Winsor, Kathleen (58 page)

"Of
course! That's who she is, Will! I knew all along we'd seen you before, madame.
But why so modest, pray? Most actresses are—"

"An
actress!" protested Amber. "Lord, whatever put that unlucky notion
into your heads! It may be I resemble one of the wretches, but then it's the
practice of all of 'em to try to look like quality, they tell me. No,
gentlemen, you've made a mistake. I assure you I've never been nearer the stage
than the middle-box. And now, good-day."

But
she knew by the sly looks they exchanged and the smiles on their faces when
they bowed, that she had not convinced them. When the door was shut Amber
leaned back against it with a low whistle.

"Whew!
Blast those two paper-skulled nuisances! I've got to find a way to be rid of
them,
that's flat!"

When
they came that night and invited her to go with them to the gaming-house
Amber's first impulse was to refuse. But it occurred to her then that she might
be able to catch them at something and scare them away from the Wells, and so
she agreed. On the way Frank Kifflin suggested that they stop and ask Mr.
Dangerfield to join them.

"Most
likely the poor old gentleman's lonely, and though gad knows I hate to play
with an old man I can't bear to think of Bob's old father being lonely."

But
Amber did not intend to have Mr. Dangerfield told that she was an actress.
"Mr. Dangerfield never plays cards, gentlemen. He hates the sight of 'em
worse than a Quaker hates a parrot. You know these old Puritans."

The
men, obviously disappointed, agreed that they did.

There
were not a score of persons gathered about the tables in the gaming-house, and
of those some were obviously natives of the town playing for only a few pence
or shillings. Amber and the two men watched for a while and finally Frank
Kifflin suggested that they try their luck at raffle—a dice game which they
assured her was the most harmless in the world and depended upon nothing but a
turn of the wrist. "Oh, heavens,
gentlemen," said Amber with an air
of surprised innocence. "I can't play. I only came along to watch and keep
you company. I never carry money with me when I'm travelling."

That
seemed to please Mr. Kifflin. "Very wise, Mrs. St. Clare. Travel is full
of too many hazards these days. But pray let me lend you ten or twenty
pound—it's but dull entertainment watching others play."

Amber
pretended to hesitate. "Well—I don't know if I should or not—"

"Tush,
madame! Why shouldn't you? And let's not speak a word of interest, I beg of
you. Only a rook would accept interest from so fine a person as yourself."

"What
a courtier you are, Mr. Kifflin!" said Amber, thinking that if they did
not want interest for their money they must have some other game.

Between
them Mr. Kifflin and Mr. Wigglesworth produced a great many shiny shillings
from their pockets and put them on the table before her. There was not a guinea
or a penny or another coin in the pile, nothing but shillings. It was not very
difficult to guess that they must be hired by some counterfeiter to pass his
false money and get back true. Amber obligingly lost several pounds and when
she quit said that she would send a note to her goldsmith immediately so that
they could collect next time they were in London.

"But
remember, Mrs. St. Clare," said Wigglesworth the last thing before they
parted. "We'll accept not a penny in interest. Not a penny."

Amber
examined some of the coins and was sure that they were
"blackdogs"—double-washed pewter discs; they looked and sounded exactly
like those made by the counterfeiter who had lived on the third-floor at Mother
Red-Cap's. She tossed one of them up and caught it, laughing and giving a wink
to Nan.

"I'll
take care of those two young fop-doodles, I warrant you. Send Jeremiah the first
thing tomorrow morning to invite Mr. Dangerfield to take his dinner with me.
Let's see— I believe I'll wear that black velvet gown with the white lace
collar and cuffs—it gives me a maidenly air, don't you think?"

"If
anything could, mam."

When
Samuel Dangerfield arrived Amber met him at the door. Her gown was high-necked
but the bodice fitted snugly. She had her hair combed into deep waves and held
at each temple by a black velvet bow; and her face was painted so subtly that
even a woman could not have been sure the colouring was not natural.

"It
was kind of you to invite me to dinner, Mrs. St. Clare."

"I
know it isn't proper," she said demurely, "but I sent such a
barbarous reply to your note—pray forgive me, sir. It was the sickness made me
churlish."

Amber
knew that her invitation was unconventional but hoped she could affect
sufficient modesty to fool him. He
smiled at her now much as he might have
smiled at a pretty little kitten.

They
discussed her ague for a few moments, and then took their places at a table
which Nan had set in the parlour next the fireplace. The footman had informed
Nan that his master had a hearty appetite—though he was now under his
physician's orders to eat sparingly—and the meal Amber had had sent down from
the inn was an ample one. She thought it would be more to her interest to
please Mr. Dangerfield than his doctor.

Without
much difficulty Amber had soon maneuvered the conversation around to Mr.
Kifflin and Mr. Wigglesworth. Offhandedly, she told him how they had come to her
house last night to ask her to change some money for them. She said that she
had only brought fifteen or twenty guineas to Tunbridge, but that she had given
them to the young men to pay their gambling debts with, and was now wondering
how she would ever pack all those shillings into her trunk.

Mr.
Dangerfield, as she had hoped, seemed somewhat alarmed by this innocent tale.
"Are you well acquainted with Mr. Kifflin and his friends?"

"Heavens,
no! I met them yesterday morning at the well. They introduced themselves. You
know how little one goes upon ceremony in places like this."

"You're
very young, Mrs. St. Clare, and I don't imagine you understand the ways of the
world so well as an old man. If I may I'd like to give you some advice—and that
is not to accept too much money from those gentlemen. They may be honest as
they pretend, but when you've lived as long as I you'll know it's best to be
cautious with a new acquaintance— particularly if you happen upon him at a
public resort."

