Winsor, Kathleen (103 page)

"Your
Ladyship!" screamed Jenny, and there were hysterical tears in her voice.
"Your Ladyship! Your Ladyship!"

"Here
I am, Jenny! What's happened? What's the matter?"

"It's
Philip! He's sick! He's desperately sick! I'm afraid he's dying! Oh, your
Ladyship—you've
got
to come!"

A
chill of horror ran over Amber. Philip sick—
dying?
Only that morning
before the ride they had been in the summer-house, and he had been perfectly
well then.

"What's
the matter with him? I can't get out, Jenny! I'm locked in! Where's the
Earl?"

"He's
gone! He left three hours ago! Oh, Amber—you've got to get out! He's calling
for you!" Jenny began to sob.

Amber
looked around helplessly. "I
can't
get out! Oh, damn! Go get a
footman! Make them
break
open the door!"

Nan
was beside her now and as Jenny's heels pounded off down the hallway the two
women picked up brass shovels from the fireplace and began to beat at the lock.
In only a minute or two Jenny was back.

"They
say his Lordship left orders not to let you out no matter what happened!"

"Where's
the footman!"

"He's
here—but he says he doesn't dare unlock the door! Oh, Amber, tell him he's got
to! Philip—"

"Open
this door, you varlet!" shouted Amber. "Open it or I'll set fire to
the house!" She smashed furiously against the lock with the brass shovel.

There
was a long moment of hesitation after which the man began to pound at the door
from the outside while Amber stood waiting, wet with sweat. Nan had brought her
shoes and she pulled them on, jumping up and down, first on one foot and then
the other, as she did so. At last the lock broke and she burst out, flung an
arm around Jenny's waist and started down toward the opposite end of the
gallery where Philip's apartments were located.

Philip
was lying on the bed, still fully dressed but with a blanket thrown over him;
his head was forced back upon the pillows and his face contorted almost beyond
recognition. He was writhing and turning, clutching at his stomach, his teeth
ground together until the veins in his neck seemed ready to burst.

Amber
hesitated for only an instant on the threshold and then ran forward.
"Philip! Philip, what's the matter? What happened to you?"

He
looked at her for a moment without recognition. Then he grabbed her by the
wrist, dragging her toward him. "I've been poisoned—" His voice was a
harsh whisper. Amber gasped in horror, starting backward, but he held onto her
wrist with a clutch so strong she thought it would break. "Have you eaten
anything today—"

Suddenly
she realized what had happened. The Earl had found out about them and had tried
to poison them both. The food sent up on her tray must have been poisoned. She
felt sick, dizzy and cold, swept with selfish anxiety.

Maybe
it was in the fruit-syrup this morning— Maybe
I'm
poisoned too!

"I
had some fruit-syrup," she said softly, her eyes staring like glass,
"early this morning—"

There
was an explosive spitting sound from beneath the blankets and Philip's body
leaped upward in convulsion; he threw himself furiously from side to side, as
though trying to escape the pain. Agonized paroxysms jerked at his face, and it
was several moments before he was able to speak again. Then each word as it came
out was a forced and painful grunt.

"No.
I got it at dinner, I think— Pains began half-an-hour ago. The
summer-house—there's a hollowed eye in that stone mask on the wall—"

He
could say nothing more for Jenny was close beside them, but Amber understood his
meaning. Radclyffe could have been there that morning, watching them. He could
have been there many mornings—watching them. Disgust and loathing and helpless
rage filled her. But there was relief too—because she was not poisoned; she was
not going to die.

Jenny
now helped Philip to sit up, holding a mugful of warm milk to his mouth. After
he had taken several greedy swallows he gave a groan and flung himself backward
again. Amber turned away, her hands over her face.

Suddenly
she picked up her skirts and started to run as fast as she could—out of the
room and down the gallery, down the stairs and onto the terrace. She fled down
the steps and through the gardens and did not stop once until she was forced to
by the splitting pain in her side and the dryness of her lungs. Then she stood
there for a minute or so, one hand pressed to her chest and the other hard
against her side, struggling to breathe. But gradually it became easier for her
and at last she turned her head, slowly, to look back up at the bedroom window
that faced from the south-east end of the house. Then with a wail of animal
terror she threw herself onto the ground and buried her face in the grass,
shutting her eyes as tight as she could and closing her ears with her fingers.
But still she could see Philip's face in its agony and hear the hoarse
desperate sound of his voice.

Philip
was buried that same night as the dusk settled through a brilliant sunset sky.
The family chaplain who had baptized him administered the last sacraments and
conducted the services in the little Catholic chapel where Jenny and Amber and
Radclyffe's many servants knelt in silence. Poison was suspected in almost any
sudden death, and because there was a general belief that a poisoned body
decomposed rapidly they had not dared to wait upon formality. Philip's constant
request had been to keep it secret, to let no one know what had caused his
death. He wanted it told that he had accidentally shot himself while cleaning a
gun.

Amber
was so hungry that her stomach ached, but she refused to eat or drink anything
at all. She was terrified for fear Radclyffe had instructed one of the servants
to kill her if he failed. For there could be no doubt he had intended to kill
them both: she fed a few slices of the fowl to a dog, and it died swiftly and
in great pain.

Neither
Amber nor Jenny wanted to be alone that night and Jenny was having spasmodic
cramps which she feared might mean that her labour had begun prematurely. They
stayed together in a seldom used guest apartment in the northeast wing of the
building overlooking the courtyard, for they were both reluctant to return to
their own chambers. Amber was determined she would never go back to hers again
as long as she lived. By ten o'clock Jenny's pains had stopped and she went to
bed, but Amber stayed up, nervous and jumpy, apprehensive of shadows, alarmed
at any unexpected sound. She felt as though hideous unseen things surrounded
her on every side, shutting her in until she could scarcely breathe, and once
she
screamed aloud in terror. She kept lighted all the candles she could find and
refused to take off her clothes.

