Winsor, Kathleen (146 page)

"He
is, madame."

She
put a cautioning finger to her lips. "He's expecting me." Reaching
into her muff she took out a guinea and pressed it into his palm. "We
don't want to be disturbed."

The
man bowed, glancing surreptitiously at the coin in his hand, still smiling.
"Certainly, madame. Certainly." He grinned, pleased to be party to a
rendezvous between his Lordship and this fine woman.

She
went to the door, opened it, stepped inside and softly closed it. Bruce,
wearing his cloak and plumed hat, stood several feet away examining a
manuscript; his back was to her. Amber paused, leaning against the door, for
her heart was pounding and she felt suddenly weak and breathless. She was
almost afraid of what he might do or say when he saw her.

After
a moment Bruce, without glancing around, said, "This manuscript of
Carew—how did you get hold of it?" And then when he got no answer he
turned and saw her.

Timidly
Amber smiled and made him a little curtsy. "Good even, my lord."

"Well—"
Bruce tossed the manuscript onto a table just
behind him. "I would never
have taken you for a book-collector." His eyes narrowed. "How the
devil did you get here?"

She
ran toward him. "I
had
to see you, Bruce! Please don't be angry
with me! Tell me what's happened! Why have you been avoiding me?"

He
frowned slightly, but did not look away. "I didn't know any other way to
do it—without a quarrel."

"Without
a quarrel! I've heard you say that a hundred times! You, who made your living
fighting!"

He
smiled. "Not with women."

"Oh,
I promise you, Bruce, I didn't come to quarrel! But you've got to tell me what
happened! One day you came to see me and we were happy together—and the next
you'd scarce speak!
Why?"
She spread her hands in a gesture of
pleading.

"You
must know, Amber. Why pretend you don't?"

"Almsbury
told me, but I wouldn't believe him. I still can't believe it. You, of all men,
being led by the nose by your wife!"

He
sat down on the top of the table near which they were standing and braced one
foot on a chair. "Corinna isn't the kind of woman who leads a man by the
nose. I decided myself —for a reason I don't think I can explain to you."

"Why
not?" she demanded, half insulted at that. "My understanding's as
good as another's, I'll warrant you! Oh, but you must tell me, Bruce. I've got
to know! I have a
right
to know!"

He
took a deep breath. "Well—I suppose you heard that Castlemaine showed
Corinna the lampoon—but she said she'd known we were lovers long before that.
She's gone through a kind of agony these last weeks we don't know anything about.
Adultery may seem no serious matter to us, but it is to her. She's innocent,
and what's more, she loves me—I don't want to hurt her any more than I
have."

"But
what about me?" she cried. "I love you as much as she does! My God, I
think I know a thing or two about agony myself! Or doesn't it mean anything to
you if
I'm
hurt?"

"Of
course it does, Amber, but there's a difference."

"What!"

"Corinna's
my wife and we'll live together the rest of our lives. In a few months I'll be
leaving England and I won't come back again—I'm done travelling. Your life is
here and mine is in America—after I go this time we'll never see each other
again."

"Never—see
each other again?" Her speckled tawny eyes stared at him, her lips
half-parted over the words. "Never—" She had said that to Almsbury
only an hour before, but it sounded different to her now, coming from him.
Suddenly she seemed to realize exactly what it would mean.
"Never,
Bruce!
Oh, darling, you can't do this to me! I need you as much as she does—I love you
as much as she does! If all the rest of your life belongs to her you can give
me a little of it now—She'd
never even know, and if she didn't know she
couldn't be hurt! You can't be here in London all these next six months and
never see me—I'd die if you did that to me! Oh, Bruce, you can't do it! You
can't!"

She
threw herself against him, pounding her fists softly on his chest, sobbing with
quiet, desperate, mournful little sobs. For a long while he sat, his arms
hanging at his sides, not touching her; and then at last he drew her close
against him between his legs, his mouth crushing down on hers with a kind of
angry hunger. "Oh, you little bitch," he muttered. "Someday I'll
forget you—someday I'll—"

He
rented apartments in a lodging-house in Magpie Yard, just about a mile from the
Palace within the old settled district which had been missed by the Fire. They
had two large rooms, furnished handsomely in the pompous heavy style of seventy
years before. There were bulbous-legged tables, immense boxlike chairs,
enormous chests, a high-backed settle next the fireplace and worn tapestry on
the walls. The oak bed was of majestic proportions with carved pillars and
head-board, and it was hung with dark-red velvet which, though faded with the
years, showed a richer, truer colour deep in the folds. Diamond-paned windows
looked down three stories into a brick-paved courtyard on one side and the
noisy busy street on the other.

They
met there two or three times a week, usually in the afternoons but sometimes at
night. Amber had promised him that Corinna would never know they were still
seeing each other and, like a little girl put on her good behaviour, she took
the most elaborate precautions to insure perfect secrecy. If they met in the
afternoon she left Whitehall in her own clothes and coach, went to a tavern
where she changed and sent Nan out by the front door in a mask and the garments
she had been wearing—while she left in her own disguise by some other exit. At
night she took a barge or a hackney, but then Big John was always with her.

She
went to a great more trouble than was really necessary to conceal herself, for
she enjoyed it.

