The Women of Eden (81 page)

With Burke at center, Mary tucked protectively under one arm, Harriet under the other, Elizabeth tiailing behind—she did not mind, for a person could drown in the waves of joy washing over the three ahead—they proceeded into the shade of the Great Hall, then on up the steps to Harriet's chambers to focus on the promising future.

On April 18, Thursday, at three o'clock in the afternoon in the year 1871 one of the most beautiful weddings in the history of Eden took place in the small family Chapel buried in the heart of the castle.

Lady Mary Eden, only daughter of Lord James Eden, Fourteenth Baron and Sixth Earl of Eden Point and Lady Harriet Powels, wed Mr. Burke Stanhope of Mobile, Alabama, the United States of America.

By general consensus the only regret of the day was the fact that so few witnessed it: The Chapel filled with coral colored roses; the bride indescribably beautiful in a simply cut gown of white silk, her veil anchored by the diamond coronet of her station, and carrying a single white rose; the groom in dress blacks, viewing his bride with the expression of a man who had just glimpsed the shores of paradise.

Bishop Arthur Walsh of Exeter Cathedral presided over the High Anglican ceremony. As a special favor to Lady Harriet, and aware of the grief which this unique family had suffered, he made the journey to Eden, performed the ceremony, then returned to Exeter that evening.

Though the witnesses were few in number, their hearts were filled with happiness for the couple. Elizabeth was there, and Lady Harriet, and Harriet's indomitable maid Peggy, and Bates, the old butler, and five other upper-level servants who over the years had earned the affection and respect of the family.

As the groom placed the heavy gold band on the bride's finger, the witnesses felt the mysterious power of love. It invaded and conquered everything, and for all concerned nothing mattered but the two pledging their lives one to the other.

As they knelt before Bishop Walsh for the final prayer, only the discerning eye could see their hands at their sides, a subtle movement, their fingers seeking, finding, intertwining. . . .

"America!" Elizabeth gasped, apparently having heard only the key word of Burke's announcement.

Seated across the table in the Banqueting Hall v^dth the remains of her wedding feast before her and the reassuring clasp of her husband's hand beneath the table, Mary looked up at Elizabeth's shock. Curious, she'd expected that reaction from her mother, not Elizabeth.

"Why not?" Mary challenged lightly, hoping that Elizabeth would try to understand. She wanted nothing to mar this day, not even a pohte disagreement.

"But—America," Elizabeth murmured. She looked across at Burke. "You told me once that you had no desire to return there."

"Once I didn't—" He smiled, and Mary felt his hand tighten on hers beneath the table. Though he spoke on, she lost track of what he was saying, distracted by the lovely realization that she was Mrs. Burke Stanhope, that there was no power on earth which could separate them now.

"So, in a way it was inevitable," she heard Burke saying. As he launched forth into a comparison of futures in England and America, Mary settled back in her chair, only half-listening. Why not? The decision had been made and Elizabeth would come around. For now she was fascinated by certain new feelings.

Husband. Was there in the entire language a more powerful word?

A protector, a friend, a companion, a lover. What a masterful design of God's to enable His creatures to face the world by twos.

Slowly she bowed her head. Over and above her deep feelings of gratitude she continued to hear the soft hum of voices, Elizabeth no longer protesting but merely sad.

As Mary looked up she realized that they had yet to hear from her mother. At the first break Mary posed a direct question.

"And you. Mama—you've kept still. What is your opinion?"

At first there was no response, though Mar}' was aware of both Burke and Elizabeth watching along with her. Then all she said was, "It sounds like a great adventure, and you both know that I wish you well."

"But it's so far away!" Ehzabeth protested.

"Not far," Harriet countered. "Peggy keeps me well informed in daily sessions with all the London papers. Not so long ago she was reading to me of the new steamships, capable of crossing the Atlantic in eleven days. So it's not that far, Elizabeth, and think what fun we'll have sharing letters. You will write, both of you?"

"Of course we will!" Burke broke in, "and you both must come and see us."

Harriet laughed. "No, I think not. I do well to navigate these familiar corridors."

