The Women of Eden (80 page)

Alex started to call after him again, but something warned him against it. He stared at the closed door, then lifted his head and stared straight up into the evening sky. He felt an internal tremor, a premonition of disaster.

"Gawd," Alex whispered, and for the first time in his life hoped with all his heart that He had heard.

Forbes Hall April 15, 1871

Lord Richard Eden sat at the bureau in the hbrary of Forbes Hall, Elizabeth's hastily scribbled note before him, and looked about at the quiet domestic scene and thought it interesting that he should feel so at home among relative strangers.

Near the mullioned windows he saw Eleanor arranging a massive bouquet of early-blooming lilacs in a gleaming copper urn. The way the afternoon sun struck the copper caused a flare of unearthly light to illuminate her face.

"Remember symmetry," her mother counseled quietly from the chair before the fire. "They prefer it when no single blossom rises higher or falls lower than the others."

Aware that he was staring, Richard looked down upon Elizabeth's letter. Received only that morning by special courier, it demanded a reply. But what?

Stymied, as he'd been for the better part of the day, he leaned back in the chair and drank deep of the peace which seemed to permeate the room: Lady Forbes' knitting needles performing a soft rhythmic clack over the crackle of the fire, the occasional rustle of the London Times as Lord Forbes shifted it in search of sufficient light, nothing momentous occurring except that blessed state where human beings surfeited with love were content to sit at peace.

It was a condition he'd searched for all his life, and when he'd least expected to find it, indeed when he'd given up all hope, it had appeared before him in the guise of a kind, intelligent young woman, her equally kind parents and their country seat of manageable proportions, scaled down to accommodate the frailty of human beings.

What had started as merely an interim step, a safe refuge in which to recover from Bertie's death and his new awareness of the man who had caused it, had stretched enjoyably into a stay of unHmited duration. He had tried to leave several times in the past. Not that he wanted to, but simply afraid that he was overstaying his welcome.

But all three, Eleanor and her mother and father, had dissuaded him in the most gracious of manners, persuading him that his absence would be a loss to all of them, that having raised three sons for better or worse, they enjoyed a male presence in the hall and his most specifically.

So, of course, he'd stayed, for where would he have gone? Back to Cambridge and all those memories? Hardly! To London? What was there in London for him? To Eden? And here was the most powerful denial of all. No, not to Eden, never back to Eden, not as long as the castle was in the hands of John Murrey Eden.

He must have made a sound, for Lady Forbes inquired gently, "Are you chilled, Richard? Bring your writing pad closer to the fire. The spring weather in Kent can be perverse at times. Sunny and warm, then chill."

"No, I'm fine. Lady Forbes," he said. "Thank you."

As he picked up the point, determined at least to write the salutation, he saw Eleanor watching him. "Would a walk help, Richard? A bit of fresh air to clear the head?"

"And postpone the ordeal." He smiled. "No, let me say what I must say, then I'll vi^lk with you."

She nodded, more than willing to wait as long as necessary. Having made a promise, and grateful to her for her loving presence during these last difficult weeks, he dipped the point into the inkwell, shook it once, began the salutation, and hoped the rest would follow effortlessly.

My Dearest Elizabeth,

I received your word only this morning on Mary's impending nuptials. All her life my sister has been in sore need of a loving and responsive heart, and I thank God that she now has found one.

As for attending the ceremony, I can only say that my heart will be there, but I will not. I plead with you to share this message with my sister and my mother. I ask only for their understanding, and yours. My mind and soul are such now that I find it impossible just to think on Eden Castle. In my imagination I

see the Gatehouse and I can go no further. Though it grieves me to say it about the place of my birth, I can find no location, no single chamber or corridor in that vast castle that does not in some way contain a memory of pain.

Please understand, dear Elizabeth, what I will say now, and even as I write I am begging God's forgiveness. But as long as John Murrey Eden is connected in any way with Eden Point I will not return home. I do not wish him ill. I simply do not wish to place myself in his company.

