The Women of Eden (58 page)

It would be so, and in that faith he could live and endure anything. . . .

Eden Castle December 8, 1870

Too late.

They had arrived too late and while Elizabeth was certain that Harriet understood the reason for their delay, she doubted if Lord Harrington did. But in his grieving state perhaps he was incapable of understanding anything.

As the small black-clad procession made its way slowly around the east wing of Eden Castle, taking the full stinging slap of the Atlantic wind in their faces, Elizabeth bent her head lower and clung tightiy to Harriet's arm. The terrain was dangerous enough for a person with sight. She had begged the frail woman to stay inside, but nothing would do but that she and Dhari be shown the fresh grave.

Looking directly up into the cold wind, Elizabeth saw Dhari grasping Harriet's other arm. "Hold secure, Dhari," Elizabeth called over the gale, aware of Harriet's trembling steps. Walking behind them was the indomitable Peggy, who kept a firm grasp on her mistress' waist, the three of them leading the blind woman toward the graveyard beyond the north wall of Eden Castle, where shortiy they would have to endure the combined winds of both the Atiantic Ocean and the channel as well as the greater punishment of the fresh grave.

But worse than all else was the pitiful man walking a few steps ahead of them who, without the support of Alex Aldwell, would be incapable of standing, let alone walking. In all her years, Elizabeth had never seen such a pathetic transformation. He bore not a single resemblance to the former Lord Harrington.

His bitterest disappointment, according to Harriet, had been the absence of a CathoUc priest and, as the nearest one had been in Ex-

eter and as Lila's burial would not wait, Harriet had had to exert her authority and had insisted upon immediate interment.

Elizabeth shuddered. In spite of her many garments, the wind cut through as though she were naked. Looking up, she caught her first glimpse of the black iron fence behind which lay buried almost every Eden for the last seven hundred years. Though it was noon, Elizabeth felt as if she were moving through a cavern of night.

In spite of these discomforts, she offered Harriet solace. "Not far. Just up ahead. Are you well?"

Beneath the black veil she saw Harriet nod. "I'm sorry I'm such a bother."

Ahead she heard Alex Aldwell offering encouragement to Lord Harrington as he supported the man with one arm about his shoulder and another buttressing his arm. "Only a few more steps, sir. You can make it, can't you?"

Elizabeth drew up her hood, blown back by the force of the wind, and caught her first view of the graveyard itself, her eyes moving to the large marble headstone with the simple name carved upon it.

Edward Eden.

Abruptly Harriet stopped. "Are we—near?** she whispered. "We must be, for I can feel it."

"It's directly ahead," Elizabeth said, and knew precisely what it was that Harriet had felt—the presence of death.

As the three of them guided Harriet through the gate, Elizabeth looked ahead and saw the mounded dirt in a corner of the graveyard, the grave itself seeming to sit apart from the others, as though each generation of Edens was assigned its own territory. The oldest markers, little more than slate slabs, rested in crumbling disarray against the far west fence, their carved names and the dates of their tenures upon this earth almost obliterated by centuries of sea breeze and storms. Then, in a grisly cavalcade the headstones marched slowly up through the centuries, husbands, wives, children, all clustered together in death as they had been in life.

They were less than twenty yards from the fresh grave when Elizabeth looked ahead and saw Alex Aldwell and Lord Harrington halt, their attention fixed on something. As the surrounding headstones obscured her vision, Elizabeth craned to one side to see what had halted their steps. From where she stood she saw a black-clad figure prostrate over the new grave, face obscured, weeping audibly.

"Who is it?" Harriet demanded, sensing the intrusion.

"Someone is here," Elizabeth murmured. "I can't see who."

Peggy released Her Ladyship and moved in a determined stride to the grave and the figure kneeling over it.

She called out, "It's only Molly, Lady Lila's maid."

"Molly?" Harriet repeated, puzzled.

All stood before the grave, looking down on the woman who either didn't know or didn't care that she was being watched.

As Peggy tried to rouse her out of her grief, Elizabeth saw Lord Harrington fall to his knees, rosary in hand, eyes closed. As his fingers moved over the beads, his face lifted directly into the cold wind.

