But apparently Frieda didn't. "Come on, you two. Leave the lass alone. She's been ill-treated by someone, and recently, too."
"We have no intention of mistreating her, Frieda, you old scold.**
"We just want a look. How will that hurt?"
Slowly the two women came forward, encircling her, touching her flesh, one cupping her hand about her buttocks, the other tracing a line with the tip of her finger, commencing on her lower abdomen and circling her breasts.
"A beauty," one murmured.
"Quality."
"What do you suppose happened here?"
Not until Mary felt their hands on her head did she find anything worthy of objection. One of the women had re-emerged in her vision and was no longer smiling, as though at last she'd seen the ugliness.
As Mary lowered her head, she heard Frieda step forward. "Come on, that's enough. Go pick on those who know you," she commanded.
"Oh, my," one said, smiling sweetiy. "Frieda's got herself a new pet."
"Private property, eh, Frieda?"
"Get out, both of you!" Frieda ordered.
To Mary's surprise, the two obeyed, though both stopped at the door and watched as Frieda lowered the black dress over Mary's head and pulled it into place, buttoning the endless buttons which led all the way up to her chin, adjusting the sleeves which fell over her hands. Too large, the dress hung on her in ridiculous fashion, though she was warm and grateful for that.
Suddenly something caused the two women at the door to break into laughter and, begrudgingly, Frieda joined them, and though all three were staring at Mary, the sound of their laughter was so good, such a blessed relief after the weeks of constant tears, that Mary smiled back at them, drawing the shapeless dress about her, which caused them to laugh even harder. . . .
Eden Castle Late November 1870
Well accustomed to solitude and silence after the ten years of her self-imprisonment, Lady Harriet Eden preferred the castle in this somnambulist state. But today she suspected that something was wrong, for the schedule was off, Peggy was late.
As the minutes passed, recorded by the ticking of the clock, Harriet lifted her head toward the door, alarm increasing. Curious. In the past she'd scolded Peggy for adhering to so rigid a schedule. Yet now—
There! An unmistakable footstep, though more than one. Peggy in the company of someone? Without precedent, that, for Peggy knew better than anyone how Harriet disliked visitors except the family, but there was no family at Eden now except Lila, who was confined in her pregnancy.
Several times early in the summer Harriet had tried to see her. But her invitations had been rejected each time and finally Peggy had told her that on John's instructions Dr. Cockburn had confined the young woman to her chambers without company.
With no desire to cross John or jeopardize in any way the birth of his third child, Harriet had retreated into her own solitude, the months had passed and most of the time she even forgot that she was not in the castie alone.
Harriet heard the door open and heard Peggy's voice as strained as she'd ever heard it. "Milady, forgive my tardiness, but I—"
"What is it?" Harriet demanded, hearing in the taut voice a confirmation that something was wrong.
**I was just on my way up with your luncheon tray, milady, when I was approached by—two women—"
"Who?"
"I don't know their names, milady. They were hired some months ago by Mr. Eden to look after Lady Lila. They live apart and keep to themselves."
"And why did they approach you?" Harriet asked, wondering briefly where Molly was, Lila's devoted maid.
There was a pause, Peggy reluctant to answer. "I would prefer for them to tell you, milady. They are right outside. With your permission—"
Standing before her chair, Harriet hesitated to give her permission. She disliked prying servants. Whoever these women were and whatever their message, she was under no obligation to have any dealings with them. Over the years John had hand-picked a large and trustworthy staff. The management of Eden was in their hands. She wanted nothing to do with it.
To that end, she was about to say "No," when she heard Peggy again, a peculiar tone of entreaty in her voice. "Forgive me, milady, but I think you ought to see them. Something terrible is happening and you're the only one—"
Though only a moment before Harriet had thought with pleasure on her lack of responsibility, now, hearing that tone of need in Peggy's voice gave her a good feeling, made her feel necessary, no longer an invalid.
Lifting her head to be certain her veil was in place, she said, "Show them in, Peggy, but warn them to be brief."
"Thank you, milady."
As she heard the maid leave the room, Harriet debated whether she should receive them seated or standing. But there was no time to reach a decision, for she was aware of a scuffle of steps and a sniffling, as though someone were weeping and trying to conceal it.
"Straighten up," she heard Peggy whisper, "then identify yourselves and state your message."
"Me name's Agnes, milady."
"And I'm Louise—"
Peggy interrupted. "One spokesman will be enough. You there, you do the talking."
It took the appointed "spokesman" a moment to collect herself, then at last Harriet heard, "My apologies, milady, for bothering you
like this, and we put it off, she and me, as long as we could, but we got to live with ourselves, now, don't we?"
