Improbable Eden (25 page)

By sunset of the following day they were following the Meuse, and for the first time, Eden witnessed the ravages of war. Farm buildings lay in rubble, entire villages had been burned, once-fertile fields were choked with briars. Beggars huddled by the roadside while children in tattered rags chased after the coach, calling for coins. Eden tossed a handful from the window, and felt guilty that she could not give more. The personal funds supplied by Barbara Castlemaine had been generous, but Eden's tutoring had not included managing money.

“
We shall stop at the next town,” she announced to their driver. “It grows dark, and frankly, I find this war-torn countryside depressing. I wonder if Vranes-sur-Ourthe has suffered so?”

Elsa lifted one shoulder. “King Louis's soldiers burned much of the land they left behind them, all along the frontier.”

As spires, battlements and rooftops rose before them in the pale September twilight, Eden tried to recall what Gerard had said about the war. The fact was, he had rarely mentioned his experiences at all. Eden suspected that he had not wanted to remember.

Following a placid river that seemed to lead into the town, the horses slowed in front of a ramshackle inn. Set off from the side of the road was a weatherbeaten shrine shielding a figure of what appeared to be a bishop. The old-fashioned lettering at the statue's base read St. Servatius. For Eden, such religious ornaments once would have smacked of idolatry. Yet here, in this part of the world known as the Spanish Netherlands, the little shrine seemed fitting. “Where are we?” she asked, wondering who St. Servatius might have been.

The driver, a bearlike man with curly red hair, was alighting from the platform. “Maastricht,” he replied, kicking at a feisty mongrel whose speckled coat was bare in patches.

“
Maastricht!” The name echoed in Eden's brain. Her father had won a great victory there, one of the few the allies had wrested from the French. Despite the inn's dilapidated appearance and the sense of gloom that hung over the city, Eden had the unaccountable feeling that she was being welcomed home.

Elsa, however, had no reason to share her enthusiasm. “Perhaps we should go farther into town,” she suggested, picking her way over the debris that littered the small courtyard. Broken axles, discarded wagons wheels, rusted tools and shattered crockery covered the barren ground. Two gaunt-faced children huddled by a crude pen where a half-dozen scrawny chickens had gone to roost for the night.

But Eden had made up her mind. “ 'Tis only for a few hours. We can leave at dawn.” She turned as a pair of horsemen stopped at the edge of the road. “Don't be frightened, Elsa,” she said, using sign language to make herself perfectly clear. “See there, more guests are arriving.”

Elsa turned anxious eyes on the newcomers, but could see no more than the outline of their cloaks and hats. “They could be thieves,” she mumbled.

Eden turned to the coachman, who was trying to find a trough for the horses. “How far is it from here to Liège?” she asked.

He cocked his head and considered. “Half a day.”

“
And then to Vranes?”

His forehead creased as he pulled on his ear. “I'm not sure. I've never been there. Ask the innkeeper, Mistress.” His tone was polite, but his manner was impatient. “There's no water. I'll have to lead the horses down to the Meuse.” Annoyed, he grabbed the reins and guided the thirsty animals toward the road.

Elsa had gone around to the side of the inn, searching for a porter. Eden waited with a vague sense of regret; perhaps she should not have been so stubborn about staying at the edge of town.

“
Mistress!” the shorter man called in English, “do you speak the local dialect?”

Eden had no idea what the local dialect was. “Alas, no. I use French here mostly.” She smiled politely, then let out a little gasp. The men were bearing down on her, and while she was sure she had never seen the short one before, she recognized Rudolf's blunt-faced henchman from Green Park. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, then saw that something gleamed in the palm of his hand.

Whirling, she started to run toward the inn, but tripped over a splintered shovel. Eden cried out as she fell, at first from pain, then in desperation. Elsa, of course, couldn't hear her, but perhaps their driver or someone inside the inn would race to the rescue. But before she could scream a third time, a heavy boot pressed down on her back and a rough hand went over her mouth. Squirming in the dirt, Eden tried to free herself, but her efforts were in vain. Something sweet assailed her nostrils, and the world was plunged into darkness.

