Forever Amber

by Kathleen Winsor

  "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry, gentlemen." She made a curtsy.

  "Never mind, Mrs. Nan. Damn me, Sedley! She's as pretty as ever, isn't she? But what's this? Sure you're not worried about the plague?"

  "Oh, but I am, sir! I'm scared out of my wits! And all these other things they've got marked! I'll warrant you at least half of 'em died of the plague!" She began to read from the fresh-printed bill, for they were scarcely off the press before Nan had one. "Griping of the guts—3! Worms—5! Fits—2! How do we know those weren't all the plague too and not reported by the searcher because somebody greased 'em in the fist to give another cause of the death!"

  Amber and the two men laughed but Nan was so excited she began to choke on the gold-piece she had in her mouth and ran out of the room. Only nine days later, however, the Queen and her ladies set out for Hampton Court, and the gentlemen intended to follow very shortly. Buckhurst and some of the others who had heard of her inheritance tried to persuade Amber to go along, but she refused.

  Then at last, very much to Nan's relief, she began to make preparations for leaving town herself. She had the maids begin packing her clothes, and most of her jewellery she took to Shadrac Newbold, for she did not want to carry it about the countryside with her and had no idea as to where she would go. She found the street before his house crowded with carts and wagons and all the household in a turmoil.

  "It's fortunate you came today, Mrs. Dangerfield," he told her. "I'm leaving town tomorrow myself. But I had assumed you were in the country with the rest of the family. They left at least a fortnight ago." The Dangerfields had a country home in Dorsetshire.

  "I don't live at Dangerfield House any more. I think I'll take just a hundred pounds. That should be enough, don't you think?"

  "I think so. The ways will be more crowded than ever with highwaymen. And the plague must be near spent by now. Excuse me a moment, madame."

  While he was gone Amber sat fanning herself. The day was hot and she could feel her high-necked black-satin gown sticking to her skin; her silk stockings, moist with perspiration, clung tight to her legs. Presently he returned and sat down to count out the pieces of gold and silver for her, stacking them in piles on the table while she watched him drowsily.

  "That was a fine boy little Mrs. Jemima had, wasn't it?" he said conversationally.

  Amber had not known that Jemima's child was born, but now she said sarcastically: "So soon? She was only married last October."

  He gave her a glance of surprise, and then smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, yes, perhaps it is a little early. But you know how young people are—and a contract is as binding as the ceremony, they say."

  He scooped the money into a purse and handed it to her as she got up to go. At the door she turned. "Any word of Lord Carlton?"

  "Why, yes, as it happens, I have. Some ten days ago one of his ships put into port and a man came to tell me that his Lordship would be here soon. I've waited for him now longer than I'd intended, but I can't wait any longer. Perhaps he's heard of the sickness and decided not to come. Good-day, madame, and the best of luck to you."

  "Thank you, sir. And to you."

  Everyone was wishing everyone else good luck these days.

  She drove immediately down to the wharves and sent Jeremiah to inquire for Lord Carlton. After half-an-hour or so he returned to say that he had found a man who had been on the ship which had come in and that he was expected at any time. The men who had manned the first ship were all waiting impatiently, for they wanted their shares of the venture.

  Back home she saw that several carts piled with her own gilt leather trunks and boxes stood before the house, and Nan came running down the stairs to meet her. "A man died this morning only four doors up the street!" she cried. "I've got everything ready! We can leave this instant, mam! Can't we, please?"

  Amber was annoyed: "No, we can't! I've just heard that Lord Carlton is expected in port any day and I'm not going till I've seen him! Then we'll all go together."

  Suddenly Nan began to cry. "Oh, we're all going to catch it and die! I know we are! That's what happened to a family in Little Clement's Lane—every one of 'em died! Why can't you meet his Lordship in the country? Leave 'im a message!"

  "No. He might not come at all then. Oh, Nan! For Heaven's sake! Stop your blubbering then. You can go tomorrow."

