The Women of Eden

by Marilyn Harris

  "Aslam, you're very quiet today," Richard commented. "No trouble, I hope, in getting off for a fortnight?"

  "No. No trouble."

  "And your studies?" Professor Nichols asked, joining in the enforced conversation.

  "Fine," Aslam replied, unable to look at either man.

  "We hear only glowing reports," Professor Nichols went on. "By Professor Kelsey's own admission, you frequently leave him far behind."

  Aslam could think of no response and offered none.

  "Aslam, are you happy here?" The blunt question had come from Richard, who leaned forward in his seat.

  Embarrassed, Aslam nodded. "Of course. Why shouldn't I be?"

  "You have no close friends."

  "I desire none."

  He'd not intended for his voice to be so sharp. He glanced at Richard, sorry for the look of hurt on his face. "My studies keep me very busy, Richard, as you know. I don't believe that John sent me here to make friends."

  "Still, a friend or two does help to ease our passage," Professor Nichols said.

  "All my hours are filled and need no easing." He dared to hope that was the end of it, but it was not to be, for in the next minute Professor Nichols raised his arm and rested it on the cushion behind where Aslam sat and asked warmly, "Would you do me a favor, Aslam?" he began. "Out of all the countless times we have made this journey together, I've longed to ask questions, but have refrained. All you must do is say no and I'll retreat."

  On guard, Aslam sat erect.

  "Tell me of India," Professor Nichols asked gently. "I know you were only a child when you left there, but there must be certain strong memories. I would love to hear it all from your lips. Do I know you well enough to impose on you in this manner?"

  In spite of himself Aslam smiled, feeling a breach in that wall of resentment he'd been building toward the man. "Not an intrusion. Professor Nichols," he said honestly. "My thoughts were of India when you—"

  "Then speak!" the man invited again with enthusiasm. "I'm certain that you've talked endlessly with Richard on the subject, but—*

  "No." Richard smiled. "Out of all the conversations that I've enjoyed with Aslam, not once have we spoken of India."

  "Well, then"—Professor Nichols grinned—"we have just defeated the tedium of this journey. Come, Aslam, clear your throat and your head and take us back with you to the origin of your birth. And leave nothing out, no memory of sight or sound or smell or touch. Share everything. Please."

  Aslam smiled. Never in all the years that he'd spent in England had he been issued such an invitation. Warming to Professor Nichols' invitation, he leaned forward in the seat and stripped off his hot jacket, a gesture which was greeted with approving applause from the two men.

  "India," he pronounced with soft bewilderment. . . .

  Eden Castle May 12, 1870

  Mary spotted them first, the turrets and towers of Eden Castle, rising like a solitary jewel from its setting on the headlands of the North Devon Coast. Briefly she suffered a curious mix of anticipation and dread.

  In an effort to cancel the splintered feeling, she said, "Look!" to Elizabeth, who sat opposite her and who had been strangely quiet during the entire journey.

  As Elizabeth leaned forward, Mary lowered the window and received her first scent of sea breeze mingled with heather. As a sense of homecoming swept over her, she murmured, "How lovely it looks! Banners and flags at every tower."

  Ehzabeth settled back in her seat, the prim feather on her bonnet keeping time with the rhythm of the carriage, as it had done for the past two days. In her lap was her notebook, which she had studied since they had left Bridgewater early that morning, going over her hst of fifty invited guests. John had granted all of them the privilege of issuing fifty invitations to private friends.

  The invitations had gone out months ago. Why was there now a need to endlessly study those names? Yet all of Mary's attempts at conversation had been blunted, and sensing that Elizabeth was stiU angry with her, the journey had been passed in silence.

  "You'd best close the window, Mary," Elizabeth counseled. "Your hair will be—"

  The sentence was never completed, and again Mary felt that silent anger. Mary was willing to make apologies, if she only knew what to apologize for.

  Reluctantly she obeyed, drew up the window and smoothed back a wisp of hair that had been dislodged by the force of the wind. As she settied in the seat an idea occurred to her. Perhaps Elizabeth's mood was not aimed at her at all, but rather at her disappointment that Charlie Bradlaugh had not been able to accompany them.

