Winsor, Kathleen (18 page)

The
day after Lord Carlton's departure Amber had moved almost a mile across town to
the Rose and Crown in Fetter Lane. She could not stand the sight of the rooms
where they had lived, the table where they had eaten, and the bed they had
slept in. Mr. Gumble who gave her a bleak, sympathetic look, the chambermaid,
even the black-and-white bitch with her litter of pups, filled her with lonely
sickness. She wanted to get away from it and, just as much, she wanted to avoid
the possibility of seeing Almsbury or any other of his Lordship's acquaintance.
The Earl's promise of friendship should she need it meant nothing to her now
but the dread of raking over her misery and shame. She wanted to be left alone.

For
several days she shut herself up in the single room she had taken.

She
was convinced that her life was over and the future that lay before her was
arid and hopeless. She wished that she had never seen Bruce, and forgetting her
own willful part in what had happened to her, blamed him for all her troubles.
She forgot that she had eagerly wanted to have a child and hated him for
leaving her pregnant, frightened and baffled by the knowledge that imprisoned
within her body, growing with each day that passed, was proof of her guiltiness.
One day she would no longer be able to conceal it—and what would happen to her
then? She forgot that she had despised Marygreen and wanted to leave it, and
blamed him for having brought her to this great city where she had no friends
and every strange face looked like an enemy's. A hundred times she decided that
she would go back home, but she did not dare. For though she might be able to
explain to Sarah what had happened, her uncle, she knew, would very likely
refuse her the house. And certainly would turn her out when he found her with
child.

Amber
mulled wretchedly over her problems, but there seemed no solution to them and
no end. She would never again be young and gay and free. And all because of
him!

But
in spite of herself Lord Carlton sometimes—and more often as the days
passed—stepped out of his role as Devil. She was still wholly infatuated and
she had a passionate painful longing for him that was something more than
desire. It was awe, bedazzlement, admiration as well.

But
gradually, as time passed, she began again to take an interest in merely being
alive. Her meals tasted good to her. There were so many things to eat here in
London that she had never had before: elaborate sweets called marchpanes,
olives imported from the Continent, Parmesan cheese and Bayonne
bacon. And she
began to feel a kind of curious wonder at the strange and mysterious
functioning of her own body in pregnancy. She even began to care something
about her appearance again. And once when she had idly dusted some powder over
her cheeks, she went on opening one jar after another, until she had painted
all her face, and she could not help being pleased with the result.

She
almost felt then that she was too pretty to mope away the rest of her life
alone.

Her
windows overlooked the street, which was in a somewhat fashionable
neighborhood, and she began to spend more and more time there, wondering who
the handsomely gowned lady was, getting out of her coach attended by four
gallants, where the good-looking young man who stared up at her was going and
what he thought of her. London was just as exciting as it had ever been.

But
I'm
going to have a baby!

That
was what made the difference. Even more than Lord Carlton's departure.

But
she could not stay indoors forever, and so one day when Carlton had been gone
for about a fortnight she made herself ready again with great care and went
out. She had no plan or specific intention but wanted only to get away from her
room, perhaps to ramble through the streets in her coach, to feel in some way
that she was a part of the world.

The
coachman whom Lord Carlton had hired had fallen sick of the small-pox not three
days after his Lordship left and Amber had paid him his salary for the year
and—scared of the disease—sent the footman away. The host at the Rose and Crown
found two others to take their place. Now while she waited for her coach she
stood in the doorway of the inn pulling on her gloves, and was unable to keep
back a pleased smile as two flaxen haired beribboned young fops went by and
craned their necks to stare at her. She was sure that they thought her some
person of quality. And then, to her surprise, she heard her own name spoken and
gave a start. Turning quickly she saw that a strange woman had come up behind
her.

"Good
morning, Mrs. St. Clare. Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to affright you, madame.
I wanted to ask how you were doing. My apartments are just next yours and the
landlord told me you'd been abed with an ague. I have a decoction that does
wonders for an ague—"

Her
eyes and smile were friendly and she looked at Amber as though she admired her
beauty and her clothes. Instantly grateful for the attention and glad to have
someone to talk to, if only for a moment, Amber made her a little curtsy.

"God-a-mercy,
madame. But I think the ague's near gone by now."

At
that instant her coach drove up and stopped before them; the footman opened the
door, turned down the folding iron steps and stood ready to hand her in. Amber
hesitated for just
a moment. The jolt her self-confidence had had and two weeks of complete
seclusion had made her a little shy. But she was desperately lonely and this
lady looked kind—and not too critical. She would have been afraid of one of the
glossy tart-voiced young women her own age whom she had seen and admired and
half-consciously begun to imitate. But she was not able to think of anything
more to say and so made her a slight curtsy and started toward the coach.

"Why!"
cried the stranger then. "Is that your family madame?" She referred
to Bruce's crest, which Amber had not removed from the door.

"Aye,"
said Amber without hesitation. But she was hoping that the woman could not tell
one from another. To her, at least, they all looked alike with their absurd
clawing dog-faced lions, their checkerboards and stripes.

"Why,
then I know your father well! My own country-seat is near Pickering in
Yorkshire!"

"I
come from Essex, madame. Near Heathstone." She was beginning to wish that
she had not lied about it, for it seemed likely she might be caught.