  Nan set out very early the next morning with the baby, her nurses, Tansy, two of the maids, and Big John Waterman— who had come with them from Dangerfield House because he was in love with Nan. She was to go to Dunstable and wait there or, if there was plague in the town, to continue on until she found a safe place and sent back a message. Amber gave them a great many instructions and admonitions regarding the care of the baby and protection of her belongings and they rattled off, waving back at her. Then she sent Jeremiah back to the wharves—but Bruce had not come.

  London was emptying rapidly now.

  Trains of coaches and carts started out early every morning: twenty-five hundred had died the week before. The sad faces of the plague prisoners—shut in with the sick—appeared at many windows, and bells tolled from almost every parish church in the city. People held their noses when they passed a cross-marked house. Some families were storing their cellars with great supplies of food and then sealing the house, stuffing every crack and keyhole, boarding the doors and windows to keep out the plague.

  The weather continued hot and there was no fog; it had not rained for almost a month. The flowers down in the courtyard, roses and stocks and honeysuckle, were wilting and the meadows about the town were beginning to dry up and turn brown. Street vendors hawked cherries and apples and early pears, though oranges were scarce since the war had begun, and everyone who could afford it bought ice—cut off the lakes and rivers in the winter and stored underground packed in straw— to cool their wine and ale. They talked almost as much about the heat as they did about the war or the plague.

  Amber was finally beginning to feel nervous herself. The long funeral processions, the red crosses on every hand, the tolling bells, the people passing with their noses buried in a pomander or bottle of scent had at last made her uneasy. She wanted to get away, but she was sure that if she left, Bruce would arrive the same day. And so she waited.

  Tempest and Jeremiah were complaining about being kept so long in town and did not like being sent to the wharves. Jane—the serving-girl who had stayed with Amber—whined and wanted to go to her father's home in Kent and so Amber let her. When Nan had been gone four days she asked Tempest and Jeremiah to look for Lord Carlton once more and told them that if they found him she would give them each a guinea. But for the money, she knew, they would merely drive around or go to a tavern for a couple of hours and then come back. By noon they were home again. Lord Carlton had come in the night before and they had just seen him down at the wharves, unloading his ships.

  PART FOUR

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The wharves were busy as an ant hill.

  Ships with their gilded hulls gleaming, their tall masts mere bare skeletons, lay on the quiet waters in great numbers. Many of them were men-of-war back from fighting the Dutch and in the process of being overhauled and cleaned. Broken seams were being mended with boiling-pitch, and the ropes bound with tarpaulins. Sailors and porters were everywhere, unloading the plundered treasure which had recently been seized, while captured Dutch flags snapped out bravely from the tower. But there were also great numbers of crippled and wounded men, hobbling about, sitting, lying flat on their backs, all reaching out their hands to beg. For the most part they were ignored. The navy had not been paid and already some of the seamen were starving.

  Amber got out of her coach and walked along the wharf between Tempest and Jeremiah, one hand shading her eyes against the hot sun. The beggars tried to touch her as she passed and some of the sailors whistled or made audible comments, but she was too absorbed in looking for Bruce even to hear them.

  "There he is!" She started to run and t
he sound of her high heels on the boards made him turn. "Bruce!"

  She came up to him, smiling eagerly and out of breath, expecting to be kissed. But instead he looked down at her with a scowl and she saw that his face was tired and his skin wet with sweat.

  "What the devil are you doing down here?"

  As he spoke he glanced around truculently at the men who were staring at her for her cloak was opened over her black-satin gown and emeralds sparkled in her ears and on her fingers. Disappointed, offended by his surly tone, she had an instant of angry self-pity. But his look of exhaustion was real and her eyes went over him anxiously, tender as a mother's caress. She had seldom seen him tired and now she longed to take him into her arms, kiss away the scowl and the weariness—her love for him rose up like a painful throbbing ache.

  "Why, I came to see you, darling," she answered softly.

  "Aren't you glad?"

