Forever Amber

by Kathleen Winsor

  But Amber stuck out her lower lip, refused to look at her, and answered sullenly. "Maybe the lawyer won't send it at all—now I'm married!"

  Little by little her money was dribbling away. It went to Luke for pocket money, to Mrs. Goodman, who always promised to repay the instant her husband returned from France, or to a tradesman who came to the door dunning her for a bill two or three months in arrears.

  What'll I do when it's gone? she would think desperately. And, overwhelmed with fear and foreboding she would begin to cry again. She had cried more often in the weeks since Lord Carlton had left than in all the rest of her life. If Luke flew into a temper, if the laundress did not return her smocks in time—the slightest upset, the smallest inconvenience was now enough to start the tears. Sometimes she wept dismally, mournfully, but other times the tears came in a torrent, noisy and splashing as a summer storm. Life was no longer a gay and buoyant challenge but had become empty and hopeless.

  There was nothing left to look forward to. This baby would be born and others would follow in a succession down the years. Without money, with children to care for, a brutal husband, hard work, her prettiness would soon be gone. And she would grow old.

  Sometimes she woke at night feeling as if she were struggling in some growing living net. She would sit up suddenly, so scared that she could not breathe. And then she would remember Luke beside her, sprawled over three-fourths of the bed, and hatred made her long to reach down and strangle him with her own hands. She would sit there staring at him, thinking with pleasure of what it would be like to stab him to death, to have him pinned there to the bed flopping helplessly. She wondered if she could poison him—but she knew nothing of the process and was afraid of being caught. A woman guilty of husband-murder was burnt alive.

  So far apparently none of them had guessed at her pregnancy, though it had now passed the end of the fifth month. Her numerous starched petticoats and full-gathered skirts helped to disguise her in the daytime and ever since her stomach had begun to swell she had contrived to dress when no one was around or to keep her back turned. The lights were always out at night because Honour slept in the same room they did, on a little trundle-bed which was pushed under the large one in the daytime. But nevertheless they were sure to find out soon, and she knew she could never make them believe the child was Luke's. She had no idea what she would do then.

  From time to time Amber had changed the hiding-place of her money, leaving out only a few coins at one time, and she congratulated herself that the system was a very clever one. One day she went to her cache; the wallet was gone.

  She had hung the strings of the leather bag over a nail hammered into the back of a very heavy carved oak chest which stood against one wall and was never moved. Now, with a little gasp, she got down onto her hands and knees to look underneath it, reaching back to feel about in the thick rolls of dust, suddenly scared and sick. She turned and shouted over her shoulder at Honour, who was in the next room, and the girl came on the run, stopping suddenly when she saw Amber glowering there beside the chest. Then she made a demure little curtsy and opened her eyes wide.

  "Yes, mem?"

  "Did you move this chest?"

  "Oh, no, mem!" Her hands were holding to the sides of her skirts, as though for moral support.

  Amber decided that she was lying, but thought it most likely that whatever her part in the theft had been she had been prompted by Luke. She got up wearily, discouraged, but still less surprised than she would have expected to be, and went to the door where a tailor stood waiting with his bill in his hand. He was most courteous, however, when she told him that she had no money in the house, and said that he would call again. Mr. Channell had been an excellent customer and he had no wish to antagonize him.

  Luke came home late, too drunk to talk, so that Amber had no alternative but to wait. When she woke the next morning, however, the room was empty and the door into Sally's apartment closed, but she could hear low voices coming from it. Quickly she slipped out of bed and ran to get into her clothes intending to dress and then go in to talk to him before he left.

  She had just pulled the sheer linen smock over her head and settled it about her when Luke opened the door. Quickly she reached for a petticoat. But he crossed the room swiftly, grabbed her by one elbow and swung her about, jerking the petticoat out of her hand and flinging it aside.

  "Not so quick there. I hope a husband may be permitted to look at his wife sometimes?" He eyed her swollen belly. "You're mighty modest—" he said slowly, his face unpleasant, "for a bitch who was three months gone with child when she got married."

