The Prince of Eden (25 page)

She paced the small area before the cot now and glanced aside at Jennifer's packed valise. With unexpected kindness she said, "Had I known you were dreading it so, you might have come home with me.'*

Touched, though embarrassed, Jennifer murmured, "Thank you." For an instant, she regretted that the invitation had come too late. Softly she smiled. "Be prudent about issuing the invitation next year. I may accept."

Suddenly the pinched look fell away from Charlotte's face. She beamed. "Oh, that would be lovely."

Then for some reason, she seemed embarrassed. "I'll not bother you further," she said, retrieving the lamp from the table and easing back toward the door.

Jennifer did not want her to leave and said as much. But Charlotte was insistent. "I haven't started my packing," she said. "If I'm not ready promptly at one, Branwell will be out of sorts."

At the door, she turned back with a gentle question. "Are you well now, Jennifer?"

Jennifer nodded. "Not well, but eased. Thank you for stopping by."

The simple reply seemed to please Charlotte. "In spite of what my students say, I do have sound eyes and ears and I know a human outcry when I hear one." Her light mood altered. "The saddest of sounds," she whispered. Then she was passing through the door, calling back, "You must write to me, Jennifer, and tell me about the railway ride. Tell me all about London and North Devon and the people you meet and speak with. Your letters will be most gratefully received."

Then she was gone, leaving Jennifer as she had found her, sitting alone in the dark. But it was a different darkness now, a safer darkness. Slowly Jennifer stood and prepared herself for bed, the young woman's words still inhabiting her mind. We assign danger, and we assign safety. Such control had never occurred to Jennifer.

Weary, yet excited, Jennifer closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But before her in the darkness, she saw a painfully clear cavalcade of the future, her brothers, Edward and James, locked in perpetual warfare, and she saw Daniel Spade, no longer a harmless boy, but in full manhood. And she saw Sophia and Caleb Cranford, trying like the saints that they were and with all their hearts to serve the disintegrating Eden family.

And she saw her mother, nodding here, bowing there, an aging coquette, her stained blood racing through Jennifer's veins, corrupting, condemning.

With some force, she pressed her head backward into the pillow. We assign safety, we assign danger—

Dear Lord! It was so simple and so complex, and for the time being, well beyond her ...

,/SJ^

For Edward, it had been enough.

Five days and nights of tranquil obhvion, floating out of touch with reality on the wings of opium, had been sufficient to dull the memory of what he had found in the dungeon cell of Newgate. It had not been enough to obliterate it. He doubted if there was enough opium in all of India to accomplish that.

But at least he could function now, and functioning he was, sitting upright, washed and shaved and in fresh garments, sitting opposite Daniel in the carriage, on their way to Euston Station to meet Jennifer.

Now he watched Daniel across from him and recalled his numerous visitations to St. Peter's establishment, bringing hot food, of which Edward had eaten little. Had Edward thanked him? He couldn't remember, and did so now. "I'm grateful, Daniel, as always."

Across the way, Daniel smiled. "That's number twenty-five, at least. And, as many times, I say no thanks are needed." He moved a hand up to smooth down the thick red hair. It seemed to Edward that Daniel had taken unprecedented pains with his grooming this evening, preparatory to meeting Jennifer. "I don't approve, Edward," he went on, suddenly sober. "But in view of the—circumstances of the last few days, I understand."

It was as close to a lecture as he'd ever come. And if that was all, Edward found it palatable. For the first time in several weeks, he felt in fairly good spirits, the pleasing opium numbness accompanying him everywhere now as St. Peter had generously shared with him the "art

of the habit," had sold him twenty vials of the pure red-brown laudanum and had instructed him in the ways of consuming it wisely. Of course, Daniel knew nothing of this. It was not important that he knew. The two drops that Edward had hastily consumed in a glass of claret before they had left were working beautifully. He felt relaxed, a quiet peace inside his head only lightly tinged with the memory of tragic events.

"How long is my exile to last?" Edward asked, thinking with regret that soon the multitudinous life outside the window would be replaced with dormant heather and screeching sea gulls.

Daniel looked up out of his own thoughts. "Sir Claudius didn't say. I would imagine for the duration of the summer—"

"The duration of the—" Aghast, Edward could only gape.

Sternly Daniel reminded him, "The charge was attempted murder, Edward."

The voice, so quietly speaking, lay like something heavy on his soul. Attempted murder. Had it not been for the effective reaction of the guards, it would have been murder. Sobered by the realization, Edward again leaned back in the carriage, his eyes dully fixed now on the passing scene beyond his window.

Daniel saw the vacancy and moved to dispel it. "The change will do you good, Edward," he soothed. "You've been separated from your family long enough."

Without looking at him, Edward spoke to the window. "Others find health in the North Devon air. I find sickness."

"Then the fault is your own," Daniel scolded mildly. "It will be quite an event for the Edens, James's engagement, all of you together again for the first time since—"

"My father's death," Edward concluded for him. The two drops of laudanum were not enough. The pleasurable numbness was leaving. He stretched out a hand to the window as though for support. "Her train?" he asked disjointedly. "When is it due?"

"Nine o'clock," Daniel replied. "We've plenty of time."

Slowly Edward closed his eyes. "My mother," he began, his hands tightly interlaced between his legs. "Does she know we're coming?"

Apparently the innocent question fell reassuringly on Daniel's ear. "She does," he smiled. "Sir Claudius wrote to her."

