If life wasn’t about its misfortunes for Eden, fortunate things didn’t stay for long either.
To begin with, it was too heart wreathing a fact in itself to realize that Maggie hadn’t talked to her all the while since afternoon, since that episode and now, it was evening already. Eden had no idea of Magpie’s whereabouts, for she hadn’t returned to the room. However, she had an odd certainty, and even an assurance, that where ever Maggie was, Mr. Penfield too was there with her.
She didn’t try to reach Maggie herself because she was excessively astonished and somewhat upset after what Maggie had told her.
Mrs. Hopkins, on the other hand, had insisted on her and Maggie’s day off after the dangerous venture from yesterday, so by the dusk, Eden was so out of her spirit that she thought engaging herself somewhere or other would be the best thing to do.
She had, with Mrs. Hopkins permission and advise to stay discreet, been allowed to visit the library. It was a thrilling thing to do, to visit Ashleytonian library, to see countless, limitless and numberless number of books and a vast chamber full of it.
It was a capital library, extremely sophisticated in the choices and varieties of its books and so well groomed.
It was impossible to have excursed it all in one day and Eden, smartly, chose to ask for some help by the librarian who was a man as ancient as the manor itself and whom she hadn’t seen ever before but on this day.
“And any particular taste of yours, young lady?” The old man asked, sorting through his papers, the glasses at the bridge of his nose fluctuating as he spoke. “I have known that young lasses like you oft go for romantic fables.”
“No.” Eden pressed her lips nervously. “Not romance for certain. I_ I would rather go for some…something more…theoretical. Do you think you can find basic philosophy for me?”
“Why, of course, madam. And not a bad taste too, I must remark but I am disappointed that at the age for thrilling affairs, you youths are going for theology!” said he, shaking his head, his wrinkles crumpling and smoothing along the movement.
“And do you think you can me find one such book with a little easier phrasing?”
“Pray why?” The man glanced up with a brazen look. “Not fond of classic, eh?”
“I haven’t read a good book for over five years now, Sir.” She answered gravely. “I have little confidence in my own accomplishment over literature.”
“Aye!” He grunted absent mindedly, pursuing the columns of heavy volumes at the nearest bookshelves with Eden at his leash. “What grief shall grieve one more than to be parted with books!”
He handed Eden over a maroon leather bound publication of some book called ‘DARK HORSES’.
“Dark Horses?” She warily glanced up at the librarian. “What kind of…What is it about?”
“Read it and find out Miss.” The dubious man answered guardedly. “My duty was to provide you with what you asked for. Rest is your own business. Good night, Miss.”
And the man shut his face away like a cupboard.
Eden walked out of the library, the leery title of the book haunting her head as she assessed the book in her hand. It was a heavy volume and its gold edges shone in the bright corridor outside.
Eden flipped its hardcover over as the scent of aged paper and centuries old air trapped in its pages hauled her nostrils making her shudder.
Not able to hold back her curiosity for a pre-taste, Eden slowed her pace down and weaved through the pages to reach the first chapter. A few lines would do no harm.
‘A DIVINE HARBOUR OF TEMPERAMENTS.’
It said in caption.
Eden paused at the line. And breathed in deeply. She felt unsure of this book but began, all the same;
A DIVINE HARBOUR OF TEMPERAMENTS.
It is a mystery of conscience, a profundity of harmony, a truth beyond belief, a lie universally conceded that in hatred lies the real bliss of love. In pain veils the real stroke of pleasure. In loss lies the real savor of gain.
And death.
In death remains the true verve of living.
This mystery, this harmony, this truth and this lie, this love and this hate, this pain and this pleasure, this loss, its gain and the dead and the living_ these be the several dark horses galloping the same ground, rampaging the same establishment, as they impose on man his limits, they curfew his dreams, they knock down his vastness.
They make him small.
They make him feel content, complete in his smallness.
They make him believe in ethereal passions. They pacify his zeal. They delude him with their mendacity.
Human starts to deem that he is immortal.
He isn’t.
Nothing is immortal but time. Past.
Past is immortal.
For nothing has remained and shall remain as everlasting as past.
A man can alter future with a single flick of his finger, the present belongs to him but the past….the past is a monument, it has been sculpted, the sculpture is forgotten and the artist is unknown.
It is_
Thump!!
Eden had been so lost in the unsettling lines of the pages, that she had failed to perceive her path and suddenly ran into a tumult of wind-ridden curtains, the balcony door; her feet were coiled in the labyrinth of the drapes making her fall hard right on her back.
The book fell off her finger as she sat stunned there, hunched among the flapping curtains that seemingly were mocking her off her own absent mindedness.
No wonder, she was hopelessly disappointed in herself and this vague air she had recently acquired.