"Oh,"
said Amber, suddenly crestfallen. "But I thought that Tunbridge Wells was
frequented by persons of the best quality! My physician who sent me here told
me that her Majesty was here with all her ladies only last summer."

"Yes,
I believe she was. But where there's quality there are sure to be rooks. And
it's unworldly young persons like yourself of whom they'll take the greatest
advantage."

While
he talked Amber reached up to adjust the bow in her hair, as a signal for Nan
who was waiting just outside and peeking in the window. "Oh!" she
said, with a troubled frown, "how could I have been so foolish! I
hope—"

At
that moment Nan came in, out of breath, and stood in the doorway taking off her
chopins. "Heavens, mam!" she cried excitedly. "The landlord at
the inn refused the money! He says it's a false coin!"

"A
false coin! Why, that was one Mr. Kifflin gave me last night!"

Samuel
Dangerfield turned in his chair. "May I see it?" He took it from Nan,
rung it upon the table and felt of the edges while both women watched him.
"It is a false one," he said
seriously.
"So
the young
coxcombs are counterfeiters. That's a sorry business—and a dangerous one. I
wonder how many others they've got to change money with them?"

"Everyone
who looked simple enough, I suppose!" said Amber indignantly. "Well,
I think we should call the constable and put 'em where they belong!"

Mr.
Dangerfield, however, was less inclined to be vindictive. "The laws are
too harsh—they'd be hanged, drawn, and quartered." That would not have
troubled Amber but she thought it best not to say so. "I believe we can
manage them some other way. Do you think, Mrs. St. Clare, that you could get
them to come here on some pretext or other?"

"Why,
they should be along any minute—they asked me to walk to the well with
them."

When
they arrived, not much later, Nan opened the door. At sight of Mr. Dangerfield
their mouths opened into broad grins—and then closed suddenly when he said:
"Mrs. St. Clare and I have just been discussing the fact that there seem
to be counterfeiters at Tunbridge."

Kifflin
raised his eyebrows. "Counterfeiters? Gad! It's unthinkable! I swear the
wretches grow bolder every day!"

While
Wigglesworth exclaimed, as though he could not believe his own ears,
"Counterfeiters at Tunbridge!"

"Yes,"
said Amber. "I have a shilling that was just refused at the inn and Mr.
Dangerfield says it's not a true coin. Perhaps they'd like to see it,
sir."

He
gave it to Wigglesworth and both young men examined it closely, frowning, while
Kifflin cleared his throat. Their faces were beginning to shine with sweat.

"It
looks good enough to me," said Kifflin at last. "But then I'm such a
simple fellow someone has always got me on the hip."

Wigglesworth
laughed, not very enthusiastically. "That's exactly my case, to the
letter." He returned the coin.

"The
constable," said Mr. Dangerfield gravely, "will be along soon to look
at this coin. If he finds it to be false I suppose he'll examine every person
in the village."

At
that moment a country girl went by outside carrying a basket over her arm and
crying, "Fresh new eggs! Who'll buy my new fresh eggs?"

Kifflin
turned about quickly. "There she is, Will. I hope you'll excuse us, Mrs.
St. Clare, but we came to ask if we might wait upon you later in the day. We
overslept and came out in search of some eggs for our dinner. Good-day, madame.
Good-day, sir."

He
and Wigglesworth bowed, backed their way out of the room, and once outside
turned and started off in all haste. Their pace increased, they passed the girl
without giving her so much as a glance, and when they had gone two hundred
yards broke into an open run and at last cut off the main street and
disappeared from sight. Amber and Mr. Dangerfield, who
had gone out to
watch, looked at each other and then burst into laughter.

"Look
at 'em go!" cried Amber. "I vow they won't stop for breath till
they've reached Paris!"

She
shut the door again and gave a little sigh. "Well, I hope I've learnt my
lesson. I vow I'll never put my trust in strangers again."

He
was smiling down at her. "A young lady as pretty as you are should be
suspicious of all strangers." He said it with the air of a man who intends
to be very gallant, without ever having had much practice. And when she
answered the compliment with a quick upward slanting glance he cleared his
throat and his ruddy face darkened. "Hem—I wonder, Mrs. St. Clare, if
you'd care to put your trust in this stranger long enough to walk to the well
with him?"

Confidence
was beginning to sweep through Amber, and the intoxication she always felt when
she knew a man was attracted to her. "Of course I would, sir. I think I
know an
honest
man when I see him—even if I can't always tell one who
isn't."

Amber
had acted in numerous plays depicting the rigid austere hypocritical life of
the City families, and, though all of them had been bitter and satirical and
slanderously exaggerated, she had taken them for literal truth. Consequently,
she thought she knew exactly what Samuel Dangerfield would admire in a woman;
but she soon discovered that her own instinct was a surer guide.

For
as she became better acquainted with him she began to realize that even though
he was a City merchant and a Presbyterian he was nevertheless a man. And she
found to her surprise that he bore no resemblance at all to the sanctimonious
severe dour old humbugs who had occasioned such derisive laughter at His
Majesty's Theatre.

If
he was not frivolous, neither was he grimly sober; his disposition was a happy
one and he laughed easily. He had worked hard all his life, for he had
accumulated most of that vast fortune himself, but he was all the more
susceptible to a young woman's gaiety now. His family life had been a close
one, but that had given him perhaps a sense of loss, and of curiosity. Amber
came into his life like a spring gale, fresh, invigorating, a challenge to
whatever he had of dormant venturesomeness. She was everything he had never
known before in a woman, and much he had scarcely suspected.