Improbable Eden (24 page)

Reality was a string of empty days, like a necklace without jewels. Eden sent a long letter to her father, trying to cheer him—and herself—with accounts of her remedies for the King. She also scribbled a brief note to her foster family in Kent, should they be curious as to what had become of her since she had left London. Eden doubted that they'd care, and was certain they'd never believe her. That Eden Berenger, foster daughter of a Smarden cider maker, should be nursemaid to a king would strain the credulity of the entire village. Nor could Eden blame them.

But in fact she was traveling between Honselaardijk and Het Loo and Dieren and the House in the Wood, mixing salves and stirring elixirs that more often than not seemed to make William of Orange feel stronger. While His Majesty displayed an appropriate amount of appreciation for her skill, he made no attempt to go beyond the boundaries of strict etiquette. Keppel was always at his master's side, preventing any private interludes. Eden was relieved, yet felt guilty over not making more headway on her father's behalf.

The King had just returned from hunting at Het Loo when Eden saw him wave to her from the courtyard. Quickly she descended the broad brick steps and was about to make the obligatory inquiry after his expedition when she noticed that he was accompanied by a travel-weary Wilhem Bentinck.

Seeing Eden approach the sky-blue and golden gates, the King called out to her in an unusually animated voice, “Praise God! Wilhem has the money! Our thanks is infinite, Mistress!”

As grooms and servants scurried to help William and the other nobles dismount, Eden noted Keppel's ironic expression. She was surprised when he approached her, loosening his lawn cravat and perching on the edge of the courtyard fountain.

“
It's a tainted victory,” he said, keeping his voice low and abandoning his usual excessive mannerisms. “Your idea was clever, but it is Bentinck who has made it work. He wishes both of us ill, and now reaps his reward from the King's grateful hands.” Keppel's blue eyes snapped, revealing a harder core than Eden would have suspected. “You'll notice Godolphin didn't return, thus letting Bentinck hog all the glory.”

Eden looked beyond the marble dolphins that frolicked in the fountain. Keppel was right; Godolphin was nowhere to be seen. “But why did Sidney stay behind?” she asked, watching William and Bentinck share a stirrup cup.

Keppel reached inside the taffeta lining of his hunting coat and pulled out a sealed letter. “A friendly member of Bentinck's entourage gave me this outside the gates. It's for you, from Milord Godolphin.” Noting that the King had finally disengaged himself from the jubilant Bentinck, Keppel leaped from his place by the fountain. “Sire! We must celebrate! Let us rally round the palace punch bowl!”

Springing to his master's side, the young favorite nimbly helped William up the broad stairs and through the dark green front door. Bentinck's efforts to follow had been thwarted by several excited courtiers, eager for news of the Bank of England's patriotic generosity.

Eden remained by the fountain, its cascade of waters drowning out the nobles' voices. Carefully she broke the seal on Godolphin's letter. She supposed she should not be surprised that Keppel had managed to insinuate one of his cohorts into Bentinck's party. Intrigue was not her metier, yet she knew it was necessary in order to survive at court.

Godolphin's handwriting was much like the man himself—plain, round and without pretension. He began with a brief account of the satisfactory business he and Bentinck had concluded: “Grocers' Hall rocked with Enthusiasm, once we made it clear that the Danger of Louis invading our Beloved Realm was quite real.” The Bank's board of governors had been eager to show their loyalty, Godolphin related. They wished not only to help defend their country, but to demonstrate their stability over the Land Bank, which had failed the previous year. “It is known only to Providence and a Fortunate Few how much of a Debt is owed to you,” he continued, “but I assure you, your dear Father is very proud of his Daughter.”

Eden beamed when she read those words, and tried to imagine Marlborough, in his prison cell, exulting over her ingenuity. Godolphin's next lines were less sanguine: “I remain in England, for varied Reasons, not the least of which is your Father's Predicament. Since his Arrest, F. has made the most libelous Allegations to certain Members of the House of Lords, and I fear they will act swiftly in passing Judgment against M. All that prevents them from moving ahead in His Majesty's Absence is the lack of a second Witness. But such a one will be found, as enough Silver will eventually grease the right Palm.”