She looked back at the little maid named Molly, who with Peggy's assistance was just struggling to her feet. Elizabeth saw a small covered basket clutched in her hand.

Having reached their destination, Elizabeth released Harriet's arm and moved a step to one side, concentrating on the freshly turned earth, unable to believe what lay beneath it. In fact, there was nothing in this cold graveyard which bore even the slightest resemblance to Lila. There should be fLowers, Elizabeth thought angrily. Mountains of flowers of every color and scent.

But it was not the season for flowers, and she moved back from the barren grave and the man on his knees talking to Jesus' Mother, and saw Molly's tear-streaked face as she looked about her, aware for the first time that she was in the presence of the Countess Dowager.

"Milady," she murmured, drawing free from Peggy's arms and curtsying before Harriet. "I—hope I didn't—intrude. I wouldn't want to be someplace I shouldn't be."

Kindly, Harriet reached out her hand. Elizabeth saw the maid shift the basket and step forward until their hands touched, the contact seeming to provoke fresh tears.

"Oh, milady, I couldn't believe it," Molly sobbed. "I knew she was ill when I left, but—"

"Why did you leave?" Harriet asked.

"I thought you knew. I was—sent away, I was, last summer, just when Lady Lila needed me so."

Harriet drew the woman closer. "Who sent you away?"

"I was sent away by him, I was," she said. "By Mr. Eden."

There was no sound in the graveyard save for the wind and the muffled voice of Lord Harrington saying his beads. After the an-

nouncement Elizabeth saw Dhari turn away in an attitude of resignation.

Harriet was faring less well. '"By—John?^ she stammered. "I don't believe—"

"It's true, milady," Molly insisted. "I begged him, I did, to let me stay, but he was firm, said I was not fit company for his wife, not strong enough to handle her. Those were his very words, milady."

"Please, Molly," Harriet soothed, holding the weeping woman, "where did you go? If I had known I would have brought you back into the security of the castle."

"Oh, no, milady, I wouldn't have wanted you to do that. That would have been counter to Mr. Eden's wishes and would have only caused more trouble." At last the woman stood erect and withdrew a small handkerchief from the pocket of her coat.

"I'm being well looked after," she went on. *When I left Eden I took meself down to Mortemouth and was taken in by the old Reverend Christopher and his wife. Good souls, both, and could do with a bit of looking after. I clean and cook for them and it's not a bad life, though my heart never left her." And she looked down on the grave.

Suddenly there was the sound of a wrenching sob coming from the grave. All looked in that direction to see Lord Harrington collapsed, his rosary dragging in the dirt, as he clutched at the freshly turned soil.

Alex Aldwell had just stepped toward him when Molly interceded, went down on her knees beside the grieving man and put her arms around him. "Don't, sir," she said softly.

Distracted from his grief. Lord Harrington fixed on Molly as though she were a miracle.

"Here, sir," the woman said with dispatch. "Look what I brought." And she reached behind for the small basket. "Ain't much, but it will brighten the place, it will. Look!"

EHzabeth found herself leaning forward, trying to glimpse the contents of the basket. At last Molly produced a minor miracle of color in that gray slate day, a simple white china bowl with delicate fluted edges filled with a mound of yellow, freshly churned butter.

"Here, sir," Molly gently insisted. "You place it there, right in the center."

With hands that trembled visibly, though with childlike eagerness.

Lord Harrington took the china dish and placed it lovingly in the exact center of the turned earth.

All stared down on the circle of color, the only voice that of Peggy, who was "seeing" for Harriet.

Elizabeth lifted her face to the v^nd. It seemed less cold now. The heaviness and pain were lifting. Of course the fact of death could not be denied, or the tragedy of it, but it had been softened somehow and made bearable by a serving maid and a small china bowl filled with butter.

As Elizabeth and Dhari took up their positions on each side of Harriet, the woman seemed to pull away from them. "Molly?" she called out, turning her head in all directions.

"I'm here, milady."

"Will you always be here?" Harriet asked. "Can you leave your present position and return to the castle? We—need you. Lila's sons need you."

Fresh tears, though different in nature, filled Molly's eyes. "Nothing—would make me happier," she whispered.