  Amber stared at him, unmoving, her eyes cold and hard. Suddenly all her worry and indecision were gone. She felt only a bitter contemptuous hatred so strong it blotted out every other sense and emotion.

  "Is that what you married me for, you lousy trull? To furnish a name for your bastard—"

  All at once Amber struck him a hard, furious blow, with all the strength of her body, across the side of his face and left ear. Before she could even move he grabbed her by the hair, giving her head a vicious cracking jerk as his free hand smashed across her jaw. Suddenly terrified, seeing murder in his face, Amber screamed and Sally Goodman rushed into the room, shouting at him.

  "Luke! Luke! Oh, you fool! You'll spoil everything! Stop it!"

  She began to struggle with him as Amber cowered, not daring to fight back for fear some blow or kick would kill the baby, trying to protect herself with her hands and arms. But he struck at her again and again, his hands and fists hitting her wherever he could, swearing between his teeth, his face livid and writhing with rage. And then at last Sally succeeded in dragging him off and Amber crumpled to the floor, retching violently, moaning and gasping and almost hysterical.

  "Oh, damn you, Luke!" she heard Sally cry. "Your temper will ruin us all!"

  He ignored her, shouting at Amber: "Next time, you damned slut, I won't let you off so easy! I'll break your neck, d'ye hear me?" He made a short vicious kick at her and Amber screamed, arms covering her belly, eyes shut. He left the room, slamming the door with a crash.

  The two women rushed immediately to Amber and helped her into the bed. She lay there for several minutes, still sobbing, trembling violently but more with rage and hatred and humiliation than from any pain she suffered. Sally sat on the bed chafing her hands, talking to her in a low soothing tone, while Honour hung over her with a sort of wide-eyed sympathetic stupefaction.

  But as Amber began to recover her senses she became conscious of sharp little thrusting movements within her, and putting her hands to her stomach she could feel the baby stir. "Oh!" she cried furiously. "If I lose this baby I swear I'll see that son of a whore set up on a gibbet on Tyburn Hill!" Though a great many times she had half-hoped that some accident would bring on a miscarriage, now she realized that more than anything else she wanted to bear this child—for he was all that was left to her of Lord Carlton.

  "Lord, sweetheart! How you talk!" cried Sally.

  Nevertheless she sent Honour to an apothecary to get something which would prevent abortion and when the girl returned she brewed the packet of herbs into a tea. Amber drank the stinking decoction, holding her nose and making a face. The day wore on and as no symptoms of a miscarriage appeared Amber began to feel easier, for though she was sore and bruised she had now been otherwise seriously hurt. But she could think of nothing but Luke Channell and how she hated him, and she was determined that as soon as she got her money back she would leave him—go away from London to some other town and hide. She lay on the bed for several hours with her eyes shut, absorbed in making her plans.

  Sally was most solicitous and even when Amber pretended to be asleep she continued to question her, to bring her something to eat, to suggest that she would feel better if she sat up for a little while and played some game to amuse herself. Finally, with a bored sigh, Amber agreed and they started a game of ombre, playing on a board which rested across their laps.

 
; "Poor Luke," Sally said after a few minutes. "I fear the dear boy inherited his father's fits. Sometimes, I swear, I've seen Sir Walter Channell lie foaming at the mouth and stark rigid for minutes at a time. But when it passes, he's the pleasantest man alive—just like Luke."

  Amber, giving Sally a skeptical glance, put down her queen and took the trick. "Just like Luke?" she repeated. "Then I'm mighty sorry for Lady Channell."

  Sally pursed her lips primly. "Well, my dear—sure, now, you wouldn't expect any man to be pleased to find his wife with child by another man's offices? And d'ye know—" She played a card, took the trick, and as she was placing it slantwise along the board looked across at Amber. "It would almost seem you must've known what your condition was when you married 'im."

