Winsor, Kathleen (123 page)

A
few hours later Charles came in softly and alone to see this latest addition to
his numerous family. He bent over the elaborate carved and inlaid cradle placed
just beside Amber's bed and very carefully turned back the white satin coverlet
which hung to the floor. A slow smile came onto his mouth.

"Ods-fish!"
he whispered. "I swear the little devil looks like me."

Amber,
pale and weak and looking as if all the strength had been drained out of her,
lay flat on her back and smiled up at him. "Didn't you expect him to,
Charles?"

He
gave her a grin. "Of course I did, my dear." He took the baby's tiny
fist which had closed firmly over his fingers and touched it to his mouth.
"But I'm an ugly fellow for a helpless infant to take after." He
turned to her. "I hope you're feeling well. I saw the doctor just a few
minutes since and he said you had an easy labour."

"Easy
for him," said Amber, who wanted credit and sympathy for having suffered
more than she had. "But I suppose I'm well enough."

"Of
course you are, my dear. Two weeks from now you won't know you ever had a
baby." He kissed her then and went off so that she might rest. A few hours
later Gerald arrived, and woke her up.

Though
obviously embarrassed, he came swaggering into the room dressed in a suit of
pale-yellow satin with a hundred yards of ribbon looped about his sleeves and
breeches, and reeking of orange-flower water. From his silver sword to his lace
cravat, from his feather-burdened hat to his richly embroidered gloves he was
the perfect picture of a fop, a beau gallant, reared in England, polished in
France, inhabiting the Royal Exchange and Chatelin's ordinary, the tiring-rooms
of the theatres and Covent Garden. His prototype was to be seen a dozen times
by anyone who cared to stroll along Drury Lane or Pall Mall or any other
fashionable thoroughfare in London.

He
kissed Amber, as any casual caller might have done, and
said brightly,
"Well, madame! You're looking mighty spruce for a lady who's just laid in!
Eh bien, where is he—this new sprig of the house of Stanhope?"

Nan
had gone downstairs to the nursery to get him and now she returned bearing the
baby on a cushion with his long embroidered gown trailing halfway to the floor.
Swaddling was no longer the fashion at Court and this child would never be bound
up like a mummy until he could scarcely wiggle.

"There!"
said Nan, almost defiantly, but she held him herself and did not offer him to
Gerald. "Isn't he handsome?"

Gerald
leaned forward to examine him but kept his hands behind his back; he looked
puzzled and uneasy, at. a loss for the appropriate comment. "Well! Hello
there, young sir! Hmmm— Mort Dieu! but he has a red face, hasn't he!"

"Well!"
snapped Nan. "I'll warrant you did too!"

Gerald
jumped nervously. He was almost as much in awe of Nan as of his wife or mother.
"Oh, heavens! I meant no offense, let me perish! He's—oh, indeed, he's
really very handsome! Why, yes—he looks like his mother, let me perish!"
The baby opened his mouth and began to squall; Amber gave a wave of her hand
and Nan hurried him from the room. Left alone with her, Gerald began to fidget.
He took out his snuffbox, the last word in affectation among the fops, and
applied a pinch to each nostril. "Well, madame, no doubt you wish to rest.
I'll trouble you no longer. The truth on it is, I'm engaged to go to the play
with some gentlemen of my acquaintance."

"By
all means, my lord. Go along. Thanks for waiting on me."

"Oh,
not at all, madame, I protest. Thank
you
for admitting me. Your servant,
madame." He kissed her again, a frightened hasty peck at the tip of her
nose, bowed, and started for the door. As at a sudden afterthought he paused
and looked around over one shoulder. "Oh, by the way, madame, what d'ye
think we shall name him?"

Amber
smiled. "Charles, if it pleases your Lordship."

"Charles?
Oh! Yes—mais oui! Of course! Charles—" He left hastily and just as he went
out the door she saw him whip a handkerchief from his pocket and apply it to
his forehead.

Amber's
up-sitting was a triumphant occasion.

Her
rooms were crowded to capacity with the first lords and ladies of England. She
served them wine and cakes and accepted their kisses and effusive compliments
most graciously. They were forced to admit to one another that the child was
undoubtedly a Stuart, but they also observed with malicious satisfaction that
it was as ugly as the King had been when he was first born. Amber did not think
he was pretty either; but perhaps he would improve in time, and anyway the
important thing was that he looked like Charles. And when the baby was
christened, Charles acted as godfather and presented her with a silver
dinner-service, simple and beautiful, but also expensive
enough; his son
received the traditional gift of the twelve silver Apostle spoons.

As
Amber recovered she began to consider how she might permanently rid herself of
her troublesome mother-in-law.

Lucilla
did not intend to return to the country, she was extravagant, and in spite of
Amber's warning she persisted in sending the tradesmen to her for payment.
Amber put them off, for she had in mind a scheme which she hoped would compel
the Baroness to meet her own obligations. She hoped to find a husband for her.
Lucilla still talked a good deal of the strictness and formality which had been
in vogue during her youth and professed to be very much shocked by the new
manners, but nevertheless she had acquired some of those manners herself. No
actress cut her gowns any lower; no Maid of Honour was more flirtatious; no
vizard-mask plying her trade in the pit had her face more painted and patched.
She was as gay and, she thought, as appealing as a kitten.