Then they were moving, the entire procession reversing their steps.

At the gate Elizabeth glanced back toward Lila's grave. Even from that distance the brilliant yellow and white of Molly's simple gift shone like a beacon in the bleak afternoon.

A short time later, as they were climbing the Great Hall steps, she found herself looking ahead v^dth new dread to the evening. In the pressing urgency of Lila's death, Elizabeth had carefully avoided one subject.

Mary.

Harriet would have to be told, indeed had already made several inquiries about her daughter. In the rush of events Elizabeth had thus far escaped an explanation. But she was certain that John had written nothing, and a mother had a right to know, and though it seemed inhumanly cruel to force one tragedy after another upon her, still it had to be done.

Ahead at the top of the steps she saw several stewards and maids rush to assist the frozen family. Perhaps Dhari in her eloquent silence had been right. Anything could be borne so long as they felt love one for the other. It was the burden that one tried to carry alone that was unendurable.

Elizabeth breathed a quick prayer and added a plea for mercy.

This family had suffered enough. Let fate plague someone else for a while.

As she was hurrying after Harriet through the Great Hall door she heard a shout from the watchmen at the gate.

"Carriage coming!"

"John, do you suppose?" Harriet whispered, revealing for the first time her urgent need to see him and try to explain Lila's death.

Elizabeth did not reply, but kept her eyes fixed on the Gatehouse, the watchmen stirring out of their frozen lethargy.

As the carriage rumbled beneath the Gatehouse arch, Elizabeth looked more closely.

"Please, Elizabeth," Harriet begged, "who is—"

Elizabeth bowed her head and closed her eyes. If fate refused to provide her with respite, she would have to take it for herself.

With her eyes closed and lacking the courage even to speculate on what monstrous sorrow had rendered him thus, she said, "It's Richard "

Forbes Hall

Kent

December 8,1870

"In my opinion, it is absolutely out of the question," Lady Forbes announced. "Is the man mad?" she fumed further. "Does he expect us to hop every time he snaps his finger?"

At the opposite end of the large Library, Lord Forbes called back, "I'm certain he meant nothing offensive by it, Mother. As we have observed before, Mr. Eden does things differently than we do."

Eleanor sat on the window seat at midroom, amused by her parents. For as long as she could remember, whenever there was contention or disagreement her mother and father always sought out one of the larger rooms in the Hall; either the Library, where they were at present, or the Ballroom. With all due deliberation her mother would take up a position at one end, her father at the other, and over this vast distance differences would be resolved.

In amusement, considering that in her own mind the matter had been resolved, Eleanor listened to her parents' voices sail back and forth in a heated debate over the propriety of the letter from Mr. Eden, which had arrived only that morning.

It had requested—no, it had demanded—that Eleanor journey to Eden for the Christmas Celebrations, and it had insisted further that Eleanor come alone.

"Alone!" Lady Forbes exclaimed, echoing Eleanor's thoughts. "It's indecent," she went on, pacing at her end, looking far younger than her seventy years. Indignation was good for her.

"We did sign the premarital agreement," her father reminded wea-

rily, "and we knew very well last summer precisely what it was we were signing."

Eleanor saw her father sit wearily at his bureau. Anger was not good for him. It made him look older, every inch the impoverished peer that he was, who was being forced to marry his daughter to the highest bidder in an attempt to cover his son's gambling debts, as well as his own.

Eleanor smiled at her melodramatic assessment of the situation. The present trouble stemmed from a difference in point of view. Her parents viewed her as a sacrificial lamb, while she viewed herself as the luckiest of all Englishwomen. There weren't many ladies from Newcastie to Kent who wouldn't give half their kingdoms for an alliance with the Eden family.

As her parents' voices continued to fly back and forth in proper debate, Eleanor tucked her slippered feet beneath the folds of her gown and nestled deeper into the cushions of the window seat and gave in to daydreaming. As long as the other parties in the room were enjoying themselves, why shouldn't she?

She looked through the small, mullioned windows and out across the green hills of Forbes Hall, her mind moving back to Eden. Eleanor hugged her knees and rested her head upon them. To be mistress of such a place. . . .