Disturbed, Eden reread the letter more slowly, then started to tuck it away in the pocket of her lace-edged pinner-apron. She paused, noting that most of the courtiers and attendants had drifted away. Intrigue might be foreign to her nature, but it was essential. With a deft motion she unfurled the letter and submerged it in the pool. The paper's lifeblood dissolved in tiny rivulets of blue ink. Eden crumpled the sodden remnant and threw it into the water, where it disappeared beneath the dolphins' dancing fins.

The antechamber in the King's apartments was hung with tapestries depicting cavalry exploits. It was here that William received Eden, who carried a blue crock filled with steaming applesauce.

“
Delicious!” he announced, taking in a heaping spoonful. “One of my Grandmother Amalia's cooks made a sauce that almost—but not quite—equaled yours.”

Eden gave him her most beguiling smile. “It was always a treat with fresh apples this time of year in Smarden,” she said, casting around for a way to steer the conversation in the direction of Marlborough's plight. “Merry come up, last summer I never expected to be in the Gelderland! What a difference it has made to find my real father!”

William's sallow skin darkened, and Keppel suddenly seemed absorbed in winding a tall mahogany clock across the room. Eden stiffened slightly, awaiting the royal displeasure. But she was relieved that she had finally broached the subject.

“
We've never been quite clear about all that,” the King remarked, setting down his porcelain dish and taking a sip of beer. “The Earl of Marlborough betrayed our trust.”

Eden bridled, but tried to conceal her anger. “He's loyal, Sire. He's been the victim of jealous rivals. Could anyone have served you better than he did in your wars on the Continent and in Ireland?” She glanced at Keppel, hoping for an endorsement. But the young favorite was tapping the clock's case, intently listening for a ticking sound.

William stifled a cough and regarded Eden with a stern expression. “We expect Parliament to act before long. Then justice can be done.” Seeing her shocked expression, the King made no effort to soften his words. “We are more merciful than most, Mistress, but traitors, especially in time of war, must not be spared.”

“
Sire!” Eden was aghast at William's harsh stand. “I beseech you, His Lordship is no Jacobite! He had nothing to do with the assassination plot! Someone has been filling your ears with vile calumny!” She paused, aware of William's affronted look and Keppel's odd stare.

The King's thin lips clamped together, emphasizing the aggressive beaklike nose. “Enough, Mistress. We are preoccupied today. Dynastic issues demand that we go a-courting.”

Eden gaped at William. “You've found a bride?”

The King's thin lips all but disappeared. “I … we seek one in Germany,” he replied, his brown eyes no longer so piercing. “More politics.” The glance he gave both Eden and Keppel was defensive as well as apologetic.

Having finally found the courage to mention Marlborough's detention, Eden was dismayed by William's obstinacy. But she was not prepared for his announcement about a new consort. Her own prospects had never looked more dismal.

Before the King could expand on the subject of his proposed trip, Bentinck entered, his ruddy face blazing with outrage. “God's fish, Willi,” he cried, heedless of etiquette, “the Duke of Savoy and Count Hohenstaufen have signed a separate peace treaty with King Louis!”

What little color William had acquired drained from his face. “Damn all!” he breathed, his hand trembling on the beer mug. “Such treachery! And even though we have the money now, it's too late in the season to fight!”

With a malevolent glance at Keppel, Bentinck paced the antechamber, hands clenched behind his back. “This pair has sold us out, Sire. Louis will see their defection as a general weakening of our frontiers, from Southern France to Flanders.”

Bewildered, Eden watched Keppel, who seemed to be displaying previously concealed inhibitions. He made no attempt to join in the political discussion, but merely glanced at Eden and gave a little shrug. She was not so inclined to dismiss this latest calamity. Eden knew it affected Max as well as the King.

“
Excuse me,” she began in a hesitant voice, earning William's frown and Bentinck's scowl, “but has Count Rudolf signed the treaty alone, or with his cousin?”

