The Prince of Eden (38 page)

Never taking his eyes off" her, he advanced, sending his voice ahead. "Milady, may I-"

Again he stopped to see if there was any reaction. There wasn't. From where he stood she appeared lifeless, her face obscured by her position. He was aware of the distant music coming from the festivities below, the orchestra playing out a quadrille, the entire company apparently unaware of the guest of honor collapsed in the upper corridor.

"Milady," he whispered again, drawing nearer, feeling an increase in alarm as still she showed no signs of life or movement. He knelt beside her and lightly touched one opened hand. When there was no response, he drew her backward from her collapsed position and saw her face for the first time, pale and colorless, still wet with tears, eyes closed.

Without further hesitation he lifted her in his arms and carried her rapidly into the guest apartments, through the small sitting room, and on through to the bedchamber. There he placed her on the high, canopied bed and fetched the lamp, burning low on the table. Moving rapidly now, he stripped the long white gloves from her arms, drew a light coverlet up over the blue gown, and commenced rubbing her hand. It was cold, without response.

Frantically, he looked over his shoulder at the scattered items on the dressing table. He saw several small bottles and from that distance searched for one that resembled smelling salts.

But then he felt her hand stir, lift briefly. He saw her eyes open, then close, the head toss once upon the pillow, then hold still.

She was back, her eyes open and staring at him. He smiled and stood up from the bed in an attempt to put her at ease. But still her response was one of alarm. As she started rapidly up from the pillow, he stepped forward. "No, please. Lie still," he urged. "For a few minutes anyway."

At the sound of his voice, her eyes seemed to grow ever wider. One hand moved up to her throat.

"No need for alarm," he soothed. "I was just on my way down to Hft a toast to you when I found you outside."

He hesitated, not certain how he should describe her collapsed state.

She seemed to be surveying him in bewilderment and it occurred to him that perhaps she didn't remember meeting him the night of her arrival.

"I'm Edward Eden," he smiled. "We met briefly that first night."

Then he heard her first words. "I remember," she whispered. She lifted her eyes to the canopy overhead. "What I don't remember," she went on, "is how I got here."

He considered persisting with his lie, the story that he'd simply found her in the passageway. But he changed his mind. "I can't give you details of the entire evening," he began, speaking gently. "I only saw you about fifteen minutes ago as you came up from the ball." He paused to see if the reminder was sufficient. Apparently it wasn't. "There were others with you," he continued. "They thought you were ill."

Then something registered. Her eyes closed as though she wanted to blot out the memory. "I'm—sorry," she whispered.

"Why don't you lie still for just a while," he suggested. "Would you like for me to ring for—"

She shook her head quickly. "No, please." Her hand moved back to her hair and loosened the clip. A moment later a cascade of long auburn hair slipped down about her shoulders, causing her to look younger. "It's so—warm," she murmured, and again she leaned back into the pillows.

He gazed at her, then walked rapidly to the table where he'd seen her articles of toilette. He lifted a clean linen, poured water over it from the pitcher, wrung it lightly, and returned to the bed. "If you won't let me summon help, then you must accept mine," he said, approaching the bed with the cool damp cloth.

When she registered no objection, he placed it on her forehead. "Are you feeling better?" he inquired politely.

The softest of smiles graced her features. "I've never done this before, so I'm afraid I have no gauge for my feelings." Lightly she shook her head and rearranged the damp linen to her liking. "Would you say that I fainted?" she asked, as though genuinely wanting to know.

"In my judgment, yes."

The smile on her face grew into a gentle laugh. "So that's what it's like. I had a friend when I was younger who could faint at the sound of a strong wind. I always thought she looked so appealing. I used to

hold my breath, thinking I could induce a similar condition. But it never worked."

"I'd say you did something right tonight."

Again she looked up at him. The smile faded. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but apparently changed her mind. Instead she made an attempt to sit up. "I'm quite restored now," she said, her manner formal, her head bowed.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes." She tried to stand, as though to demonstrate the validity of her words. But suddenly she wavered again, both hands reaching out for support. He was there and gently helped her back to the side of the bed. "Please," he urged. "Stay still for a while longer. There's no rush."

Apparently she had no choice but to obey. As she settled again on the edge of the bed, she fingered the damp linen, her head down as though embarrassed by her weakness. "It was so close downstairs," she began, "the company large and noisy. And the meal was heavy, so much—" She broke off midsentence as though not particularly interested in her own words. She looked directly at him. "I'm really quite well. And you have been very kind. I don't want to inconvenience you any-"

"You're not inconveniencing me," he hastened to reassure her. "As I said, I was coming to toast the guest of honor. I can't very well toast her if she's not there."

Almost shyly she glanced in his direction. "There's no reason for you to stand about. Please take a chair—if you wish."

Without hesitation he dragged a large overstuffed chair from the center of the room and positioned it about four feet from the bed. He watched fascinated as her hand moved over her breasts and up to her throat. She still seemed to be suffering from distress. "Do you suppose they will come looking for me?" she whispered.

"Most probably," he concurred. When he saw the bleak look on her face, he suggested, "You're not terribly pleased with us, are you?"

She looked sharply up at his words, a protest already forming. "That's not true," she said apologetically.

"Isn't it?" he persisted. "Out there"—and he inclined his head toward the corridor—"you did not resemble a gloriously happy future bride."

She looked at him as though within the moment she had grasped the meaning of his words. As her embarrassment increased, she stood, and using the bed for support, walked around it as though to put a safe distance between them. "Please," she begged softly, "let's not speak on such matters."

But he persisted. "Why were you crying?"

Rather defiantly she looked at him across the expanse of bed. "I told you. I wasn't feeling well."

"Are you going to marry James?"