Again I ask your forgiveness and beg you to embrace my mother for me and tell Mary to write to me of her new hfe and love and convey to Mr. Stanhope my deep gratitude for loving my sister. And look to yourself as well. The cloud of darkness that enveloped my life hovers very close to you. You must be aware and vigilant.

And, dearest Elizabeth, I pray that this separation in no way affects the deep love which we share for one another. For now, I beg you not to think too harshly of me and please write again. I will be in residence here at Forbes Hall for a while longer. I realize I must chart a new course, but for the time being, I've been offered a safe harbor.

Please kiss Mary for me,

With deep affection,

Richard

He completed the last word and stared down on the parchment. Old habit suggested that he reread it for content and clarity. But new need insisted that it was not necessary. He knew what he had said and what he had done as well, cut himself off from his birthright, from the castie whose name he bore, from an unbroken line that stretched back to the twelfth century.

So be it! That pain was nothing compared to the projected pain of being in the presence of John Murrey Eden.

"Finished?"

The inquiry had come from Eleanor, who stood a short distance away, her cape over one arm, his over the other.

"Finished." He smiled, folding the parchment and sealing it, vowing to send the special courier on his way by nightfall.

"Then let's walk," Eleanor suggested, handing him his wrap. "Come!" She laughed, running ahead.

Willingly, he followed.

Elizabeth and Harriet had been on the steps of the Great Hall since early morning awaiting the arrival of Burke's carriage. They should have arrived yesterday, last night at the latest.

But thus far the horizon was clear, and watchmen stationed at half-mile intervals across the moors had all ridden back with the blunt announcement, "No one coming. No sight of a London carriage."

At noon, and aware that the waiting was beginning to take a toll on Harriet, Elizabeth kindly asked one of the stewards to fetch a chair for the Countess Dowager.

Though Harriet protested, Ehzabeth saw her settled just inside the shade of the Great Hall arch, then went back to the top of the steps to resume her private vigil, not overly concerned but still anxious for their safe arrival. One source of her worry was standard. The condition of the roads in early spring was treacherous, deeply rutted and soft.

The second source of her worry was not as standard. John. The name took root in her mind and spread, causing a painful collision of emotions. How strange it was to dread his presence, to expect the worst from him and never to be disappointed.

Standing in the blaze of noon sun, she shivered at the unpredictability of human nature. Yet, in a curious way, what more could he do? He had wreaked havoc on every life at Eden save her own.

In the future she might even find a way to avoid that. Before she had left London, Lydia Becker had invited her to go to Paris with her, "a learning exercise," Lydia had called it, a chance to witness

the dedication of French feminists, who were wilHng to be imprisoned for their behefs, as Louise Michel was now imprisoned at Versailles.

Why not? Elizabeth thought courageously, and for one incredible moment her mind went back to her past, that frightened young girl who had crawled across the Common Cell in Newgate Prison and had offered herself to Edward Eden.

The worlds between then and now! Paris with Lydia and Maria! Why not indeed! That was the purpose, wasn't it, of the new movement, the need for women everywhere to break out of the prison of their preconceived roles and boundaries?

Suddenly she heard the sound of a horse approaching rapidly beyond the castle gate.

In her excitement, Elizabeth started forward, then turned back, remembering Harriet, who had heard the sound as well and was now on her feet, seeking guidance.

"Here," Elizabeth soothed. 'Tm here," she added, grasping the woman's hand, feeling it tremble under the duress of the moment. "We've time yet."

But at that moment the thundering approach of a carriage filled her cars, led by two watchmen who had ridden out to give them escort. In that brief instant before the carriage itself came into sight Elizabeth suffered a painful fear. What if it wasn't them? What if something had happened? What if John—

Again that single name caused her heart to accelerate, and she grasped Harriet's arm with such strength that it was difficult to tell who was supporting whom.

All at once she heard the clanging of the grilles as the guards drew them up, saw the small dust cloud beyond the opened gates, saw the guardsmen leading the large carriage forward, and at last saw a beloved face at the small oval window.

'They're here, Harriet!" she whispered excitedly. "It's Mary."

