The Women of Eden (28 page)

Babe! Oh, God, don't let this one terminate too soon, he prayed, taking the stairs three at a time, taking also his deep hurt that Lila had not told him, had continued to use the classic female defense against him.

Why?

But as he approached her chamber door, the question seemed less urgent in the face of this glorious news.

Another child, a daugjiter this time, please, John prayed, and pushed open the door.

"Who is it?" he heard Molly call from the bedchamber.

From where he stood vidth the sitting room separating them, John saw only the foot of the bed. Before he could respond to Molly's call, she appeared in the door, her eyes filled with tears.

Upon seeing John she burst into new weeping and with the hem of her apron pressed against her lips, she begged, "Oh, please help her, sir. Please put a stop to it."

Something in her plea warned him to harden himself to what he

might find in the bedchamber. Then, recalling anew that Lila had recently deceived him, he moved forward, ignoring Molly, though the sight beyond the door stopped him with a force as though an invisible barrier had dropped down between him and the bed, a sight so distasteful that he raised his eyes to the safety of the velour drapes behind the bed.

"Sir, please make him take them off her," Molly wept behind him. "She's suffering terrible, as you can see."

Yes, he could see that, having found the courage to look back down on the bed. Lila was visible only in profile, her wrists drawn over her head and lightly trussed to the bedstead, her nightshirt lowered to her waist, approximately thirty black leeches attached to her upper torso, several nestled into the area of her armpits, others attached to her arms, the majority boring deep into the white flesh of her breasts and upper stomach. Small, black, curling, their bodies twisted with the satiation of her blood, appearing on the white field of her flesh like black commas.

Hardening himself to the sight, he recalled the numbers of times that he had submitted himself for bleeding. Even his London physician still recommended it, though it was considered old-fashioned in advanced medical circles. It was painless, and what he was responding to, and certainly what Molly was responding to, was Lila's restraint—that and the repulsive nature of the leeches themselves.

"I beg you, sir, do something. She's ill and growing worse."

Suddenly he'd had enough of Molly and, without warning, he slammed the door to the bedchamber, shutting out the hysterical maid, shutting himself in.

At the sound of the door slamming, Lila turned her head, and John's first glimpse of those pale features caused him to falter.

Drawing one step closer, he observed that the pillow on which her head was resting was soaked with perspiration and tears. But now there were no tears. In fact she appeared to be holding herself very rigid, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He stood beside the bed and waited for her to look at him. With almost unbearable grief he charted the changes which had taken place in this once lovely woman. He had loved her, loved her still as much as love could be present, burdened with the realization that every time he approached her, he caused pain.

When she still refused to make eye contact vidth him, he felt a portion of his armor weaken and leaned gently forward. "Lila—"

At last those eyes shifted from the ceiling and moved to his face, and he observed that they were brighter than usual, though more sunken and prone to dwell longer on what they saw.

"Lila," he began, feeling pity for her, wanting, in spite of her deception, to ease her suffering. "Not much longer." He smiled, trying to keep his eyes from the leeches. "And it's for the best," he added. "Dr. Cockburn says that it will serve both you and the babe."

At last he noticed that he had fully engaged her attention. Her thin rib cage, which earlier had been rising and falling with her breathing, grew still, then commenced to rise and fall at a more rapid pace, her agitation made manifest in the manner in which her hands, in spite of their restraints, clutched at the bedposts.

Was she still trying to deceive him? Did she take him for a fool? "Yes," he replied forcefully, "Dr. Cockburn has confirmed it."

He saw her struggle against the strips of muslin. Realizing that she could not free herself, she fell back against the pillow, her eyes closed.

He watched her, his own emotional state none too steady. Directly under her left breast a leech detached itself and slithered up, its small tubular body fat with her blood, leaving a small red path in its wake. The others were beginning to shift, barely perceptible movement, as each detached then reattached itself to her flesh.

