The Women of Eden (82 page)

"You should have," Burke replied, almost genially, "for look what has happened now," he added, gesturing about the table at the remains of the wedding feast.

But John never once altered the line of his vision and, still holding the pistol level, he advanced one step, shortening the distance between them. Mary stood motionless. At the very moment she thought she had endured and survived her last nightmare, here was the most terrifying one of all, the pistol aimed directly at her husband's heart.

"John, please," she begged again.

Witlessly she drew his attention toward her and suffered the full weight of his hate as he sarcastically demanded, "Who speaks? Is that the bride?"

Though he was addressing her, he never lifted his eyes from Burke's face. ''Your bride, sir?" he questioned, a Hghtness in his tone which belied the seriousness of the moment.

Burke did not reply, though John needed no response. "Damaged goods, you know," he said, his tone as calm as though he were discussing the weather. "You've just bought yourself some well-trod territory, sir." He smiled. "She was raised by a whore, you know. That one standing over there—" And he jerked his head toward Elizabeth, who stood with bowed head.

"And prior to that," he went on, his voice rising as though he were warming to the subject, "she was brought into this world by another whore. That one seated there—" And this time he looked toward Haniet.

"Whores, both of them," he repeated, stepping closer to Burke as though to share a confidence, though still holding the pistol between them. "So you see, it's in her blood, you might say. But if you don't mind, I don't know why I should object. You might want to have her cleansed before you move in. The last three who used her were none too clean. Just a warning, you understand.'*

Weakened by embarrassment and humiliation, Mary found that she could not even look up at the confrontation. Then she heard Burke's voice again, strained, in spite of the silence in the room. "May I ask your intent, Mr. Eden? If you are going to use that, I suggest you do so. Otherwise, I'll take my wife and leave."

"You will move when I tell you to move," John said, retreating a step himself, as though in need of greater distance. Suddenly he shouted, "My God, what more need I say or do? I've called your wife a whore, have in truth assigned the same designation to every female seated at this table. Are you totally ignorant in all respects?"

Above the shriek of his voice, Mary heard his message and suffered new horror. Apparently Burke had heard it as well.

"You want—a duel?" he inquired.

"Want one? I demand one!" John shouted, "and no one here can deny that just cause has been given. There are witnesses. Aldwell there, and servants just outside the door. And now I repeat myself. Your wife is a whore, sir, as was her mother before her, who slept with her husband's brother and bore him a child—"

His voice echoed in outrage about the room. It was suddenly joined by Harriet's cry of, "No! Please don't—"

"Why not, madam?" John demanded- "I say, let the truth come out, all the truth."

"No, John. I beg you." Harriet was weeping openly.

As the sounds of human agony rose about her, Mary was torn between her own weakening state and that of her mother. Elizabeth was pushing past her, trying to turn Harriet away. Beyond the door Mary saw Peggy, aroused by her mistress' cry of distress. At the same time Alex Aldwell stepped forward and for a moment it seemed as though the entire room was in movement, revolving around one vortex, John Murrey Eden, who lifted the dueling pistol and again demanded, "Your response, sir. I have another of these in my chambers. Say the word and Alex will fetch it and within the hour one of us will be safely removed from this brothel."

The room fell silent except for Harriet's weeping as Elizabeth led

her back to the chair and stood over her. But Mary was no longer concerned with either Harriet or Ehzabeth. All her attention was focused on Burke's reply.

"No," Mary whispered.

"I did not ask you!" John shouted.

"No, Burke," Mary begged, ignoring John.

'Tou see how they corrupt us?" John cried. "She'll share her well-used body with you and share her cowardice as well. Women are contagions—all of them, Mr. Stanhope."

Then it came, his voice as soft as John's was shrill. "No, Mr. Eden. I will not accept your challenge."

"Then you are a coward."

"No. It's just that recently I've developed an overwhelming appetite for life."

Weak with relief, Mary clung to the table.

