And then she felt the pressure of Buckingham's knee and a light movement in her lap. Suddenly she found herself cold and clear-headed again, no longer desperate, and with a quick automatic gesture she picked the dice-box up from the table in one hand and the dice in the other. So quickly that it scarce seemed to happen she dropped the box into her lap and the one she recovered was the one just put there by Buckingham. Without looking she knew what it was: a false box painted inside to look like an honest one—and she tossed the dice in. The hours of practice she had had in Whitefriars and since now stood her in good stead—for the dice came forth like loyal soldiers: a five, a five, and another five. There was a gasp all around the room while Amber pretended astonishment at her own good fortune. The beet-faced Brouncker leaned down to whisper in Barbara's ear.
And suddenly she sprang to her feet. "Very clever, madame!" she cried. "But I'm not one to be so easily put upon! There's been some scurvy trick here— I'll pass my word for that!" she added, addressing herself to the audience in general, and his Majesty in particular.
Amber was beginning to grow nervous, though already the Duke had reclaimed his box and the one she held in her hand was the same one Barbara had used. But she was prepared to run a bluff.
"Can't anyone be allowed to get the better of your Ladyship but by some trick?" That drew a general laugh and Amber felt somewhat more comfortable; she carelessly tossed the box onto the table.
Still it was a serious matter for one person to accuse another of cheating, though all of them did—for just as some of the ladies liked to pretend they were virtuous or unpainted, so they pretended to play on the square. And to be caught now and labelled a cheat before all the Court, suddenly seemed to Amber so horrible a fate she would rather have been dead. It would be unbearable—to have everyone stand there and witness her defeat at the hands of Barbara Palmer!
And Barbara, convinced she had the hare cornered, came baying ruthlessly on the scent. "Only a false box would have turned 'em up like that! There wouldn't be a chance in a thousand it could happen honestly!"
Amber by now was sick and shaking inside, and it took her a few seconds to find her answer. But when she did she tried to sound brazenly assured, so casually scornful that they could have no doubt of her honesty. "Come to think of it, your Ladyship's throw was almost too good to be true—"
"I'll have you know, madame, I'm not a cheat!" cried Barbara, who often lost such sums it seemed she must be either honest or clumsy. "There's the box I used! Examine it, someone—" She snatched it up and suddenly leaned across the table, extending it to the King. "Now, your Majesty! You saw everything that happened! How does it look to you? You tell us which one cheated in this game!"
Charles took the box and looked it over very carefully, both inside and out, wearing his most serious and thoughtful expression. "As far as I can see," he said at last, "there's nothing wrong with this box."
Amber sat there motionless and stiff, her heart hammering so violently she expected to faint. This was the end—the end of everything—it would be no use to go on living after this—
"Aha!" cried Barbara's voice, in a triumphant brassy tone that Amber felt scrape mercilessly along her nerves. "Just as I thought! I knew—"
"But," interrupted Charles in a lazy drawl, "since both of you used the same box I can see no reason for all this bustle and stir."
Amber's relief was so great now that it was all she could do to keep herself from slumping over and falling face down onto the table-top. But Castlemaine gave a high little screech of indignation.
"What? But we didn't! She changed it! She—"
"I beg your pardon, madame, but—as you said—I saw everything that happened, and it's my opinion her Ladyship played as much upon the square as you did."
"But—"
"The hour's growing late," continued Charles imperturbably, and his snapping black eyes glanced around the table. "Don't you all agree we might better be in bed?"
There was a general laugh at that and the crowd, convinced the show was over, began to break up. "A pretty deal of an odd sort!" muttered Castlemaine sourly. And then she leaned forward and said tensely to Amber, "I wouldn't play with you again for crooked pins!" and she swung about and started off, with Brouncker and Bab May and little Jermyn hurrying in her wake like tenders.
Amber, still weak and helpless, finally managed to look up at the king with a grateful smile and a soundless whistle. He reached down to put his hand beneath her elbow and slowly she got to her feet.
"Thank you, Sire," she said softly, for of course he knew that she had cheated. "I'd have been disgraced forever."
Charles laughed. "Disgraced—here at Whitehall? Impossible, my dear. Did you ever hear of anyone being disgraced in hell?"
Her energy and confidence were coming back again. She looked at Buckingham, still there beside them, with an impudent grin. "Thanks, your Grace," she said, though she knew that he had given her the false box not to help her but to humiliate his cousin.
Buckingham made a comical face. "I protest, madame. I assure you I had no hand in your luck—not I. Why, all the world knows I'm an honest fellow."
