This Other Eden (54 page)

The
woman, Jane Locke, had in the past seemed reasonable. Maybe she could offer her
advice. Working together, unencumbered by the presence of William Pitch,
perhaps the two of them could—

His
thoughts stopped. But nothing forced, nothing violent. That approach did not
work. Patience. Patience.

Again
he settled comfortably in his chair like the prudent traveler who knows that
the long journey is not achieved with hasty steps.

With
every passing day, her isolation grew more complete. Cut off by her own
principles from all society with Jane and Sarah, Marianne had taken to sitting
alone in William's small study, considerably altered now, some of his furniture
and many of his books having been sold for food.

She
sat there now on a hot afternoon near the middle of August, on an upturned keg
near the window, pondering all the various aspects of her dilemma, at a loss to
know how to solve any of them.

Behind
her in the house, she heard nothing. Sarah was probably sleeping. It had become
her habit to nap in the afternoon, or at least that was her claim. Of late
their normally pleasant chatting sessions had dissolved into heated arguments
of guilt and recrimination.

Slowly
Marianne shifted her position on the uncomfortable keg. How often she had tried
to make them understand. How often she had failed. And the worst scenes had
been those which had always occurred immediately following the arrival of one
of the large engraved calling cards. Then Marianne's own apprehension had
increased and rendered her as incoherent as those around her. And the exchange
of words had grown harsher and Marianne's distress had grown deeper. And the
three of them had simply moved away from one another to remote comers of the
house to contemplate their plight.

She
rested her head on the windowsill. During the last few days, a thought had
occurred to her that perhaps she should just leave, should take one of
William's last paintings, sell it for what she could, and buy passage back to
North Devon. The three of them could not go on like this. The house was
becoming a tomb, the air heavy with blame, as though she alone were standing in
the path which led to their survival.

Perhaps
she was. Perhaps she was being selfish. How would it hurt her to receive Lord
Eden for one night, welcome him into the drawing room, converse with him,
appraise him of their plight, and accept his offer of help?" How would it
hurt? At that her head fell heavily forward against the windowsill.

It
was a simple matter. If forced to give herself to him, she would take her life
immediately afterward. But would that be any great loss?

Outside
in the hall, she heard a footstep. A few seconds later she heard the front door
open, then close. Quickly she drew back from the window and watched as Jane
hurried down the front walk. The third time in as many days. Always at midafternoon
she'd excuse herself, go to her room, reappear in remnants of old finery, and
leave the house.

Marianne
returned to the window and watched as Jane disappeared into the commerce of
Southampton Row. A curious routine. Perhaps she went to do business with their
creditors. Their threats were certainly real enough, the spunging agents now
bullying them twice, sometimes three times a week. Tonight Marianne must ask
her. Tonight the silence would have to be broken. If there were new threats,
Marianne had a right to know.

Without
warning, in her imagination she saw Lord Eden's face before her as he'd
appeared that night in the upper bedroom, a gaunt, lean, arrogant face. Her
heart sank to a new level of misery. Now, again, he was out there, somewhere,
laying claim to her person.

Weary
with fear and beyond tears, she laid her head on the windowsill and gazed
sideways at the splash of sun on green trees. One hand slipped from her lap and
hung awkwardly at her side. Once as a child she'd seen a heifer on the way to
slaughter, dragging and squealing, protesting its death.

She
wanted darkness in her mind, to throw a shadow over what she was powerless to
alter.

She
whispered, "Papa?"

"Then
it's settled," Lord Eden said, leaning up in his chair, as though making
preparation to leave.

Demurely
Jane shook her head. It was all settled, but she wished to detain him as long
as possible. It was very pleasant sitting in a public coffeehouse with Lord
Thomas Eden, although she might have preferred a more popular coffeehouse, one
on the Strand, where they could be seen by important people instead of this
small, rather drab one, less than three blocks from the house on Great Russell
Street, frequented only by trades-people in the neighborhood. Still, there was
benefit even there. Several of her most urgent creditors, seeing her here for
these last three afternoons in the company of Lord Thomas Eden, had bobbed
their heads in extreme politeness, sensing in her companionship with one of the
richest men in England quick payment plus interest of their outstanding
accounts.

Now,
in answer to Lord Eden's impatient expression, she smiled. "What I mean to
say. Lord Eden, is simply this. That where Marianne is concerned, things are
rarely settled once and for all."

The
impatience on his face slid rapidly into anger. "A bargain is a
bargain," he reminded her curtly.

"I
agree," she said with a smile. "And you have my word that I'll do
everything in my power to see it through. Still, as you so well know, she does
have a mind of her own."

Yes,
she could see clearly that he knew that. She watched, fascinated, as this
powerful man settled uneasily back into his chair, his eyes brooding over the
possibility of his scheme failing. 'Let him worry for a minute,' she thought,
enjoying her position at the table.

Beyond
the window, she saw her half-brother, Russell, waiting like a common lackey
beside Lord Eden's coach. Only she had been invited to table. Over the last
three days as they'd hatched their complicated scheme, she'd come to realize
the true meaning of the word miracle. A brilliant idea had evolved between
them, a business deal, really, entailing the exchange of money for services.

