A long wait it will be," he muttered.

Still bewildered, Edward inquired, "He's not due tonight?"

"Oh, he's due all right, but he won't come."

"I don't understand."

The man looked sharply up. "He's passed, sir. Dead."

Edward stared down into the old face. "Dead?" he repeated.

"Fine times we're living in when a decent man takes his life into his hands just crossing the street—" Here his manner softened. He poured a glass of wine from the bottle, tipped it, and drained it in a swallow. Apparently only now did he notice the shocked look on Edward's face. "I didn't know he was a friend of yours, sir. Fm sorry to have broken the news so blunt-like—" He filled the glass again and pushed it across the desk.

Edward shook his head and stepped back, his mind momentarily motionless, all avenues closed. The old man went on talking. "Four days ago it was, sir. If I rightly remember it was the last time you was here." A Eureka smile lit his face. Soundly he slapped the side of his head. "Of course you knew him. He was on the watch that very night, wasn't he, sir?" Regretfully he shook his head. "As far as I heard, he was just leaving the White Bear on Oxford Street when one of them horse-drawn omnibuses run him to ground. We all passed the cup and gave him a decent burial. Yesterday it was. Had I known your interest in old Jawster, you'd been most welcome—"