"Don't make a decision now," Mary said, not wanting a final an-

swer. She glanced across at Elizabeth and saw an expression of tender resignation on her face.

"Well, don't count me out," she said as though in mock warning. "I've lived all my life confined to this island. If you two can go traipsing across the ocean, then I very well may follow you one day. If I'm invited, of course."

"We shall construct special guest chambers"—Burke smiled—"just for you, Elizabeth."

"Let me know when they are ready," she replied, and Mary sensed a deep bond of affection between the two, which pleased her.

At that moment the stewards re-entered, two bearing a magnificent wedding cake four tiers high and adorned with roses and white satin streamers.

"Oh, how lovely!" Mary gasped.

As the steward placed the confection on the table, Mary took the silver knife and sliced four small pieces from the top tier. As she was performing this duty another steward filled the champagne saucers, and ultimately the servants departed and left the small but select wedding party alone again.

Feeling suddenly shy, Mary watched as her mother stood. "A toast. To my beloved daughter and her husband, who have been granted the most precious gift in heaven or earth, the reciprocal love of a desired mate." Her manner changed, became almost stem as she added, "Do not accept the gift lightly. It is given to so very few."

Mary thought Harriet would say more. But she did not. Slowly she sat back down in her chair in a new mood of sadness.

Then it was Elizabeth who took the floor with her customary self-confidence and said, "You both know I love you. You both know that my heart goes with you—" She paused, though Mary detected a twinkle in her eye as she added, "And I will not descend upon you until the birth of the first child. Then, if need be, I'll swim the Atlantic!"

Burke laughed, casing the tension, and all four glasses were lifted.

"Well, then," Elizabeth said, nibbling on the corner of her cake, "when do you plan to leave? Have arrangements been made? Have you set a date for us to dread?"

Burke leaned forward and was on the verge of replying when suddenly the door opened and Mary looked up to see Peggy. Without waiting to be summoned forward, the woman hurried to Harriet's

side. "Milady, I must speak with you," she whispered, loud enough for all to hear.

Awaiting Burke's reply concerning the date for their departure, Mary saw her mother brush the woman aside. "Not now, Peggy, please. Can't you see—"

"I must milady," Peggy insisted, leaning over the back of Harriet's chair.

"What is this?" Harriet demanded, angry. "Can't you see that we are-"

Then something caught her ear, a new sound, impossible to identify at first, then growing louder through the opened door, a shout, the sound of hooves reaching across the Great Hall and into the Banqueting Hall.

Mary saw Elizabeth slowly rise to the edge of her seat. "What is it, Peggy?" she demanded, unlike Harriet wanting a direct answer.

Peggy looked fearfully in her direction, then bent over Harriet's shoulder. "You told me to keep an eye out," she whispered. "Well, I did, and-"

Then they all heard it, the rattling stop before the Great Hall steps of a large carriage, the distant shouts of the watchmen, a steward calling for assistance.

"Who—is it?" Harriet asked in a dull voice, as though she knew the answer.

"It's him, milady," Peggy whispered.

The lovely golden glow left the room and was replaced by something cold and threatening as all four focused on the sound of footsteps coming across the Great Hall, a heavy-booted aggressive stride.

Beneath the table Mary reached for Burke's hand. Why couldn't fate have permitted them one small interval without interruption, without-Then he appeared before them, stopping in the doorway, the specter from Mary's nightmares, the man who had wanted her destroyed and who had almost succeeded. So involved was she with her own dread that she was scarcely aware of the silence emanating from everyone else. In the stillness she thought how old he looked and how ungroomed, his clothes mussed and dusty, his eyes buried in deep hollows moving slowly over certain specifics, the wedding cake, the half-filled glasses of champagne, Elizabeth, Mary, Burke, Harriet, as though he were silently calling the roll.

As the silence stretched on, Mary felt the heat of embarrassment

on her face and looked at Burke, who seemed to be the only one at the table capable of returning the man's steady gaze.

What does he want? Why does he come now?