  Amber smiled maliciously. "Oh, would it?" Suddenly her eyes flashed and she snapped out, "Why else would I marry that daggle-toothed lout?"

  Sally looked at her, took a deep breath, and then began counting the tricks. She shuffled the cards, dealt, and they played for a while in silence.

  All at once Amber said: "I'm missing a wallet that had a deal of money in it. It was on a nail behind that chest and someone stole it."

  "Stole it! Thieves in these rooms! Oh, heaven!"

  "I think the thief was Luke!"

  "Luke? A thief? Lord, child, how you talk! Why, there's never an honester man in London than my nephew! And anyway, my dear, how could he steal money from you? A wife's money belongs to her husband the moment they leave the altar. I must say, sweetheart, I'm surprised you'd hide a few paltry pounds from 'im."

  "A few paltry pounds! That wasn't a few paltry pounds! It was everything I had in the world!"

  Sally looked at her quickly. "Everything you had? Then what about your inheritance? What about your five thousand pound?" She was staring at her, her blue eyes narrowed and hard, all the placid good-humour gone from her face.

  "What about his inheritance?"

  Sally refused to let go of her patience. "I explained that to you, my dear. And now am I to understand that you've swindled my nephew—made him think you were a person of some fortune when five hundred was all you had?"

  Suddenly Amber slammed her handful of cards across the room and swept the board onto the floor. "Understand what you damn please! That wretch stole my money and I'll have 'im before a constable for it!"

  Sally got up, bowed to her with an air of injured dignity, and went into her own room where she closed the door and remained throughout the rest of the day. Honour stayed with her mistress. Quietly she went about her usual duties. She served Amber her supper on a tray, brushed her hair, and when Amber got up to wash her face and clean her teeth she smoothed out the sheets with a bed-staff. She listened with sympathy but made no comment upon Amber's grumbling about her husband and his aunt and seemed not very much surprised by Amber's statement that she intended to leave him as soon as she could force him to give her money back.

  Though she did not intend to, Amber fell asleep before Luke came home. Some time in the middle of the night she wakened to hear voices in the next room—his and Sally's—and though she waited for some time in cold angry apprehension the door between their rooms remained closed. And at last the sound of their voices ceased. She fell asleep again.

  When she awoke the next morning there was a bright fire going and the room had an almost surprising air of contented domesticity. Sally, humming a tune beneath her breath, was arranging a bowlful of green leaves. Honour was dusting the furniture with more enthusiasm than she usually showed for such tasks. And Luke stood knotting his cravat before a mirror, regarding himself with smug approval.

  The moment she pulled back the bed-hangings Sally saw her.

  "Why!" she cried pleasantly. "Good morning to you, sweetheart!" Briskly she crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek, ignoring the face Amber made. "I hope you've slept well! Luke slept on the trundle in my room so as not to disturb you." She had never been more pleasant and now she turned a beaming smile upon her nephew, like a mother prompting her child in the presence of guests. "Didn't you, Luke?"

  Luke gave her a broad grin, the same one he had used during their courtship. Amber lay propped on one elbow and regarded him sourly. She was determined somehow to get her money back, but the mere sight of him infuriated her so that she lost hold of all her schemes and plans. He started toward her, still grinning, though Amber watched him with sullen distrust.

  "What d'ye suppose I've got here for you?" He had picked something off the mantel and kept one hand behind his back,

  "I don't know, and I don't care! Get away from me!" she cried warningly, as he stooped to kiss her, and she flung her covers up over her head.

  An ugly look came swiftly to his face but Sally reminded him with a nudge and jerk of her head. He sat down on the bed and reached out a tentative hand to touch her. "Look here, duckling—look what a fine present I've brought you. Heavens, sweetheart, you an't going to stay mad at poor Luke, now are you?"

  She could hear him open a box and jingle something which sounded like jewellery and at last out of curiosity she peeked over the top of the blankets. He was holding toward her, temptingly, a bracelet with several diamonds and a ruby or two winking on it. His voice continued to wheedle, though she was looking not at him but at the bracelet.

