Winsor, Kathleen (91 page)

The
very day of Nan's arrival Amber put off Emily's unbecoming black dress and,
after considerable deliberation, selected one of her own: a low-bosomed formal
gown of copper-coloured satin with stiff-boned bodice and sweeping train. She
painted her face, stuck on three patches, and for the first time in many months
Nan dressed her hair again in long ringlets and a high twisted coil. Among her
jewellery she found a pair of emerald ear-rings and an emerald bracelet.

"Lord!"
she said, surveying herself in the mirror with pleased satisfaction. "I'd
almost forgot what I look like!"

She
was expecting Bruce back soon—he and Almsbury had gone out to hunt—and though
she was eager to have him see her at her best again she was a little
apprehensive too. What would he say about her putting off mourning so soon? A
widow was expected to wear plain unadorned black with a long
veil over her
hair all the rest of her life—unless she married again.

At
last she heard the door slam in the next room and his boots crossed the floor.
He called her name and then almost immediately appeared in the doorway, pulling
loose the cravat at his neck. She was watching for him with her eyes big and
uncertain, and she broke into a delighted smile as he stopped abruptly and then
gave a long low whistle. She spread her fan and turned slowly around before
him.

"How
do I look?"

"How
do you look! Why, you vain little minx, you look like an angel—and you know it!"

She
ran toward him, laughing. "Oh, do I, Bruce!" But suddenly her face
sobered and looked down at her fan, beginning to count the sticks. "D'you
think I'm wicked to leave off mourning so soon? Oh, of course," she added
hastily, with a quick upward glance, "I'll wear it when I get back to
town. But out here in the country with no one to see me or know if I'm a widow
or not—it doesn't matter out here, does it?"

He
bent and gave her a brief kiss, grinning, and though she searched his face
carefully she could not be sure what he was thinking. "Of course it's not
wicked. Mourning, you know, is done with the heart—" Lightly he touched
her left breast.

After
an unusually hot and arid summer the weather changed swiftly at the end of
October. Violent rainstorms came in rapid succession and by the middle of the
month there were hard frosts. The two men went out to ride or hunt in spite of
it, though usually the powder became wet and they seldom shot anything. Amber
spent most mornings in the nursery. Other times Bruce and Almsbury played
billiards while she watched, or the three of them played cards or amused
themselves by making anagrams out of their own names or someone else's—for the
most part they turned out to be unflattering. Emily seldom joined in these
pastimes for she was an old-fashioned housewife who preferred to oversee each
smallest detail of cooking and cleaning, rather than leave it to a steward as
many great ladies had begun to do. Amber did not see how she could tolerate
spending all her hours, in the nursery, the still-room, or the kitchen, but
there was no doubt the three of them were gayer when Emily was not present.

Ordinarily
Barberry Hill was overflowing with guests at that time of year for both the
Earl and her Ladyship had vast numbers of relatives, but the plague was keeping
everyone at home and only occasionally some neighbour came to call. More
encouraging news, however, had begun to come from London. The number of deaths
was decreasing, though it was still over a thousand a week. Many who had left
town when fewer than a hundred died in one week were now going back. The
streets were full of beggars covered with plague sores, but no more corpses
were to be seen and the dead-carts came only at night. A
feeling of
optimism was beginning to prevail again for they thought that the worst was
over.

Bruce
was growing restless. He was worried about what had happened to his ships and
the prizes he had brought; he wanted to go back to London and, as soon as
possible, to sail again for America. Amber asked when he thought that he would
leave.

"As
soon as I can. Whenever it seems likely that men will be willing to sign on
again."

"I
want to go back with you."

"I
don't think you'd better, Amber. I'm going to Oxford first—the Court's there
now and I want to see the King about a grant of land. The weather's terrible
and I can't take the time to travel by coach—and once I get to London I'll be
so busy I wouldn't be able to see you. Stay here with Almsbury another month or
two—the city isn't safe yet."

"I
don't care," she insisted stubbornly, "whether it's safe or not. If I
can see you at all I'm going. And it won't hurt me to ride horseback that far,
I'll warrant you."

But
one noon as she stood at her windows looking out over the grey-skied rolling
hills that swept away south, watching a party of horsemen approach the house, a
strange feeling of dread and suspicion began to take hold of her. Before it was
possible actually to distinguish the individual horses or their riders she was
sure that Bruce was not among them. Suddenly she turned, swooping up her
skirts, and rushed out of the room, along the hallway and down the great
staircase. She arrived at the bottom and confronted Almsbury just as he entered
the hall.

"Where's
Bruce!"

Almsbury,
who wore a long riding-cloak and high leather boots, his brown hair wet and the
feathers on his hat soaking and draggled, looked at her uneasily. "He's
gone, Amber. Back to London." He took off his hat and knocked it against
his knee.

"Gone?
Without me!" She stared at him, first in surprise and then with growing
anger. "But I was going, too! I told him I was going!"

"He
said that he told you he was going alone."

"Blast
him!" she muttered, and then all at once she turned and started off.
"Well, he's not! I'm going too!"

Almsbury
shouted her name but she paid no attention and ran on, back up the stairs
again. Half-way up she passed someone she had not seen before, a well-dressed
elderly man, but though he turned and looked after her she ignored him and ran
on. "Nan!" she cried violently, bursting into her rooms again.
"Pack some clothes for me! I'm going to London!"

Nan
stared at her and then looked toward the windows where the rain was furiously
beating and splashing and the upper branches of an elm tree could be seen
writhing with the wind. "To London, mam? In this weather?"

"Damn
the weather! Pack my clothes I tell you! Anything, I don't care! Throw it
in!"