"Then I'll leave you to your own decay," John pronounced contemptuously, backing away and lowering the pistol for the first time since he'd entered the room. 'This place should suit you very well, Mr. Stanhope, for this is a woman's castle, designed to harbor the weaker of the species. Men have never felt at home here, but I suspect that you will be perfectly at ease."

At the door he handed the pistol to Alex, who received it gratefully, his normally strong face reflecting the ugliness of everything that had been said.

Just as Mary was settling weakly into her chair, she heard Burke again.

"Mr. Eden, wait!" he called out. "I said I would not fight you with pistols. But I will fight you. Willingly."

Before she could protest, she saw John turn back, new interest on his face. "Name your weapons."

Burke paused, then lifted his hands. "These," he said. "Bare fists. And to heighten your enjoyment permit me to introduce myself properly." He stepped forward, reducing the distance between them. "Lord Ripples, Mr. Eden, at your service. The author, the true author of 'The Demi-God of Eden.'"

The expression on John's face was fearful. No longer arrogant, no longer armed, he appeared to crouch before Burke, staring up at him as though in doubt whether or not to believe him.

Mary followed every movement of his face, saw two small feverish

spots on his cheeks, his gaze unbroken, his thoughts strugghng in the depths, unable to rise to any clarity.

"Lord—" he commenced, strangely breathless.

"—Ripples," Burke said, completing the name and restating his identity. "I worked very hard on that piece of writing, Mr. Eden, I can promise you that And for every accusation that I wrote, ten were left unwritten, and, based on what I know now, the content of that essay pales in comparison with what I should have written."

Still John stood before him, stunned. Suddenly he whirled about and reached for the pistol which recently he'd placed in Alex's hand. But the big man moved back, concealing the weapon behind him, shaking his head. "No, John. The game's got new rules now and you must abide by them."

Though Mary was expecting another violent confrontation, John's perennial stance when his will was blocked, he seemed willing to abide by Alex's judgment. He looked back toward Burke. "Bare fists, then," he agreed readily. "Where?"

Burke shrugged. "The courtyard."

"When?"

"Now?"

John hesitated. "In a quarter of an hour."

"I'll be there."

Without another word, John left the room. Alex stayed long enough to show them his distressed face, as without words he begged for everyone's forgiveness. Then he too was gone, leaving the four of them alone.

Although she was no longer openly weeping, Harriet had yet to lift her head from the table. Now and then a single spasm caused her shoulders to shake, but for the most part she resembled a woman who had been beaten into submission.

Elizabeth, though standing upright, seemed incapable of looking directly at anyone and instead chose to focus on the floor at her feet.

But as always Mary's pressing concern was for the man standing alone at the end of the room and, as she moved toward him, she lightly touched the two wounded women in passing, then ran the rest of the way into his arms, where he received her warmly, trying to ease her tears with soft entreaties, "Don't, please. It will be all right."

Though locked in his embrace, which generally provided her with all the comfort she needed, she heard the madness of his words. All

right? Nothing in the world would ever be all right, not after all that had been said and done here tonight. And the worst of it was that it was not yet over.

"Please don't, Burke," she begged. "It will serve no purpose."

"Oh, but it will," he soothed, trying to help her to understand. "It will serve his purpose as well as mine."

She looked up at him, bewildered by his words. Beyond his shoulder she saw Alex Aldwell giving the watchmen instructions of some sort. Their plain faces seemed to reflect her own confusion.

"Go with Elizabeth," Burke ordered. "I'll come for you shortly."

"No."

When she refused to obey, he looked down on her, then left the room.

"Burke?"

Though she called after him twice, he refused to stop. She called a third time, though her voice sounded weak and far away.

He wouldn't alter his course, she knew it, any more than John would alter his. In desperate need of understanding, she looked over her shoulder toward the two women at midtable.

But there was no understanding to be shared, only new grief blending with old.

Mary stared at the two, then reached out for the back of Burke's chair, empty now. Though lacking, it was the nearest support, and she was in need. ...