The wind was tumultuously annoying as she groped for her books on the floor around her, grasping at the lace curtain that had slapped her face for the nth time in this instant.
She found the book and was now making for herself to stand up when a presence on her side shocked her this time and her slender figure fell back on the rug, with an annoyed squeak.
“Miss Henley.” Remarked the familiar, manly, and now amused voice. “Quite a way to spend your evening, I must say.”
Eden looked up to see the face of her addresser but the flinging curtains totally detained her from it. In the haze however, she saw a smart, tall figure standing by, watching her from above.
“Mr. Edwin.” She grimaced, dusting her hand. “I was hoping to have passed out unnoticed from this embarrassing accident but here you are, a witness and scorning me already.”
He smiled, then extended his hand towards her and she was about to take it thinking that he was offering help when she heard him say. “What’s that book? Show me.”
She pulled her hand back instantly, feeling extremely unintelligent and handed him the book, while Mr. Edwin squatted by her side examining the volume.
“Dark Horses.” He murmured to himself. “I never knew you had such taste, Miss Henley.”
“Eden.” She corrected, softly. “Eden would be fine.”
His intense blue gaze fell on her as she said this and Eden looked away immediately.
“Well,” She pursed her lips frowning at the book. “What do you mean by ‘such taste’? Is it not good?”
“No.” His eyes resumed the evaluation of the book.” It is a good book to be true, infact_”
He paused, in his word and his breath, turning its pages as if he was giving the book a quick acknowledgement.
“It’s an exquisite piece, Miss Henley. A book rare to be chosen by people.” He whispered, nodding. “I know you very little, it seems. In my imagination, you were always a passionate idealistic. A romantic.”
“So I am there in your thoughts, Mr. Edwin?” She demanded with a teasing air.
He took hold of her hand and assisted her in standing while he straightened himself as well. But then, even when they were up, he didn’t let her hand go and his towering proximity only moved closer to her.
“Like you won’t believe.” He whispered, with so much passion that Eden was mortified. “You do not know how I spend my nights.”
He paused abruptly and snapped the book shut handing it to Eden. “Read it, Miss Henley. It’s worth your view.”
Eden was startled by his brusqueness. He appeared slightly troubled, as he raked his fingers through his dark hair and Eden felt him to be extremely uneasy. It was a rare thing to behold, for she had always viewed him as a composed man no matter what befell.
She took his hand in her own with concerned eyes. “Mr. Edwin, are you well?”
He frowned at where her hand met his and gently pulled his hand out from the grip of her fingers. Eden desisted awkwardly, cursing herself for being so brazen in her manners.
“I am fine, Miss Henley.” He mumbled looking away. “Thank you.”
“You are so pale, Sir. What is it?”
He remained gruesomely silent.
“Please, Mr. Edwin.” She scowled at his asperity but then collected herself. “What’s ailing you?”
“You are, Eden.” He snapped, frowned blue eyes fixing at her face. “Your presence is ailing me.”
Eden was shocked. She had never expected it from him to say such a thing. Surely, she must have done something to make him so off. An amiable man like him couldn’t have such a disposition to hate her so all of a sudden.
“I?” She repeated, wide eyed. “How? What do you even mean?”
He didn’t answer her this time, instead, he took her by her arm, pinning her into the nearest wall.
“You wouldn’t know, Miss Henley.” He whispered, almost softly, almost cordially. But the fieriness about him was an impossible to miss radiance. “You do not understand. You do not even try. You are a fool. A fool. Too blunt at times. Don’t you see, Eden? Don’t you realize? Am I not obvious enough? Are my intentions so indistinct? They all know but you.”
His harsh manners and harsher words offended Eden to such an extent that she refused in catching all that he implied and instead, pushing him away, she growled, “Now that you have declared me to be a fool already, there seems little point in staying here and asking for any further explanation. Excuse me, Sir. Good day! And perhaps the word you are looking for is ‘ugly’, not blunt.”
She had turned away from him but he, with a steadiness of an enthusiast, trapped her by her shoulders and pinned her back into the wall.
“Ugly, Eden?” He hissed in disbelief. “You deign to insult me. I never perceived you for your flesh_ look here, at me!_ Miss Henley. Beauty is in your grace and I adore you in that. But a fool, you indeed are.”
“Oh I am?” She fidgeted fiercely against him. “You men! You are all the same.”
“That’s it, Eden. I cannot let you run away all the time.” He callous fingers dug into her collar as she held her breath, in anger, in hurt and mad confusion. The rapid blinking of her eyes were solely efforts to swallow away the moisture.
In pain veils the real stroke of pleasure….
“Then do not test my endurance.” She retorted grudgingly. “My temper has been very volatile lately. And I warn you_”
“I am leaving Ashleyton this following day.” He interjected, making her go still. Quiet. “And here is my proposal. Come away with me.”