As these questions assaulted her mind, Mary looked across at Elizabeth, who appeared to be studying the empty place before her with sad reflection, as though she had known that sooner or later it would come to this.

With weary determination, as though to end the tension before it destroyed them, Elizabeth leaned forward. "John," she began, not looking at him, "we are celebrating a very joyous occasion here, the occasion of Mary's wedding. Would you care to join—"

"I did not journey to Eden to attend a wedding," he said, winter in his voice despite the warm April evening.

"No," Elizabeth persisted patiently, "but as long as you are here—"

"I came only to fetch my sons," he interrupted, holding his position in the doorway, "which I shall do immediately. I feel that they will be better served in London than here."

Mary saw her mother's head incline suddenly forward. But the prevailing interest for her still stood in the doorway, that awesome figure of a man whom once she had considered godlike.

As she bowed her head she heard his voice, mocking, filled with hate. "So don't let me interrupt this private occasion," he went on, "I will be on the road back to London within the hour."

"John-"

Mary looked up at the sound of her mother's voice. But the man was gone. Mary saw him striding across the Great Hall, heading toward the stairs, and saw as well the ample figure of Alex Aldwell, who seemed torn between John's direction and the Banqueting Hall.

Predictably, he hurried after his master, and Mary's attention was drawn back to the table, to her mother, who appeared to be bent over v^ath mysterious grief.

Elizabeth was at her side, her face still bearing the strain of the encounter. "It's all right, Harriet," she soothed. "I think he'll keep his word. He just wants the boys, that's all. Then he'll leave again, I'm certain of it."

For all of Elizabeth's words of comfort, Mary saw her mother still bowed as though physically ill. Burke saw her distress as well and tried to ease it. "It's over, Lady Harriet," he said kindly. "I'm certain that he knows what happened here today, and is wise enough to know that he has no power—"

But nothing that was said had eased her mother in any way. And when a moment later Harriet started up from the table Elizabeth caught her. "What is it, Haniet?" she demanded, "and where are you going? I think it best if you wait—"

"The boys are not here."

Elizabeth grasped Harriet by the shoulders. "What do you mean?"

"What I said." Distractedly she shook her head. "Several days ago I gave Lord Harrington permission to take them to Ireland. He had just returned from London where he had tried repeatedly to see John."

Stunned by the announcement, Mary saw Burke and Elizabeth exchange a glance. "Leave now," she whispered. "Leave immediately, both of you. Don't stop to collect your things. I'll bring them when I-"

"No!" Burke's response was strong.

"There will be trouble," Elizabeth warned.

"Then all the more reason to stay."

As Mary watched, she saw her mother seated at the head of the table, the uneaten wedding cake before her, the spirit of the wedding party in shambles. Privately Mary agreed with Elizabeth. They should leave now. It would serve no purpose to inflame John further by their presence.

She was on the verge of joining forces with Elizabeth when she saw Burke settle into the chair next to her, signaling by his mood and manner that he had no intention of leaving.

"Burke, please," she begged, "Elizabeth's right."

"No," he repeated a second time. "I've avoided the man long enough," he added. "His quarrel is not with you," he said to Mary, "or with you," he went on to Elizabeth, "and not even you. Lady Harriet," he concluded. "I'm the offender, and as such—"

Then they heard footsteps, someone descending the staircase at a rapid pace.

Suffering a premonition of disaster, Mary sat on the edge of her chair and kept her eyes focused on the opened door, saw two servants dart past as though they were running for safety.

"John, I beg you," she heard Alex call, the man's voice drawing nearer.

Then there he was again, bearing no resemblance to the man who had stood in the doorway a short time before. Now his coat was unbuttoned, revealing a soiled shirtwaist. But it was his face that

alarmed her. She'd never seen such a face, save for the demented victims who were hauled through the streets of London inside iron cages on their way to Bedlam.

"Madam!" he shouted, his rage manifesting itself in every feature, all his attention focused on Harriet. "I believe we have need of words," he went on, and for the first time ventured beyond the threshold of the door, moving forward in a straight line until he stood directly over Harriet where she sat in her chair.