Watching the shifting black slime, he experienced a wave of nausea and disciplined his eyes to stay safely on her face, his mind to occupy itself only with the mystery of her denial, which seemed to carry new deception with it. All those other miscarriages—had she forced them? It was not unknown. Whores purged themselves monthly. But was she so loath to bear his children that she would do this?

As the mystery grew, so did his sense of threat, and now he was aware of the silence in the room, broken only by her panting. Yet behind his anxiety was his joyful realization that she was again carrying his child and, if need be, he would have her watched day and night until the babe grew to full term and was safely delivered.

Of course he had no proof of his earlier suspicions, only the fact of two safe deliveries followed by countiess miscarriages, and the repeated professional opinions, including Cockburn's, that nothing was wrong with her.

For the dead babies he grieved only a moment, then renewed, with purpose and impervious to her melodramatic reaction to simple

bleeding, he informed her, "You are carrying a babe, Lila, and this one will see life. I swear it."

He discovered with regret that she was crying, her face bearing no resemblance to the beautiful young woman whom he had married in the apple orchard of Harrington Hall over ten years ago.

"Lila, please," he begged, hurt that she had deceived him. "Are my requests so unusual? I have a right to children, don't I? And you're my wife. Who else—"

"No—baby," she whispered, and appeared to want to say more, but the spasms had commenced again, convulsions which seemed to sweep over her every ten or fifteen seconds and cause her teeth to chatter.

He was sorry for her, but sorry for himself as well, and now it was his duty to inform her of certain necessary changes in her life at Eden.

"There will be a babe, madam," he announced, drawing the coverlet up over her, stopping short of her waist where the leeches were drawing the poisonous blood out of her. "And though I must return to London shortly, I'm assigning new maids to your chambers, women who will provide you with everything you need in order to produce a healthy infant," he went on, thinking that the loyal Molly would have to be dismissed. Most likely she was Lila's co-conspirator.

"And these four will be given strict instructions never to leave you alone. Is that clear? There will be no vigorous exercises. I prefer that you remain in these chambers for the duration of your confinement. Then, after the safe delivery of my child, you will be granted your freedom again."

She grew still. "My—father—"

"Not for a while," John advised. "You need isolation in order to regain your strength." It occurred to him that he must contrive to take Lord Harrington back to London with him. The old man was constantly begging to be of service. It would be a simple matter to assign him some useless duty, thus removing him from the close proximity to his daughter, in the event that his paternal concern got the best of him and caused him to forget his debt to John.

"Your father will be returning with me to London," he announced. "My work there has been neglected for too long, and he can be of service to me." A new idea dawned. Take everyone back with him. Clear the castle of all eyes and ears which might tend to frown upon a husband who imprisoned his wife. Mary, Elizabeth,

Dhari—all would return with him, leaving only Harriet, whom he could trust not to venture out of her seclusion and who seemed to prefer it when the castle was empty.

Feeling comfortably hardened and justified, he took a final look downward, then moved toward the door, finding Molly on the other side.

"Is she—is milady—"

"Well." John smiled. He strode past the woman and maintained silence until he reached the door. Then he turned back with a simple announcement.

"Your services are no longer required here. You are to pack your things at once."

The look of shock on the plain face spread. "Sir, I—don't understand—"

"Of course you do," he countered genially. "How much clearer need I make it? See the housewarden before you leave and she will give you sufficient funds to tide you over until you can find another position."

"But, sir—what have I—done?"

"You've done nothing," he reassured her. "It's Just that my wife will require special care in the future. She will be well looked after, I can assure you of that."

He saw the woman glance back toward the closed door, her confusion dissolving into sadness. "Does—Lady Lila know that I—"

"Of course she knows!" John snapped, losing patience. "Come now, gather your things and be off with you. I'm sure you'll find another position soon."

For a moment longer the maid hesitated, her eyes scanning the closed door lovingly, as though trying to see through it to her mistress.