  Mary knew that Elizabeth was very fond of the man. Yet how surprised she had been when early Sunday morning Elizabeth had directed their driver around to Mr. Bradlaugh's rooms in Turner Street, Stepney. They both had taken morning coffee with him, while Elizabeth had practically begged him to accompany them now to Eden. But he'd declined, and Mary had thought wisely so. She was certain how John would have reacted to Elizabeth's arrival in the company of the notorious Charles Bradlaugh, radical, reformist, possessor of one of the most powerful personahties in all of England.

  "Elizabeth?"

  At the sound of her name, Elizabeth looked up, though her eyes merely skimmed over Mary's face before moving on to the passing moors outside the carriage window.

  Now, as horsemen approached, the carriage slowed. One rider glanced in the window and, seeing the occupants, lifted his gloved hand in salute and waved the driver on.

  As the carriage picked up new speed, Mary realized she had less than fifteen minutes to penetrate that cold mask which had fallen over those normally warm features.

  "Elizabeth?" she tried again. "Would the presence of Mr. Bradlaugh have made this journey more tolerable for you?"

  "It's been quite tolerable."

  "No, it hasn't. Not for you." Mary reached for Elizabeth's hand. "Please talk to me," she begged. "Are you still angry over what happened at Jeremy Sims'? It was so innocent, and I said that I was sorry."

  Elizabeth's forehead tightened. "Not innocent, Mary," she corrected sternly, "and I'm not blaming you entirely. A large portion of responsibility rests on my—"

  "Why must anyone be blamed?" Mary asked. "Jeremy Sims runs a respectable establishment."

  "I don't think John would agree."

  "And who is John to agree or disagree?" Mary retorted. "If poor old Jeremy Sims offends John, think ahead to Friday and the arrival of Chariie Bradlaugh—"

  At last Elizabeth looked directly at her. "They are my friends/' she murmured.

  "Exactly," Mary agreed. "Your friends and your life. What right does John have—"

  "That's enough!" Elizabeth snapped, bringing the exchange to a halt. "The point of all this confusion has been carelessly ignored by both of us."

  "And what would that be?"

  "Simple," Elizabeth replied. "It is that I can no longer take full responsibility for your—well-being—"

  Mary sat up.

  "—that John must make other arrangements for you, that we each have our own lives to lead, and—"

  Stunned, Mary only half-heard the words, but understood the meaning behind them, the pattern of her entire life, being passed from hand to hand, thinking at every turn that at last she'd found a secure haven, when in truth she'd found nothing.

  "Mary, please try to understand," Elizabeth begged, apparently seeing something on her face that alarmed her.

  "I understand," Mary said. "I'm in your way."

  "That's not true."

  "I seem to have an unfortunate propensity of getting in everyone's way. What precisely did God intend for young women to do? Why can't I have a cause and goals as you do, and friends as Richard does, as John himself? Why must I sit docilely and wait for someone's permission to live my life?"

  At some point her voice had risen along with her emotions and, unable to deal with Elizabeth's abandonment, she gave in to anger and saw through a blur the outline of the Gatehouse drawing nearer. It reminded her of a prison,
the prison of her childhood and now her adult prison. Elizabeth, the jailer, handing her over to John, the jailer. Where would they send her next? How many locked doors would she have to endure before—

  Nol She couldn't and wouldn't endure passively any longer, and though she lacked a scheme, she waited until the carriage slowed for the curved approach to the Gatehouse; then, without warning, she pushed open the carriage door, abandoning bonnet, gloves and Elizabeth, as she had been abandoned, not caring where she was going so long as her steps led her away from the coldness in the face opposite her and from the rising double grilles of the Eden Gatehouse, which

  now loomed before her as menacing as the double doors of Newgate Prison. . . .

  "Mary! Come back, Mary!"

  Elizabeth called her name twice and, without thinking, was just starting out the small door in pursuit when without warning the carriage started forward. Balanced half in, half out, she clung to the door.