As the three of them laughed at that Amber was conscious of the lords and ladies moving everywhere about them, glancing in her direction—and she knew what they were thinking. The King had taken her part tonight, defied and embarrassed Castlemaine before them all; it could have only one meaning. The Countess of Radclyffe would soon be the topping mistress at Court. Amber thought so herself.
As they stood there looking at each other, the smiles slowly fading from their faces, Buckingham said good-night and left; they did not notice. Amber knew she was in love with Charles —as much as she would ever be with any man but Bruce Carlton. His dark lazy eyes stirred the embers of desire, at which Radclyffe had rudely raked but never once brought into flame, and she longed with all her being to lie in his arms again. She had completely forgotten that Radclyffe must be there nearby, watching them, and her recklessness was now so great she would not have cared anyway.
"When can you escape your duenna?" murmured Charles.
"Anytime. Whenever you say."
"Tomorrow morning at ten?"
"Yes."
"I'll post a sentry to admit you at the Holbein Gate—on this side." He glanced up, over her head, and then smiled faintly. "Here comes your husband—and he looks horn-mad already."
Amber had a sharp unpleasant sense of shock.
Your husband!
She felt resentful that he should have the effrontery still to be alive, when she had no longer any use for him and had half imagined he would somehow disappear from her world like an exorcised demon. But he was there now—beside her, and Charles was greeting him with a pleasant smile. Then the King was gone and Radclyffe extended his arm to her. Hesitating for only a moment, she put her fingers on his arm as they started slowly from the room...
For a long while Amber struggled to return to consciousness. She felt as if there was a heavy pressing weight on her head and her eyeballs throbbed. A twisting cramp in her neck sent pains shooting out along her shoulders and down her back as she began to move, moaning softly. She seemed to have been aware for some interminable time of an uneven rolling and jogging motion that shook her from side to side and made her sick at her stomach. With a great effort she forced herself to lift her eyelids and look about, striving to discover where she was and what had happened to her.
She saw first a man's small veined hands, clasping a walking-stick which he held between his legs, and then as her eyes raised slowly she found herself looking into Radclyffe's impassive expressionless face. She now realized that part of her discomfort was because her legs were bound together, about the thighs and below the knees, and her arms tied close to her sides. They were in his coach, and the window pane showed only a grey sky and green meadows with lonely bare-branched trees. She wanted to speak, to ask him where they were—but an intolerable weight on her head pressed down, heavier and heavier, u
ntil at last she slid off again into unconsciousness.
She was aware of nothing more until she suddenly opened her eyes to find the coach had stopped and that someone was lifting her out; she felt the cool fresh evening air in her face and took a deep breath.
"Try not to wake her," she heard Radclyffe say. "When she's in these spells she must not be disturbed or it may cause another." It made her furious that he should dare tell anyone such an insulting lie about her, but she had no energy to protest.
The footman carried her, covered with her cloak and a long fur-lined robe, toward the inn and someone pushed open the door. The room was warm and filled with the savoury smells of fresh-baked bread and a roasting-joint which turned in the fireplace. Dogs circled about, wagging their tails and sniffing inquisitively, several children appeared, ostlers ran to unhitch the horses and a cheerful landlady came to greet them. At the sight of Amber lying with her head limp against the footman's chest and her eyes closed, she gave a sympathetic little cry and hurried forward.
"Oh! Is the lady sick?"
Radclyffe brushed her aside. "My wife is indisposed," he said coldly. "But it's no serious matter. I'll attend to her myself. Show us to a room and send up supper."
Rebuffed, the landlady climbed the stairs ahead of them and unlocked a clean lavender-scented chamber, but whenever she thought that the Earl was not looking she glanced surreptitiously at Amber. She lighted the candles and soon had a brisk blaze in the fireplace. Then, just before going, she hesitated again, looking with real distress at Amber where she lay on the bed, just as the footman had put her down.
"My wife does not need your attention!" snapped Radclyffe, so sharply that the woman gave an embarrassed start and hurried from the room. He walked to the closed door, listened for a moment and then, apparently satisfied that she had gone on, returned to the bedside.
Though now fully conscious, Amber felt dull and heavy and irritable, her head ached and her muscles were stiff and sore. She drew a deep sigh. For several moments both of them remained silent and waiting, but at last she said: "Well, why don't you untie me? I can't get away from you now!" She looked up at him sullenly. "How damned clever you must think you are!" She had already begun to realize that he must have tied her merely to satisfy some brutal whim of his own, for deeply drugged as she had been it would not have been necessary in order to move her about.
He shrugged and smiled a little, frankly pleased with himself. "I believe I've studied chemistry to some purpose. It was in the wine, of course. You couldn't smell or taste it, could you?"