  He gave a faint smile, as though ashamed of his ill temper, and ran the back of one hand across his moist forehead. "Of course I am." His eyes went down over her figure. "The baby's been born?"

  "Yes—a little girl. I named her Suzanna— Oh!" she remembered with a sudden sense of guilt. "Samuel's dead."

  "I know. I heard about it this morning. Why aren't you out of town?"

  "I waited for you."

  "You shouldn't have—it's not safe in London. Where's the baby?"

  "I sent her and Nan and Tansy into the country. We can go too—and meet them—" She looked at him questioningly, afraid he might tell her that he already had other plans.

  Bruce took her arm and they started back toward the coach. As they went he began talking in an undertone. "You've got to get away from here, Amber. You shouldn't have come down at all. Ships carry disease, you know."

  "Oh, I'm not worried about that. I've got a unicorn's horn."

  He laughed, but without much humour. "Unicorn's horn— my God! A cuckold's horn would do you as much good."

  They reached the coach and he handed her in. Then he braced one foot on the step, rested his arms on his knees and as he leaned forward to talk to her his voice was no more than a murmur. "You've got to get away from here as fast as you can. Some of my men are sick of the plague."

  Amber gasped in horror, but he made her a quick negative motion with his head. "But Bruce!" she whispered. "You might catch it too!"

  "There've only been three cases. There was sickness on some of the Dutch ships we took and when we found it we sank them with everyone on board—but three of my own sailors have fallen sick since. They were moved off the ships last night and there haven't been any new cases so far today."

  "Oh, Bruce! You can't stay here! You've got to come away— Oh, darling, I'm scared! Have you got an amulet or something to protect yourself?"

  He gave her a look of exasperated impatience, and ignored the last question. "I can't leave now—I can't leave until everything's been unloaded and stored. But you've got to go. Please, Amber, listen to me. I've heard a rumour they're going to lock the gates and forbid anyone's leaving. Get out while there's still time."

  She looked at him stubbornly. "I won't go without you."

  "Holy Jesus, Amber, don't be a fool! I'll meet you somewhere later."

  "I'm not afraid of the plague—I never get sick. When will you be through unloading?"

  "Not before night."

  "Then I'll come back here for you at sundown. Nan and the baby are at Dunstable and we can meet them there. I'm not living at Dangerfield House any more—I've got lodgings in St. Martin's Lane."

  "Then go there and stay. Keep off the streets and don't talk to anyone."

  He turned away and then, as she watched anxiously, her face wistful as a child's, he looked around and gave her a smile and a slow weary wave of his hand. He walked off down the wharf and disappeared into the crowds.

  But she did not stay at home as he had told her to do.

  She knew that he was skeptical about a great many things in which she believed, and a unicorn's horn was one of them. Wearing it pinned inside her smock she felt perfectly safe as she went out to make arrangements for their supper, for she thought that tomorrow morning would be early enough to leave. She ordered their supper at the Blue Bells, a very fine French tavern in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and then went back to set the table herself. All her silver had been stored with Shadrac Newbold but there was pewter enough in the kitchen to make a handsome show and she amused herself for most of an hour experimentally folding the napkins to resemble weird birds. In the courtyard she gathered a great armful of limp yellow roses that climbed over the walls and onto the balconies, and arranged them in a large pewter bowl for the dining-room table.

  She took delight in each small detail, each unimportant little thing which she did, with the hope that later it would make him comfortable or cause him to smile. The plague began to seem almost a blessing to her now, for it meant that they would be together for several weeks, perhaps months—perhaps, forever. She thought that she had never been so happy, or had so much cause for happiness.

  The last hour before she set out she spent brushing and arranging her hair, polishing her nails, and painting her face— very subtly, for she did not want him to look at her with the smile she knew so well, which always made her feel that she was both foolish and wrong. She was standing at the window fastening a bracelet when she saw a funeral procession turn the corner. There were banners floating, horses and men tramped solemnly, and though it was still light several torches burned. She turned quickly away—resenting the intrusion of death into her happiness—threw on her cloak and went downstairs.

