The Prince of Eden (20 page)

It seemed a suflBcient explanation, but from the manner in which they all were gazing at him, Daniel added further, "The elder son of Lord Thomas Eden."

Robert Owen nodded slowly. "I've heard of him."

It was a simple statement, but somehow Daniel had the feeling that the man had intimated more. "Does—Mr. Eden share your—enthusiasm for your work?" he asked, not looking at Daniel.

"He does," Daniel replied without hesitation. "Without him, I'm afraid, there would be no school."

Now Owen looked directly at him. "Without him, Mr. Spade," he asked pointedly, "or without his—support?"

A curious line of question, Daniel thought. "Both, Mr. Owen," he replied, for some reason feeling a little peeved.

The man nodded, apparently satisfied with Daniel's answer. From upstairs he heard the volunteers putting the children to bed. Nine o'clock. It was late. Surely the men would leave soon.

Daniel pushed his chair back from the table, trying to be a cordial

host, in spite of his splintered feelings. "Is there anything else, Mr. Owen, that you care to see? The rooms below, the arrangements for—"

But the man merely shook his head. "No, Mr. Spade," he smiled. "You've been most kind to receive us. I only wish that we might have had the honor of meeting your benefactor, Mr. Eden."

"I apologize for his absence, Mr. Owen," he said. "He had planned to be here, but at the last minute he was otherwise engaged."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Owen replied. "In our movement, we have great need for men with full hearts and full purses."

Across the table John Bright was working diligently over his pipe. Without looking up, he asked, "Mr. Spade, what are your sources of income for the school?"

Daniel disliked this turn in the conversation. Still, he answered, "Contributions, Mr. Bright. What else?"

"From what sources?" the man persisted.

"From all sources," Daniel replied, a slight edge to his voice.

Robert Owen leaned close as though he had detected the edge and was now trying to assuage it. "These are blunt questions, Mr. Spade, admittedly, and I apologize for them. But every one of us here has the same goal in mind, the alleviation of as much human suffering as is possible within the short span granted to us by God." He stood then and began to pace behind Daniel's chair. "What we have seen here tonight does not in any way resemble the other Ragged Schools in London. This one is the ideal. The others are still struggling." He came around from behind Daniel's chair. "What we want to know, Mr. Spade, is what, in addition to your own obvious dedication, makes this school work."

So! This was the point of the meeting, a determination to establish the fountain of his blessings and perhaps to see if some of the golden water of that font couldn't be channeled in their direction.

Then it was Daniel's turn to stand. He walked a distance away from the table. He knew the need for choosing his words carefully. "Mr. Eden is very generous," he began, looking back.

"Obviously," Owen smiled.

"But," interrupted Daniel strongly, "and you may find this difficult to believe, I have never asked him for anything."

John Bright leaned forward. "Then he must be a very perceptive man to see so clearly your needs."

"He is."

Owen asked, "Is yours a friendship of long standing?"

Daniel nodded. "We grew up together on Eden Point."

"Like brothers?" Bright inquired.

Daniel hesitated, trying to catalogue in his mind the precise depth of feeling he shared with Edward Eden. "More than brothers," he replied softly, thinking of Edward's shattered relationship with his true brother.

Apparently the expression of affection had an effect on his audience of three. After a moment, Owen apologized again. "These are very personal questions, Mr. Spade. A less understanding man than yourself might consider them an affront. You have every reasonable right to toss us out, if you wish—"

Daniel smiled, his annoyance receding. "I don't wish, Mr. Owen."

"Then hear me out," the man now begged, again leaving his chair and walking steadily toward Daniel. "I have a plan," he began, "to open another Ragged School in the heart of Lambeth."

"An admirable idea," Daniel agreed. "The thought had occurred to me—

"Then help us, Mr. Spade."

Without hesitation, Daniel agreed. "Fd be happy to," he said, "in any way."

Robert Owen stepped to one side. "I have two soldiers ready to do the work," he announced softly, and he gestured back toward the table where Bright and Holyoake were waiting.

"Then I don't understand," Daniel began. "How do you need me?"

