The Women of Eden (15 page)

To one side knelt Dhari, her dark eyes alive with shared love, the entire sitting room bathed in a diffuse golden glow of midafternoon sun.

Elizabeth kissed the crown of Frederick's curls and smiled as Lila

helped Stephen with a low note, the little boy's face a solemn mask as he endeavored to perform well for Harriet.

Curious, Elizabeth mused. Though both boys were fair like John, they bore a much greater resemblance to Lila, their complexions hers, like fine porcelain.

As the nursery song rose with sweet clarity, Elizabeth contented herself with Frederick, his chubby fist wrapped around her finger. How peaceful it was here; how different from the crowded public rooms below!

All at once she heard two voices joined in the song. Looking across the room, she noticed Harriet had drawn the child close, her voice in perfect harmony.

The duet pleased all. Stephen grinned at his mother but never lost a beat, and Lila sat back on her heels, her pretty rose taffeta skirt spread out about her, and clapped her hands in undisguised glee. With a smile she glanced across at Elizabeth, as though wanting to include all.

Moved, Elizabeth tightened her grasp on Frederick and thought sadly, here was John's painting. Here were the Eden women, with one notably absent, but here in their true domain. How much more appropriate this, as opposed to that ridiculous canvas concealed beneath the shroud in the library.

As they were approaching the last stanza of the nursery song, Elizabeth thought that all they lacked was Mary's voice, and the thought shattered the peace of the room and dragged Elizabeth's attention back to the problem with which she'd arrived at Eden.

Mary.

She'd not seen her since their arrival. The first evening she'd managed to steal a moment with John, and tersely he'd informed her that he'd located Mary on the headlands, had found her distraught and had personally assisted her to her chambers.

Two days ago, bewildered by Mary's prolonged absence from all public rooms, Elizabeth had climbed to her private apartments in the family wing, only to find two stewards outside her door who had informed her that Lady Mary was not feeling well and had asked not to be disturbed.

Nothing unusual there. Mary frequently took to her bed during extreme excitement.

Then today she'd again stopped by Mary's apartments and had been told by the same two stewards that Lady Mary was preparing

herself for the evening's Festivities and had aslced not to be disturbed. Again a reasonable request. Elizabeth knew that John had asked Mary to sing for his guests tonight and, wanting to do well, undoubtedly she was saving herself. For the second time Elizabeth had accepted the words of the stewards without question.

As the harmony at midroom was winding down, she found herself inchned to question everything. To impose three days of seclusion on herself was most unlike Mary Eden. But perhaps it hadn't been total seclusion. Maybe Harriet had seen her, or Lila, or Dhari. Perhaps that door had only been closed to Elizabeth, and as the thought caused minor pain, she moved away from it and joined the others in applause for the song which had just ended.

"Lovely," she called from the window seat, as Harriet enclosed the blushing Stephen in her arms.

At the conclusion of this embrace, Lila reached out for her son and drew him close.

Frederick, feeling left out, scrambled off Elizabeth's lap and ran to join the embrace, approaching his mother and brother with awkward two-year-old exuberance and almost knocking them over in an attempt to find his way into the shelter of her arms.

Laughing, Lila sat on the floor and took both her sons with her, a tumbhng scene of maternal love which caused Elizabeth to suffer a twinge of envy. How she would have adored children, her own children!

In an attempt to throw off the mood, she left the window seat and joined the laughter, taking up a position behind Harriet's chair. "What a secret you've kept from us all, Harriet!" she said, smiling. "I had no idea you had such a lovely voice. Now I know where Mary derives her talent."

Harriet grasped her hand. "I amuse myself," she said modestly. "During my confinement I would sing to pass the hours."

Standing behind Harriet's chair, Elizabeth made eye contact with Lila, a shared surprise at the unexpected reference to the past, to that nine-year imprisonment when she'd blinded herself, shut herself away from all contact with the world.

Why?

Lacking an answer and suspecting that she'd never have one, she hugged Harriet and was just starting to join Lila and Dhari where they sat on the floor playing with the boys, when a knock sounded at

the door, immediately followed by an aggressive voice. "Lady Lila, I've come for the children. It's their dinnertime."