"Why,
of course, Mrs. St. Clare! How furiously stupid of me! But your crest is so
similar to that of a near neighbour of mine—though now I look closer I see well
enough what the difference is. May I present myself, madame? I'm Mrs.
Goodman."

"I'm
glad of your acquaintance, madame." She bowed, thinking how much like a
fine lady she was behaving, for she had learned those little niceties from her
French master and by watching Lord Carlton and his friends. "Can't I carry
you somewhere?"

"Why,
faith, my dear, I wouldn't care to put you to the trouble. I was only going to
pick up a trifle or so in the 'Change."

The
'Change, Amber knew, was a fashionable lounge and meeting-place for the
gallants and ladies, and that now seemed to her as good a place as any for her
excursion. "I am going there myself, madame. Pray ride along with
me."

Mrs.
Goodman did not hesitate and they both got in, spreading their full skirts
about them, ruffling their fans, commenting on the September heat. The coach
started off across town, jogging about on the cobble-stones, and from time to
time they were held up in a dispute with a hackney over the right of way or had
to wait while a procession of colliers carts filed slowly by. Amber and Sally
Goodman sat inside talking animatedly, and Amber had almost forgotten that she
was a jilted woman carrying in her body a bastard child.

Sally
Goodman was plump with pink over-fleshed arms and a bosom that bulged out of
her low-necked gowns. Her skin was badly pock-marked, though she did what she
could to remedy this defect by the application of a thick layer of some
pink-white cosmetic, and her hair was two or three shades of
light yellow so
that it was plain she aided nature in this respect also. She admitted to
twenty-eight of her thirty-nine years and, for that matter, she did contrive to
look younger than she was. Her clothes had a sort of specious elegance, though
a practiced eye might have known immediately that they were made of second-rate
materials by a second-rate sempstress, and there was precisely the same quality
in her manner and personality. But she had a hearty good-natured joviality that
Amber found both warming and comforting.

Mrs.
Goodman, it seemed, was a person of quality and means, making a short stay in
London while her husband was abroad on business. Evidently judging Amber by her
accent, clothes and coach, she assumed her to be a country heiress visiting in
the city and Amber—pleased with this identity— agreed that she was.

"But,
Lord, sweetheart!" said Mrs. Goodman. "Are you all alone? A pretty young
creature like you? Why, there's dozens of wicked men in London looking for just
such an opportunity!"

Amber
almost surprised herself with the readiness of her reply. "Oh, I'm
visiting my aunt—that is, I—I'm going to visit her as soon as she gets back. She's
still in France— She was with his Majesty's court—"

"Oh,
of course," agreed Mrs. Goodman. "My husband was there too, for a
time, but the King thought he could do more good back here, organizing plots.
Where does your aunt live, my dear?"

"She
lives in the Strand—oh, it's a mighty fine house!" Almsbury had once
driven her by his home which was located there, though not yet returned to his
possession.

"I
hope she comes back soon. I'm afraid your parents would be uneasy to have you
here alone for very long, my dear. You're not married. I suppose?"

Amber
felt a sudden hot blush at that question and her eyes retreated to her closed
fan. But she found another nimble lie conveniently at her tongue's end.

"No—I'm
not— But I will be soon. My aunt has a gentleman for me—an earl, I think she
said. He's on his travels now but he'll likely come home when she does."
Then she remembered what Almsbury had told her about Bruce's parents and added:
"My father and mother are both dead. My father was killed at Marston Moor
and my mother died in Paris ten years ago."

"Oh,
you poor dear child. And have you no guardian, no one to care for you?"

"My
aunt is my guardian when she's here. I've been living with another aunt, since
she went abroad."

Mrs.
Goodman shook her head and sympathetically pressed Amber's hand. Amber was
passionately grateful for her kindly interest and understanding, for the mere
fact that here was
another human being she could talk to, share small experiences with—she had
always felt miserable and lost when alone.

The
Royal Exchange stood at the junction of Corn Hill and Threadneedle Street, not
far from the Royal Saracen Inn. The building formed an immense quadrangle
completely surrounding a courtyard and the galleries were divided into tiny
shops attended by pretty young women who kept up a continual cry: "What
d'ye lack, gentlemen? What d'ye lack, ladies? Ribbons, gloves, essences—"
The gallants loitered there, flirting with the 'Change women, lounging against
a pillar to watch the ladies walk by and calling out boldly to them. The
courtyard itself was crowded with merchants, soberly dressed, intent on
business, talking of stocks and mortgages and their ventures at sea.

As
they went inside and began to mount the stairs Amber reluctantly followed Sally
Goodman's example and put on her vizard. What's the good of a pretty face, she
thought, if no one's to see it? and she let her cloak fall back, showing her
figure. But in spite of the mask there was no doubt she attracted attention.
For as they walked along, pausing now and then to examine a pair of gloves,
some embroidered ribbons, a length
of lace, enthusiastic comments followed
them.

"She's
handsome—
very
handsome! By God, but she is!"

"Those
killing eyes!"

"As
pretty a girl, for a fortnight's use or so, as a man could wish."

Amber
began to feel pleased and excited and she cast furtive sidelong glances to see
how many men were watching her and what they looked like. Mrs. Goodman,
however, took another view of the compliments. She clucked her tongue and shook
her head.