This Other Eden (93 page)

"He
never dances. Since Cape St. Vincent, his balance is quite off."

Marianne
nodded. The music commenced and as the stately configuration evolved, she
noticed Emma chatting warmly with Thomas, her face glowing, as though she were
quite at ease under the close scrutiny of both husband and lover.

It
was well after four in the morning when the music came to an end. Marianne had
danced continuously for over five hours, meeting an endless succession of
faces, mostly male, occasionally catching glimpses of Thomas watching her, an
unmistakable glow of pride on his face. And Emma's presence was everywhere,
moving from group to group, settling occasionally next to Nelson and once
leaning close and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

For
Marianne, the terror was over. If she had not been wholly accepted, neither had
she been wholly rejected. In the early hours of the morning, as Thomas escorted
her up the steps, she heard Emma call out behind her, "Don't forget our
appointment tomorrow, Marianne, While the gentlemen solve the problems of
Empire, we shall solve the problems of the gentlemen."

Marianne
looked back over her shoulder and saw the elegant woman on the arm of Lord
Nelson, Lord Hamilton trailing behind like a dutiful pet. "The Rotunda at
four?" she confirmed.

Emma
nodded. Lord Nelson and Lord Hamilton bowed to her, then Thomas whisked her
away. A single page led them back up to their chambers, a hurried yet quiet
walk with the glorious evening still spinning in her head. Inside their rooms,
she dismissed her sleepy-eyed ser\'ants and sent them off to bed. Thomas closed
the door behind them, then leaned against it, his eyes soft in the firelight.

Almost
self-consciously she stood in the center of the room. She experienced a surge
of enormous emotions, mystifying in their intensity. "Milord," she
asked, "is that a look of pleasure or displeasure?"

He
smiled and shook his head. "There is not a gentleman in Fonthill who would
not eagerly change places with me at this moment."

She
closed her eyes and turned away for fear he would misinterpret her tears. Then
she felt his hands on her shoulders, felt them moving down her back separating
buttons from buttonholes. Methodically, tenderly he undressed her, and at last
pulled the single clasp that held her hair. She stepped out of the circle of
clothes and faced him. In a rush, he grasped her to him and carried her to the
bed.

She
watched him as he shed his clothes. He always looked, she thought, very young
when he was on the verge of making love to her. Instantly she resented the
quarter of a century that existed between them and prayed that God would see fit
to take them at the same time.

The
thought of life without him was intolerable.

The
next five days were among the most glorious that she had ever known, leisurely
afternoon walks with Emma, an intimacy springing up between the two women as
though they had known each other forever. There were nightly banquets and
masques, and on occasion, when pressed by the company. Lord Nelson held them
captivated with firsthand accounts of battles in faraway places, endless color
and light and elegance, and always at night, the most intense and gratifying
love-making she'd ever shared with Thomas.

On
the evening of December 23 as darkness fell, the guests set out in a fleet of
carriages with Nelson in the lead and were driven in a winding route to Billy's
Abbey through thick snowy woods illuminated by numberless lamps suspended in
the trees and accompanied by a military band playing solemn airs and marches.

In
the second carriage, behind Nelson and Emma, Marianne leaned close to Thomas,
feeling the drama in the cold night air, her senses almost numbed from the
bombardment of the past few days, yet still alert and ready for Billy's
"miracle."

As
the carriages rolled slowly through the snow, the effect was greatly increased
by the continuous rolling of drums placed about on distant eminences, by the
blaze of lights displayed here and there, sometimes moving, at others
stationary, now gleaming from bright arms and armor, then darkness being
permitted to enshroud all.

Her
head bobbing from one window to the other, Marianne whispered, "I've never
seen anything like this in my life, Thomas."

"Nor
will you ever see anything like it again," he said, clearly as impressed
as she. "I believe that Billy has really done it this time."

Suddenly
the woods gave way, and before them on a high laioll, completely surrounded by
blazing torches, she saw it, the most dazzling structure she'd ever seen, a
gigantic Abbey, its turrets ablaze in the light of torches, its tower
stretching out of sight into the gray clouds overhead, a Gothic wonder with
thousands of candles lighting each mullioned window from inside as though at
its heart there were flames, a rich cluster of abbatial buildings, buttresses,
pinnacles, and fretted spires, towering in all their pride and marking the
ground with deep shadows that appeared interminable, so far and so wide were
they stretched along.

The
appearance, on the arrival of the company, hushed them into silent admiration.
Thomas stepped out and reached back for Marianne, who could not take her eyes
off the monumental structure, increased now in the splendor of near torches,
contrasting with the deep shadows falling on the walls, battlements, and
turrets of the edifice. Lights flickered here and there, striking the salient
parts of the buttresses and arches of the Great Tower, until they faded into
the gloom above.

All
about them was the company, still stunned and silent. Ahead of them was Billy,
the dreamer of the dream, clearly pleased by the reaction.

"Come!"
he shouted, as though not to break the spell but to increase it. "The
exterior merely conceals the great glory of the interior." As the crowd
filed past, Thomas hung back and Marianne with him, both their heads tilted
upward, studying the massive spire, which seemed to touch the roots of heaven.

Billy
was beside them, an intimacy on his face which Marianne felt was reserved only
for Thomas. The young man seemed to sense Thomas' speechlessness. After a
moment's pause, he fell into Thomas' arms, clearly overcome.