Baffled now, she looked up into his face. “You are leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Already?”
“In next to no time.” He breathed. “Tomorrow, Eden.”
Tomorrow?
“But…” She began, thinking out loud whether the news she got this afternoon was true or not. “I was informed that the guests were to depart not before a week or two.”
“Others will stay, I suppose.” He said.
“And you?” She demanded shortly. “Why are you going so soon?”
He looked into her eyes pensively, detachedly, as if to see how genuinely was she dazed and he found her upset enough.
“Why?” He raised his one brow, bitterly. “Why do you even care? Go away. Go cold as you often do.”
“Why are you leaving tomorrow?” She asserted instead, with a impatient look shading her face.
“I have a son, Eden.” He replied quietly. “He was hardly two months old when I left him for here. I couldn’t abide him then because he reminded me so much of my Beatriz, but now, I think I must recognize what’s mine.”
“Oh.” She stuttered, still unable to stomach his words. “In-Indeed.”
He cocked his head, sideways.
“And...” She continued swallowing. “And you have my best...best wishes for your little son. He must be a beautiful thing.”
“Oh, he was a fearsome little bundle, last I held him.” He chuckled warmly, recalling his baby. “And he peculiarly smelt of milk and urine. He did even wet my shirt for all my pain.”
Eden laughed slightly but sadly.
She was too fond of this man _ perhaps more fond than she realized even now_ and that was what making her outrightly upset to think of his departure.
But then, who was he to her?
He was Lord Adelwood’s friend. Not her own.
He was Lady Ivy’s desire, not her own.
He was Beatriz’s lover, not her own.
Her friend? Her desire? Her lover?
He was not.
“Do be a good father.” She whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“I will try.” He shrugged, pressing his lips together. “And is that all?”
“What else?”
“Am I only to get your best wishes, Eden?”
She shook her head absently, at complete loss of words.
“Come with me. Please.” He implored, his voice heavy in sentiments. “Stay with me.”
“I cannot.” She said almost instantly. “I simply cannot. It would be very untoward.”
“Why?”
This word, ‘Why’, was growled out, grit out, spat out.
It came from a very deep depth of him. It was an angry feeling, rising from his extreme heart. So cold, that hair stood at the nape of her neck.
“Remember what you told me on our very first encounter?” She placed her hand softly along his lean neck, making him look at her. “You said I reminded you of your wife, Beatriz. Maggie told me that I resemble her somewhat, with my raven hair and all. You do not want me, Mr. Edwin. You search for your lost wife in me. You love her. Not me. You never would.”
All along this little talking of Eden, his face had hardened, his brows corrugated and his lips had been compressed painfully thin. He looked at her intently, with bewildered, glittering eyes, bright in grief watching her speak unwavered.
Mesmerized in agony.
But once she had stopped quiet, realization had hit him.
The accurateness of her words.
The precision of her sincere surveillance, the reality, and he was, in next moment, aghast.
As if suddenly, a wall made up of glass had been instilled between their linked bodies, she appeared to him a stranger. A very much far off, a very much distant dream.
Like moon that had been a hand away just now and suddenly, a whole universe was infused between.
Like two shores of the ocean, eternally un-fated to meet, side by side and yet a world away.
“I, Eden...” He whispered undecidedly.
In loss lies the real savor of gain….
He was a man she exceedingly adored, had adored and would adore.
She placed her hand gently on his shoulder, urging him to look around, at her. Urging him to face her. He did turn, very slowly though.
Not a single slip he had betrayed. Not an emotion given away.
But that didn’t conceal the dampness that coated his bright blue eyes. That didn’t mask the sudden mourning that had tainted his face.
He was so pale. So white.
He missed his wife.
Contesting her in colorlessness.
“I cannot endure this defeat.”
His voice was hoarse as he leaned into her, bowing lower and breathing hard_ until his forehead rested on hers.
“I wish you well, Mr. Edwin.” She looked at him, he hardly saw, or perhaps didn’t at all.
His eyes were shut.
Her heart thrashed in her breast. His was stilled in nostalgia.
Their hands met first. Fingers entwined.
Then, after an unsure moment, his lips dove into hers.
Crashed into hers, like waves often crash the shores, with a promise of ruin to whatever came in between.
He was fierce. His lips were fierce. His fingers, exploring her arms, her body, settling on her waist, pushing her breast into his own, had been fierce.
But she was soft, in combating him. Consoling him.
A touch of sorrow.
An upstaged delusion.
Only lips moved. Nothing else was involved.
It was a farewell. It had nothing else to say. No complains or demand.
A simple, ambivalent, all saying adieu.
It was a dark horse mad dashing on a dark evening under the cold moon.
____________________________
I am eager to hear your thoughts over this man.
Do you like him?