Winsor, Kathleen (118 page)

"Of
course I will, my dear. But I do think it's dangerous for you to stay. He
wanted you to go—they had often discussed it and made the plans in case of an
attack—"

"I'll
be safe enough here. If they come I'll go to Whitehall. They won't dare attack
the Palace. I
'll
take care of your things here—let me have the key to the strong-room and I'll
move the valuables down there."

At
that moment Nan came running into the room. "My God, I've looked
everywhere for you! Come, quick, and get into your clothes! They're all but
upon us—I heard the guns!" Her gown was twisted, her hair not combed and
she wore no stockings; she grabbed Amber's hand and started to pull her away.

The
two women walked out into the crowded noisy confused hall-way, and Amber had
almost to shout to make herself heard. "I'm not going, Nan. But you can if
you want to— I just asked—"

Nan
gasped. As far as she was concerned the French army was disembarking at that
moment and the Dutch navy lay anchored in the Pool. "Oh, mam! You can't!
You can't stay here! They'll put everyone they see to the sword! They'll rip up
your belly and gouge out your eyes and—"

"Holy
Mother of God! Isn't this the most horrifying thing that ever happened!"
It was Lady Stanhope, now dressed— though obviously with much haste—followed by
two women servants loaded down with bulging sacks and boxes. "I'm leaving
for Ridgeway this instant! I knew I should never have left the country! This
terrible city—something always happening to it! Where's Gerry?"

"I
don't know. Go ahead, Nan—Lady Almsbury's leaving in a few minutes." She
turned back to her mother-in-law. "I haven't seen him lately."

"You
haven't seen him! But my God! Where is he then? He told me he spent every night
with you!" Suddenly her eyes grew bright and hard and she narrowed them to
give Amber a close shrewd look. "And by the way—wasn't Lord Carlton coming
out of
your
apartments just now?"

Amber
turned impatiently away and started down the hall toward her own rooms.
"What if he was?"

Lady
Stanhope took a few moments to recover from that and then she came after Amber,
panting at her heels, jabbering in her ear. "Do you mean to tell me, you
brazen creature, that his Lordship was alone with you in there—at an hour when
no honest woman should be alone with any man but her husband? Do you mean to
tell me you've cuckolded my Gerry? Answer me, hus-wife!" She grabbed Amber
by the arm and jerked her around.

Amber
stopped perfectly still for just an instant and then suddenly she whirled and
faced Lucilla. "Take your hands off me, you overgrown jade! Yes, I was
with Lord Carlton and I don't give a damn who knows it! You'd have been with
him yourself if he'd given you so much as a sideways glance! Go find your
blasted Gerry now and leave me alone—"

"Why!
you impertinent strumpet! Wait until Gerry hears about this! Wait until I tell
him what you—"

But
Amber had walked away so swiftly that she left her bewildered and sputtering in
the middle of the hall. For a moment the Dowager Baroness hesitated, as though
she could not decide whether it was more important to follow her
daughter-in-law and give her the tongue-lashing she deserved, or to set out for
the country and save herself. "Well—I'll take a course with her
later!" She glared after Amber's hurrying figure, muttered,
"Slut!" and then summoning her two women rushed off down the stairs.

Amber,
with a cloak thrown over her dressing-gown, went down into the courtyard to see
them off. Both Emily and Nan begged her again to come with them but she
refused, insisting that she would be perfectly safe there. She was, in fact, no
longer afraid—for the excitement of the drums, of horses pounding by along the
streets, screams and cries and church-bells ringing, had roused a reckless
energy in her.

The
children were together in one coach, with two of their nurses, and even Susanna
was beginning to think that it was a frolic of some kind. Amber kissed both of
them. "Take care of your sister, Bruce. Don't let her be frightened or
lonely." Susanna began to cry again when she found that her mother was not
going along, and she was standing on the seat with her hands plastered to the
window when the great carriage rolled out of the yard. Amber waved them
good-bye and went back into the house; she had a great deal to do.