"Remember
the beginning of the dream?" he asked, softly. "I brought you to this
very spot where nothing stood but dead trees."

Thomas
nodded, obviously remembering. "Those were bleak days," he said
quietly. "Both our dreams running far ahead of us."

Thomas
drew Marianne close under one arm, Billy close under the other, his eyes
glistening. "Let the Fates beware," he smiled, "when an
Englishman sets his mind to something." Again he looked up to the height
of the tower. "It's magnificent, Billy," he marveled. "Truly
magnificent."

Billy
beamed. "Benjamin West is going to paint it for me," he announced. He
stepped forward, his arm raised, as though somehow they had failed to see and
appreciate all of it. "The tower is two hundred and eighty feet, Thomas.
Even Wyatt said it couldn't be done, but he did it." He started toward the
massive arched doorway, dragging them after him. "Look," he said with
a gesture. There, in the thirty-foot-high west doorway, posed for the purpose
of contrast, was a dwarf. The contrast was effective. The small man made the
doorway appear celestial in proportion.

Marianne
took it all in, deeply moved, seeing in the gigantic structure something
totally romantic and human. "It's a perfect tribute, Billy, to the new
century. England will be forever in your debt."

Billy
smiled, then again he was running ahead of them, trying to gather together his
guests, urging them all through the massive doorway past the dwarf, who grinned
at them like an imp, as though he knew something they didn't.

Inside,
Billy proved true to his word. They were taken on tour up the Great Staircase,
through the Octagonal Salon, and beyond to St. Michael's Gallery and the
elegantly furnished yellow Damask Drawing room, each chamber containing works
of art more magnificent than the one before it.

At
some point in the evening, she felt Emma beside her. "If this is a dream,
pray God it lasts," she whispered.

Marianne
agreed and smiled as she saw Emma take Nelson's arm, who seemed to be regarding
it all with silent interest.

The
evening culminated in a banquet in the medieval manner, the company all at
ease, the gentlemen lifting glass after glass in toast to Billy's
accomplishment. In the early hours of the morning, they were driven back to the
old palace. Marianne turned in the carriage for a final glimpse of the Great
Abbey.

She
shook her head, still in awe. "Our sons must see it, Thomas," she
said. "They must know the force of a dream and what it can do."

Thomas
drew her close and lightly pressed her head against his shoulder.

"They
shall see it," he promised. "It will stand forever."

Nestling
beneath his chin, she thought again of her sons. Suddenly she missed them
terribly. "Let's go home tomorrow, milord," she whispered.

He
hid his face in her hair.

"Home,"
he repeated.

It
was late in the afternoon before their trunks were packed and loaded on the
carriages. Billy came to bid them farewell. He embraced first Thomas, then
Marianne. As he held her at arm's length after the embrace, she said, simply,
"Thank you, Billy," and hoped that it would suffice and convey the
weight of gratitude in her heart.

She
saw Emma coming out the broad front doorway. "You shan't get away without
a final kiss," Emma said, coming closer, her arms opened. Marianne fell
into them, returning the embrace. Laughing, she murmured, "I've run out of
words with which to express my gratitude."

But
Emma shushed her quickly. "It's I who should be grateful to you. Don't
forget now what we have discussed. We'll take on all of London society next
season. You and Lord Eden must come and stay with us. We'll have a glorious
time, I promise."

Marianne
nodded and returned the invitation. "And you have promised to come to
Eden. Convey our farewells to Lord Nelson and your husband and remind both of them
that Eden Castle will be honored with their presences."

Again
there was a warm embrace. She saw Thomas holding the carriage door for her.
Inside the carriage she leaned forward for a final farewell, consciously
luxuriating in a tenderness for Billy, for Emma, for Thomas, for herself, like
all deep feelings, concealing a melancholy strain.

As
the carriage turned into the long driveway leading to the turnpike, she settled
back in the seat, watching Thomas watching her. She considered herself
fortunate, unlike Emma, to have a husband and lover combined in one man.

"How
good," she thought, "how good all of it to belong to a race of men
with as many facets as a diamond, kindness and compassion laced with cruelty
and intolerance." Suddenly she sensed perceptions so sharp as to be almost
unbearable, as though a layer of oblivion had lifted and permitted her one
crystalline glimpse of the entire world in all its unlimited possibilities. She
closed her eyes.

"Are
you tired, Marianne?" Thomas asked gently.

"With
joy, milord."

In
the dark early hours of the following morning, their carriages rattled over the
cobblestones leading to Eden Castle. Hurriedly the sleepy-eyed watchmen drew up
the gates. Inside the inner courtyard, the drowsy servants tumbled from their
carriage. Across from Marianne, nestled beneath a warm lap robe, Thomas slept.
Beyond the carriage window, in the pale moonlight, in a scattering of light
snow, she saw the whipping oak.

Quietly
she stepped out and dismissed the lingering servants. As the footmen attended
to the trunks, she walked slowly across the courtyard, as though drawn to the
solid black object. Her joy now, like her terror then, was without
understanding. She touched it, felt its cold hard surface beneath her fingers,
her feelings pressing in upon her. For one splintered moment she tried to
appraise them. She would like to have been able to say to herself, "It's
been a good life." But it couldn't be appraised, for it was only an
outline. And it wasn't over.