She
was yanking loose the bows that fastened the front of her bodice and now she
tore the gown down and stepped out of it, kicking it to one side as she went to
the dressing-table and began to slam her bracelets onto its polished wood
surface. Her face was glowering and her teeth clenched furiously.

Damn
him! she thought. At least he could let me have that much! I'll
show
him!
I'll
show him!

Nan
scurried about, pulling gowns and smocks and shoes off hooks and out of
drawers. Both women were so occupied they did not see Almsbury open the door
and come in until he spoke.

"Amber!
What in the devil are you doing?"

"Going
to London! What d'ye think?"

She
did not even glance at him but was jerking the bodkins out of her hair, which
tumbled down her back. He crossed over swiftly and his face appeared behind her
in the mirror. She gave him a truculent glare, daring him to try to stop her.

"Leave
the room, Britton! Do as I say!" he added, as Nan hesitated, looking at
Amber. "Now listen to me! Do you want to make a fool of yourself? He
doesn't
want
you in London. He doesn't think it's safe and he doesn't
care to be troubled with you—he's going to be busy."

"I
don't care what he wants. I'm going anyway. Nan!" She whirled about,
shouting the girl's name, but Almsbury caught her wrist and brought her up
shortly.

"You're
not
going—if I have to tie you to a bedpost! It
is
possible to
have plague twice, you know. If you had any sense you wouldn't want to go
back—for nothing. Bruce left because he had to. His ships may be ruined or
plundered by now and if they haven't been they would be soon after the town
began to fill again. Now, darling, for God's sake—be sensible. He'll be back
again some day; he said he would."

Amber
looked up at him, her lower hp still rolled out stubbornly, but tears were in
her eyes and beginning to slide over her cheeks. She sniffled but did not
protest when he put his arms about her. "But why," she asked him at
last, and caught her breath on a sob,
"why
didn't he even say
'goodbye' to me? Last night—why, last night was just like always—"

He
pressed her head to his chest and stroked her hair. "Just maybe,
sweetheart—it was because he didn't want to quarrel."

Amber
gave a mournful little wail and burst into tears at that, her arms going about
his neck for comfort. "I—I wouldn't have quarrelled! Oh, Almsbury! I love
him so much!"

He
let her cry, holding her close, until at last she began to grow quiet again.
Then he took out a handkerchief and gave it to her. "Did you notice the
gentleman coming downstairs as you were going up?"

She
blew her nose, wiped at her red eyes and tear-stained face. "No. I didn't.
Why?"

"He
asked me who you were. He thinks you're the most
beautiful woman he's ever
seen."

Vanity
crept through her grief. "Does he?" She sniffled a few times, looking
down at the handkerchief as she twisted it in her hands, and then blew her nose
again. "Who is he?"

"He's
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of Radclyffe—one of the oldest and most honoured families
in England. Come on, darling, it's time for dinner. Let's go down—he wants to
be presented."

Amber
sighed, turning away. "Oh, I don't care if he does. I don't want to know
anyone else."

Almsbury
gave her an ingratiating smile. "You'd rather stay in your room and mope,
is that it? Well, do as you like, but he'll be mighty disappointed. To tell you
the truth, I think he might make you a proposal."

"A
proposal! What the devil would I want with
another
husband? I'm
never
going to get married again!"

"Not
even to an earl—" said his Lordship thoughtfully. "Well, my dear, do
as you like. But I thought I heard you say something to Bruce the other night
like: 'Just wait till I'm Countess of Puddle-dock.' Now here's your chance—are
you going to throw it away?"

"I
suppose you told the old dotard how rich I am."

"Well,
now—perhaps I did. I don't remember."

"Oh,
well, then, I'll come down. But I'm not going to marry him. I don't care
whether I ever get to be a countess or not!"

But
she was already thinking: If the next time Bruce saw me I was her Ladyship,
Countess of Radclyffe, he'd take some notice of
that,
I'll warrant you!

He's
only
a baron!

Dinner
was postponed a half-hour, while Amber dressed again and removed the traces of
tears from her face. Then, throwing a fur-lined cloak about her shoulders, she
went to the dining-parlour. It was always necessary to wear cloaks when passing
from one room to another during the winter, but this year it was so cold that
they must be worn all the time.

Almsbury
and his guest stood before the fireplace. Lady Almsbury sat near them, working
on a piece of needle-point. The two men turned, Almsbury made the
introductions, and as Amber curtsied her eyes swept critically over the Earl of
Radclyffe. Her first reaction was quick: How ugly he is! She decided
immediately that she would not marry him, and they sat down to dinner.

Edmund
Mortimer was fifty-seven and looked at least five years older. He was perhaps
three inches taller than Amber, but because she had on high-heeled shoes they
were exactly of a height. Slight and delicate, with narrow shoulders and thin

legs,
his head seemed too large for his fragile frame and the luxuriant periwig he
wore increased the effect of disproportion. His face was severe and ascetic in
expression and as he spoke decaying yellow teeth showed between his
tight-pressed lips. Only his clothes met with her approval, for they were the
most exquisite, the most perfect in every detail, that she had ever seen. And
his manners, though cold and not engaging, were likewise impeccable.

"His
Lordship," said Almsbury, as they began to eat, "has been travelling
on the Continent these three years past."

"Oh?"
said Amber politely. She was not hungry and she wished that she had stayed in
her own room. She had to swallow food to force down the aching lump that rose
in her throat. "But why come back now, of all times—with the plague among
us?"

His
voice, as he answered her, was precisely clipped, as though the man who spoke
would tolerate no carelessness. "I am no longer young, madame. Sickness
and death do not frighten me any more. And my son is to be married within the
fortnight—I came back for the ceremony."