  "Believe me, sweetheart, I'm sorry for what I did yesterday. But truly at times it seems I'm not master of myself. My poor old father had those fits. Here—let me fasten it on your wrist—"

  The bracelet was a handsome one, and finally Amber permitted him to clasp it. She knew that she must make him think she liked him, or she would never get her money back. So she let him kiss her and even pretended to giggle with pleasure. She had such contempt for him it was easy to make herself believe that she could outwit him. Finally she got up and dressed and they drank the morning draught of ale, together with a few anchovies. Luke suggested that Amber ride out to Pancras with him and have dinner at a charming little inn he knew, and thinking that most likely he really was sorry for his behaviour and once more infatuated with her, she agreed. She put on her cloak-—though at his suggestion she left the bracelet there because of the danger from highwaymen—and they set out.

  Pancras, a tiny village to the northwest, was about two miles from the Rose and Crown, or some three-quarters of an hour by coach. But they had scarcely reached High Holborn when it began to rain—though the winter had been a dry and warm and dusty one—and within fifteen minutes the roads were splashing with mud and there was a strong smell of rotten garbage in the air, made more poignant by the wet. Two or three times the wheels stuck and the coachman and footman had to pry them out, using an iron bar, which all coaches carried for that purpose.

  To Amber, lurching and jogging inside the springless carriage, the ride seemed interminable and she wished miserably that she had stayed at home. But Luke was cheerful and talkative as he had not been for weeks, and she tried to pretend that she was enjoying the outing and his company. His hands roamed over her persistently, and he urged her to reciprocate his attentions. Amber laughed and tried to push him off, pretending she was afraid that the coach might overturn and spill them out for everyone to see; the touch of his fingers made her flesh crawl and turn cold with loathing.

  The inn she found to be a little greasy place and the room to which the host showed them was cold and unaired. He lighted a fire and then Luke went below with him to order the dinner while Amber stood at the window, looking out at the pouring rain and watching the bedraggled red rooster moving majestically across the courtyard, carefully picking up his claws as he went. She kept her cloak on, shivering a little, unhappy and listless, a sense of depression dragging at her.

  The dinner was a bad one, a stringy slightly warmed chunk of boiled beef, boiled parsnips, and boiled bacon. Amber was disgusted with such fare and could scarcely force herself to take a bite but Luke, who was never discriminating, ate with gusto, a trickle of greasy juice running over his chin. He smacked his lips noisily, picke
d at his teeth with his fingernails, and spat on the floor until Amber, queasy with her pregnancy, thought that she would be sick.

  He had scarcely done eating when he set upon her again, mauling her and pulling at her clothes. A moment later there was a knock and the landlord called his name; without a word he left her and went out the door.

  For a moment Amber lay, surprised and relieved, half wondering what had happened. Suddenly she burst into tears of anger and loneliness and revulsion. I won't do it again! she thought. I won't if he kills me! She rolled over onto her side, crying drearily, and waited for him to come back.

  She waited a long time. At last she got up, rinsed her face in cold water and combed her hair. She wondered where he had gone and what kept him, but she did not care very much. For when he did return they would only drive back and she would spend the rest of the afternoon talking to Sally or, if Luke stayed home, playing ombre or gleek and she would be sure to lose because they cheated and she did not know how.

  Finally she began to grow uneasy and the suspicion sneaked into her mind that he had taken the coach and gone off leaving her to get back however she might. It would be like him to take some such means of repaying her for having slapped him. And she had not so much as a farthing with her. She snatched up her fan and muff and mask, flung on her black velvet cloak, and went out of the room and downstairs. The host was leaning over the counter, talking to some booted muddy stranger, and both men were smoking pipes and drinking ale.

  "Where's my husband?" she demanded, halfway down the stairs.

  They looked up at her. "Your husband?" repeated the host.

  "Of course! The man I came here with!" she cried impatiently, crossing the floor toward him now. "Where is he?"