Again, Robert Owen seemed almost overcome with consternation. "We need you," he faltered, "as an avenue which—might lead us to the—Eden purse."

For a moment, Daniel could only stare at the men. As an avenue which might lead us to the Eden purse. He stammered, then laughed. "I'm afraid I've misrepresented myself to you, gentlemen. I am Edward Eden's friend, not—"

"And as such," Owen countered, "the beneficiary of his generosity."

"I ask for nothing," Daniel retorted. "I thought I made that clear."

"You did," John Bright said. "But how would it hurt to ask? He has the means by which we can implement—"

"No, gentlemen!" Daniel pronounced, walking the length of the table, trying to rid himself of the offensive suggestion. As he drew near to where George Holyoake sat, he saw the young man watching him.

"Mr. Spade," the man began. "This afternoon I saw horrors I've never seen before. As we walked along the reeking banks of the sewer, the sun shone upon a narrow slip of water. In the bright light it appeared the color of strong green tea and looked as solid as black marble in the shadows. Indeed it was more like watery mud and yet we were assured this was the only water the wretched inhabitants had to drink."

Daniel listened closely. He knew the truth of his words. What caught and held his attention was the eagerness in the boy's face. For Daniel, it was like shedding seventeen years and looking into a glass.

The boy went on, rising from his chair and coming around the table to where Daniel stood. "As we gazed at the pool, we saw drains and sewers emptying their filthy contents in it, we saw a whole tier of doorless privies in the open road, common to men and women—" He drew still nearer to Daniel. "We heard bucket after bucket of filth splash into it, and the limbs of the children bathing in it seemed, by contrast white as snow. And yet as we stood gazing at the sewer, we saw a child from one of the galleries opposite lower a tin can with a rope and fill a large bucket that stood beside her."

He fell silent. Daniel felt clearly the boy's anguish. "With help, Mr. Spade," the young man went on, "I could take that child and the ones bathing in the sewage and transport them to a place a short distance away and give them hope for the future. And if someone doesn't do it soon, there will be no need to do it at all."

Daniel listened, his hands shoved into his pockets. He did not deny anything that had been said. But he denied with all his heart and soul the act which had been requested of him, an act which could easily corrupt the most important relationship in his existence and make a mockery of the trust they had worked so hard and long to establish between them.

Apparently Owen saw the distress on his face. "Again, we apologize, Mr. Spade. And we'll take our leave now." Quickly he withdrew a small card from his inner pocket and handed it to Daniel. "If, after a few days, you have—anything to report, you may send the message to this number."

Daniel took the card. He felt peculiarly defeated. It had not been his work which had attracted these men to him this evening. No, the great Robert Owen and his two dedicated disciples had not been interested in that at all. Rather, Edward's purse had been the object of the evening.

The accumulated thoughts took a lieavy toll. "I can't promise," he began.

"Then don't," Owen said kindly. With warm familiarity he patted Daniel's arm. "This afternoon, we happened to see in front of a lean-to, a small garden. That table linen would have covered it," he said, pointing toward the small white cloth. "Still, one dahlia raised its round red head there. Never was color so grateful to the eye."

He stepped back. "We now pin our hopes on you, Mr. Spade, as those wretched inhabitants must look to that single blossom." His voice

fell. "Again we must apologize for the moral dilemma in which we have placed you. But as you well know, in the face of certain human miseries, moral dilemmas seem almost a luxury."

Again he stepped back. "Don't bother to see us out, Mr. Spade. And again, many thanks for receiving us."

At the last minute Daniel looked up. Beyond the dining room door, he saw Matilda. Apparently she'd just come down from seeing the children to bed and was now graciously showing the gentlemen to the front door.

Daniel sank heavily into a near chair. In his hand he still held the small white card. In neat and simple printing, it read, Mr. Robert Owen—Association of All Classes of All Nations. Then it listed a number and a street.

All Classes of All Nations. A noble thought. He closed his eyes and rested his head heavily in his hands. In his self-imposed blindness, he saw two small boys running across the headlands of Eden Point, reveling in each other's company, trusting, asking nothing of one another but companionship and mutual love.

