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The Other Eden Sarah Bryant THE OTHER EDEN First published in 2001 by ipublish, Warner Books, New York. This edition published in 2005 by CORNMILL PRESS The Cornmill Winkston Peebles EH45 8PH www.cornmillpress.com Typeset, printed and bound by Cornmill Press. Cover photography by Andrey Narkevich, 2003; contact him at [email protected] Cover design by Cornmill Press. The lines in Part Two, Chapter 7, are taken from John Webster’s The Duchess of Malfi, c.1614. Copyright: © Sarah Bryant All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or trans- mitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or other- wise, without prior permission from Cornmill Press. Requests to publish work from this book must be sent to Cornmill Press. The moral rights of the author have been asserted. ISBN 0 9548913 1 7 A CIP catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library. To Pamela Alexander, my first piano instructor, and Linda Jiorle-Nagy, my last—true teachers whose gifts for inspira- tion reach far beyond the notes and staves. Acknowledgments As always, many thanks are due to Colin and Nuala for their patience and belief in me and my writing, even when the tea is late! To name everyone who helped with this book would take more pages than the story. However, I would particularly like to thank Elaine Thompson for her friendship and much-valued criticism; my mom, Suz, grandmother extraordinaire; and Andrey Narkevich for gener- ously offering one of his beautiful photographs for my cover. Finally, thanks to all of you who have supported the Cornmill Press venture so far…and watch this space! “I am half sick of shadows,” said the Lady of Shalott. Alfred, Lord Tennyson Part One Prologue APRIL 1903, EDEN’S MEADOW PLANTATION IBERVILLE PARISH, LOUISIANA N ight-time in a room lit by a solitary guttering candle. It is a bedroom; that is clear from the shapes of the furniture looming out of the shadows. The faint scroll of a decorative cornice, the sheen of dark wood suggest that it belongs to a person of privilege; but even in the bad light the room’s trappings seem vague, impersonal, long since abandoned by their owner. She herself reveals little more. She stands in a plain, dark dress, facing an open French door. Whether she looks out at something in the overcast night or inward at something less corporeal is impossible to tell. She is slender and small, and exudes a general feeling of being almost, but not quite, developed. Her stooped shoulders and dejected arms convey a lack of confidence. Her head, piled with black hair, bends like a heavy rose on a stalk too slight. For several minutes she stands unmoving. Then a flash of lightning sears the sky, and she turns from the doorway. The candle light reveals full lips, smooth skin, high cheekbones, black eyes with a faintly Byzantine slant. Hers is a beauty of fits and starts: the tinge of sadness in her eyes; the stray curl of hair on her blue-shadowed temple; the fear battling pride in the set of her jaw. As she moves, the room seems to shrink and darken by contrast, her face to grow more luminous. Another flash of lightning; as the ensuing thunder subsides, a faint knocking becomes audible. The girl hears it, runs to open the door. A second girl slips into the room, wearing a white nightdress, her black hair loose down her back. There are subtle differences between them. This girl’s face and posture are more assured, her eyes more artful than the other’s. Nonetheless, the resemblance between them is undeniable. “Ready, Lizzie?” the bolder one asks. “Evie…” Elizabeth’s voice wavers with the candlelight. “Too late now,” Eve says. Smiling, she reaches up and pulls the pins from her sister’s tightly bound hair. “But what if he finds out?” Elizabeth asks, as Eve feels for stray pins. “He won’t find out, until I want him to.” “How can you say so? We’re so different, he’s bound to realize.” “We’ve switched on Maman and Papa without their realizing.” “That’s Maman and Papa. You and he will be married. What of your…your relations as such?” Eve smiles archly. “Surely he has no knowledge of you in that way, to realize the difference!” Elizabeth colors, but continues, “But if he does realize, you’ll be all alone. What if…what if he—” “Lizzie.” Eve puts her hands on her sister’s shoulders. Her eyes are calm and certain. “It will be all right. I know that you don’t like him, and you have your reasons, but he’s never done anything to earn your distrust.” “He’s so passionate—so moody.” “Many have said the same of me. Besides, I’ve watched him love you for five years, and even you must admit that his loyalty has never wavered.” “But there’s a compulsion to that itself that makes me afraid.” “And the same makes me love him.” Elizabeth shakes her head almost imperceptibly, her eyes never leaving her sister’s. “You should wait for someone who loves you for yourself.” Eve turns away, but she can’t keep the bitterness out of her voice when she answers, “We aren’t all so lucky as you, Elizabeth.” Elizabeth’s mouth quivers. Eve’s face is still averted; what emotion she hides is impossible to tell. Yet she does not seem surprised when Elizabeth relents. “If you have faith in him—” “Oh, I do!” Eve cries. She smiles a smile full of hope and promise, and after a moment her sister returns it, if wanly. “You’ll go through with your part,” Eve continues, “and once Mother is better”—she falters as she says this, her voice losing some of its softness—“I’ll find you, and we’ll tell them all. And by then…well, by then he’s sure to understand. Now, come here and fix my hair.” Elizabeth follows Eve to the dressing table, picks up a brush and a hank of her sister’s long hair, then stands staring at it, as if seeking an answer. “It’s the best thing,” Eve persists, “the only thing—” A skirl of wind extinguishes the candle. “Eve!” Elizabeth cries. Quickly Eve relights the candle, then takes the brush from her sister’s clenched hands, and begins to untangle her own hair. After a moment Elizabeth takes over. The girls are silent for a time, Eve’s eyes fixed on her reflection, Elizabeth’s on the dark hair in her hands as she braids and binds it. Even after Elizabeth has finished, Eve continues to stare at her reflection, as if trying to pinpoint something amiss. Finally she says, “The necklaces!” She unclasps the ruby that hangs from a gold chain around her neck, and holds it toward Elizabeth. It glints in the candlelight like a drop of blood. Elizabeth looks at it, touches the diamond at her own throat, and says, “No. You can tell everyone we traded, to have something to remember each other by. They’re…they’re who we are.” Eve laughs. “You, superstitious?” Seeing the serious set of her sister’s face, however, her smile dies. “All right, if you’re set on it.” Elizabeth watches Eve replace the necklace. “That’s it, then,” she says, kneeling so that her face in the mirror is level with her sister’s. “Now no one will know,” Eve answers with finality. They watch their own faces in the mirror, until Eve stands up, and pulls Elizabeth to her feet. “Come on.” “Wait.” Elizabeth takes a bundle from the bed and shakes it out. It is a wedding dress, its bodice exquisitely embroidered with leaves and butterflies. She holds it toward Eve, whose hands stop her own. “I can’t take that, Lizzie.” Her eyes are entreating and, for the first time, betray uncertainty. “I want you to. If I can’t be there myself, I want you to have a piece of me with you.” “No, Elizabeth,” Eve repeats. “I can’t wear your wedding dress. You should wear it to the wedding it was meant for.” “It was meant for my wedding to Louis,” she answers, her tone sounding authoritative for the first time. “Besides, we both know you’ll never make one in time.” The girls look at each other for a long