Winsor, Kathleen (50 page)

Bruce
was busy most of the time.

The
days he spent down at the wharves overseeing the cleaning and repairing and
supplying of his ships, signing new men, and talking to the merchants from whom
he ordered provisions, for many of them had a monetary share in his ships.
Privateering was the greatest speculative business of the nation, and not only
the King and courtiers but most of the great merchants and many of the lesser
ones were engaged in it, usually through money invested in a venture such as
his. At night he went to Whitehall, saw the plays there, gambled in the Groom
Porter's Lodge, attended the never-ending succession of balls and
supper-parties.

Consequently
Amber saw him for only an hour or two in the morning when she visited his
apartments at Almsbury House, and she did not go every day because, when he
could, Rex waited until she was ready to start for the Theatre before he left.
But as far as she knew he had no slightest suspicion that she had seen Lord
Carlton either before or since that one night. And she intended to make sure
that he never would suspect it.

But
contending against her determination to be cautious and clever, to keep Rex
Morgan's confidence and his love, was the violent infatuation which made her
reckless in spite of herself.

She
had begged Bruce again to take her with him when he went and again he had
refused, nor would any amount of tears and imploring change his mind. She was
accustomed to Rex, who could usually be coaxed, and his obdurate refusal filled
her with frantic, impotent fury.

"I'll
stow away on your ship then!" she told him one day,
half-joking,
but thinking nevertheless that if she did there would be nothing he could do
about it. She would be there and he couldn't very well throw her overboard.

"And
I'll send you back again when I find you, no matter how far out we are."
His eyes had a warning glitter as he looked at her. "Privateering's no
game of handy-dandy."

Amber
worried because she knew that soon he would be gone and she would not see him
at all—perhaps for years— but she worried even more because now, while he was
here, the days were getting away from them one by one and they were able to be
together only for a snatched hour or two at a time. She longed to spend whole
days and nights with him, uninterrupted by either his obligations or hers. And
at last she discovered the solution—a plan so simple and obvious it seemed
incredible she had not thought of it weeks ago. They would go away together
into the country.

"And
what about Captain Morgan?" Bruce wanted to know. "Is he going along
too?"

Amber
laughed. "Of course he isn't! Don't you trouble yourself about Rex. I'll
take care of him, I warrant you. I know just what I'm going to tell him—and
he'll never suspect a thing. Oh, please, Bruce! You will go, won't you?"

"My
dear—I'd like to, of course. But I think you'd be taking a very great risk for
a very small reward. Suppose that he—"

But
she interrupted him swiftly. "Oh, Bruce, he won't! I know Rex better than
you do—he'll believe anything I tell 'im!"

He
gave her a slow smile. "Darling, men aren't always as gullible as women
think they are."

He
finally agreed, though, to go away with her for five or six days, after he had
settled his business. A Spanish merchant-fleet was known to be returning from
Peru, heavily laden with gold and silver, and he hoped to intercept it sometime
at the end of May, which meant that he must leave London in the middle of the
month.

And,
as when he had agreed to bring her to London, Amber thought that she had
persuaded him. She still did not realize that selfishness and cynicism made him
indifferent to what might happen to her. He had warned her, but he did not
believe that he either could or should protect her from the risks of living and
of her own headstrong temper.

They
took the main road down through Surrey toward the sea-coast. As in London it
was raining—and had been almost every day for a month and a half—so that they
travelled slowly and had to make frequent stops to haul the coach out of
mud-bogs, for the roads were now nothing more. But the countryside was
beautiful. This was the rich agricultural heart of England and prosperous farms
lay spread over the rolling hills; many of them were enclosed by hedges, though
that practice was as yet an uncommon one. The cottages and manor-houses were
made of cherry-coloured brick and silver oak and the
luxuriant
gardens were massed with purple-and-white violets, tulips, crimson ramblers.

Amber
and Bruce sat side by side, hands tightly clasped, looking out the glass
windows and talking softly. As always his presence gave her a sense of
finality, a sureness that his was all she wanted from life and that it would
last as it was forever.

"It
makes me think of home," she said, gesturing to take in the village through
which they were passing. "Marygreen, I mean."

"
'Home'? Does that mean you'd like to go back?"

"Go
back—to Marygreen? I should say
not!
It gives me the vapours to so much
as think of it!"

The
first night they stopped at a little inn, and since the rain continued they
decided to stay there. It was warm and comfortable and friendly and the food
was good. The host was a veteran of the Civil Wars, a bluff old fellow who
cornered Bruce every time he saw him and went into lengthy reminiscences of
Prince Rupert and Marston Moor. They were the only guests there.

But
the week which she had expected would pass so slowly seemed to pick up speed as
it went and the precious minutes and hours rushed along, slipping out of her
hands as she tried to catch at them and drag them back. So soon now it would be
over—he would be gone—

"Oh,
why
does the time go by so fast, just when you want it to go slow!"
she cried. "Someday I hope the clock will stand still and never
move!"

"Haven't
you learned yet to be careful of what you wish for?"

They
spent the days idly, lay long in the mornings, and went to bed early at night.
While the rain poured down outside they sat before the fire and played card
games, costly-colours, putt, wit-and-reason; invariably he won and, though she
thought that she had become very clever, he always seemed to know when she was
cheating. If the evenings were nice, as two or three of them were, they bowled
on the green beside the inn.

They
had brought the baby with them—as well as Nan and Tansy—and Bruce told her that
he had arranged with Almsbury to take him from Mrs. Chiverton and put him into
the nursery with the Earl's two sons. Amber was delighted to see how intensely
fond he was of the child she had borne him. It encouraged her to think that
sooner or later he would give up his roving life, and marry her—or take her to
America with him.

