The Women of Eden Read Online Free PDF Page A

Elizabeth hurried to the bed, hfted the sobbing girl

    into her arms and held her close, the sobs not diminishing at the contact but increasing.
    "Oh, I hurt, Elizabeth," she wept. "I hurt so much."
    Elizabeth pressed Mary's head to her breast, understanding the hurt, but understanding as well the need for Mary to have the courage to face it. Yet how unfair. When Elizabeth had been Mary's age she had known dozens of men.
    But Mary—
    At the thought of her hopelessness, Elizabeth gathered the girl closer in her arms and with a nod of her head dismissed Doris, who already had seen too much. As the door closed, leaving them in private, Elizabeth commenced to rock gently, in an attempt to relieve the hurt and the emptiness.
    "There," she whispered, kissing the nape of Mary's neck, smoothing back the long hair, wondering for both their sakes how long it could persist. How often she had spoken to John of the problem.
    The girl is lovely. Men do look at her, and one day one will-Then would come John's slow-rising anger, reminding Elizabeth that he had entrusted Mary to her, that she was to "keep her busy, refine her, keep her safe."
    As the memory of those foolish words filled Elizabeth's head, Mary's sobs served as an appropriate counterpoint.
    Keep her safe I
    How was Elizabeth supposed to do that? No, it could not persist. As far as she could see, John had two options: either find a suitable husband immediately, or else place Mary under lock and key.
    With effort, Elizabeth stood and released Mary to the custody of the pillow. "You must sleep now," she said, drawing the coverlet up over her.
    Exhausted, Mary lay back, her eyes searching Elizabeth's face. "I love you so much," she whispered.
    "And I, you."
    "I'm sorry for what happened tonight," she murmured, a residue of tears chnging to her dark lashes. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."
    "No need," Elizabeth smiled, stepping away from the bed. "However will we explain those red, swollen eyes to John?" she added bleakly, convinced now more than ever that Mary must be given over to someone else.
    The separation would be painful for both of them. But it must

    come. With love and regret she looked down on the bed. Then, before her feelings incapacitated her, she left the room. . . .
    Behind the red brick fagade of the Stanhope mansion in Mayfair, John Thadeus Delane looked about and realized with amusement that this London house probably was the only surviving island of Southern American aristocracy left in the world.
    With the keen eye that had made him the great journalist and editor that he was, Delane sat in the elegant first-floor reception room, awaiting the late appearance of Burke Stanhope so that they might start their journey to Eden Castle. Tempering his impatience, Delane settled back in his chair, feeling fully his fifty-four years.
    In the splintered peace of an uncertain future and a glorious past, he released his journalist's eye and surveyed this luxurious room. Through the opened door he saw the servants, American Negroes, in white jackets and white aprons, scrubbing, polishing.
    Shifting his tall frame on the chair, Delane hoped that he would be spared the mad Caroline this morning. Now he mused anew over his affectionate relationship with this sad, exiled family.
    He had met Jack Stanhope first—when had it been? Late forties, not long after Delane had taken over the editorial reins of the Times. That summer he had journeyed to America and upon his request to be shown a flourishing cotton plantation he had been escorted to the magnificent Stanhope Hall outside Mobile, Alabama, where Jack Stanhope and his then-beautiful CaroHne had greeted him with such hospitality that his intention to stay a fortnight had stretched on into a month.
    Burke had been only a little boy, running through the high summer sun with his Negro companions, the best of Jack, the best of Caroline, the sole heir to a profitable though doomed world. Strange, but out of the three, Delane felt