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.
"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 e
nd 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—"
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