She
did not sleep at all the rest of the night, but stayed up to oversee the
removal of the Earl's valuables down into the strong-room. His gold and silver
plate, the pewter service

which
Charles I had presented to his father when the old Earl had melted down his
plate to make a war contribution, their jewellery and her own, all went into
the Stone crypt in the cellar. When that was done she got dressed, swallowed a
cup of hot chocolate, and set out before six for Shadrac Newbold's house in
Lombard Street where he and many other goldsmiths had removed since the Fire.

It
was a long ride from the Strand through the ruined City. Scaffolding was
everywhere but many houses had been completed; a few streets, solidly rebuilt,
stood perfectly empty. There were cellars still smoking and the smell of
dew-wet charcoal was strong in the air. A soil had formed upon the ashes and it
was covered with a small, bright-yellow flower, London rocket, which showed
cheerily through the gruel-thick fog that hung almost to the ground.

Amber,
tired and worried, sat gloomily in the rocking coach. She felt sick at her
stomach and her head spun wearily. As they approached Newbold's house she saw a
queue of coaches and of men and women which reached around the corner into
Abchurch Lane. Exasperated, she leaned forward and rapped her fan against the
wall of the coach, shouting at John Waterman.

"Drive
down St. Nicholas Lane and stop!"

There
she got out and with Big John and two footmen, walked through a little alley
which led to the back entrance of his house. It was fenced in and they found
the gate guarded by two sentries with crossed muskets.

"My
Lady Danforth to see your master," said one of the footmen.

"I'm
very sorry, your Ladyship. We have orders to admit
no one at all
by this gate."

"Let
me by," said Amber shortly, "or I'll have both your noses slit!"

Intimidated
either by her threat or by Big John's towering bulk they let her go in. A
servant went to call Shadrac New-bold, who soon appeared, looking as tired as
she felt. He bowed to her, politely.

"I
took the liberty of coming in by your back entrance. I've been up all night and
I couldn't wait in that line."

"Certainly,
madame. Won't you come into my office?"

With
exhausted relief she dropped into the chair he offered her. The rims of her
eyelids felt raw and her legs ached. She gave a sigh and leaned her head
against her hand, as though unable to hold it up herself. He poured a glass of
wine, which she accepted gratefully; it gave her at least a temporary sense of
spurious vitality.

"Ah,
madame," murmured Newbold. "This is a sad day for England."

"I've
come for my money. I want all of it—now."

He
gave her a mournful little smile, turning his spectacles thoughtfully in his
hand. Finally he sighed. "So do they,
madame." He gestured toward the
window through which she could see a part of the waiting queue. "Every one
of them. Some have twenty pound deposited with me—some, like you, have a great
deal more. In a few minutes I must begin to let them in. I've got to tell them
all what I tell you—I can't give it to you."

"What!"
cried Amber, the shock jerking her out of her tiredness. "Do you mean to
say—" She was starting to get up from her chair.

"Just
one moment, madame, please. Nothing has happened to your money. It is quite
safe. But don't you see, if I and every other goldsmith in London were to try
to give back every shilling which has been deposited with us—" He gave a
helpless little gesture. "It is impossible, madame, you know that. Your
money is safe, but it is not in my possession, but for a small sum. The rest is
out at interest, invested in property and in stocks and in the other ventures
of which you know. I do not keep your money lying idle, and neither have I kept
the money of my other depositors lying idle. That is why we can't return it to
all of you all at once. Give me twenty days—and if you want it then I can have
it for you. But we must all ask for that twenty days of grace to bring the
money into our possession again. Even that will create a condition of financial
anarchy which may upset the entire nation."

"The
entire nation's upset as it is. Nothing worse than invasion
can
happen
to us. Well—I understand you, Mr. Newbold. You took care of my money during the
Plague and the Fire and no doubt you can take care of it as well as I can
now...."

