Winsor, Kathleen (49 page)

"That's
Lord Carlton and he's
not
making her an assignation!"

Beck
looked at her in mild surprise and then smiled. "Well—" she drawled.
"And if he is or isn't—what's that to you, pray?"

Quick
anger at her own foolishness rushed over Amber, for she knew well enough that
in spite of the half-hearted friendship which existed between them nothing
would please Beck so much as an opportunity to create trouble between her and
Rex Morgan. "It's nothing at all to me! But I happen to know he's laid his
affections elsewhere."

"Oh?
And where's that?" Beck's voice was a musical purr and her eyes gleamed
with sly malice.

"On
my Lady Castlemaine!" snapped Amber, though it burnt her tongue to say it,
and she flounced off.

She
wished then that she had not invited Bruce to come back to the tiring-room
after the play—for she knew that Beck's sharp eyes would be upon them—and just
before the last act she sent a boy to their box with a note asking him to meet
her at Almsbury's coach instead. She was not on the stage at the end of the
play, and she rushed through her dressing to be ready to go by the time the
crowds began streaming out of the theatre.

She
left before anyone had returned to the tiring-room and made her way over to
Almsbury's coach, where Bruce stood waiting at the opened door. "Bruce!
I'm so glad to see you!" She lowered her voice and glanced quickly around,
for she did not want to be seen or overheard by anyone who might know Rex.
"I sent you that note because I thought—"

He
smiled. "Never mind, Amber. No excuses are necessary. I believe I know
what you thought. May I present you to Lady Almsbury?"

She
gave him a quick glance of indignation—for she wished he would not understand
her motives so readily, or would be more offended by them when he did. But he
seemed not to notice the look, took hold of her arm and began to make the
introductions.

As
Amber saw at once, Emily, Lady Almsbury, was by no means a beauty. Her hair,
her eyes, even the clothes she wore, seemed indefinite in colouring, though
there was nothing otherwise amiss in her features, and her teeth were white and
even. Paint and false curls, a few patches and a low-necked gown, as well as a
little natural audacity, might have made quite another woman of her. And it was
noticeable that she was pregnant again.

Lord!
thought Amber. How unprofitable it is to be a man's wife!

Bruce
and Amber went to ride in her coach and with them went a little Negro boy who
could have been no more than five or six and who had much ado to keep his master's
cloak, which he carried, from getting into the mud. He was perfectly black
and shiny, so
that the whites of his eyes gleamed in his face, and as Amber smiled at him he
gave her a broad ingratiating grin.

"This
is Tansy," Bruce explained. "I got him a year ago in Jamaica."

Some
of the nobility owned black servants, but Amber had
never seen one
of them at close range before and she examined him as though he were some small
inanimate object or a new dog, looking at the pale-coloured palms of his hands and
admiring the dazzling whiteness of his teeth. He wore a splendid suit of
sapphire-blue satin and his head was wound in a silver-cloth turban, stuck
through with a large ruby pin. But his shoes were shoddy and much too large for
him and he was then easing the heel of one down off his foot with the toe of
the other, while his big solemn eyes stared up at her.

"Oh,
Bruce, what a pretty little moppet he is!" cried Amber. "Can he
talk" And without waiting for an answer she immediately asked him,
"Why do they call you Tansy?"

"
'Cause my mother ate a tansy puddin' before
I was born." He had a soft liquid
voice which it was difficult for her to understand. He stood up in the coach,
leaning with one elbow on the seat beside Bruce, and he did not once glance out
the window at the busy streets through which they were passing.

"What
does he do? What's he for?"

"Oh,
he's very useful. He plays the merry-wang—that's a kind of guitar the Negroes
have—and makes coffee. And of course he sings and dances. I thought perhaps
you'd like to have him."

"Oh,
Bruce, is he for me! You brought him across the ocean for me! Oh, thank you!
Tansy—how would you like to stay here in London with me?"

He
looked from Amber to Bruce, then shook his head. "No, sir, mam. I's goin'
back to see Mis' Leah."

Amber
looked questioningly at Bruce, and caught a quick passing smile on his face.
"Who's Miss Leah?"

"She's
my housekeeper."

Instant
suspicion showed in her eyes. "Is she a blackamoor too?"

"She's
a quadroon."

"What
the devil's that?"

"It's
one who has a quarter Negro blood and the rest white."

Amber
gave a mock shudder. "They must be a scurvy lot!"

"Not
at all. Some of them are very beautiful."

"And
do they call 'em all 'mis'?" she demanded sarcastically. "Or only
yours!"

He
smiled. "That's the way Tansy pronounces 'Mrs.' "

She
gave him a sidewise glance of jealousy and mistrust, and though she wanted to
ask him point-blank if the woman had been his mistress he was still a little
strange to her and she did not quite dare. I'll ask Tansy, she decided. I can
find out from him some way.

At
that moment they stopped before her lodging-house. Bruce helped her out and
whatever she was about to say to him was cut short by the appearance of
Almsbury's coach, which had followed close behind them. She and the countess
walked upstairs together, chatting about the weather and the play and the
audience, and Amber found herself liking her very well, for she seemed kind and
generous and apparently had none of the envy or malice which Amber habitually
expected in a woman.

The
meal was everything that Amber had hoped it would be.