Lila and Elizabeth exchanged a glance, their mutual loathing of Miss Samson, the nursemaid, clear. Aware that her time with her children was limited, Lila gathered both to her.

"Bitch," Ehzabeth muttered.

"So soon?" Harriet whispered, her regret as deep as the others'.

Lila leaned forward, the happiness of her face annihilated by the imminent loss. "I can care for them, Elizabeth," she begged. "Why won't John let me—"

The knock came again. "Come, Lady Lila, you have exceeded the hour by ten minutes as it is."

As Lila grasped her children, Elizabeth stood, recalling the countless times she'd begged John to fire the harsh old nursemaid and return the boys to Lila.

But he would hear none of it. Proper children had proper nursemaids.

"You are in there. Lady Lila," the voice came again. "I know you are. Let's not have a scene. You know the rules, laid down by Mr. Eden himself."

"Oh, for God's sake, let her in," Harriet muttered.

At last Dhari stood, and Elizabeth saw the same perplexed look on her face, her inability to understand why a mother would be denied her own children.

As she approached the door, the knock sounded again, and Elizabeth saw Dhari fling open the heavy oak door with such force that it crashed against the wall. Still Dhari stood, as though blocking the entrance of the massive woman who stood on the other side, flanked by her three assistants.

From where she stood, Elizabeth saw the confrontation hold, saw the stem face of Miss Samson assess the woman before her, that look of unspoken censure in her eyes with which most of the servants viewed Dhari. How Dhari endured it, Elizabeth had no idea, and frequently in the last nine years she'd begged the woman to return with her to London and, while Dhari seemed more than willing, John would not permit it.

She saw Dhari step aside before the glacial, condemning gaze of Miss Samson, a bland, broad, constantly red-splotched face which wore a mask of perfect confidence.

Without words, the woman bobbed politely to everyone in the

room, then moved to where her two small charges were clinging to their mother's neck. Without speaking, she lifted her hand in signal to her assistants waiting in the corridor. As they came forward, one reached down for Stephen's arm, the other for Frederick's, while at the last minute both children protested the rude separation. "Mamma, let us stay!"

Then it was over, the nursemaids marching both boys out of the door. As the gloomy parade left the room, Elizabeth turned back to the window seat, grateful that she did not have to witness the separation daily.

Well, someone had to move. They all, with the exception of Harriet, were expected downstairs, fully groomed, in less than four hours. Not that Elizabeth was totally dreading it. According to Richard, with whom she had enjoyed a private luncheon, Charlie Bradlaugh, her good friend from London, had arrived early this morning, to John's annoyance, or so Richard had said. At first he had refused to receive the radical free-thinker, but the porter in charge of the guest list had pointed out that Mr. Bradlaugh was listed as her guest and the man had been admitted, though he'd been asleep all day, recovering from the journey.

Elizabeth would have to apologize for the embarrassment, a chore that was becoming habit with her where John was concerned. But no matter. She greatly looked forward to Charlie's company tonight, and she even looked forward to the unveiling of that silly painting, aware that the artist, Lawrence Alma-Tadema, had himself arrived about noon in the company of several distinguished gentlemen from the Royal Academy.

"Come, Lila," Elizabeth urged, the need to stir life into the frozen room strong within her.

As Elizabeth led the way to the door, she looked back at Harriet. "Are you sure you won't join us?" she asked, knowing the answer in advance but issuing the invitation anyway.

"No, thank you," Harriet murmured. "An invalid does have rights, and with what relief I will now exercise mine."

Elizabeth had just turned about when she heard Harriet's voice again. "One small favor, Ehzabeth," she asked.

"Anything."

"If time permits, would you ask Mary to come and see me? I know she's in the castle. Peggy told me so. I had thought she would come to see me today, but—" She broke oflE and gave a self-deprecat-

ing laugh. "As you can see, I'm without pride. I hunger for my daughter's company, and I'd go to her, if I could."

"She's—not been to see you at all?" Elizabeth questioned, baffled.

Harriet shook her head. "I've sent Peggy several times, but she's always greeted by two stewards who tell her that Mary is . . . indisposed, or resting."

