This Other Eden (43 page)

In
the last carriage was an arrangement of trunks, Thomas' and Billy's, looked
over by four porters, and a case of Billy's best sherry, and wdg boxes and boot
brushes and all the other personal items required of a gentleman when he went
abroad.

In
the second carriage rode half a dozen servants, five males, one female, pressed
close together in the narrow confines and plainly dressed in coarse woven
garments, sharing a single lap robe.

In
the lead carriage, quite the largest, with the Beckford coat of arms emblazoned
in gold leaf on either side, rode Thomas and Billy, buried under countless fur
robes, a large hamper resting on the seat beside Billy, containing repast for
the road—jellied grouse and pheasant, fresh Christmas buns, and several bottles
of warming port to ward off any chill which crept beneath the fur lap robes.

They
were about an hour into the journey and Thomas was in a fine mood. He was going
home after a prolonged and painful absence. As he glanced about on either side
at the passing winter scene, he thought ahead to the welcoming warmth of Old
Ragland and Dolly Wisdom, and all his servants who had tended him for the
better part of his life and who loved him well.

"It
is my opinion, Billy," he said, rather meditatively, "that a man
should never leave his home."

Billy
sat up, clearly excited to be abroad. "Then should I have the horses
brought about?" he asked, his eyes merry with cold and good humor.

"Only
to visit," Thomas amended, "and then only in a home in which he feels
comfortable and as welcome as his own."

Billy
nodded in ready agreement, his features softening, as though the sight of
Thomas wounded, his arm still supported by the leather sling, moved him
greatly. "It was an adventurous summer, wasn't it, Thomas?"

Thomas
closed his eyes, finding the adjective a weak one. "Disastrous would be a
more appropriate description." He rested his head against the velvet
cushions and gave himself over to the jogging movements of the carriage. Thank
God, he prayed silently, for Billy's presence, or how easy it would be to slip
back into memory.

Billy,
apparently unaware of the role he should play, asked a direct and rather
painful question. "This girl, Thomas, who has brought you to such grief—do
you still think of her often?"

On
hearing the question, Thomas' instinct was one of annoyance. How dare he be
questioned thus? Then the absurdity of the question itself rushed over him, and
in spite of himself, he chuckled. "Think on her!" he said with a
smile, amazed at Billy's naivete. "One doesn't think on such a woman,
Billy. One perhaps covets her, one suffers for her, one obviously makes a fool
of himself over her. But think on her? Never!" He laughed and drew the fur
robe up over his arm.

Incredibly,
Billy blushed and ducked his head. For a moment he looked exactly like the
young boy whom Thomas had threatened with death over Eden Cliff. "Perhaps
I shouldn't have asked," he mused. "It's just that I know so little
of—" He broke off, a faint flush showing on the tips of his ears.

An
absolutely confounding thought occurred to Thomas, so wild that for an instant
he could scarcely find words. He cut through Billy's embarrassment with a
direct question. "Have you never—" He stopped and tried again.
"Billy, look at me. Are you a virgin?"

Quickly
the young man turned away, his face ashen, though the tips of his ears were
still blazing. "Salisbury ahead," he said distractedly. "Look! You
can see the cathedral."

But
Thomas didn't give a damn about Salisbury Cathedral. Of interest was the young
man opposite him, reddened with embarrassment, twenty-eight years old if he was
a day, who had never known the glories and agonies of a woman.

"Billy,"
he prompted again. "Are you?"

Suddenly
Billy turned on him, displaying a temper of his own. "Well, I'm not
diseased either, Thomas. You're right. I've kept to myself, but for all my
sacrifice, I have a clean body." Again he looked away in an effort to
regain control. Without looking back, he said, "My father was diseased,
Thomas. Did you know that?"

No,
Thomas didn't know, although he wasn't surprised. Still he was amazed at
Billy's innocence and astute enough to see how heavily it weighed upon him.

As
Billy commenced a firsthand account of the horrors of venereal disease, Thomas
watched him closely. The young man wasn't a sodomite, surely. Then what?
Impotent? Like Pitt, the Chancellor of the Exchequer? Thomas had heard it
bandied about the clubs of London that every time William Pitt failed to seduce
a woman, he slapped another tax on the poor, already overburdened English
citizen, that the relief of the latter was wholly dependent upon the relief of
the former and for all his expertise in fiscal policy, his male member
generally hung at half-mast as becalmed as a clipper in a high summer day.

But
Billy impotent? Thomas couldn't bring himself to believe it. Then what?
Listening halfheartedly as Billy described the horrors of the "terrible
malady," the painful swelling and poisonous discharge, the burning, the
screams, hearing all this and seeing the young man grow quite pale, Thomas
decided that the father's misfortune had so impressed the son that he had
followed a course of total abstinence. Perhaps, Thomas mused, Billy had over
the years perfected the art of self-satisfaction, an art which Thomas himself
had indulged in at various points in his life, during long confining winters at
Eden Point, when his need was so simply biological that he lacked the energy to
obtain a partner. It was a relatively easy performance. Still, he didn't like
to abuse it. There was a very respectable school of thought which contended
that it led to madness. Why run the risk when there was always an obliging
serving girl at one's command?