There
was a hot thick pea soup, steamingly fragrant, with leeks and chopped bacon and
small crusty meat-balls that floated on the surface. There was roast duck
stuffed with oysters and onions and walnuts; fried mushrooms; sweet biscuits;
and an orange pudding baked in a dish lined with a crisp flaky puff-paste and
decorated with candied orange-blossoms. And she had ordered a potful of black
coffee because she knew that Bruce liked it—it was becoming a fashionable,
though still an expensive, drink. The men were enthusiastic and Amber was as
pleased as though she had cooked it all herself.

When
supper was done they went into the parlour to talk; Amber and Lady Almsbury sat
on the couch before the fire while the men took chairs, one on either side of
them. For a few minutes Amber and her Ladyship discussed the new fashions—gowns
were now being made with trains three feet long —and Bruce and the Earl talked
of the Dutch war, which both were sure would come soon. But Amber presently
grew tired of that. She had not invited Bruce there to talk to Almsbury.

"You
say you're not here to stay, my lord," she said now, turning to him.
"What do you intend doing?"

Bruce,
who sat with both elbows resting on his wide-spread legs, holding his brandy
glass in his two hands, glanced across at Almsbury before he answered her.

"I'm
going back to Jamaica."

"Why
there, for Heaven's sake? I've heard it's a nasty place."

"Nasty
or not, it's a very good place for my purpose."

"And
what's your purpose, pray?" She was thinking of Mrs. Leah.

"To
get some more money."

"Some
more? Aren't you rich enough by now?"

"Is
anyone ever rich enough any time?" Almsbury wanted to know.

Amber
ignored him. "Well, now, sure you don't intend to be a pirate all the rest
of your life!" She knew well enough what was the difference between a
pirate and a privateer, but liked to make his profession sound as disreputable
as she could.

Bruce
smiled. "No. Another year or two, perhaps, depending on what luck I
have—and then I'm through."

Her
face brightened. "Then you'll come back here to stay?"

He
drew a deep breath, drained his glass, and as he
answered her he started to get
up. "Then I think I'll go to America and plant tobacco."

Amber
stared at him, nonplussed. "Go to America!" she cried, and then
added, "To plant tobacco! Why, you must be out of your head!"
Suddenly she sprang up and ran after him where he had gone to pour himself
another glass of brandy. "Bruce! You're not serious!"

He
looked down at her. "Why not? I don't intend to stay here and play at
cross-or-pile with the Court politicians for the next thirty years."

"But
why America! It's so far away! Why not plant your tobacco here—in
England?"

"For
one thing, there's a law against planting tobacco in England. And even if there
were not it would still be impractical. The soil isn't suitable and tobacco
culture requires a great deal of ground—it exhausts the land quickly and you've
got to have room to spread out."

"But
what will you get by it? You won't need money over there—money's no good if
you're not where you can spend it!"

He
did not answer her, for just then the door opened and Rex Morgan came in; and
paused in surprise to find her staring up so intensely at a man he had never
seen before. Amber was disappointed and a little troubled, wondering what her
expressions had been at the moment he had opened the door, but immediately she
ran to take his hand, welcoming him gaily.

"Come
in, darling! I wasn't expecting you and we've eaten everything but the
nut-shells! Here—let me present my guests—"

Rex
had already met Almsbury but neither the Countess nor Bruce, and once the
introductions were acknowledged Amber made a quick suggestion that they play
cards. She did not want the men to begin talking. They sat down to a
five-handed game of lanterloo and as Almsbury began to shuffle the cards Amber
saw Rex and Lord Carlton exchange glances across the table that sent a chill
down her spine.

Oh,
Lord! she thought. If he guesses!

She
played badly, unable to keep her mind on her cards, and the room seemed too hot
and close. But Bruce paid her no particular attention and was as casual in his
manner as though he were merely the friend who had come along because he
happened to be staying at Almsbury's house. And in her turn Amber tried
desperately to convince Rex of her undivided interest in him. She flirted with
him as flagrantly as though they had just met, asked his opinion on several
matters of no importance, called Nan to fill his wine-glass the moment it was
empty, and scarcely looked at Bruce. For he had given her no reason as yet to
think she would not continue to need Rex Morgan.

But
she was uncomfortably nervous and the back muscles of her neck were beginning
to ache when Almsbury, giving his wife's pregnancy as an excuse, suggested that
it was time to go home. She threw him a look of grateful relief.

Nan
brought out the men's cloaks and plumed hats and Amber walked into the bedroom
with Lady Almsbury, telling her how pleased she was to have made her acquaintance.
She held her cloak for her and took her fan while Emily adjusted her hood, then
gave back her own instead. Emily did not notice the change and they went back
into the parlour. The three men were having a last drink and all of them seemed
to be on perfectly friendly terms; when they left Rex invited them to come
again.

Nan
went out with a candle to light them to the bottom of the stairs and Amber
waited a minute or two. "Oh!" she cried then. "I've got her
Ladyship's fan!" And before Rex, who had gone into the dining-room to pick
up a cold biscuit, could offer to take it down for her she had run out of the
room. She reached them when they had just gotten to the bottom of the stairs,
for Emily had to move with care, and all of them laughed politely as they made
the exchange.

But
as she turned to go back up again she gave a swift glance around, and then
whispered to Bruce, "I'll come to Almsbury House tomorrow morning at
eight," and before he could reply or object she had picked up her skirts
and was running up the stairs once more.