Improbable Eden (30 page)

Even as the Countess spoke, footsteps could be heard in the corridor. Voices were raised and protests rejected. Sarah lifted an eyebrow in contempt but made no move toward the door.

Eden was frankly distrustful. “Are you sure they won't find him?”

Sarah's eyes turned to steel. “Of course I'm sure. Besides,” she went on, securing a diamond earring, “the Princess is about to give birth.” As she noted Eden's surprised expression, Sarah's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “I know, the poor thing is always giving birth. The pity is, she has only sickly little Gloucester to show for it. May God be good to us all this time.”

Three hours later Bentinck's soldiers were still searching St. James's Palace. Eden remained with the Countess in the antechamber, for all appearances enjoying a convivial supper and exchanging the latest gossip. The two women were, in fact, picking at their food and discussing the possible outcome of Marlborough's trial. A certain guarded cordiality was beginning to emerge between them.

“
This Roark is a liar and a cheat,” Sarah insisted. “He swears he was with my dear Lord Marl at Cupid's Garden on the first day of February, when the plot to kill the King was hatched. Nonsense, of course. Milord never goes there. The proprietor caters to a distinctly common sort of clientele.”

“
Last February,” mused Eden. “That's when I met Jack, but it was later in the month, on my birthday. It seems so long ago.”

“
I found his plan for you harebrained,” Sarah said frankly. “And so it has proved, since he's still in the Tower.”

Eden turned defensive. “I've done my best, Milady. I' truth, His Majesty likes me.”

“
Obviously not enough,” snapped Sarah, as a loud knock resounded at the door. She called out, and the liveried official who had greeted Eden entered the room with a deferential bow.

“
The soldiers have completed their search,” he announced, “but they are insistent upon going through Her Highness's chambers. What shall we tell them?”

The inference that Her Highness would tell them precisely what Sarah Churchill commanded was not lost on Eden. “I shall speak with these wretched animals,” she said, moving resolutely to the door. “Wait here,” the Countess added for Eden's benefit.

Eden did, but she was uneasy. She felt utterly useless, condemned to sit idly by while the Countess and people she had never met contended with Max's adversaries. To make matters worse, Eden had not managed to further her father's cause. She felt gloom come over her like fog, heavy, blinding and all-encompassing.

The palace had grown unnervingly silent. The fire sputtered fitfully in the grate, and the dancing shadows cast a macabre aura over the room. Her mother's coach must still be outside the palace. Indeed, Lady Castlemaine must be wondering what had happened to her daughter. Or else her efficient spy system had brought a full report. Eden was learning not to underestimate either her father's former mistress or his lawful wife.

Wearily she unpinned her
fontange
cap and shook out her hair. The long day had given her a headache. It was hard to imagine that somewhere within these walls Max was sitting comfortably playing cards, quite unaware that she was nearby, fretting over his fortunes. As she stared into the dying fire, her head began to nod and her eyelids drooped. She really should stay awake, she supposed, but the Italian marble clock on the gilded pedestal said it was after ten. Surely a brief nap would restore her flagging spirits ….

But her eyes were still half open when she saw the vision. The paneling next to the fireplace moved, as if by magic. The wall opened inch by inch. Eden stared incredulously as Max ducked into the room. A conjurer's trick, she thought dizzily, letting out a little shriek.

“
Eden, hush!” he ordered, brushing cobwebs from his shirt. He stood quite still, listening for any sound of pursuit.

Struggling to focus, Eden half staggered from the chair. She stood poised on one foot until Max was finally satisfied that no one had followed him. “I've been so worried!” she exclaimed, remembering to keep her voice down. “How did you get here?”

Max had taken her in his arms. He didn't answer immediately, but drank in the piquant face, the tumbled hair and the frightened eyes. “The soldiers are searching Her Highness's apartments, much to her royal chagrin. Thank God for these secret passageways Charles II had installed to facilitate the comings and goings of his harem.” He stroked the long tresses and savored the sensation of her body pressed against his. “I've sent a half dozen messages to the King. I didn't expect his answer to be a small army.”