One
time she would come back in a black wig, calf-high skirt, rolled-up sleeves, a
woolen cloak to protect her from the cold, with a trayful of dried rosemary and
lavender and sweet-briar balanced on one hip. Another time she was a sober
citizen's wife in plain black gown with a deep white-linen collar and cap which
covered her hair—but she did not like that and stuffed it into a chest, taking
out something gayer to wear home. Again she dressed as a boy in a snug-fitting
velvet suit and flaxen periwig and she went strutting through the streets with
a sword at one hip, hat cocked over her eyes, a short velvet cloak flung up
across her chin.

Her
disguises amused both of them and he would turn her
about to look
at her, laughing while she mimicked the speech and manners of whomever she was
supposed to be.

She
was convincing in her roles, for though she sometimes passed people she knew on
the street none of them ever recognized her. Once a couple of gallants stopped
to talk to her and offered her a guinea to step into the nearest tavern with
them. Another time she narrowly missed the King himself as he came along the
river walking with Buckingham and Arlington. All three gentlemen turned their
heads to look after the masked lady who was lifting her skirts to get into a
barge, and one of them whistled. It must have been either the Duke or Charles
himself—for certainly Arlington would never have whistled at a woman though she
were walking down Cheapside stark naked.

Sometimes
Bruce brought their son with him and occasionally she brought Susanna. They had
many gay suppers together, often calling in a street fiddler or two to play for
them while they ate, and the children thought it an exciting adventure. Bruce
explained to the little boy, as well as he could, why he must never mention
those meetings to Corinna; and Susanna could not betray them by some innocent
remark for she never saw anyone who might guess what she was talking about but
the King—and Charles was not the man to meddle in his mis-stress's
love-affairs.

Once,
when there were just the three of them, Bruce brought Susanna a picture-book so
that she could amuse herself while they were in the bedroom. Afterward, while
Amber was dressing, Susanna was admitted and stood by her father's chair
thumbing through the book and asking him one question after another—she was not
quite five and curious about everything. Pointing to one picture she asked:

"Why
does
the devil have horns Daddy?"

"Because
the devil is a cuckold, darling."

Amber,
just stepping into her three petticoats, each one of them starched crisp as
tissue-paper, gave him a quick look at that. His eyes slid over to her, amused,
and they exchanged smiles, enjoying the private joke. But Susanna persisted.

"What's
a
cuckold, Daddy?"

"A
cuckold? Why, a cuckold is—Ask your mother, Susanna; she understands those
things better than I do."

Susanna
turned to her immediately. "Mother, what's a—"

Amber
bent over to tie her garters. "Hush, you saucy little chatterbox! Where's
your doll?"

About
the first of March Amber moved into Ravenspur House, though it was not quite
finished. It still had a look of raw newness. The brick was bright-coloured,
for the London smoke had not had time to darken and mellow it. The grass in the
terraces was sparse; the transplanted limes and sweet chestnuts, the hornbeam
and sycamore were only half-grown; the hedges of yew and roses were yet too
young to be trained or decoratively clipped. Nevertheless it was a great and
impressive
house and to know that it belonged to her filled Amber with passionate pride.

She
took Bruce through it one day and showed him the bathroom—one of the very few
in all London—with its black-marble walls and floors, green-satin hangings,
gilt stools and chairs and sunken tub almost large enough to swim in. With a
flourish she pointed out that every accessory in the house was silver, from
chamber-pots to candle-snuffers. She told him that the mirrors, of which there
were several hundred, each framed in silver, had all been smuggled from Venice.
She showed him her fabulous collection of gold and silver plate displayed, as
was customary, on several great sideboards about the dining-room.

"What
do you think of it?" Her voice almost crowed, her eyes sparkled with
triumph. "I'll warrant you there's nothing like that in America!"

"No,"
he agreed. "There isn't."

"And
there never will be, either!"

He
shrugged, but did not argue about it. After a while, to her surprise, he said:
"You're very rich, aren't you?"

"Oh,
furiously! I can have anything!" She did not add that she could have
anything—on credit.

"Do
you know what condition your investments are in? Newbold tells me he has a
difficult time to make you leave any money at all with him to put out at
interest for you. Don't you think it might be wise to have two or three
thousand pound, at least, where you couldn't touch it?"

She
was astonished, and scornful. "Why should I? I can't trouble myself with
those matters. Anyway—there'll always be more money where this came from, I
warrant you."

"But
my dear, you won't always be young."

She
stared at him, a look of horrified and resentful surprise on her face. For
though the passing years filled her with terror and her twenty-sixth birthday
was but two weeks away, she had never let herself think that he might know she
was growing older. In her own mind she would never be more than sixteen to
Bruce Carlton. Now she sat, thoughtful and quiet, till they arrived back at the
Palace, and once alone she rushed to a mirror.

She
studied herself for several minutes, giving her skin and hair and teeth the
most ruthless scrutiny, and finally she convinced herself that she had not yet
begun to deteriorate. Her skin was as smooth and creamy, her hair as luxuriant
and ripe in colour, her figure as fine as the first day she had seen him in
Marygreen. There was, however, a change of which she was only vaguely
conscious.

Then
her face had been untouched by vivid experiences, now it gave unmistakable
evidence of rich and full and violent living. The same eagerness and passion
showed in her eyes and seemed, if anything, to have heightened. Whatever the
years between had been they had served neither to destroy her
confidence nor
to moderate her enthusiasm; there was in her something indestructible.