When Eden awoke, she thought she was in her room above the Queen's garden at Het Loo. But as she struggled to clear her mind and focus her eyes, she realized that her surroundings were as unfamiliar as they were elegant. In the pale light of dawn, Eden could see a walnut armoire, a tall clock inlaid with marquetry, a Chinese screen decorated with peonies and a table covered with an ornate tapestry. The bed on which she lay was hung with blue damask, and the marble fireplace was accented with rich mahogany. Eden would have been charmed had she not been so terrified.

Slowly she sat up and surveyed herself for any serious damage. Her knees were bruised and her hands were scratched, apparently from the fall at the inn. The peacock-blue traveling costume was soiled and ripped at the hem. Her perky hat with its egret feather had disappeared along with her gold earrings, but she still had her necklace and bracelet. Robbery was not the motive; the involvement of Rudolf's henchman indicated that. Her coach must have been followed, probably all the way from Het Loo. Drumming her fingernails against the silken counterpane, Eden cursed aloud.

She should never have trusted Keppel. He was totally self-serving. He had betrayed her to the enemy and, in the process, gotten rid of a potential rival. What other reason could there be for her kidnapping? She could not believe that Max had ever called Joost van Keppel his friend.

But Keppel was no comrade of Rudolf's. Eden couldn't think of any reason the young favorite would ally himself to a man who had just alienated the King. Rudolf had cut himself off from the House of Orange by signing the peace treaty with Louis of France.

Deep in thought, Eden got up from the bed and went to the door. It was locked, as she had expected. Only Keppel—and Elsa—knew she was going to search for Max. Elsa, sworn to secrecy, was utterly trustworthy. Going to the nearest window, Eden noted that she was two stories above the ground. She looked out across an orderly gold and bronze autumn garden to a densely wooded parkland fenced off by a high brick wall. The house—or mansion—seemed quite large, with a creamy sandstone exterior. Her prison appeared to be very beautiful, but a prison nonetheless. Eden noticed a bowling green beyond an oval fish pond and was reminded of her fateful conversation with Keppel at Het Loo.

And then she knew. Bentinck had disappeared after the match. By chance or by design, the statesman must have overheard her confide in Keppel. And the wily old devil had somehow contacted Rudolf, whose men had followed Eden from Nijmegen. It was almost as impossible to think of Bentinck conniving with Rudolf as it was to consider Keppel—except that the older man knew his days of influence with the King were numbered, and he was desperate. Eden with her miracle cures and ingenuous schemes, created a double threat for Bentinck. He might be able to contend with one rival, but not two, and it was far easier to get rid of Eden than Keppel. Perhaps it was Bentinck who had ordered Captain Craswell's death, though somehow the deed smacked more of Rudolf's handiwork. Either way, that grim reminder was deeply disturbing.

Eden was shivering and shaking her head when she heard the door open. Turning swiftly, she saw Rudolf glide into the room, dressed for the hunt. The perpetual smile was plastered on his face, and he carried a riding crop.

“
Welcome to Zijswijk,” said Rudolf, using his hip to close the door. “Have you breakfasted yet or would you rather wait for Max?”

Eden moved away from the window to stand by the tapestry-covered table. “Don't joke about Max,” she snapped. “Where is he?”

Rudolf made his way to the table, where he perched on the edge and swung one booted foot. “Let me think—The Hague, mayhap, or the House in the Wood, or any one of the places William frequents when visiting his homeland.” The smile widened. “Unless, of course, Max has found out that His Majesty has gone a-wooing to Moylandt. Then your beloved may still be in Germany, combing the Rhine for his Lorelei.”

Eden edged away from the table. “What are you talking about? Max was my … protector, helping my father.”

“
And helping himself to your father's daughter, no doubt.” Rudolf's leer was just short of parody. Before Eden could protest, he waggled the crop in her direction. “Let us not quibble over terms. Besides being your father's daughter, you are your mother's, as well. And everyone in Europe knows how she whored her way to fame and fortune. Do you expect anyone—especially King William—to believe that you're a virtuous maid?”