Both men eyed her quizzically at first, then comprehension dawned on Bentinck. “Maximilian, you mean? No,” he said, his jaw jutting, “his name was not mentioned. What does that Judas plot now?”

To Eden's surprise, Keppel rose to Max's defense. “His Highness would never agree to such a thing. Count Rudolf has not acted in concert with his cousin. I would guess that the treaty is invalid.”

William considered while Bentinck mulled. “Perhaps,” grumbled the statesman. “Though there is another explanation.” He waited, savoring the trio's attention. “Prince Maximilian may be dead.”

The antechamber grew too warm in the August air. The frescoed ceiling seemed to bear down, and the paneled walls pressed in. Eden swayed, crashing into the table that held the blue clock of applesauce. Keppel caught her arm, but though he kept her from falling, the crock slid onto the floor, breaking into a dozen pieces and spilling its contents onto the tiled floor.

Eden racked her brain to figure out a way of joining the royal party at least as far as the Rhine. She finally resorted to asking Keppel's help. Luring him away from the bowling green at Het Loo, she stated her case in a way that sorely tried her unhoned skills at subterfuge.

“
Prince Maximilian is a friend of my father's, as you know,” she began, standing in the shade of an oak tree. “I feel an obligation to find out if he is indeed dead or alive.”

Keppel glanced at the green, where his opponents, led by Bentinck, were having a sudden streak of phenomenal success. “Lovely Eden, your guile is unquestioned, but your deceit is appallingly heavy-handed. You and Max spent months under the same roof. Do you think I'm an imbecile?”

Eden's cheeks flushed, but she drew herself up very straight. “Prince Maximilian is betrothed to Lady Harriet Villiers. Do you think he and I would behave in an improper—”

Keppel's response was a hearty guffaw. Away from the King, his mannerisms were not only more genuine, they were considerably less effete. “Knowing Max and seeing you, I think you'd behave the way nature intended you to,” said Keppel, quelling his laughter, but still grinning at Eden. “As for Harriet, the betrothal is off.”

“
What?” Eden was dumbfounded.

“
That's right.” As a cheer went up, Keppel craned his neck to see Bentinck accepting congratulations from the King and most of the courtiers. “Damn the old fool's eyes,” muttered Keppel, “he can still bowl like a boy when it comes to pleasing William.” He turned to Eden, unable to hide his amusement at her startled expression. “My friends in London have informed me that Harriet threw a terrible tantrum when she heard about the separate peace. It was shameful enough that her fiancé got himself exiled, but that he should be associated with such perfidy overwhelmed the delicate creature. She is said to be consoling herself with a spineless viscount whose pater owns half of Sussex.”

Eden fanned herself with her hand, though the September afternoon held the crisp tang of autumn. “I didn't know. Does Max, I wonder? You don't really think he's dead, do you?”

Keppel shrugged, his attention once again diverted by the little scene on the bowling green. “Now where did that repellent relic get to? Toadying around William, I suppose. No, the King is over there, with Bidloo and Secretary Huygens.”

Eden had the feeling she wasn't going to get much more out of Keppel. “If I could just ride with you as far as the Rhine, please. His Majesty needn't know I've come along.”

Conscious of the King's approach, Keppel struck a pose, letting the slight breeze ruffle his lawn shirt and standing with one foot in front of the other to show off his well-turned calves. “I'll see to it,” he said quickly, giving Eden a hasty bow. “And don't worry,” he added in a low voice, “Max is alive. He's too damnably perverse to die.”

Eden and Elsa parted company with the others outside Nijmegen late on the first day of the journey. Keppel had been as good as his word, seeing them into the last coach and bribing the attendants into silence. It was only after the dust had cleared behind the royal party that Eden realized she had no clear plan for finding Max.

“
We'll head south,” she announced vaguely, not looking at Elsa. Though she had pored over the maps in William's study the previous day, she still had only the sketchiest notion of where Vranes-sur-Ourthe was located. A town called Liège was impressed upon her memory, for there the Meuse and Ourthe rivers converged. But how far away, how long it would take, what they might find when they arrived were all questions Eden couldn't answer.