  Her cry of distress summoned the attention of the driver, who brought the horses to a halt just outside the gate. Still struggling for balance, she saw several guards running to her assistance, saw as well a top-hatted gentleman in the carriage ahead peer back at her predicament.

  Her attention torn between her own narrow escape and the fleeing Mary, she scarcely took note of the score of men, led by the gentleman, who hurried toward her. Not until they were upon her did she realize the seriousness of her perch. If she had fallen to the ground while the carriage was moving, she would have been crushed under the wheels.

  "I say, are you—" The gentleman arrived first, his hands reaching up in an offer of assistance.

  Elizabeth took his hand, and it wasn't until she was standing on solid ground that she glanced up at the gentleman's face, seeing in the concerned features some element of recognition.

  He shared the recognition. "Elizabeth? My God, it is you! What in the-"

  Her attention still torn between Mary's sudden disappearance and the man smiling before her, she foundered. Briefly she closed her eyes and lost her balance and would have fallen had she not felt his arm about her shoulders.

  "I'm quite well," she lied, and looked up into the familiar face. John Thadeiis Delane. She hadn't seen Delane in years, not since she had closed her salon upon John's return from India.

  In an attempt to mask the awkward situation, she offered a weak explanation. "The carriage door fell open."

  As she placed the blame on the door, she glanced toward the rise of land which led to the headlands, searching for a glimpse of Mary's dark blue traveling suit. The young girl was nowhere in sight. Elizabeth felt a strong compulsion to leave the gathering of concerned men and run after her in pursuit.

  But it was clear that no one else had seen what had happened, and

  Elizabeth tried to still her rampaging nerves with the decision that it would be best not to compound the embarrassment with the stark announcement that Lady Mary Eden had been the cause of it all with her unannounced exit from the carriage.

  Elizabeth saw the guards, led by Delane, in a close inspection of the carriage door. Behind her she saw that four other carriages had arrived, the congestion about the Gatehouse getting worse. In Mr. Delane's carriage she saw another man peering through the small oval window.

  Enough! She'd not intended for her arrival to be such a theatrical. As for Mary, she wouldn't go far. There were steep cliffs in every direction. As soon as Elizabeth could disperse the excited men and get the carriages moving again, she would search for her, undoubtedly would find her weeping on some sandy beach, would offer her an apology, remind her that she loved her as though she were her own daughter, and while the decision that they part company had been difficult, it was for the best.

  Glancing through the Gatehouse, she saw the mountainous form of Alex Aldwell, John's personal bodyguard, hurrying toward the confusion. Trouble there. Alex would not be as easy to deceive.

  Struggling for control, Elizabeth stepped back to her carriage where the men, with mindless intensity, were studying the perfectly sound carriage door. "Mr. Delane," she called out, "please, I beg you. Return to your carriage. I did not intend for you to—"

  "It appears sound, Elizabeth," the man announced. "Still, one can't be too careful. If I were you I would have a new latch put on. Narrow escape, that."

  He stood directly before her, studying her closely. "What a pleasant greeting party for our arrival at Eden."

  She laughed. "A bit dramatic, I'd say. Wouldn't you? Ladies tumbling hither and yon from carriage doors."

  He stared down on her, something giving him pleasure. "I must confess," he said, "that when I received the invitation, I thought instantly of you, wondering if you would be present."

  "Be present!" she repeated, seeing Alex Aldwell thunder through the Gatehouse arch, heading toward them, "I wouldn't have missed these Festivities for the world, Mr. Delane. As you know, John Murrey Eden is my—"

  "What's going on?" The voice was strong and filled with the authority of the man who served John with blind love and who for his

  efforts was now one of the two men whom John trusted completely.

  He was about to bellow again when he caught sight of Elizabeth and his manner softened. "Oh, it's you, Miss Ehzabeth." He grinned. "We saw the pileup from the Great Hall steps, and John—"

  As he waved toward the Great Hall across the inner courtyard, Ehzabeth saw him, the tall, erect, fully bearded figure of the man whom she had raised as her own son and who now reigned over the entire kingdom of Eden and large portions of London as well.

  Dear God, how can I ever explain Mary's absence to him?