"Molly, did you hear?"

The sound of his voice raised in anger jarred her loose from her grief and quickly she ran past him and disappeared down the steps.

John listened to the new silence. He withdrew the key from the lock, closed the outer door and locked it. Until certain arrangements could be made, he wanted no one to see her in this state. He owed her that much. He would pass the key on to Dr. Cockbum, who shortly would remove the leeches and, because the old fool had brought him such joyous news, John would grant him permission to vacate the Servants Hall and occupy one of the more comfortable

chambers in this corridor. After all, a physician must be near his patient.

In the meantime, John had much to do. He must select four reliable women from Eden's vast staff who would do his bidding in all matters, and the most joyous duty of all, he must inform the others of this miraculous news, that Lila was carrying new life, a sister, he hoped, for Stephen and Frederick, the third accomplishment in John's private empire, the creation of a large and boisterous family, all bearing the name of Eden.

Suddenly he smiled. A babe, a fitting end to this desolate fortnight, as though nature were informing him that he needed no one but himself.

Suffering a spasm of happiness, he hurried off down the corridor to spread the news. . . .

Through the two windows with their bright, lattice-figured curtains the sun fell on the soft rose carpet, and into the warm spaces Mary stretched her hand, thinking that in spite of everything she felt at peace.

Seated on the floor at her mother's feet, she watched the bright red yarn which Harriet held taut between her outstretched hands while Dhari rolled it deftly into a ball.

A fascinating twosome, Mary thought, glancing up at her mother, the Englishwoman who had found a soulmate in the dark-skinned Indian woman who, in spite of her birthright, was more of an Englishwoman than any of them.

"What's it to be, Dhari?" Mary asked, watching the ball of red yarn grow larger.

At the direct question Dahri placed the ball in her lap and pantomimed a shawl, her eyes conveying more than most people's words.

"It will be for Lila," Harriet added. "She complained of a constant chill last winter, and Dhari thought—"

"Poor Lila." This voice came from behind Mary and belonged to Elizabeth, who sat with her feet up on the chaise, sipping tea. "I don't think there's a sun in the world that could warm that child. Her hands are perpetually cold."

"Then mittens." Harriet smiled. "If the yarn permits, a pair of mittens might be appropriate."

As the winding process commenced again, Mary nestled closer to her mother and thought how good peace was, both internal and ex-

temal, after the recent turmoil during which time she had learned much about herself. Specifically, she had learned that she must "abide/' as Harriet had phrased it. Anything could be borne, her mother had told her further, as long as one did not pit one's will against the world. If a course of action could not be acted upon immediately, then the wise woman bided her time, kept her silence and worked in harmony with those forces about her.

How simple it all sounded, and it must work, for never before had Mary felt such peace. Of course what she had confided to no one was that in large measure she was being sustained by memories of that one miraculous man who had danced with her and who had looked upon her with eyes which had suggested that he had found her equally miraculous.

Abruptly she drew her knees up, tucked her long skirts beneath her, rested her cheek on her upraised knees and gazed sideways at the patterns of sun and shadow on the floor. Out of the turmoil of a thousand contours gradually emerged his features.

Will I ever see him again?

When she came back to herself, she heard her mother asking Elizabeth, "When will you be returning to London?"

"Not for a while." Elizabeth smiled, placing her teacup on the tray. "I like Eden best without people. Now that all those guests have departed—"

"Did it go well?" Harriet asked.

"Not well," Elizabeth confessed honestly, and Mary knew she was thinking of her own humiliating exit from the Banqueting Hall in the company of Mr. Bradlaugh and that man's late-night departure from Eden. "Less than twenty of the scheduled guests arrived this week."

Harriet leaned back in her chair. "How sad for John," she murmured. "He's worked so hard."

In the silence Mary looked at Elizabeth, who sat with her head down. She expected her to launch forth into her usual loving commiseration for John, forgiving him all. "He'll recover," was all she said.