Lord
Eden leaned forward. "I want no violence," he reminded her, as he'd
reminded her daily. "I want the girl to clearly understand that I mean her
no harm."

Jane
smiled. "I understand," she murmured, not absolutely certain that she
did. Still, in a very real sense she had to give Marianne credit. Her ploy of
constant rejection had been most effective, causing an increase in the man's
hunger almost to the point of obsession. "As I said," Jane repeated,
"my sister loves me very much and owes me a great deal. I think, under the
circumstances, she will behave in a favorable manner."

Lord
Eden seemed to draw a sigh of relief. Again he leaned forward as though to
leave. "Then tonight?" he inquired, gathering up his hat.

"If
all is ready with you," she agreed. "Your part is far more
complicated than mine." She giggled prettily. "All I have to do is
play the actress. But you must—"

Quickly
he cut her off. "All is ready."

Again
she looked out at her brother pacing in the hot August sun. "Will Russell
be there?"

Lord
Eden shook his head. "He'll wait in the carriage in case I need him. She'd
recognize him in the house."

"Of
course," she agreed. Rather primly she reached for her bonnet. "The
demand will be four hundred guineas. I believe we agreed to that."

"We
did," he said, rather snappishly.

Coyly,
Jane looked out of the window, her hand still on the open brim of her bonnet.
"A few in advance would be helpful," she whispered. "Since I
intend to tell them that I sold one of my rings, I should have a few coins to
show for it. Don't you agree?"

For
one tense moment she couldn't tell if Lord Eden agreed or not. He simply stared
at her, his face a blank, as though he were trying to identify something in
her. Quietly, almost sorrowfully, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the
very generous sum of ten guineas and dropped them into her bonnet. He leaned
forward. "Tell me, Miss Locke, do you have no regret over what you are
doing?"

The
blunt question caught her off guard. She forestalled answering by busying
herself with the transfer of guineas from her bonnet to her purse. Then:
"Regrets, Lord Eden?" she parroted. "I'm afraid I don't
understand. My sister is very fortunate to have won your attention. I must
confess in all charity that I don't comprehend your interest in her. She's a
mere child, stubborn, pampered, favored from birth by our father." She
blushed modestly. "I cannot even imagine such a self-centered creature
pleasing any man. But your tastes are your own. And as Marianne's sister, and
your servant, I'm merely performing a service in bringing you together."

Thus
she concluded her little speech, pleased by the sound of it, doubly pleased
with the smile which softened Lord Eden's tense features.

There
the conversation ended. He stared at her a moment longer, then abruptly stood
up, his manner all business. "With your permission. Miss Locke, I'll leave
first as always. Until tonight, then?"

With
that, he bowed low, a courtly gesture which pleased her immensely. With a
slight inclining of her head, she acknowledged his departure. She sat at the
table and watched him reappear on the pavement beyond the window, fascinated by
the skillful way in which her brother flung open the carriage door for him,
then signaled the footman, then crawled in after him.

Alone
at last, she felt an incredible weariness. So much had fallen on her shoulders,
so much she had already done and so much she had yet to do. Still, for the
first time since she could remember, the world looked bright with promise.

On
that happy note, she stood up, adjusted her bonnet over her wig, and retucked
the tattered edges of her worn sleeves. Day after tomorrow at the latest she
would bum this gown along with all her other worn ones and replace her entire
wardrobe with rose taffeta and lilac brocade.

Feeling
quite her old self again, she lifted her purse, stopped to enjoy the new weight
of coin. How could her sister be so stupid as to turn her back on such wealth?
Out on the pavement she moved rapidly through the streets, heading toward the
trade shops, her mind running through the glories of the evening meal—the
finest roast of beef in all of London, tender fresh asparagus from the
greengrocers, and strawberries, of course strawberries. And a bottle of
imported wine, two perhaps so that Marianne could drink heartily and feel
relaxed and pliable.

Without
warning she heard in her mind Lord Eden's last peculiar question: "Do you
have no regrets over what you are doing?"

Her
step slowed as she puzzled the question. Regrets? Why should she regret
anything? In time, pampered with luxury, Marianne would undoubtedly fall to her
knees in thanks. That she was for the moment blinded and embittered by the
man's earlier cruel efforts to win her attention was indeed understandable. But
if she were blind now, it was Jane's responsibility to see for her.

She
felt a surge of excitement. So much to do. She must hurry. If the scheme was to
work, all would have to be ready at the proper time.

Again
came the nagging question. Why should she regret anything? All she wanted was
happiness. For all. Was that a crime, a reason for regret?

She
answered both questions with a resounding no! She glanced at a clock in a shop
window. Five o'clock. The scheme must commence promptly at nine.

She
must hurry! She must hurry!

In
a surge of happiness, Marianne looked about at the heavily laden table and the
smiling women on either side of her. It was like old times. Better than old
times. Marianne sensed a feeling of genuine love which she'd never felt before.
All cares were forgotten in the moment of plenty, the kitchen table set with
finery, William's Sevres china and French crystal and silver gleaming and the
single dazzling candelabrum. And Jane, her cheeks rouged, presiding over her
party like the benefactress that she was. Marianne took it all in, remembering
her grim mood of the afternoon. How wrong it had been of her to suspect Jane of
anything but the kindest of intentions.