Having heard those tales before, Elizabeth turned to Lila and Dhari. "Have either of you visited with Mary?"

Dhari shook her head, as did Lila.

"Do you suppose she's ill?" Harriet asked, concerned. "She arrived with you, didn't she, Elizabeth? Was she well then? Did you see her to her chambers?"

The mystery was increasing for Harriet as well. "You've not seen her either since your arrival?"

"No," Elizabeth confessed. "I'm sure there's no cause for worry," she comforted. "You know Mary as well as I. She's probably just—"

"Has John seen her?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth lied, knowing full well that John was the last to have seen her.

Apparently at that moment Harriet sensed the new tension in the room. "John informed me that ... he was sending her away ... to some school, I don't know. . . ." Agitated, Harriet was in the process of struggling out of her chair.

"No, you wait here," Elizabeth insisted. "I'll go right away and report back to you."

Dhari stepped forward, indicating that she would wait with Harriet. At the door Elizabeth looked back. "I won't be long." She closed the door behind her and turned to see Lila in conversation with Harriet's maid, Peggy.

At the end of the brief exchange, Elizabeth reached out for Lila's hand and the two started down the corridor. In an attempt to fill the worried silence, Elizabeth smiled. "We have yet to have our long talk," she said, recalling how on past visits she and Lila always managed to steal a day together.

A look of need crossed Lila's face. "I'd like that."

"Well, then," Elizabeth said, "you run along. Try to rest for a few hours."

Lila nodded and suddenly reached out and drew Elizabeth to her, an unexpected embrace of such need that Elizabeth could only cling

to her and try, without words, to reassure her that any nightmare could be endured.

Then the woman broke free and ran down the corridor toward her apartments. As she disappeared around the corner, EHzabeth held her position. Coming from four floors below she heard the distant echo of men laughing, and somewhere musicians were tuning their instruments. Time was growing short and, as always, the main problem was—Mary.

As she started off down the corridor, she suffered remorse for her condemnation of the young woman. There were forces within Mary, an incredible capacity to love and be loved, a generosity of spirit unlike anyone Elizabeth had ever known. How wrong of her to have mentioned so bluntly to Mary her dissatisfaction with their living arrangements. What an intolerable rejection that must have seemed to the young woman after a lifetime of rejection.

Her step increased and, along with it, her need to apologize. As she turned the corner which led to Mary's apartments, she looked ahead and saw the two stewards guarding the door.

Elizabeth stopped and drew herself up. Well, she'd dealt with servants before and, although generally she was polite to a fault, she was not in any mood to brook their excuses. In spite of everything, she was eager to join the Festivities below, for she loved John dearly and always would.

Through John's genius, Eden Castle stood today in its present state, and all its occupants owed their well-being to this one man, who had taken a musty portfolio of seventeen ancient deeds and converted them into one of the most dazzling empires that England had ever seen.

Moved by her own thoughts, Elizabeth hurried toward the waiting stewards, determined to get past them to Mary, if for no other reason than to personally see that she was smiling, upright and beautifully groomed for her benefactor, John Murrey Eden. . . ,

Curled in an enclosed position on her mussed bed, from which she could see no single horizon that offered hope, Mary heard the voices outside her door, the two stewards who had informed her several days ago that it was Mr. Eden's desire that she keep to her chamber.

Although at first she had objected to the confinement, she had at last acquiesced, her decision helped along by her mirror, which by

nightfall on that first day had given back a reflected image of a blackened eye, caused by John's blows.

For the last three days she'd not even bothered to dress and had seldom left her bed. She'd passed the hours staring up at the heavy timbers overhead, listening to the hum of voices in the corridor outside her door.

But the two stewards had stood fast and, confident that they would stand fast again, she raised herself to her elbow and shook a strand of snarled hair from her face and looked down the length of her body, past the nightdress spotted with old porridge to her dirt-encrusted toes, where sand had filled her slippers on that day she'd tried to escape.

There had been no escape for her and she knew that there would be no escape—ever. After these two weeks John would send her away to prison walls behind which she would rot, unless she could take her own life first.