Winsor, Kathleen (69 page)

He
seemed to give it a few moments' serious consideration— but the smile that
lurked about his mouth showed what he was thinking. "Susanna's a pretty
name," he said at last.

"You
don't know anyone named Susanna, do you?"

"No.
You asked me for a name that I liked, and I told you one. I had no ulterior
motives."

"But
you've named your share of bastards, I doubt not," she said. "What
about that wench—Leah, or what d'ye call her? Almsbury said you'd had two brats
by her."

By
now Bruce had been back long enough and she had seen him so often that the
jealousies and worries that beset her when he was away had begun to encroach
upon the pleasure she found in being with him. She had begun to feel more
discontented over what she was missing than grateful for what she had.

His
voice answered her quietly. "Leah died a year ago, in childbirth."

She
looked up at him swiftly, saw that he was serious and a little angry. "Oh,
I'm sorry," she lied. But she turned to another subject. "I wonder
where you'll be when Susanna's born?"

"Somewhere
giving the Dutch hell, I hope. We'll declare war on them as soon as Parliament
votes the money for it. While we're waiting I'll try what I can do to keep the
peace the way his Majesty wants it kept." England and Holland had been at
war everywhere but in the home seas for almost a year, and during the past two
months the fight had blazed into the open; it needed only to be declared, but
Charles had to wait on further preparation and Parliamentary grants.

They
were lying on the bed, half-dressed. Bruce had his periwig off and his own hair
had been cut short so that now it was no more than two or three inches long,
and combed back from his forehead in a wave. Amber rolled over onto her stomach
and reached for a bunch of purple Lisbon grapes in a bowl on the table.

"Heigh
ho! I suppose it's a dull day for you when there isn't a town to burn or a
dozen Dutchmen to kill!"

He
laughed, pulled a small cluster of grapes from the bunch
she held, and
began to toss them into his mouth. "Your portrait's somewhat
bloodthirsty."

She
gave a sigh. "Oh, Bruce! If only you'd listen to me!" And then all at
once she bounced up and knelt facing him, determined that he should listen to
her. Somehow he had always managed to stop her before—but not this time. This
time he was going to hear her out. "Go off
to the wars if you must, Bruce!
But when it's over sell your ships and stay here in London. With your hundred
thousand and my sixty-six we'd be so rich we could buy the Royal Exchange for a
summer pavilion. We could have the biggest finest house in London—and everyone
who was anybody at all would come to our balls and suppers. We'd have a dozen
coaches and a thousand servants and a yacht to sail to France in if we took the
notion. We'd go to Court and you'd be a great man—Chancellor, or whatever you
wanted, and I'd be a Lady of the Bedchamber. There wouldn't be anyone in
England finer than us! Oh, Bruce, darling—don't you see? We'd be the happiest
people in the world!"

She
was so passionately convinced herself that she was positive she could convince
him; and his answer was a painful disappointment.

"It
would be fine," he said. "For a woman."

"Oh!"
she cried furiously. "You men! What
do
you want then!"

"I'll
tell you, Amber." He sat up and looked at her. "I want something more
than spending the next twenty-five years standing on a ladder with one man's
heels on my fingers and mine on the man's beneath. I want to do something
besides plot and scheme and intrigue with knaves and fools to get a reputation
with men I despise. I want a little more than going from the theatre to a
cock-fight to Hyde Park to Pall Mall and back over the same round the next day.
Playing cards and poaching after anything that goes by in petticoats and a mask
and serving my turn as the King's pimp—" He made a gesture of disgust.
"And finally dying of women and drink."

"I
suppose you think living in America will keep you from dying of women and
drink!"

"Maybe
not. But one thing I know—When I die it won't be from boredom."

"Oh,
won't it! I don't doubt it's mighty exciting over there with blackamoors and
pirates and Newgate-birds and every other kind of ragamuffin!"

"It's
more civilized than you imagine—there are also a great many men of good family
who left England during the Commonwealth, remember. And who are still
leaving—for the same reason I am. It isn't that I'm going there because I think
the men and women in America are better or different from what they are in
England; they're the same. It's because America is a country that's still young
and full of promise, the way England hasn't been for a thousand years. It's a
country that's
waiting to be made by the men who'll dare to make it—and I intend getting there
while I can help make it my way. In the Civil Wars my father lost everything
that had belonged to our family for seven centuries. I want my children to have
something they can't lose, ever."

"Well,
then, why trouble yourself to fight for England— since you love her so
little!"

"Amber,
Amber," he said softly. "My dear, someday I hope you'll know a great
many things you don't know now."

"And
someday I hope you'll sink in your damned ocean!"

"No
doubt I'm too great a villain to drown."

She
jumped off the bed in a fury, but suddenly she stopped, turned and looked at
him as he lay leaning on his elbow and watching her. And then she came back and
sat down again, covering his hand with both of hers.

"Oh,
Bruce, you know I don't mean that! But I love you so—I'd die for you—and you
don't seem to need me at all, the way I need you! I'm nothing but your whore—I
want to be your wife,
really
your wife! I want to go where you go, and
share your troubles and plan with you for what you want, and bear your
children—I want to be a part of you! Oh, please, darling! Take me to America
with you! I don't care what it's like, I swear I don't! I'll live in anything!
I'll do anything! I'll help you cut down trees and plant tobacco and cook your
meals—Oh, Bruce! I'll do
anything,
if only you'll take me with
you!"