"Get on with it," Peggy ordered.
"Well, milady, we was hired, you see, and there's four of us, to keep an eye on the young Mrs. Eden."
"Who hired you?" Harriet asked. Lila had her personal staff. Why were four more needed?
"Oh, Mr. Eden himself done our hiring last summer, it was, after all the big goings-on—"
Where is Molly? Harriet wondered again and was on the verge of asking when suddenly she heard weeping in the room, heard Peggy moving toward the sounds of distress.
"Now, that won't accomplish anything, will it?" she asked, soothing and scolding at the same time. "Go ahead. Talk to milady. Tell her just what you told me."
The woman tried to speak around her tears. "Oh, milady, it's terrible, it is. I ain't ever seen anything so tenible in me life. And the suffering. And that poor lass tries not to cry out, but sometimes she can't help herself and—"
Alarm increasing, Harriet sat up on the edge of her chair. "What are you talking about?"
"Her, milady," the voice replied, half in anger that she wasn't making herself clear. "Mrs. Eden, that's who!"
"Is she ill?"
"Ill, milady?" parroted the flat voice. "She's dying."
Harriet stood and counseled herself prudence. Servants tended to hysteria. "Surely you don't mean—"
"I mean just what I says, milady, and more.'*
"She always has difficult pregnancies."
"This ain't no pregnancy, milady," the voice insisted.
"Please explain."
"Oh, she's swelling right enough," the voice went on, "but there's no babe growing inside her."
As fresh sobs filled the room, Harriet stood motionless, trying to sort out the hysteria from the truth. An idea occurred and she voiced it, convinced that the woman was not qualified to pass medical judgment.
"Have you seen pregnancies before?" she asked.
"Seen them!" the voice replied. "That's why I was hired, milady. I'm a professional midwife, I am. I've delivered babes from one end
of Devon to the other. I've seen *em come into the world sideways, -backwards and upside down, and I've guided and helped ever last one of them. Oh, I know new life, milady, the feel and smell and the sound of it, and I'm here to tell you that there ain't no babe growing inside Mrs. Eden, but a monstrous lump that is on the verge of killing-"
Harriet didn't want to hear that again and cut her oflf. The doctor—I thought that the doctor was—"
"A jackass, milady, if you'll forgive me. I wouldn't let old Cock-bum treat me dog for ticks."
Dying-
The word approached her stealthily. If something was wrong, John would expect her to take charge. Still, she'd tried in the past to see Lila and had always been turned back by the doctor. And was the woman telling the truth or was she exaggerating, placing Harriet in the middle of a power struggle with the doctor?
As the questions occurred to her, she was aware of Peggy beside her. "The castle is filled with gossip, milady," she whispered. "All the superstitions about death running riot. They seem to feel that something bad's about to happen, and I—thought you should know."
Harriet nodded. While the other two women might tend toward hysteria, she knew from loving experience that Peggy was a rock. If Peggy said something was wrong that warranted Harriet's attention, then on that basis alone she had better look into it.
Still, there was the obstacle of Lila's locked door. "If I go," she asked, "will the doctor let me pass?"
"You leave the jackass to us, milady," the voice responded. "He's stuflEng his gullet now and he always treats himself to an afternoon nap. If you would be so good as to come at this moment, we will see that you—"
"Get my shawl, Peggy," Harriet commanded.
A short time later, after having descended two flights of stairs and made their way through the core of the castle, Harriet was aware that they should be entering the west wing.
"There it is, milady," someone whispered behind her. "Up ahead. If you will wait here, I'll see if the old fool is about."
Harriet was aware of Peggy guiding her close to the wall, the entire episode beginning to take on a rather exciting sense of stealth and melodrama.
Then she heard something that radically changed her sense of
sport, a moan, so low as to be scarcely audible, but a sound of pain all the same, and worse, pain that had been endured for too long without respite.
"What was that?" Harriet asked, aware of Peggy hovering close before her.
"I'm—not sure, milady."
"What's taking them so long?" she demanded and was on the verge of suggesting that they proceed without the assistance of the maids when she heard Peggy announce, "There, they are motioning us forward. Come, milady, let's see this through and go back where we belong."
Harriet was aware that they were passing through a door, and was aware further of an atmosphere of pain so strong that it was a thing of substance, a magnetizing center which seemed to emanate from—
"Over here, milady," Peggy directed. "The bedchamber is in this—"
Harriet knew the direction and was convinced that with no assistance at all she could have found her way into the small room to her left, the air about her filling rapidly with a noxious odor, worse than merely unclean linen, but som.ething poisonous.