At
last Jenny got up and came to put her arms about her. "Amber, dear, you
must try to sleep."

Amber
shook her off. "I can't. I can't." She ran her fingers through her
hair, shivering. "What if he should come back. He meant to kill me. If he
found me alive— Oh! What's that!"

"Nothing.
Just an animal outside. He won't come back. He wouldn't dare. He won't ever
come back. You're safe here."

"I'm
not going to stay! I'm going away tomorrow morning —as soon as it's
light!"

"Going
away? But where will you go? Oh, please, Amber, don't go and leave me!"

"Your
mother will come. I can't stay here, Jenny! I'd go mad! I've got to go—and
don't try to stop me!"

She
could not and would not tell Jenny where she was going, but she knew very well
herself. For now the chance had come and all the plans over which she had
mulled and brooded these past few weeks fell into a pattern. She had expected
to use Philip, but now he was dead and she realized that she could do it better
without him. It seemed so simple she wondered why she had endured all these
months of hatred and degradation, without realizing that it had taken time and
circumstances to bring her to her present pitch of desperation.

With
Big John Waterman and two or three other serving-men she would set out for
London. Perhaps they could ambush him on the way, but if not she would somehow
contrive to meet him alone in London, some dark night. It was no uncommon occurrence,
she knew, to find a gentleman of quality badly beaten or even dead—for every
man had his enemies and vengeance was crude and decisive. A slit nose, a brutal
kicking, a sword through the stomach, were all popular means of avenging some
real or imagined insult. She intended Radclyffe to die of his injuries—since
now it was either his life or hers.

Because
it was both easier and safer to travel in masculine dress she prepared to set
out the next morning wearing one of the Earl's suits—which was not a great deal
too large—his hat and riding-cloak. Big John and four husky footmen were to go
with her, though no one but John knew what her intentions were. Jenny wept and
begged her over and over to change her mind, but when Amber refused she helped
her get ready and gave her many admonitions about taking care of herself.

"There's
one thing I'll never be able to understand," Jenny said, as she watched
Amber pulling on a pair of his Lordship's boots. "I don't know why he
spared me— If he wanted to kill you, and Philip—why would he have let
me
live?"

Amber
gave her a swift narrowed glance and as the blood rushed into her face she bent
her head. Poor innocent little Jenny. She still did not know; and certainly it
could do her no good to know now. For the first time since she had begun her
affair with
Philip Mortimer Amber felt a kind of shame. But it did not last long. Soon she
was on horseback—waving to Nan and promising Jenny that she would be careful.

The
summer had been even hotter than the year before; for weeks it had not rained
and the roads were hard. Amber, because she had been riding almost every day
during the past four and a half months, was able to set a swift pace for the
men. They stopped at the first village they came to because she was ravenously hungry,
and then they hurried on again. By five o'clock that evening they had travelled
forty-five miles.

Hot
and tired and dusty, reeking of sweat—their own and the horses'—the six of them
stopped at a pretty little inn. Amber went swaggering in with the men,
pretending that she was one of them. She felt pleased at this adventure, the
more so because she was keenly aware that but for a lucky accident she would
have been lying dead at Lime Park and not sitting here on a settle with her
feet cocked up before the fire, stroking a ragged old dog and enjoying the
succulent smells from a joint which turned and crackled over the flames. She
was luxuriously tired and her muscles felt sore from the unaccustomed strain of
riding astride. Nothing had ever tasted so good as the cool golden ale she
swallowed from a pewter tankard.

She
slept deeply that night and longer than she had intended, but they were off
again at six. By noon they had reached Oxford, where they stopped for dinner.
The hostess put two enormous black-jacks on the table and while they drank she
brought in pewter plates and knives and spoons. When the joint was taken off
the fire she carved it for them, very neatly, and then according to the custom
they invited her to join them.

"I
suppose you gentlemen are on your way to London to see the fire?" she
inquired in a polite, conversational tone.

Heads
turned all down the table, fingers paused halfway to their mouths.
"Fire!"

"Ye
hadn't heard? Oh, there's a
great
fire in London, they say." She
was full of importance at having such news to tell: burnt-out crops and the
heat had been the most exciting source of conversation for some time.
"There was a gentleman here not an hour since just come from there. He
says it gets worse by the hour. Looks like it might take the whole city,"
she added, shutting her mouth complacently and nodding at them.

"You
mean there's a
big
fire in London?" repeated Amber incredulously.
"Not just a few houses?"

"Oh,
Lord, no! It's a big one, well enough. He said it was well along the river when
he left—and that was yesterday afternoon.

"Good
Lord!" whispered Amber. She had visions of all her money burning, her
clothes, and everything else that belonged to her. London in flames! "When
did it begin? How did it start?"

"Began
early Sunday morning," she said. "Long before sunup. They think it's
Papist plot."

"My
God! And this is Monday noon! It's been burning almost two days!" She
turned excitedly to Big John. "How much farther is it? We've got to get
there!"

"It's
seventy miles or more, sir. We could never make it if we rode all night. Better
ride till dark and then go on in the morning."

In
just a few minutes they had finished eating and were mounted. The hostess
followed them out, pointing up into the sky. "Look at the sun! How red
it's turned!" They all looked up, shading their eyes with their hands, and
there were others in the streets also looking up. The sun had a dull glow and
its colour was fierce and ominous.