The Prince of Eden (53 page)

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Although the bimonthly mail packet had been delivered to Miss Wooler's narrow cramped office early that morning, it was after eleven o'clock that evening before Jennifer was free to turn her mind to such matters. And even then, after the rigors of the day, her thoughts did not move toward the mail, but rather toward the simple task of dragging herself up to her third-floor cell and the comfort of her cot.

Now, lamp in hand, she paused at the foot of the long flight of stairs and gazed upward. Her neck and back ached from bending over the keyboard, and somewhere near the core of her brain was the monotonously maddening rhythm of a metronome.

As she was just turning the corner of the first landing, she heard a voice, coming from the hall below. It surprised her. She'd thought she was the only one up.

But as she looked back down into the front entrance hall, she saw Miss Bronte. "Charlotte," she smiled, keeping her voice down in consideration of the sleeping rooms on either side of the hall. "Did you call?"

The woman looked as weary as Jennifer felt. Now in that high, almost childlike voice, she called up, "I beg your pardon, Jennifer, but—did you collect your mail?"

Mail? Great heavens. She'd completely forgotten. "I'll fetch it in the morning, Charlotte," she called down and started again around the newelpost toward the second flight of stairs.

But she heard the voice again. "I think you'd be well advised to

collect it now, Jennifer." Then as though aware that she was behaving out of character, Charlotte quietly added, "I promised Miss Wooler that I'd see all the mail dispatched."

Well, there was nothing to do but retrace her steps down, retrieve what she knew would be waiting for her, one primly printed letter from Sophia Cranford.

She held forth her lamp to light the dim passage beneath the stairs, and ultimately found herself in Miss Wooler's cramped office. On the cluttered desk she placed her lamp to one side and sent her eyes across the muss of papers.

Only at the last minute, on the right-hand side of the desk, she spied it, a rather large square envelope with her name and designation on it. She picked it up to examine it and did not recognize the handwriting, although on the back she saw the hardened wax with the Eden seal impressed upon it. She held the letter a moment longer and was just reaching out to retrieve her lamp when she spied a larger packet which had been resting beneath her letter. Quite large it was and of heavy parchment; the packet seemed filled with smaller letters.

Curious, she drew the lamp closer and read the inscription. To Be Delivered to Mr. Edward Eden, in Residence at Roe Head.

To Mr. Edward—

Hurriedly she drew up a straight-backed chair, brought the lamp closer, placed the large envelope on the desk, and with her finger broke the seal on the small one. Perhaps the answer lay inside.

After she'd read the opening paragraph, she turned over the three sheets of paper to the conclusion. Miss Jane Locke? Her old aunt? She'd never received a letter from Jane Locke in her entire life.

She stared a moment at the signature, then turned back to the beginning. It seemed that her mother had suffered a seizure, though Jane Locke hastened to reassure her that she was in good hands. But the bulk of the letter concerned Edward, Jane speaking insistently on how pleasant he must be finding the Yorkshire air and how delightful for Jennifer to have her brother's constant company, and if it pleased her, would she see to it that he received his correspondence which had been coming to the castle.

Finally with a sense of bewilderment, Jennifer completed the letter, the closing paragraph as mystifying as the first, a blunt insistence that Jennifer convey to Edward the family news, their mother's illness, of course, and James's temporary absence and the tragic news he'd learned in Shropshire, that his future bride, Harriet Powels, was apparently suffering from some serious illness and that the wedding had been postponed indefinitely.

Coming from behind her, from the area of the door, she heard a famiHar voice. "You look desolate, Jennifer. May I help?"

She turned, surprised to see Charlotte standing there. In her hand she clasped a dark red book, a finger inserted at midpoint, as though she'd been reading.

In reply to her question, Jennifer murmured, "Distressing news. And so much of it. My mother has suffered a seizure.'*

"I'm very sorry," Charlotte murmured.

"It's not too serious," Jennifer hastened to add, "at least that's what I'm told." Her eyes moved back to Charlotte. "And my brother's future bride is suffering from some unknown malady. The wedding has been indefinitely postponed."

Charlotte stepped across the threshold, a look of interest in her face. "Your elder brother," she inquired politely, "the one we met?"

"No," Jennifer corrected. "Not that one. James, my younger—"

The woman nodded as though grateful for the meaningless clarification. "And the—other one?" she stammered, looking uncomfortable in her role of interrogator.

"They think he is with me," she said. "Look," and she lifted the large packet of letters. "They sent along his mail for me to deliver to him."

Now at last there was a clear expression on Charlotte's face, as though some suspicion had just been confirmed. "The missing are legion, or so it seems," she murmured. "A member of my family as well has been absent since September. I learned about it last month from my father, who is getting old and likes to be able to account for his children."

Jennifer listened carefully. "And you think there might be a connection?" she asked.