Mary saw Alex Aldwell take his place in the abandoned doorway, an expression of regret on his face.

"Did you hear me?" John demanded, hovering over the bowed woman. "I have just returned from the nursery, where I was given distressing news."

"Yes," Harriet whispered.

"Is it true?"

"It is."

Suddenly John grasped her shoulders. Under the duress of physical contact, Harriet tried to draw away. But he held her fast. Across the table Mary saw Elizabeth ease stealthily up.

"On whose authority do you send my children off with a lunatic?"

"He is not a lunatic, John," Harriet said calmly, sitting erect as though aware that she must not reveal her fear. "Lord Harrington was in London and tried to see you. You did promise—"

"I promised nothing—"

"Last Christmas—"

"I promised nothingl" John raged, and renewed his grasp on her shoulders with such force that she moaned and turned away.

Sickened by the cruelty, Mary closed her eyes and wished that she could block the sound of his voice as well.

"When did they leave?" he demanded.

"Several—days ago."

"Were they traveling alone?"

"No. Molly was with them, Lila's maid, and Lord Harrington's friend, Mr. Parnell."

"And their destination?"

Harriet paused. "I—do not know."

"You are lying!"

"I'm not. Lord Harrington wasn't certain—"

"And when will they return?"

"I—don't know that, either."

Suddenly in a violent gesture he half-lifted her from the chair. Elizabeth was on her feet, as was Burke, the two of them running toward the end of the table, Burke aniving first, dislodging Harriet from John's grasp and taking her place before him.

Mary went to her mother's side and guided her a distance away and looked back in time to see a crimson rage on John's face. As he hfted his arm, apparently willing to do battle with the man before him, she saw Burke counter with superior speed, his right hand converting instantly into a fist and landing squarely on John's left jaw, a blow that sent him reeling backward, where he stumbled and fell.

"You never cease to surprise me, Mr. Eden," he said quietly to the man on the floor at his feet. "I've never seen a man threaten a woman before. How does it make you feel?"

From Mary's position she could not see John. But she heard coughing and saw Elizabeth approach him on the opposite side of the table, a clean linen in hand, ready to extend it to him in assistance.

She saw Elizabeth stop suddenly, the linen still in her hand, her eyes focused on something out of sight beneath the table. Mary heard her whisper, "No," then saw her in slow retreat. She glanced toward Burke and saw him standing at the head of the table, an expression on his face which mirrored Elizabeth's, all his concentration fixed on something beyond Mary's range of vision.

"I don't believe that will solve anything, Mr. Eden," he said.

From the doorway Alex Aldwell found the courage to speak. "John, I beg you. Think what you are doing—"

Everyone in the room seemed frozen on some aspect of recognition that still eluded Mary. She was just starting toward the end of the table when she saw John rising to his feet, a trickle of blood slipping from the comer of his mouth, and in his hand, a gun, one of his dueling pistols, leveled at Burke.

"John, please," she begged, understanding now the fear in the room, the madman armed, the pistol ready for use. "Alex!" Mary called out.

Abruptly John stepped back, as though to bring them all vidthin his sight. "Hold your position, Alex!" he shouted. "I warn you. Stay where you are!"

The man halted his forward progress and looked helplessly at Mary, who in turn took note of the position of the gun, raised and leveled at Burke.

"Elizabeth," Mary whispered, "make him put it away."

"Put it away!" John parroted, rubbing his jaw with his free hand. "I have no intention of putting it away. And I assure all of you that it is in sound working condition."

Incredibly, Burke smiled. "I have no doubt of that, Mr. Eden. You are not the sort of man who would let his weapons grow rusty. Your good sense, perhaps your judgment, but not your weapons."

"Burke, please," Mary begged.

"No, let him speak," John cut in, his manner almost at ease, as though at last he were facing his true enemy. "I've waited a long time for this moment," he went on, his missing sons forgotten, everything forgotten but his contempt for the man standing before him. Suddenly his voice fell, though he continued to hold the pistol level. "I should have killed you last spring," he muttered.