For
a moment he continued to stare at her, his eyes glittering, but just when she
thought she had convinced him he shook his head and got up. "It would
never work out that way, Amber. It's not your kind of life and in a few weeks
or months you'd get tired of it, and then you'd hate me for bringing you."

She
ran after him, throwing herself before him, grabbing frantically at the
happiness that seemed just to elude her fingers but which she was sure she
could catch. "No, I wouldn't, Bruce! I swear it! I promise you! I'd love
anything if you were there!"

"I
can't do it, Amber. Let's not talk about it."

"Then
you've got another reason! You have, haven't you? What is it?"

He
was suddenly impatient and faintly angry. "For the love of God, Amber, let
it go! I can't do it. That's all."

She
looked at him for a long minute, her eyes narrowed. "I know why," she
said slowly at last. "I know why you won't take me over there, and why you
won't marry me. It's because I'm a farmer's niece and you're a nobleman. My
father was only a yeoman, but
your
family was sitting in the House of
Lords before there was one. My mother was just a plain simple woman, but
your
mother was a Bruce and descended from no one less than Holy Moses himself.
My relatives are farmers— but
you've
got some Stuart blood in you, if
you look hard enough to find it." Her voice was sarcastic and bitter, and
as
she
talked her mouth twisted, giving an ugly expression to her face.

She
turned angrily away and began to pull on the rest of her clothes, while he
watched her. There was a kind of tenderness on his face now and he seemed to be
trying to think of something to say to her that would help take away the
painful sense of humiliation she felt. But she gave him no opportunity to
speak. In only two or three minutes she was dressed and then as she picked up
her cloak she cried: "That's why, isn't it!"

He
stood facing her. "Oh, Amber, why must you always make things hard for
yourself? You know as well as I do that I couldn't marry you if I wanted to. I
can't marry just for myself. I'm not alone in the world, floating in space like
a speck of dust. I've got relatives by the score—and I've got a responsibility
to my parents who are dead and to their parents. The Bruces and Carltons mean
nothing to you—and there's no reason why they should—but they're damned
important to the Braces and Carltons."

"That
wheedle won't pass with me! You wouldn't marry me even if you could!
Would
you!"

They
stared at each other; and then his answer cracked out, surprising as the sharp
report of a pistol.

"No!"

For
an instant Amber continued looking at him, but her face had turned beet-red and
the blue cords throbbed in her throat and forehead. "Oh!" she
screamed, almost hysterical with rage and pain. "I hate you, Brace Carlton!
I hate you—I—" She turned and rushed from the room, slamming the door
after her. "I hope I never see you again!" she sobbed to herself as
she dashed headlong down the stairs. And she told herself that this was the
end—the last insult she would take from him —the last time he would ever—

Amber
ran out of Almsbury House and straight to her coach. She jumped in. "Drive
away!" she yelled at Tempest. "Home!" She flung herself back and
began to cry distractedly, though with few tears, her teeth biting at the tips
of her gloved hands.

She
was so excited that she did not notice another coach waiting just outside the
gates, with its wooden shutters closed, which started up and came rumbling
along just behind her own. And it stayed there, just behind her, following
every turn, halting when her coach halted, proceeding at exactly the same rate
of speed and never letting another coach come between them. They were almost
home before Amber noticed that two of her footmen, who were hanging on the
side, kept looking back and gesturing, apparently both puzzled and amused. She
turned and glanced through the back window, saw the hackney behind them, but
was not much concerned.

And
then, as they turned through the great south gate of Dangerfield House, the
impertinent hackney turned in also. Amber
got out, still scowling in spite of her
straggles to compose her face, and confronted Jemima who had just stepped down
from the hackney. Carter was paying the driver.

"Good
morning, Madame," said Jemima.

Amber
started off, and tossed Jemima what she hoped was a careless greeting.
"Good morning, Jemima." But her heart was pounding and she had a sick
feeling of despair. The damned girl had been spying! And, what was worse, had
caught her!

"Just
a moment, Madame. Haven't you time for a word with me? You were glad enough to
be my friend—before Lord Carlton came."

Amber
stopped still, and then she turned around to face her step-daughter. There was
nothing to do but try to brazen it out with her. "What's Lord Carlton got
to do with this?"

"Lord
Carlton's staying at Almsbury House. That's why you were there just now—and day
before yesterday and twenty other times this past month, for all I know!"

"Mind
your own business, Jemima! I'm no prisoner here. I'll come and go as I like. As
it happens Lady Almsbury is a dear friend of mine—I was visiting her."

"You
didn't visit her before Lord Carlton came to town!"

"She
wasn't here! She was in the country. Now look here, Jemima, I've a mighty good
idea why you've been following me—and I've a mind to tell your father. He'll
take a course with you, I warrant."

"You'll
tell
Father! Suppose
I
tell him a few things I know —about you and Lord
Carlton!"

"You
don't know a thing! And if you weren't as jealous as a barren wife you wouldn't
have such suspicions, either!" Her eyes went swiftly from Jemima to Carter
and back again. "Who puts these ideas in your head? This old screech-owl
here?" Carter's guiltily shifted glance told her that her guess was right
and Amber, with a great show of independent virtue, gave her a last warning and
went off. "Don't let me hear any more of your bellow-weathering, Jemima,
or we'll try which one of us your father will believe!"