  The wharf was half deserted now and as she rode out along it the wheels of her coach rumbled noisily. He was talking to two other men, and though he gave her a nod he did not smile and she saw that he looked even more tired than before. After a few minutes all three returned to one of the ships and disappeared from sight.

  By the time a quarter of an hour had gone by she was beginning to grow impatient. Now, just what can be keeping him all this time! Here he hasn't seen me for ten months and what does he do? Goes back to his damned boat for a drink, I suppose! She began to tap her foot and flutter her fan. From time to time she sighed and scowled, and then she smoothed her features again and tried to compose herself. The sun had set, dark red over the water, and now there was a slight breeze which seemed refreshing after the hot day just passed.

  It was at least another half-hour before he came back and by then her eager anticipation had turned to angry pique. He got in and sat down heavily. She gave him a sideways glance and said tartly.

  "Well, Lord Carlton! Have you come at last! Pray don't let me keep you from something important!"

  The coach began to move again. "I'm sorry, Amber—I've been so damned busy I—"

  She was instantly contrite and ashamed of her meanness, for she could see that his eyes were blood shot and even though the air was cool now, little drops of sweat stood on his forehead. She had never seen him look so tired, and her hand reached over to him. "I'm sorry, darling. I know you didn't keep me waiting on purpose. But why did you have to work so hard and so long? Sure now, those men aren't such fools they can't unload a ship by themselves."

  He smiled, stroking her fingers. "They could have unloaded it alone, and would have been only too glad to. But these prizes are the King's, and God knows he needs them. These sailors haven't been paid and the men are refusing to work any more for tickets that can't be cashed— Contractors won't supply commodities they know they won't be paid for. God, you don't have to be here three hours to hear a tale of woe that would make a lawyer weep. And I might as well tell you—the three men who were sick yesterday are dead, and four more got it today."

  She stared at him. "What did you do with them?"

  "Sent them to a pest-house. Someone told me that the gates are guarded now and that no one can leave without a certificate-of-health. Is that true?"

  "Yes, but don't trouble yourself about it. I got a certificate for
you when I got mine and Nan's and all the others. Even Susanna had to have one. And what a bother it was! The streets were packed for a half-mile around the Lord Mayor's house. I think everyone in town is leaving."

  "If they issue them for people they've never seen they can't be worth much."

  Amber held out her hand, rubbing her thumb and first two fingers suggestively together. "For enough money they'd give a dead man a certificate-of-health. I offered them fifty pound for the lot and they didn't ask a question." She paused. "I'm mighty rich now, you know."

  He sat slumped low, as though every muscle was tired, but he gave her a faint smile. "So you are. And is it as pleasant as you'd expected?"

  "Oh, much more! Lord, everyone wants to marry me now! Buckhurst and Talbot and I can't think how many others. What a pleasure it was to laugh in their faces!" She laughed now, thinking of it, and there was a malicious sparkle in her eyes. "Oh, gad, but it's a fine thing to be rich!"

  "Yes," he agreed. "I suppose it is."

  Both of them were silent for a few minutes and then he said, "I wonder how long this plague will last."

  "Why?"

  "Well, I'd hoped to be back at sea in another month—but the men won't sign now. And anyway it would be foolish— they've found some Dutch ships with everyone aboard dead."

  Amber did not reply, but she felt that if there must be a plague at all it could not have happened more to her advantage.

  When they reached her lodging-house she ran on up the stairs ahead of him, full of a trembling eager excitement. Sometimes she felt that moments like this one were almost compensation enough for the long periods of time when she did not see him at all. Such wild frantic happiness, ecstasy that was almost torture, pleasures that racked and exhausted— these things could be no everyday occurrence, no matter how truly you loved! They fed on loneliness and longing, and came to full blossom over slow months of separation.

  She unlocked the door and flung it open, then turned about quickly to face him.