Puzzled, Eden looked up. “I'll wager none of your missives reached His Majesty.” She straightened Max's
steinkirk
and brushed at the tousled blond hair. “There was a terrible scene today between the King and Bentinck. I'd guess that His Lordship's days are numbered. Max,” she urged, lightly touching his face, “why not go to the country and wait things out? It's too dangerous for you to stay in London.”

He ran his hands down the rose velvet that covered her back. “No. I've spent the summer running halfway across Europe. I'm going to settle this matter once and for all.” With his arms still around Eden, he turned. “I heard something. In the hall.”

Before he could duck into the passageway, the door opened, revealing the Countess of Marlborough. Sarah sauntered into the room, a portrait of self-possession. After she closed and locked the door behind her she collapsed onto a chair and poured herself a generous glass of wine. “Those pesky vermin have finally left. They even searched the Princess's garderobe! Imagine the nerve! If she miscarries again it will be William's fault!” Her shrewd blue gaze took in Max and Eden, standing close together. “Highness, you must remain here. Mistress, you must leave. All must appear as normal as possible. Half of London is no doubt already abuzz about the Castlemaine calling on Princess Anne.”

At least, Eden thought, if the soldiers were gone she wouldn't have to face the bedazzled young guardsman with whom she'd flirted so outrageously in the guise of her mother. But she had no desire to leave under any circumstances. “I don't want to go,” she blurted, staring longingly at Max. “I'd rather stay here.”

“
And I'd rather my dear Lord Marl weren't in the Tower,” said Sarah in a cross tone. “We must do what needs to be done. This dire situation calls for more than duty, it demands discipline. Hie yourself off in your mother's awful coach and head for Arlington Street.” Leaving her wine glass half drained, she stood up and put out a hand to Max. “Come, you may stay in the room next to the Prince Consort.”

Max's shake of his head was eloquent. “Your hospitality is most generous, as is that of the Heiress Presumptive and her husband. But I'm off to see the King.”

Both Eden and Sarah started at his announcement. “That's madness, Max!” Eden cried. “You'll be arrested before you get inside the palace!”

Max brushed her nose with his finger. “Not the way I plan to enter it.” He went to the nearest window and pulled open the drape. “See there? Fog as thick as
Vrouw
de Koch's pudding. I'll manage it like a Wapping Wall smuggler.” Bending, he kissed Eden's forehead. “Don't fret. Do you want me to spend the rest of my life hiding in women's boudoirs?”

Eden felt like telling him that he could hide forever in hers, but held her tongue. She could see by the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes that there would be no stopping him. For one irrational moment she considered begging him to take her with him. But that would only undermine his already slim chances. The Countess was right. Each of them had a part that must be played to perfection. As Eden watched Max salute Sarah and stride out of the room, she prayed that the drama in which they performed was not cast in the tragic mold.

Max approached Whitehall through St. James's Park, pausing every ten feet to check for danger. His plan was to cross the old tennis courts, slip into the small privy garden and gain entry by using the heavy vines that clung to the ancient palace walls. Once inside, he would find Keppel, who would no doubt cooperate in getting Max in to see the King.

Moving with caution, he felt his way along the hedge that separated the enclosed garden from the kitchens. The fog that concealed Max also confounded him; he could make out nothing beyond arm's reach. In the distance he heard the muffled call of a late-night oarsman, delivering passengers at the river's edge. Max took another careful step, trying to avoid a patch of late-blooming herbs. He smiled, reminded of Eden and her catalog of cures. She had a knack for making him smile, even when she wasn't at his side. She also had an extraordinary way of tackling problems from an oblique angle.

Max froze in place. Eden's presence was almost tangible. She was right, he was going about this business all wrong. Inspiration struck like a blow. As he made his way out of the garden, Max was smiling again.