“
But I am!” Eden cried. “No man has ever had me!” Skepticism was rampant on Rudolf's face. “That's utterly incredible. Unless, of course, Max is a greater fool than I thought.” The smile had finally faded, replaced by a pensive expression. “There's one way to find out,” he said with a little smirk. As he saw Eden recoil, he laughed in an artless yet insinuating manner. “No, no, not now. We have plenty of time, and right now my Master of the Hounds awaits me.” Rudolf slid off the table and started for the door.

“
Wait!” Eden was still shuddering at Rudolf's innuendo. “Why am I here? And where am I?”

Rudolf paused at the threshold. “I told you, Zijswijk. It's my estate outside of Liège. The reason you are here, you silly wench, is obvious—you are the bait to lure Max. You are my guarantee that he will add his signature to the treaty with King Louis.” He shrugged carelessly, confident of his success. “Don't try to escape. The grounds are well guarded by mercenaries I've hired from the French army. They're a nasty lot, but very efficient. And,” he added with a savage little smile, “I wouldn't proclaim my virtue too loudly, if I were you. They are particularly ravenous for virgins. All of them.” With a flip of the crop, Rudolf exited the room.

For three days Eden remained in her elegant prison. The days dragged, for she had only a few old books to help pass the time. Rudolf did not return, and Eden wondered if he had left Zijswijk. She was still stupefied by the reason for her abduction. Even if Bentinck had not been the instigator, he had willingly gone along with Rudolf to eliminate a rival. But Eden would never have guessed that she was being used as a pawn to coerce Max into signing the peace treaty. She would not have thought that he cared about her so much. The idea that he might filled her with a warm glow—until she remembered that if it was true, they were both in grave danger.

It was late the third day, with heavy gray clouds gathering on the horizon, that Eden saw Rudolf and a small party ride up to the manor house. Anxiously she peered down to see if Max was with them. But Rudolf was the only tall man among the riders, and Eden dejectedly wandered to the hearth, where a fire had been laid for the night. Perhaps Max would never come; maybe Rudolf had overestimated his feelings for Eden. Or he couldn't find where Rudolf was keeping her, or he had been killed or arrested …. In a fit of frustration, she clawed at the pages of a book she'd been trying to read, scattering them like torn petals on the counterpane. The destructive gesture appalled her; she felt no better than an animal. Yet that's what she was, trapped, held captive, shut away from the world like the exotic creatures in William's tame zoo. Giving in to despondency, Eden hurled herself onto the bed and began to cry.

She had sobbed into the pillows for almost a quarter of an hour before she acknowledged the futility of her despair. Trying to compose herself, she poured a glass of Moselle wine from a decanter by the nightstand and took a sip. When the door opened, she jumped, spilling wine onto the counterpane and cursing herself for being so nervy. Expecting the surly lout who usually brought her supper, Eden was surprised to see Rudolf, dressed in his bright blue traveling costume, a beaver hat set rakishly on his blond curls.

“
You've been crying! Did you miss me?” He was grinning like a nasty cat.

Ashamed of her tears, Eden blinked several times and made a heroic effort to compose herself. “I wouldn't miss you if you flew to Araby on a magic carpet!” She scooted off the bed and went to light the tapers on the mantelpiece. Outside, the rain started to fall in straight, steady sheets.

“
I've been conferring with the Archbishop of Liège,” Rudolf remarked in a conversational tone as he tossed his hat onto a marble wig stand near the bed. “If he were a pious man, he'd pray that Max will be sensible when he gets here.”

“
If Max is sensible, he won't come,” Eden retorted, turning away from the fireplace.

Rudolf strolled over to Eden and planted both booted feet not more than six inches from her hem. “You're not at all like Sophie Dorothea,” he said, a furtive glint in his eyes. “She was delicate, all gold and apple blossoms, and pure as St. Agnes. Until Max came along.” With a startling swift movement, Rudolf grasped Eden's cravat and yanked it so hard that her head snapped back. “You claim to be pure, you dirty little trollop!” He was leaning down, his face almost touching Eden's, his blue eyes sinister and cold. “We will now discover the truth!”