As the carriage swung vidde for the turn, she abandoned Harriet at the top of the stairs and went forward to greet the man who was just emerging from the carriage door, that remarkable man who had pursued his love with such diligence.

"Burke," she murmured, and kissed him, and saw his face as restored as she'd ever seen it, the fatigue and worry caused by Mary's illness gone, his eyes alert as they swept the massive fagade of Eden Castie, lingering on Lady Harriet still waiting at the top of the stairs,

then turning immediately back to the door where, with moving gentleness, he reached out his hand to Mary and led her forward into the bright April sun.

Sweet Lord, but she looked beautiful! Elizabeth had never seen her more beautiful, her hair completely restored and turned expertly into a French knot, the pert bonnet of curled peacock feathers with their vivid blue eyes mirroring the blue of her own.

"Elizabeth—" Mary smiled and, as they came forward in embrace, Elizabeth clung to her and prayed silently that all her ordeals were behind her. Though she would have been content to hold her forever, she remembered the woman waiting at the top of the stairs, unable to see the rare beauty of this daughter and her handsome bridegroom.

Slowly Elizabeth released her and without words looked up toward the top of the stairs and the waiting Harriet. Then Mary started the steep ascent, her eyes fixed on her mother.

In spite of the rush of stewards removing the trunks from the carriage, Elizabeth heard Mary whisper one word, a simple word which somehow demolished the image of the confident young woman and left a vulnerable five-year-old child in her place.

"Mama-"

At the sound of the word, Elizabeth saw Harriet lift her head, heard a single soft cry of joy escape from beneath the black veil. Then she reached out and found her daughter and drew her into her embrace,

Elizabeth retrieved her handkerchief from the sleeve of her gown and saw Burke waiting by the carriage, faring none too well himself.

Thoughtfully she recalled the recent death of his mother and did not have to wonder at the nature of his thoughts, and stepped close to offer distraction. "Was the journey uneventful?" she asked, keeping her voice down, aware of a few servants sniffiing near by, their faces focused on the reunion at the top of the stairs.

"It was"—Burke nodded—"and very pleasant. We stopped by old Jeremy Sims' club on the way out of London."

Elizabeth looked up. "I don't have to ask why"—she laughed— "and did Mary sing for the gentlemen?"

"No," Burke said. "Old Jeremy wouldn't permit it. But we all shared a bottle of champagne, and Sims said he'd played many roles in his life but he'd never played Cupid before."

"Did you have any difficulty in London?" she asked, knowing that he would understand the meaning behind the words.

"No, though I must confess I was expecting it daily. Do you think we have managed to elude him?"

"No," Elizabeth said without hesitation.

He stared dowTi on her. "Do you think he will leave us alone?"

"No," she said, again mthout hesitation. Fearful that Burke would see the anxiety on her face, she took his arm and led him to the foot of the steps with a comforting reminder. "In a few days Mary will be yours, legally and forever. Then he can do nothing."

Aware of the falsity of that statement, she was on the verge of amending it when she looked up the stairs and saw Mary and Harriet whispering together. Mar}' looked down and wordlessly extended her hand to Burke. "Come."

He took the steps two at a time and was at her side within the instant. EHzabeth followed and heard Mary's simple introduction, "Mama, this is Burke—"

She might have said more, but at that instant Burke reached for Harriet's hand and kissed it, while Harriet in turn made a request.

"Mr. Stanhope—Burke," she amended, "may I see you in the only manner available to me?"

At first Elizabeth didn't understand, but Burke did, for immediately he took a step back, thus reducing his height, then lifted both her hands and placed them on the sides of his face, where her fingers began a tender exploration of his features, starting at the broad brow, moving down over his eyes, caressing the bridge of his nose, then fanning out on either side to encompass the line of his cheek and jaw, and concluding with his Hps.

Twice she performed the inspection while Mary stood to one side. Softiy from beneath the veil came a voice filled with delight. "Oh, Mary, how fortunate you are!" Then, to Elizabeth's surprise, Burke enfolded Harriet in his arms with the greatest intimacy, as though they had known each other forever.