Recovered, at least to the extent that she could function, Elizabeth summoned Peggy out of her stunned state and with the aid of two other maids instructed them to assist the Countess Dowager to her chambers and to remain there with her for the rest of the night. Under no circumstances were they to permit anyone to enter the room. Peggy nodded, understanding.

Then Elizabeth turned her attention to Mary, who continued to cling to the back of Burke's chair, still in her wedding dress, though now she looked merely foolish.

"You, too," Elizabeth commanded gently. "I'll take you to your chambers, where I want you to—"

"No!"

"It will serve no purpose," she counseled, hearing in her words the exact echo of Mary's words to Burke. "If they must fight—and I be-

lieve they must—Burke's decision was wise. And FU ask Alex to stop them before—"

"No," Mary repeated, not looking up. Her voice suddenly grew hard. "Let them finish it. I want to see what it looks like—the sight of two men beating each other senseless."

Against the hardness, Elizabeth had no defense. "Mary, please. Spare yourself—"

"No. I want to see it all." Then she added with complex female cunning, "And I want them to see me watching them."

That was all she said. Slowly she pushed away from the chair, took a last look at the remains of her wedding banquet and proceeded through the door at the end of the room.

Elizabeth knew that she should follow after her immediately. The appearance of strength was impressive, but in the event it was just fagade, someone should be with her. Suddenly she suffered a deep dread. On the sideboard she spied a decanter of brandy and hurried toward it, confident that she would never have greater need for it.

She drank quickly, several burning swallows. Her eyes watered. As the warmth entered her throat, she lifted her head and looked toward the door, saw a steady parade of servants, upper level as well as lower, all hurrying toward the courtyard. Apparently the word of this grand theatrical had spread.

Then she must join them, though she wished with all her heart that someone in authority would send her up to her chambers, as she'd recently sent Lady Haniet.

She found Mary at the top of the Great Hall steps, looking out over the incredible scene. About forty watchmen had formed a large circle directly at the center of the inner courtyard. They stood in perfect symmetry a distance apart, each supporting a standard topped with a flaming torch. Though it was black beyond that ring of fire, it was as bright as day within it.

Around the outer edges of the circle stood the entire staff of Eden Castle. On the right was the Keep and what once had been the Charnel House and, beyond that, Elizabeth saw the solitary black finger of the whipping oak.

In quiet despair she compared the two barbaric visions: one ancient and imperious, the fight ring as old, yet more democratic, though the purpose of both was identical, two arenas where one human being could inflict senseless pain on another.

In an attempt to escape her own thoughts, she moved into position behind Mary. "You're chilled/' she whispered, observing a faint trembling in her shoulders. "Shall I fetch a shawl for—"

"No," Mary said, though she never altered the direction of her vision to the spot where Burke stood, coatless, his white shirtwaist like a gleaming eye in the red-black scene, talking quietly with Alex Aid-well. They seemed so calm. They might have been indulging in little more than a quiet post-dinner conversation.

EHzabeth noticed a distinct silence falling over the courtyard, the once chattering servants standing at attention, their heads swiveling in several directions, up to the top of the steps where Elizabeth and Mary stood, back to the center of the ring where Burke and Alex were quietly chatting. A few even looked over their shoulders, bewildered by the missing half of this macabre show.

If EHzabeth had felt so inclined, she could have informed them that John Muney Eden would not appear until he was certain of ev-er^'one's undivided attention.

As though to prove her thoughts, there he was, appearing in the Great Hall arch less than ten feet from where Elizabeth stood. He was coatless, as was Burke, his trousers tucked into highly poHshed black boots, his long hair slightly mussed.

Compelled to make one last effort to alter the inevitable, Elizabeth went to his side. "John, please," she entreated, "please call this madness off. I'm certain that Burke would agree. Whatever differences you have, you share many similarities as well. For Mary's sake, please!"

Standing close to him, she was certain that he'd heard every word. But he walked past her and Mary as well, never looking to the right or left.

The earlier silence of the night was nothing as compared to that which descended on the inner courtyard now, the only sound that of John's boots as he strode across the gravel and entered the circle.