  The thought stirred her into action and she gave thanks for her ability to lace a secure public face over a disintegrating private one. "Alex—how good to see you!" She smiled, grasping the big man's arm. "I'm afraid I'm the culprit—or rather my carriage. The door gave way on the turn and I almost— "

  "She almost fell to the ground," Delane concluded sternly.

  "Lord," Alex muttered, shocked. "Well, I'll have a look at it. In the meantime, John—"

  "Yes, John," she interrupted, informing Alex that she was aware of the man waiting on the steps.

  "All right," Alex announced to the waiting guardsmen, "let's get things moving. Come, Miss Elizabeth, I'll ride in on the door with you. If it—"

  "That's not necessary," Delane insisted. "I offer her the security of my carriage for the—"

  Great Heavens! They were talking about a distance of less than a thousand yards. Elizabeth could have easily walked it and would have preferred it. But, looking up, she saw that Alex approved of the idea.

  "Good," he said, studying the line of carriages behind them, six in number now and two more just leaving the moors.

  Before she climbed into Delane's carriage, she glanced again toward that figure standing at the top of the Great Hall steps, movement all about him in the form of stewards with trunks hoisted upon their shoulders and an army of maids carrying hat and boot boxes.

  "May I help you, madame?"

  She looked up at the sound of the male voice coming from inside the carriage, a peculiar voice, not English. Her eyes, suffering the transition from bright sun to the shaded interior of the carriage, could not at first see. It was not until they all had settled for the short drive that she saw his face, a commanding face with even fea-

  tures, younger than Delane, with a full shock of dark hair, his handsome gray eyes watching her.

  By way of introduction, Delane said, "Elizabeth, give me the honor of presenting Mr. Burke Stanhope, from America."

  Elizabeth nodded, suffering a peculiar sensation that she had seen the man some place before. "Mr. Stanhope," she said, "let me apologize for my melodramatic entrance."

  "No apologies are necessary," the man said gallantly, something in his easy, open manner that was very attractive.

  "You're not injured, are you?" Mr. Stanhope inquired thoughtfully.

  "No, not injured, except my pride." She laug
hed, detecting just a trace of a soft "r" sound in his speech. From the Southern part of the United States was her guess.

  She was on the verge of asking what part of America he was from when she felt the carriage slow for the turn which would deposit them at the foot of the Great Hall steps and John Murrey Eden.

  Hurriedly she adjusted her bonnet and tried to adjust her feelings as well, and said cordially, "Permit me to be the first to welcome both of you to Eden Castle. I hope you enjoy your stay."

  "I'm sure we will," Mr. Stanhope said.

  At last the carriage came to a halt. As Delane and Mr. Stanhope drew on their gloves, Elizabeth's eyes remained fixed on John. How handsome he looked in his dark jacket, beautifully tailored to accommodate his broad shoulders, his fair hair flecked with gray now, still the image of his father!

  She smiled at the steward who was opening the carriage door and realized that within moments she would have to confront John with the distressing news of the missing Mary.

  Her head whirling with the complications of the awkward moment, she did not at first hear the voice calling her name from the shadows of the Great Hall. Only at the last minute did she look up to see Andrew Rhoades moving toward her.

  "Elizabeth." He smiled, enclosing her in an embrace, the touch of a man who once had shared her bed and who had given up his plea that she become his wife.

  Though she loved him dearly and would do nothing to hurt him, she had finally convinced him that such a marriage would be a disaster for both of them. Married, she would lose everything. As a spin-

  ster she enjoyed at least one or two male privileges, such as the right to own her own house.

  She brushed her lips across his cheek and broke out of his embrace before their past intimacies were made public for all those staring eyes.

  "Andrew, how good to see you," she murmured, one hand smoothing back his thinning hair, turning him to meet the two gentlemen behind her, who had observed everything.

  "Andrew, allow me to present Mr. John Thadeus Delane, whom I believe you know, and this gentleman is Mr. Burke Stanhope, an American who has honored us with his presence."

  Andrew shook Delane's hand. "Welcome to Eden, sir. I hope you will find everything here worthy of a good report,"