The Women of Eden

by Marilyn Harris

  "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.

  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.