There
passed unexpectedly before his eyes a clear and painful image of Marianne
Locke. He backed away from those defiant eyes as though he were under assault.
A sharp jolting of the carriage cleared his vision and he was well again.

So!
That was it. Billy was a self-satisfier. As the young man concluded his graphic
description of diseased genitalia, Thomas thought, what a waste! A young boy in
the prime of his manhood who had never known the Gates of Heaven!

Gently,
feeling his role of father confessor, Thomas suggested with a wry smile, "You
are very much wrong in your melancholy, Billy, to shut the door and deprive
yourself of your rights and comfort. Who in the performance of a manly part
would not be willing to run the risks?"

Billy's
eyes grew wide with horror. "Well, not I, Thomas," he pronounced
vigorously. "There are other ways."

"Not
as rewarding."

"They
suit me well enough."

"Billy,"
Thomas pleaded, "I have known women and I am as well and clean as
you."

Billy
had no retort for this, and leaned closer to the window.

Still
Thomas persisted. "It's only a matter of choosing with care."

"My
father thought he had chosen with care," he replied, never taking his eyes
off the scene beyond the window.

Thomas
gazed mournfully at the young man. He really was a most agreeable companion and
had the true manners of a gentleman. Yet in this one all-important area it was
sad to see him so misguided and frightened.

Thomas
spoke softly with just a hint of amusement "Your father probably viewed
his scars as the offspring of fun and merriment, and now would you make them
the parents of
douleur
and care?"

Billy
looked sternly at him. "He suffered. He was in agony."

"We
are
all
in agony," Thomas replied, then abruptly stopped speaking
as though listening to his own sentiment In spite of this he went on. "Women
were given us to enjoy," he philosophized, "and all enjoyment
naturally carries with it a risk and a price."

"I'll
spend my purse in other ways," muttered Billy. Without warning, he turned
toward Thomas with a lecture of his own. "Look at you," he accused. "Look
what you've suffered and endured and lost Your good name has been dragged
through the gutter and you've been a participant in a cheap melodrama, forced
to humble yourself." He hesitated as though assessing the prudence of
going on. "I didn't tell you for fear of upsetting you, but before we left
London, I'd heard that Boswell was preparing a pamphlet on you, a scathing
indictment—"

Thomas
hadn't heard, and stared at the flushed boyish face opposite him. Well, it was
a matter of no great concern. Boswell was a toothless dragon. He'd kept the
grave waiting long enough. He might possess a certain power in London, but Eden
Point was Thomas' kingdom. There he would be safe.

Finally
he gave Billy an indulgent smile. "No matter," he soothed.

"If
it's no matter, why did you do it?"

"Do
what?"

"Pursue
the girl to your own detriment?"

Billy
leaned back, as though relieved to be out from under the burden of attention.
Skillfully he had shifted it to Thomas.

Keeping
his voice low as though there were others in the coach with them, he asked, "Did
you really whip her, Thomas?"

Thomas
shook his head, annoyed by the shift in the conversation. "No, of course
not It was simply my command. Others executed it"

"Why?"

"She
disobeyed me, offended my person."

Billy
looked eager, as though at last he wanted specific detail. "How offended
you, Thomas?"

"She
struck me."

A
smile crossed Billy's face. "She appeared so slight the night of the
Masquerade."

"An
adder is small but deadly."

"I'd
seen her before, you know," Billy said calmly.

Surprised,
Thomas looked up. "Where?"

"On
a coach ride from Wiltshire to London, some years ago it was."

Keenly
interested, Thomas pressed for more information. "You spoke with
her?"

"No,
we exchanged no words. She was quite done in. I had no idea it was at your
hand."

Anger
rising, Thomas repeated himself. "She offended me."

"So
you whipped her?"

"No!"
Thomas protested, losing all patience. "It was—"

"—your
command, yes, I know." There was a look of victory in Billy's face which
Thomas resented. His shoulder was beginning to distress him. In the strictest
of self-disciplines, Thomas reined in his annoyance and closed his eyes, his
hand massaging the old injury.

Apparently
he managed to produce a suitably pitiful image, for Billy retreated with an
apology. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I shouldn't have brought it up. You were
lecturing me on a very personal matter."

Thomas
took his point. His shoulder felt as though a giant screw were being applied to
the scar. In spite of his discomfort, he leaned his head back against the
cushion, a smile on his face. "I shall have the girl one day, Billy. And
there's the difference between us. I shall have her with full enjoyment and for
those few moments, I shall regret nothing."

Incredulously,
Billy stared at him. "You'll try again?"

"And
again and again if necessary."

Billy
shook his head. "I don't understand."

"No,
and you never will until you yourself have tasted the fruits."

As
the conversation turned back to Billy, he looked sullenly away and
took
up his vigil on the bleak passing scenery.

'No
need to pursue it,' Thomas thought. 'No need to spoil the journey.' But in the
last moment before he let it die, he announced calmly, "When we reach Eden
Castle, Billy, I shall find you a clean virgin, a goodhearted North Devon girl,
a pristine creature washed doubly clean by sea and wind. I'll send her to you
in the Queen's Bedchamber where, on fine French silk you may study her, analyze
her anatomy, see for yourself the splendid design."