Until
the last day she kept her resolution not to argue with him, and then she could
not resist making one more effort to convert him. "I don't see why you
want to live in America, Bruce," she said, pouting a little before he had
even had time to answer. "What can you like about that country—full of
nothing but wild Indians and blackamoors! Why, you said yourself there isn't a
town the size of London in the whole of
it. Lord, what can you find to do? Why
don't you come back to England and live when you're done privateering?"

The
rain had stopped and the sun came out hot. They had spread a blanket beneath a
beech-tree, heavily laden with long drooping clusters of purple blossoms, and
Amber sat cross-legged on it while Bruce lay stretched out on his stomach. As
she talked she kept an eye on the baby who had wandered some yards away to
watch a duck and several little tawny ducklings swimming on a shallow pond;
from his hand trailed a neglected wooden doll tied to a cord. She had just
cautioned him not to go too close, but he was absorbed in the ducks and paid
her scant attention.

Bruce,
with a stalk of green grass between his teeth and his eyes narrowed against the
sun, looked up at her and grinned.

"Because,
my darling, the life
I
want for myself and my children doesn't exist in England any more."

"Your
children! How many bastards have you, pray? Or are you married?" she asked
suddenly.

"No,
of course not." He gave a quick gesture as she started to open her mouth.
"And let's not talk about that again."

"Oh,
I wasn't
going to! You have such a damned high opinion of yourself! I don't have to go
begging for a husband, let me tell you!"

"No,"
he agreed. "I don't suppose you do. I'm only surprised that you aren't
married already."

"If
I'm
not it's because I've been a silly fool and thought that you'd— Oh, I'm not
going to say it! But
why
don't you like England? Lord, you could live at
Court and have as fine a station as any man in Europe!"

"Perhaps.
But the price is too high for my purse."

"But
you'll be rich as anything—"

"It
isn't money I mean. You don't know anything about the Court, Amber. You've only
seen it from the outside. You've seen the handsome clothes and the jewels and
the fine manners. That isn't Whitehall. Whitehall's like a rotten egg. It looks
good enough until you break it open—and then it stinks to the heavens—"

She
did not believe that and was about to tell him so, when there was a sudden
splash and a loud howl from the baby as he tumbled into the pond. Bruce was on
his feet at a bound and running, with Amber close behind, to pick his son out
of the water. And when the little boy found himself unhurt and safe in his
father's arms all three burst into laughter. Bruce set him up on one shoulder
and they started for the inn to get him out of his wet clothes.

It
was late the next night when she left Bruce at Almsbury House. A nurse he had
already hired came out to get the baby and disappeared with him. But for a
moment Bruce stood in the rain beside the opened door of the coach, while Amber
struggled with her tears. This time she was determined that he should go away
with a pleasant memory of her, but her throat
ached painfully and she thought
that she would never be able to bear the parting. For hours she had kept
herself talking and thinking of other things, but now she could pretend no
longer. This was goodbye.

"I'll
see you when you come back, Bruce—" she whispered, for she could not trust
her voice.

He
stood looking at her, but for a moment did not answer. Then he said, "I've
put a thousand pound with Shadrac New-bold in your name—you can have it on
twenty days' notice. If you have any trouble with Morgan because of this, that
will help take care of you." He leaned forward quickly, kissed her, and
turned to walk away. She watched him go, fading from sight in the wet darkness,
and then suddenly she could control herself no longer and she began to cry.

She
was still crying when she reached the Blue Balcony. She felt as though she had
been away for a great while, it was almost strange to her, and she climbed the
stairs slowly. The door, as she tried it, was already unlocked and she went in.
Rex was there.

His
eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he had not shaved for days, nor
perhaps slept either, for his face was haggard and his clothes rumpled.
Surprised to find him there and in that condition she stood perfectly still for
a moment, sniffling unconsciously though the tears had stopped at sight of him,
and one hand went up to wipe her streaked face.

"Well,"
he said quietly at last. "So your Aunt Sarah died. Nothing else, I
suppose, could make you look like that."

Amber
was wary, for she could not be sure if that was sarcasm in his voice. But she
did not think—if he knew where she had been— that he would be so still and
calm. "Yes," she said. "Poor Aunt Sarah. It was a mighty bad
shock to me— she was the only mother I ever—"

"Don't
trouble yourself to lie to me. I know where you've been and who you've been
with." He spoke between his teeth, biting off each word with a savage
snap, and though his voice did not rise she saw all at once that he was
insanely, murderously angry. She opened her mouth to make some denial but he
cut her off. "What kind of a fool do you take me for? Don't you suppose it
ever occurred to me to wonder why that brat of yours had the same first name he
has? But you'd made me so many promises— Oh, you'd never be unfaithful to the
man who loved you, not you! I was determined to believe in you and trust you no
matter what happened. And then both of you went out of town at the same time—
You ungrateful jilting little slut—I've been here four days and nights, waiting
for you to come back— Do you have any idea what I've been through since you
went? Of course you don't! You've never thought about anyone but yourself in
all your life— You've never cared who you hurt if you got what you wanted— You
selfish, mercenary, whoring little bitch. I should kill you—I'd
like
to
kill you—I'd like to watch the breath go out of you—"

His
voice went on in a low monotonous tone that did not sound like him and his face
was twisted with rage and sickness and jealousy into something she could
scarcely recognize. This was a man she had never known existed beneath the
quiet gentle Rex Morgan she had taken so casually for granted; this was some
malevolent, savage stranger.