Amber
went back home, spent four hours trying to sleep, ate her dinner and then set
out for the Palace. Along the Strand went a parade of carts and coaches full of
refugees hurrying out of town once more to the comparative safety of the
country. In the courts and passages of Whitehall there stood more loaded carts.
Everywhere people gathered together, listening for the guns, gabbling of
nothing but invasion and of trying to get their money, of hiding their
belongings and of making out their wills. Several of the courtiers had been
among those volunteers who had gone with Albemarle to Chatham or with Rupert to
Woolwich, and upon those few hundred men rested all the hope of England.

Amber
was stopped every few feet by some excited courtier or lady who asked her what
she was going to do and then without waiting for her answer started to tell his
or her own troubles. Everyone was gloomy, acknowledging frankly that all
fortifications were decayed, unarmed and unmanned, and that the country lay
helpless before the invaders. They were angry with the goldsmiths because they
would not return their money and swore never to do business with them again.
Some of them intended to go to Bristol or another port and sail for America or
the Continent. If England was a sinking vessel they did not intend to go down
with her.

The
Queen's apartments were hot and crowded and full of shrill noisy voices.
Catherine was fanning herself and trying to look composed, but the quick,
darting anxious movements of her black eyes betrayed her own worry and
uncertainty. Amber went up to speak to her.

"What's
the news, your Majesty? Have they come any nearer?"

"They
say that the French are in Mounts Bay."

"But
they won't come
here,
will they? They wouldn't dare!"

Catherine
smiled faintly and shrugged her shoulders. "We didn't think that they
would dare do this much. Most of the ladies are going out of town, madame. You
should go too. I'm afraid the sad truth is we didn't expect this and we're not
prepared."

Just
then they heard the loud clear voice of Lady Castlemaine, standing only a few
feet away talking to Lady Southesk and Bab May. "Someone's going to smoke
for this, you may be sure! The people are in a tearing rage! They've been
chopping down Clarendon's trees and breaking his windows and they've writ their
sentiments plain enough on his gate. They've got a sign there that says, 'Three
sights to be seen: Dunkirk, Tangier, and a barren Queen!' "

Lady
Southesk gave her a warning jab and Barbara glanced around, puffed out her
cheeks as though in horrified surprise and pressed one hand to her mouth. But
the glitter in her eyes said plainly that she had intended to be overheard.
While Catherine stared, Barbara gave a careless shrug and signalled to Bab May.
They left the room together.

Damn
that hard-hearted bitch! thought Amber. I'd like to jerk her bald-headed!

"And
a barren Queen," whispered Catherine, her tiny hands clasping her fan
until they trembled. "How they hate me for that!" Suddenly her eyes
came up and she looked Amber straight in the face. "How I hate
myself!"

Amber
had a sudden pang of shame; she wondered if Catherine knew that she was
pregnant at that moment, with his child. Impulsively she pressed her hand,
tried to give her a reassuring smile of sympathy, but she was relieved to see
the languid affected Boynton sail up, waving her fan and seeming about to
swoon.

"Oh,
Lord, your Majesty! We're all undone! I've just heard the French army is off
the coast of Dover making ready to land!"

"What!"
yelped a woman who stood nearby. "The French have landed? Good God!"
And she started in a rush for the door. The cry was taken up and instantly the
room was a milling swirling mass—men and women shoving and pushing at one
another in their wild anxiety, surging toward the door.

But
the rumour, like a hundred others, proved false.

Drums
beat all through that night, calling up the trainbands. Gunfire could be heard
from London Bridge. Waves
of hysterical alarm and angry pessimism swept the city. Whoever owned anything
of the slightest value was busy burying it in the back yard, rushing it out of
town in the custody of wife or servant, hectoring the goldsmiths and drawing up
his will. They said openly that they had been betrayed by the Court— and most
of them expected to die at a point of a French or a Dutch sword. Then news came
that the Dutch had broken the boom which had been stretched across the Medway
to keep them out, that they had burned six men-of-war and taken the
Royal
Charles
and were pillaging the countryside.