He groaned softly and drove his fingers through his hair. What he had told the gentlemen was true. Never in his entire life-long association with Edward Eden had he ever asked for anything.

Still, the cause was just. And Robert Owen was right. The Eden fortune was vast. If only, somehow, he could bring Edward to see the need.

Attempted murder!

Sir Claudius Potter still couldn't believe it, although in spite of the rocking motion of his carriage, he held the paper in his hand and again read the words carefully: "Mr. Edward Eden has been charged with attempted murder of the night warden of Newgate and is at present being held in the—"

Sir Claudius looked out the rain-streaked window at the gray morning. The lovely green parks for which London was famed had a way of disappearing the closer a man got to Newgate and Old Bailey and the inexorable hand of Justice.

Frankly he loathed the neighborhood, loathed being summoned down here as though he were little more than a common clerk. Apparently the charge had been of such a serious nature that the magistrate had refused to do business with his clerk and had demanded the personal appearance of Sir Claudius himself.

Attempted murder!

Merely thinking on it caused Sir Claudius distress and he suffered a

spasm of indigestion. He swallowed hard and made a face at the rancid taste in his mouth. Carefully he smoothed his hand over the sable-colored satin waistcoat, his fingers lingering on the white silk neck scarf. He'd dressed with care this morning. When dealing with the primitives of Newgate, a man was always slightly ahead of the game if his dress was superior. Not that he was genuinely worried about the outcome. He'd just left the old magistrate's private chambers in the Temple, and the stern old man had agreed to ignore the charges on two conditions: that Sir Claudius split his fee with him, not an uncomfortable agreement since Sir Claudius had planned to triple his fee for this service anyway; and two, that as soon as possible Edward Eden leave London for a period of at least three months.

Without hesitation, Sir Claudius had agreed to the conditions. Now all that remained was to inform the "prisoner" himself, and try to pacify the man named Daniel Spade, who apparently had discovered his friend behind bars the night before and had dragged Sir Claudius's clerk out of bed at some indecent hour. And ultimately the entire silly chain of events had led Sir Claudius to this moment and this chill and disagreeable early morning ride through the rain.

Now, weary and still suffering from indigestion, he leaned back against the velvet cushions. What sacrifices he made for the Eden family!

As Daniel pushed open the oflfice door, he saw a small group of Peelers standing to one side. He paused on the threshold, taking the weight of their eyes.

Behind the desk, he noticed an older man, his jacket undone, his throat swathed in white bandages. It was this man who spoke in a peculiarly gruff whisper. "What is it you're wantin'?" he demanded, as though out of temper with Daniel, with his injured throat, the rain, everything.

Daniel closed the door behind him, realizing that without Sir Claudius he had no power at all. "I'm—to meet someone here," he said.

"This ain't no coffee house in Piccadilly," the old man grumbled, one hand continuously stroking his bandaged throat. "Go meet your mates elsewhere."

But Daniel held his ground. "I'm waiting for Sir Claudius Potter, Edward Eden's solicitor."

The name seemed to make an incredible impression on the old man. He gaped upward toward Daniel, an expression of angry belligerence on his old face. "Then you'll be waitin' a long time," he snapped.

Two advancing Peelers retreated. Daniel noticed sly smiles on their faces. As the tight little group enclosed upon themselves, he considered

the wisdom of further talk, then decided against it. He would wait for Sir Claudius. Now carefully he moved back toward the bench beneath the smudged window and sat. Still he was conscious of all eyes upon him, the most piercing of all belonging to the old warden, who now seemed offended by the sight of Daniel seated.

"I told you," he shouted with as much force as he could muster, "it'll do no good to wait. Now, go along with—"

Suddenly the old man bent over in a seizure of coughing, both hands gripping his throat. The brief spasm left him winded and red-faced, with moisture streaming from his eyes. "Mr. Edward Eden," he pronounced in spite of his obvious distress, "ain't goin' to be leaving here for some time, I can promise you." Slowly he straightened up, making a clear effort to keep his voice down. "Tried to kill me, he did," the man muttered, "and after me being so nice to him." He shook his head. "The Prince of Eden," he pronounced sarcastically, "can stay where he is till he rots as far as I'm concerned."