She
did not care for men her own age but preferred the twenty-five-year-old sparks,
merry young fellows who bragged of the maidenheads they had taken and
considered it a piece of hilarious wit to break the watchman's head when he
tried to arrest them for disturbing the peace. To the Dowager Baroness they
represented all the excitement and liveliness she had missed and since she felt
herself no older than they she refused to believe the years had really changed
her. But if she was not aware of the difference, they were, and they escaped
her whenever they could to seek out a pretty young woman of fifteen or
seventeen. The Baroness, in their estimation, was an old jade with no fortune
to offset that handicap and they considered that she was making a fool of
herself.

There
was one of them in particular to whom she seemed most attracted. He was Sir
Frederick Fothergill, a brash confident young fop who was seen everywhere it
was fashionable to be seen and who did everything it was fashionable to do. He
was tall, thin, effeminately handsome, but he was also an ardent duellist and
had distinguished himself as a volunteer against the Dutch during the past two
years.

Amber
inquired into his circumstances and learned that he was the son of a man who
had not profited by the Restoration —as most of the Royalists had not—and that
he was deep in debt and constantly going deeper. He lived an expensive life,
bought fine clothes and kept his coach, gambled without much luck and was often
compelled to sneak out of his lodgings or to stay with friends to avoid the
dunning of his creditors. Amber guessed that he would be glad to find so
apparently simple a solution to his problems.

She
sent for him one morning and he came to her apartments. She had dismissed the
tradesmen but there were still several others in the room: Nan and half-a-dozen
women servants, a dressmaker just gathering up her materials to leave, Tansy
and the dog, and Susanna. Susanna stood with her
plump elbows on Amber's crossed
knees, her great green eyes staring up solemnly at her mother who was
explaining that young ladies should not snatch off the wigs of gentlemen. She
had experimented once with the King's periwig, found that it came off, and had
since made a grab at every man who leaned close enough. Now, however, she
nodded her head in docile agreement.

"And
you won't ever do that again, will you?" said Amber. "Never
again," agreed Susanna.

Sir
Frederick came in then, made her an elaborate bow from the doorway and another
when he stood before her. "Your Ladyship's servant," he said soberly,
but his eyes swept over her with familiarity and confidence.

Susanna
curtsied to him and Sir Frederick bent very low to kiss her hand. Her eyes
lighted on his wig, began to sparkle with mischief, and then she gave a quick
guilty glance toward her mother whom she found watching her and waiting, with
pursed lips and tapping foot. Instantly she put both hands behind her. Amber
laughed, gave her daughter a kiss and sent her out of the room with her nurse.
She watched her go, her eyes wistful and fond as they followed the dainty
little figure in ankle-length crisp white gown and tiny apron, her mass of
golden waves caught at one side with a green bow. She was very proud of Susanna
who was, she felt sure, the loveliest little girl in England—and England, of
course, was the world. The door closed and she turned back immediately to Sir
Frederick, asking him to be seated.

Amber
went to her dressing-table to finish painting her face. He sat beside her, very
smug and pleased with himself to have been invited to her Ladyship's lev
ée—and in such
privacy too, not another man around. He imagined that he knew quite well why
she had asked him.

"Your
Ladyship does me great honour," he said, his eyes on her breasts.
"I've had the greatest admiration for your Ladyship ever since the first
day I saw you—in the forefront of the King's box at the theatre some months
ago. I vow and swear, madame, I could not keep my mind or eyes on the stage."

"That's
very kind of you, sir. As it happens I've been noticing you, too—in
conversation with my mother-in-law—"

"Pshaw!"
He screwed up his face and gave a brush of one hand. "She's nothing to me,
I assure you!"

"She
speaks mighty well of you, sir. I could almost say I think she's in love with
you."

"What?
Ridiculous! Well, what if she is? That's nothing to me, is it?"

"You
haven't taken advantage of her tenderness for you, I hope?"

She
got up now and crossed the room to stand behind a screen while she dressed. And
as she went she let her dressing-gown slide just a little, allowing him a
glimpse of one taut full breast just before she disappeared; she still wanted
the admiration
of every man, however little he might be to her. But she slept with Charles—or
alone.

It
was a moment before Sir Frederick replied, and then he was emphatic.
"Lord, no! I've never so much as asked her an indecent question. Though to
tell your Ladyship truly I think that if I did I might not be
disappointed."

"But
you're too much the man of honour to make a try?"

"I'm
afraid, madame, she's not quite to my taste."

"Oh,
isn't she, Sir Frederick? And why not, pray?"

Sir
Frederick was becoming baffled. When she had invited him to pay her a call he
had told all his friends that the young Countess of Danforth had fallen
mightily in love with him and had sent for him to lie with her. Now he began to
think that she did not want him for herself after all, that perhaps she was
playing bawd to procure him for her mother-in-law. A pretty fool he'd look if
she intended to fob him off on that old jade!"

"Well,
she's a great deal older than I am, your Ladyship. My God, she must be forty!
Old women may like young men, but I'm afraid it can't be said that the reverse
holds true."

Now
fully dressed, Amber walked to the dressing-table, where she began sorting
through a boxful of jewels. Nothing in all her new life at Court had pleased
her so much as this moment when she found herself so high, so rich, so
powerful, that she could arrange the lives of others to suit herself. She held
up a diamond-and-emerald bracelet to the light, rolling out her lower lip as
she considered it, aware of his eyes watching her and aware too of what he was
thinking.

"Well,
then, Sir Frederick, I'm sorry to hear that." She fastened the bracelet.
"I had thought I might be able to help your case with her. She's a great
fortune, you know." She pawed idly through the rest of the jewellery.