"Perhaps not," Charlotte replied. "It's Branwell," she went on. "You met him last September."

Jennifer nodded, feeling like an inspector in search of clues. "Our brothers met," she concluded, "but they left separately, yours, I think, preceding mine."

To this mental work, Charlotte nodded. But in the dim light her face seemed to go pale. "Forgive me, Jennifer," she muttered, eyes down, "but I know they share the same—affliction,"

"Affliction?" Jennifer repeated.

"They are both opium eaters."

To which Jennifer hurriedly replied, "No, not Edward. He indulged the habit last summer, but he broke it. I know, Charlotte, I was there."

Then apparently the woman had nothing more to say except, "Good

night, Jennifer. I only hope that all our missing will be shortly found." With that she was gone.

Jennifer continued to stare at the empty doorway. Charlotte had conceived of an alliance between Edward and her brother. But how could that have been possible?

As she hurried back through the corridor, she glanced into the front parlor and saw Charlotte reading. She considered reopening the conversation, but for what purpose? The hour was late.

There would be no rest this night, not healing rest. Before the week was out, she knew she would have to reply to Jane Locke's letter, a reply which would be as distressing to certain residents of Eden Castle as the letter from Eden had been to her.

Unlike Jane Locke's, her message would be simple and to the point. Edward was not with her in Yorkshire, had never been with her in Yorkshire save for that brief interval of one afternoon, and for now and perhaps forever, she hadn't the least idea where he might be.

Four days later, as Jennifer was instructing plump Louise Merritt in the intricacies of a Chopin Etude, she happened to glance out the narrow, rain-splattered window of the music room in the direction of the rounded driveway. There to her surprise, she saw a two-wheeled gig, drawn by a single horse and driven by a tall, top-hatted man dressed entirely in black. He was not a tradesman, or old Doctor Bennet from Bradford, or any of the half dozen or so gentlemen who had a legitimate reason to call at Miss Wooler's school.

As the dissonance coming from the pianoforte increased, Jennifer left her chair, her curiosity peaked by the rain-soaked gentleman who was just now crawling out of the gig.

Behind her, she heard Louise Merritt falter and stop. "I'm—lost. Miss Eden," she whined. "What comes after—"

"Do the simple scales, Louise," she instructed tersely.

At that moment, beyond the music room, she heard the front bell ring. Jennifer moved quietly toward the door. She opened it a crack and peered out. One of the young serving girls was just letting the gentleman in. A moment later Miss Wooler approached the stranger, apparently received his introduction, then quickly gave Maudie instructions of some sort.

He seemed ill at ease, she thought. Then at that moment, she saw-sweet heavens! It was Charlotte. Obviously the gentleman had come to see Charlotte.

She knew she shouldn't be spying and considered closing the door. But what harm?

Jennifer watched and saw the gentleman withdraw a small envelope

from inside his waistcoat and hand it to Charlotte. She appeared to study it for a moment, then slowly walked toward one of the rectangular windows which flanked the front door where obviously the light was better for her failing vision.

From behind her, coming from the pianoforte, she heard Louise complaining again. "What now. Miss Eden? I did C."

Annoyed by the distraction, Jennifer quickly instructed, "Then do D and E and F, two octaves up and two back, and no wrong notes, I beg you."

As again the torturous sounds escaped from the old pianoforte, Jennifer glanced back down the hall to where Charlotte appeared to be endlessly reading by the window.

Then Jennifer saw her refold the letter with what appeared to be unnecessary vigor. She walked back to where the gentleman was waiting, spoke to him in some manner to which he shook his head, obviously declining an invitation of some sort.

Then in a remarkably short time he was gone.

Curious, most curious. The incident over, Jennifer was on the verge of quickly closing the door when suddenly she saw Charlotte lift her head and stare directly at her, as though she knew she'd been spying all along. Jennifer had not expected so direct a look and now closed the door and leaned against it.

She'd just started back toward the pianoforte when she heard the softest of knocks on the door. She opened it and saw Charlotte standing there, the letter still in her hand.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Jennifer," she began, keeping both her voice and head down. "I've only just received a message that may interest you."

Perplexed, Jennifer gazed first at her friend, then at the letter. Now over her shoulder, she called out to Louise Merritt, "Do them all again and keep doing them until I return. I'll only be a moment." Jennifer closed the door behind her, and within the moment, Charlotte thrust the letter at her and urged her to read it.

As Jennifer took the letter, Charlotte explained further, "It was just delivered to me by my father's assistant, Mr. Weightman. He knew of my concern in the matter and brought it over direct from Haworth."

Since she seemed disinclined to say anything further, Jennifer glanced down at the rather dramatic handwriting and read the address: Rev. Patrick Bronte, Haworth Parsonage, Yorks

"Your father?" Jennifer asked, looking up.

Charlotte nodded.

The opening paragraphs were effusive apologies from, in the words of