E
den spent the next day in an agony of suspense. Lady Castlemaine did her best to calm her daughter, but was distracted by a bandy-legged young colonel who arrived with a dozen bottles of Portuguese wine and a fatuous expression. It was only when Barbara emerged from her bedroom three hours later that she addressed her daughter's plight.

“
If Max didn't get to the palace until almost midnight, he may not have seen the King until morning,” Barbara reasoned over a plate of steamed mussels.

“
But it's after four!” Eden cried, going to the window for the twentieth time that afternoon. “We should have heard something by now!”

Barbara plucked the last mussel from its shell and fed it to Cromwell. The monkey chewed warily, then spat the delicacy onto the carpet. “Poxy ape! You'll get no trifle for dessert!” Lady Castlemaine railed. She swatted at the animal, missed and turned to Eden. “I can't abide your doleful face. I'll send someone around to find out what's happened.”

“
I ought to go,” Eden said, trying to ignore Cromwell, who was yanking at her skirts and protesting the indignity attempted by his mistress.

“
Not now,” asserted Lady Castlemaine, reaching for the bellpull. “You can perform your heroics later, when Jack goes on trial. From all I hear, he's going to need them.”

An hour later, Barbara's lackey returned from Whitehall. The court was agog over a letter William received from Bentinck, insinuating that the friendship between His Majesty and Joost van Keppel was sordid and unnatural. Bentinck had chastised his sovereign for casting off steadfast comrades for the sake of a self-serving pup. William of Orange was crushed by the accusations and had taken to his bed.

As for Prince Maximilian, he had never reached the King. In fact, the Prince had not been seen by anyone since he'd left St. James's the previous night.

Sir John Fenwick was a spare, dark, dapper man with a thin mustache and wary black eyes. To Eden he looked more like a shrewd tradesman than a conniving politician. His stance before the House of Lords was confident and he had an air of self-righteousness that invited credibility. Watching from the gallery with Joost van Keppel, Eden felt a surge of despair come over her.

Again and again Fenwick named Marlborough, Shrewsbury, Godolphin and Ailesbury as his fellow conspirators. When it was pointed out that Milords Shrewsbury and Godolphin had both been cleared, Fenwick merely sniggered. “Does faulty judgment make them less guilty?” he asked with a disdainful shrug.

A flurry of comments circled the chamber. Eden used the distraction to whisper a question. “Joost—are you certain there's been no word of Max this past fortnight?”

“
Nothing.” Keppel's face grew serious. “I can't understand it. Once Max's mind is made up, he never wavers. It isn't like him to change course.”

“
What of Bentinck?” Eden asked as the presiding Lord Justice called for order.

“
Faith, he expects William to apologize! The silly old fool genuinely believes that the King should repent of his so-called sins.”

“
And William?”

“
He broods.” Keppel's expression was droll. “I'm not sure His Majesty comprehends the accusation.”

The interrogation droned on. Fenwick repeated his tedious charges, finally pointing out that only one witness had been found to testify against him.

“
True enough,” whispered Keppel behind his kerchief, “since Lady Fenwick spirited the other off to the Continent.”

“
Why is Fenwick so adamant?” Eden asked in vexation. “Surely this can't be over a silly duel he fought with Jack twenty years ago!”

Keppel waited until Fenwick had stepped down and a recess for the day was announced. “No.” He tucked his ivory walking stick under his arm as he helped Eden rise. “Fenwick is protecting the real perpetrators, that's obvious. The question is,” he went on, with a watchful eye on their fellow observers, “who are they?”

The Earl of Marlborough was brought before the Lord Justice in the second week of November. England's highest magistrates, along with the entire membership of the House of Lords, were in an irascible mood. They were stymied in handing down a verdict in the matter of Sir John Fenwick, having failed to find a second witness to testify against him. Debate raged in Parliament, with Fenwick's supporters demanding that he be set free under a writ of habeas corpus, while his enemies tried to rally support for a Bill of Attainder, which would convict him without further testimony.