The spirit of death was in this room, hovering close, fully welcomed, yet holding back.
"Peggy-"
"Here, milady," said a voice which Harriet did not recognize.
"Guide me to her and be my eyes, please."
She felt the famihar hand in hers, drawing her closer to the source of the suffering, a peculiar silence coming from the bed. Without speaking she was aware of Peggy taking her hand and placing it on a hard, misshapen lump of human flesh, feverish-feeling even through the thickness of a muslin nightshirt.
"It's not a pregnancy, milady," Peggy whispered.
Weary of the translation, Harriet took over for herself, pushed the shawl off her shoulders and stepped closer to the bed, both hands at work, relying solely on the "eyes" in her fingertips, which traced the lump the length and breadth of the abdomen, the skin stretched taut, something filling that small cavity at twice its normal capacity, her hands lifting the nightshirt to feel the skin itself dampened by fever, the waist lost in the swelling, the breasts heaving as though Lila were panting.
"Is she awake?" Harriet asked of anyone who cared to answer.
Receiving no reply, as though the sight of the suffering had
shocked the others into silence, she commenced a gentle exploration of the face and neck and was aware of the matted hair upon the pillow, the parched lips, the dampness of perspiration coating everything.
Still unable to determine whether or not there was a consiousness behind the sujffering, Harriet kissed the fevered cheek and whispered, "Lila, can you hear me?"
"I think she hears you, milady," one of the maids volunteered, "but she can't talk much."
"She asks for her papa, but that's all," another said.
Dissatisfied with both responses, Harriet leaned close. "Lila, please —can you hear me?"
The face beneath her fingers wrenched to one side. Harriet could feel the pressure behind the eyes as the young woman struggled to digest a fresh pain.
Hoping only to absorb a portion of the suffering, Harriet sat on the side of the bed and lifted Lila to her, cradled her, and tried not to concentrate on the wobbling head, mute proof of her weakened state.
The spasm passed and, as she lowered her back to the pillow, voices evolved behind her.
"It's a growing tumor, milady, that's what it is. I seen the likes of it before in my auntie down in Weymouth. She swolled up and it wasn't no pregnancy, we all knew that, 'cause she was an unmarried lady and never knowed a man—"
The voice broke. "It was awful, milady. It got to where she couldn't use the chamber pot—"
"And herself there hasn't either for several days—**
"All she passes is blood, milady."
As their voices blended, Harriet caressed the burning forehead and tried not to think on the beautiful young girl with hair the color of the sun.
The dried lips were trying to form words, but all she heard was a gasping.
"Harriet-"
"I'm here, Lila," she replied, clasping the small hand between her own. "I wanted to come earlier but they wouldn't let me see you."
The voice was trying to form additional words, and Haniet bent over.
"My—children," Lila whispered. "May I—see my children?"
"Of course you may,** Harriet promised. "I'll send for them immediately."
"And—my—father?"
Harriet hesitated. She would not make a promise she could not keep, although she vowed, "I'll write to him this very day and send the message with the fastest courier."
The breath, slight to begin with, was fading. Still there was more. "And Wolf. Please bring Wolf to me. I've—lost the path—"
Harriet hstened, baffled. Wolf, she knew, was the gray cat that had been given the run of the castle. It would present no difficulties locating him. But what did she mean, "I've lost the path"?
"I'll find him, Lila," Harriet promised. "Now you must rest."
"No, please," came the voice. "I won't be afraid if Wolf is here. He promised to go with—me—"
"Go where, dearest?" Harriet murmured. "You must get well first, then—"
"Please find him," Lila begged. "He knows the way."
Coming from behind, Harriet heard one of the maids. "She's not in her mind, milady. She says the most curious things."
Harriet felt Lila's hand insistentiy pulling her down. "Please find him. I—don't want to stay here any longer. Please—"
Harriet followed each contortion of those slim fingers until one by one they became powerless, as a new wave of pain overtook her. There was a gasp and then she was still. Terrified, Harriet called for assistance.
"Is she-"
"Not dead yet, milady, just unconscious."
Silence followed this announcement and, although she asked for forgiveness, Harriet caught herself wishing that death had descended and claimed her. As long as she was at prayer, she bowed her head and asked God for guidance, fully aware that the burden of action was upon her.
To that end she stood from the bed and commenced issuing orders, amazed that beyond the uncertainty of the first few words it was easy, an ancient ability instilled in her by centuries of breeding.
"Peggy," she commanded, assigning the first task to that reliable woman, "I want you to fetch my writing portfolio. I will write a letter to John and I want it dispatched immediately by two couriers riding the fastest horses, and there are to be no stops until they reach London and place the letter in John's hand."