Read The Prince of Eden for Free Online Page B

clings to the wall, Edward glanced in his direction. "I apologize. Sir Claudius," he began, "for this early-morning encounter. And I apologize for our harsh words and cross-purposes. The night was long and^m out of sorts." He was on the verge of saying something else when Johnson appeared, a large brown packet in his hand. Timidly he glanced about the room, started toward Sir Claudius, who instructed him to give it to Edward.
    "You now hold in your hand several acres of Eden land," Sir Claudius mused. "And prior to that, there were the thirty acres to the north of Exmoor, and prior to that the sixty acres west of Exeter—" He could have gone on, but something in Edward's face suggested he'd made his point. Satisfied, Sir Claudius leaned back in his chair.
    It was quiet in the room. The girl still clung to Edward while he fingered the packet of money, head down. When he lifted his face again, the smile was back in place.
    Quickly he pocketed the money and placed a protective arm about the girl. "When you write to my mother, Sir Claudius," he began, moving toward the door, "tell her that as soon as this business is over here, I intend to come home for a while." His manner lightened even more. "Tell her I'll bring her a London bonnet and news of her old friend, William Pitch." At the door, he stopped and looked back. His manner had changed again, his voice low. "And tell her I beg for forgiveness for any pain I have caused her."
    Then they were gone, the both of them, leaving the stench of their presence, leaving Sir Claudius to ponder those last words. His brow furrowed. What was it the street garbage called Edward? He'd heard it before, something silly. Then he remembered. "The Prince of Eden," that was it.
    Again he considered his earlier prophecy, that by the time the century reached its midpoint, the Eden family would have torn itself apart.
    He called to Johnson. "Bring the writing pad," he shouted. "We'll work in the sitting room. This place is unbearable."

    Situated down the corridor from his smelly chambers, he dictated two letters, one to the Countess Dowager, a letter bearing unhappy news, and the second to his land agent in Exeter, containing what was becoming a perennial and standing order: "Sell Eden Land to the first bidder."
    Business over, he prepared to take his leave. The glorious Saturday was half over. The beautiful ladies in Hyde Park were waiting. He needed loveliness as an antidote to the ugliness of the morning. As he was leaving his chambers, he commanded Johnson to "Air it! Fumigate all weekend if necessary." As he passed through the door, he spied the chair where the filth had sat. "And destroy that chair," he ordered. "I don't want to see it here on Monday morning."
    As he started down the steps and across the courtyard he reviewed the events of the last f^ hours. If the Edens were about to destroy themselves, it would behoove him to increase his fee. There was fruit enough for all on the tree as long as it stood. But in the event it fell to ground, a wise man would gather as much as he could.
    Along the elegant linen and drapery establishments of Oxford Street now passed Edward Eden's private coach, long past its prime but well enough suited to Edward's purposes. Atop the high seat was John Murrey, an old friend whom Edward had plucked from the jaws of starvation beneath Westminster Bridge.
    Inside the carriage, pressed against the worn velvet cushions, rode a very wide-eyed Elizabeth, and Edward himself, who felt more at peace than at any time during the last forty-eight hours.
    The girl leaned forward, her head bobbing in one direction, then the other. "Where is it, sir, you're takin' me to?" she whispered.
    "Home," Edward replied, finding pleasure in the small pale face who seemed to wonder continuously at the world and its strange ways.
    The pronouncement seemed to increase her agitation. "Home, sir?" she asked, clearly bewildered. "Ain't no place around here that looks right-"
    Edward laughed.