"And who wrote to Jennifer?"

There was a pause. "I did. I thought it would be helpful if she accompanied you."

"As a nurse or a guard?"

"Neither. As your sister."

The black mood was passing in the innocent banter. The trick was to keep the mind occupied and the tongue busy. To this end, Edward leaned forward. "Is she well? Jennifer, I mean?"

Daniel shrugged, the disinterested look on his face as suspect as Edward's new calm. "I don't know," he replied. "Her letter was brief, stating simply the time of her arrival."

Abruptly Edward laughed, looking forward to seeing his sister. "We were quite a trio, weren't we, the three of us—"

Daniel returned his laugh with the warmth of a smile. "Indeed we were. The scourges of Eden, according to Sophia Cranford."

Edward's face darkened in disgust. "The bitch," he muttered. "I suppose she's still there, and Caleb as well. God, how I loathed the both of them."

Daniel tried to soften the harsh sentiment. "Theirs was a difficult task," he suggested, "with your parents away as often as they were."

Edward sat with his shoulders hunched now, as though for protection against what was ahead of him. "We've changed since we were those three scourges of Eden, haven't we, Daniel?" he mused softly.

"Not so much," Daniel replied.

The words were reassuring. Perhaps inside the high-vaulted Doric arches of Euston Station, Edward might find a moment of privacy for the purpose of reinforcing the two meager drops of laudanum. He wanted to be free of memories when he met Jennifer.

The cabs and carriages increased as they drew near to Euston Square. As John Murrey found an empty spot near the pavement, Edward reached stealthily inside his waistcoat pocket. Perhaps in the brief interim while Daniel was giving the old man instructions, Edward could successfully lift the cork and drink from the small vial. Predictably, when John Murrey had brought the carriage to a halt, Daniel in his eagerness was out the door and standing back now, waiting for Edward to follow.

"Go along," Edward called down over the shouts of the thronging crowds. "Tell John to see if he can't find a place close by and wait. She'll have trunks."

Daniel hesitated a moment. Then he advanced to the front of the carriage. As he shouted up at the old man, Edward quickly withdrew the vial and, tilting his head back, placed several drops on the tip of his tongue. With no time to spare, he hurriedly returned the cork and shoved the vial in his pocket, just as Daniel reappeared on the pavement.

"Are you coming?" Daniel called up to him.

With a quick swallow, Edward sent the slightly bitter balm on its way through his system. Heartened by the promise of relief, he stepped down from the carriage. For a moment he lost his balance. Daniel was there, offering his arm. "Would you rather wait in the carriage?" he inquired, concerned.

Edward clung to the support, all the while shaking his head. "No, of course not. I'm fine. Lead the way."

As Daniel checked the high board for arrivals, Edward stood patiently a distance behind him.

"This way," Daniel called now, extending his hand to Edward, his anticipation at seeing Jennifer clear on his face.

Following after him through the crowds, Edward thought again what a pleasing union that would be, Daniel and Jennifer. He would purchase a London house for them as a wedding present and place a generous annual income at their disposal, then sit back and bask in their love and enjoy their progeny and perhaps for the first time in his life be able to point to an accomplishment and say, "That is mine. I brought it about, and it is right and good."

Standing in the midst of the tumultuous station, with the shrieking black monster directly ahead of him belching smoke, scattering cinders, he felt enclosed by a kind of soothing novelty. It was as if in this moment, everything was memorable and worth remembering ...

The journey was not as bad as she had feared. To be true, the black monster had reached incredible speeds. The wind had rushed past her ears, the tranquil green English countryside had been reduced to a blur.

Still, it had been very exciting, and once or twice she'd caught herself smiling back at the other passengers as, together, they had shared this most unique experience of a railway ride. And the speed! She still could not believe it, the boxlike coaches racing over the narrow tracks, approaching, on flat, level stretches, the unheard-of rate of forty miles an hour.

Now as the enormous locomotive rumbled into Euston Station, she felt giddy, as though the wild ride had robbed her of her sense of gentility and decorum.

The train was now screeching to a halt, belching great white puffs of steam. Outside her window she saw the crowds pushing dangerously close, their heads uplifted as though in admiration for the passengers who had successfully completed such a perilous journey.

Then through the crowds she saw them, those two familiar faces from her childhood.

She caught sight of Daniel first, his neck craning first one way and then the other as he searched the line of coaches. He seemed thinner from that distance, not as robust a figure as she remembered. Still, he appeared well groomed, as she knew Daniel would, neatly dressed with a broad, clean-shaven face and direct brown eyes.

Abruptly she blushed under her own close scrutiny, as though she were the one being studied. But in truth he had yet to find her and she rather liked it that way. In spite of her safe obscurity, she was incapable of sorting out her feelings. Even after her extreme punishment by Sophia Cranford, she still had nursed a secret affection for her brother's best friend. A scraped knee, a splinter wedged into the palm of her hand, or just a general sinking of her spirits always brought him running.

She smiled softly, keeping her eye on the tall man caught in the press and pull of the crowd. How safe they all had been on those windy sunny days!

Quickly she banished her thoughts of the past as all around her she was aware of passengers preparing to alight from the train, women gathering baskets and children, men self-consciously adjusting their hats and waistcoats. As her eyes moved rapidly over the faces, she found him again, or at least found his red hair, his face turned away as apparently he motioned behind for someone to join him in the search.