Suddenly she turned away from the bed and walked rapidly to the windows on the far side of the room. Her voice when she spoke sounded as strained as it had in the corridor. "I can't understand why there are no views from these windows," she said. "We're certainly high enough and I've heard forever about the vistas of Eden. Where are they?"

He left the chair and went to her. "Are you feeling stronger?" he asked.

She nodded.

He caught her hand and turned her away from the viewless windows. "Then come," he smiled. "I'll show you vistas."

A strong protest was forming on her face. "We can't go back down," she gasped. "They'd see us and never let us pass."

Now excited by the idea in his mind, he merely led her forward. "We're not going down," he said. "We're going up." Rather melodramatically he pointed toward the ceiling. "Come! The air will do you good, do us both good. I haven't been on the battlements since I was a boy."

He could see that the idea appealed to her. He made a hasty assessment of the full-skirted ball gown, then warned, "The passage is narrow and steep. Would you care to change?"

But clearly the adventure had taken hold in her mind and she didn't want to hesitate. "No, let's hurry. They may come back."

Still holding her hand, he guided her rapidly out of the bedchamber and through the reception hall. At the door he paused, opened it a crack, and peered out in both directions. He looked back at her with a massive shushing gesture, delighted by the look of excitement on her face.

"Stay close behind," he whispered, exploiting the melodrama of the moment because it seemed to please her.

Then, still holding her hand, he hurried out into the corridor, moving east along the passageway toward the secret stairway which he and Daniel had discovered as boys, thinking it their unique find until his father had spoiled it by giving them a complete history, telling them how it had been built to accommodate Queen Elizabeth's numerous and unofficial lovers while she had been on state visits to Eden. The stairway ran the entire height of the castle, a narrow

twisting passage commencing at an unobtrusive door in the east wall and culminating, through a trap door, out on the battlements.

As they stole like culprits down corridor after corridor, Edward felt the years rolling back. He was a boy again, running with Daniel to one of their secret places. In his growing excitement he felt a peculiar increase in the effects of the opium in his system. Every sound of their footsteps was recorded distinctly in his ear, and since he had been thinking on Daniel, he thought he heard his voice.

Edward turned sharply and looked back. Harriet was still behind him, her once pale cheeks now flushed with excitement. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Nothing," he murmured, realizing that it was merely the effects of opium, altering the bonds of both space and time.

"You're not lost, are you?"

Returning to himself, he offered reassurance which sounded strangely like the younger Edward. "Lost?" he laughed. "In my own castle? Come, it's not much farther."

Although they were well past the inhabited areas of the castle, still Edward led the way with an air of stealth, guiding her carefully up a series of stone steps, brushing cobwebs out of their path as the corridor narrowed and grew darker. Only then did it occur to him that he should have brought a lantern. But in the next minute he was pleased that he hadn't. What he felt coming from her was not fear, but rather an almost shining sense of daring, as though she had lived too long within the safe confines of decorum and good sense.

Then it was before them, the small door which led to the narrow secret stairway. "I'll go first," he whispered. "Put your arms about my waist."

She did as she was told. He anchored her crossed arms with one hand and pulled the door open. "If I recall," he murmured, "there is one steep step up here, then the stairway itself."

And it was so, and slowly he led her into the black artery, feeling her arms tighten about his waist, yet she was willing to follow him. "Are you well?" he whispered, though whispering was no longer necessary.

"Yes."

"I don't remember it being so dark."

But if she heard, she gave no reply and continued to follow, stumbling now and then, but always holding tightly to him.

Then at last they had reached the heights. Lifting his hands, he felt the trap door. When it didn't give with his first effort, he tried again, stepping farther up and putting his shoulder into it. For an instant he wondered if it had been secured in some fashion. But then he heard an

encouraging scrape, felt the ancient barrier give, and a moment later he lifted it, resting its full weight on his shoulders.

First came the wind, the incredible gale force that he remembered as a boy, a whirlpool alliance of channel breezes and ocean currents blending and buffeting the top of the castle in a continuous assault. Alone at the top, he glanced about, lifted his head to the wind as though it were medicinal, then quickly extended a hand back to her where she still waited patiently on the darkened stairway.

He watched her face carefully as he led her up. Vision was simple with the full moon and cloudless heavens. She returned his glance with a degree of apprehension, then cleared the stairway. She took the first slap of wind and seemed to recoil from it as though she'd not been expecting it, then lifted her head and closed her eyes as though to receive it again, this time with pleasure.

She said nothing, nor did he as they walked slowly around the battlements, something on her face which suggested that she was not quite believing what she was seeing, as though she had stumbled into a dream made up of unearthly vistas.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and saw her walking a distance away, her long hair free and unencumbered, blowing back in the wind. She walked to the end of the battlements, gazing out over the channel as he had done, then leaned out as though to see the castle below.

Without wanting to alarm her, he called out, "Be careful."

He held his position and watched as she encircled the entire area twice, leaning out in spite of his warning now and then as though to check her position with earth below. There was something childlike about her, an excitement which bore no resemblance to her earlier state. Then at last she returned to where he stood, her hair quite undone and streaming about her face. "And you prefer London to this?" she asked, lifting her voice over the wind.

He smiled. "There's more to Eden than this secluded battlement," he said, a mild warning in his voice.

She looked at him and slowly nodded, as though again fully understanding his words. Still, "It's beautiful," she went on, "so different from—"

But the wind took her words and lifted them and blew them away and he couldn't hear. He remembered the protection of a large chimney near the opposite edge of the battlement, the spot where he and Daniel had planned their strategies.

"Come," he suggested, leading her into the narrow opening. "At least we won't have to shout here."

The closeness of the confinement was pleasing. He saw her leaning against the chimney and looking upward at the night sky. "I must say," he smiled, "you look totally restored."