Improbable Eden by Mary Daheim

and wondered dolefully how many hapless souls had ended their lives on the notorious block. Directly below, two men in flowing capes moved leisurely along the limewalk. Their freedom made Eden acutely aware of her confinement.
    Just as the church bells tolled eight o’clock, the sound of the cell door opening made her jump. A guard stood before her, holding a tray with two covered dishes and a mug of ale. Eden stared at the repast, then turned away. She was ravenous, but the sight of the ale upset her stomach.
    â€œ I prefer water,” she said, her back turned. The guard, a squat man with eyebrows like a crow’s wings, had set the tray down on a little stool.
    â€œ It’s ale ye got and ale ye’ll drink,” he asserted, starting to leave but pausing when he saw Eden whirl around in annoyance. “Well, who might ye really be? The Prince’s doxy?” He was rocking back and forth, boldly studying Eden with voracious eyes.
    â€œ Hardly.” She held her head high, her back straight. “Surely there is water in the river?”
    The man cocked his head. “There is. But it don’t bring itself in here. What’ll ye pay for a cup, Princess?”
    Eden shot him a scornful look. “Go away.”
    The guard snorted. “Fancy, eh?” Someone was coming along the passageway and he quickly retreated from the cell. Eden didn’t turn around until the sound of his footsteps had faded.
    She ate little of the underdone mutton, less of the stale bread and drank none of the ale. The church bells chimed nine and ten and then eleven. At last Eden lay down on her lumpy pallet, her heavy cape wrapped securely around her. Despite her fatigue, she couldn’t sleep. Somewhere out there, Eden thought dismally, there is music and laughter and excitement …. There is all of London and the court and the King.
    There is freedom, too, Eden told herself just before she fell asleep. The one thing she had possessed upon waking that morning in Smarden was freedom. In the hours that had followed, glittering promises of a new life had been dangled before her. But as London’s lights dimmed, Eden’s future seemed as empty as the night. She slept dreamlessly, as if the theft of her liberty had also robbed her of illusion.

    Eden had been awake for some time when the squat guard showed up with what passed for breakfast in the Tower of London. A crust, a piece of cheese and another mug of ale were placed before her. Eden gazed bleakly at the unappetizing meal but said nothing.
    The guard was not so reticent. “Well? Might ye be accustomed to gold plate and crystal goblets? Eh?” Eden chose not to reply. But the guard wasn’t giving up so easily. “No curiosity and no appetite! Tsk! Tsk!”
    When she remained unresponsive, he touched the claret-colored waves of hair at her neck. “Eh, doxy, pretty doxy ….”
    Eden pulled away and held up a hand. “Wait!” The seed of an idea was taking root in her mind. She gestured at the breakfast tray. “I asked for water last night, I ask again this morn.” The haughty glance she threw him was softened by the hint of invitation in her eyes. Noting slow if unmistakable comprehension spread across the guard’s blunt features, Eden grew specific: “A large amount of water, in a great heavy basin, so that I may not only drink, but also—” she flicked her tongue over her lips in the most provocative manner she could muster “—bathe.”
    â€œ Ah!” The guard all but danced at the prospect, then he was gone, scurrying down the passageway.
    Eden moved on wobbly legs, trying to make herself limber by the time the guard returned. It never occurred to her that the scheme she’d just concocted was wildly imprudent. For Eden, brought up on the strict Huguenot code of right and wrong, the King’s men had acted unjustly by imprisoning Marlborough and Prince Maximilian. Clearly,