"D'ye think I'd have drunk it if I could! For the love of God untie these ropes—my legs and arms are dead." She was beginning to twist about, trying to find a more comfortable position and to make the blood run again, for she felt so cold and numb that it seemed to have stopped altogether.
He ignored her request and took a chair beside her, with the air of a man who sits down to console a sick person for whose condition he has no real pity. "What a shame you couldn't meet him. I hope he didn't wait too long."
Amber looked at him swiftly—and then very slowly, she smiled, a malicious cruel little smile. "There'll be another day. You can't keep me tied up forever."
"I don't intend to. You may go back to London and Whitehall and play the bitch whenever you like—but when you do, madame, I shall bring suit to get all your money in my possession. I think I would win it, too, with no great difficulty. The King may be willing to lie with you—but you've a long way to go before he'll discommode himself for you. A whore and a mistress are not the same thing—even though you may not be able to see the difference between them."
"I see it well enough! All women aren't such fools as you like to think! I see some things you may think I don't, too."
"Oh, do you?" His tone had the subtle sneering contempt with which he had almost habitually addressed her since the day of their marriage.
"You may pretend it's only my money you want—but I know better. You're stark staring mad at the thought of having another man do what you can't do. That's why you brought me off. And that's why you tell me I'll lose my money if I go back. You fumbling old dotard—you're—"
"Madame!"
"I'm not afraid of you! You're jealous of every man who's potent and you hate me because you can't—"
His right hand lashed out suddenly and struck her across the face, so hard that her head snapped to one side and the blood came rushing to the surface. His eyes were cold.
"As a gentleman I disapprove of slapping a woman. I have never, in my life, done so before. But I am your husband, madame, and I will be spoken to with respect."
Like a vicious spitting cat, Amber recoiled. Her breathing had almost stopped and her mottled golden eyes were glowing. As she spoke her lips lifted away from her teeth like a malignant animal's. "Oh, how I detest you—" she said softly. "Some day I'll make you pay for the things you've done to me— someday I swear I'll kill you ..."
He looked at her with contempt and loathing. "A threatening woman is like a barking dog—I have as much respect for one as for the other." There was a knock at the door and though he hesitated for a moment at last he turned his head.
"Come in!"
It was the landlady, cheerful and pink-cheeked and smiling, carrying in her arms a table-cloth and napkins and the pewter-ware for the table. Behind her came a thirteen-year-old girl balancing a tray loaded with appetizing food; she was followed by her little brother and two dusty green bottles and a couple of shining glasses. The landlady looked at Amber, who still lay half on one side, propped on her elbow, covered with the robe.
"Well!" she said briskly. "Madame is better now? I'm glad. It's a good supper if I do say so, and I want you to enjoy it!" She gave her a friendly woman-to-woman smile, obviously trying to convey that she understood what a young wife must go through with her first pregnancy. Amber, her face still burning from the slap, forced herself to smile in return.
Chapter Forty-three
Lime Park was over a hundred years old—it had been built before the break-up of the Catholic Church, when the proud Mortimers were at the height of their power, and its stern elegant beauty expressed the power and pride. Pale grey stone and cherry-red brick had been combined with great masses of squarepaned windows in a building of perfect symmetry. It was four stories high with three dormers projecting from the red slate roof, with its many chimneys so exactly placed that each balanced another, and with square and round bays aligned in three sections across the front. A brick-paved terrace, more than two hundred feet long, overlooked the formal Italian gardens that dropped away in great steps below. In marked contrast to the decay of the town-house, Lime Park had been carefully and immaculately kept; each shrub, each fountain, each stone vase was perfect.
The train of coaches circled the front of the house at a distance of several hundred yards and drove around to the back courtyard, where a fountain played many jets of sparkling water. Some distance to the west could be seen a great round brick Norman dove-cote and a pond; on the north were the stables and coach-houses, all handsome buildings of cherry brick and silver oak. A double staircase led to the second-story entrance, and the first coach stopped just at the foot of it.
His Lordship got out, then gallantly extended his hand to help his wife. Amber, now unbound and completely recovered from the effects of the drug, stepped down. Her face was sulky and she ignored Radclyffe as though he did not exist, but her eyes went up over the building with admiration and interest. Just at that moment a young woman ran out the door overhead and came sailing down the steps toward them. She shot one swift timid glance at Amber and then made Radclyffe a deep humble curtsy.
"Oh, your Lordship!" she cried, bobbing up again. "We weren't expecting you and Philip has ridden over to hunt with Sir Robert! I don't know when he'll be back!"
Amber knew that she must be Jennifer, his Lordship's sixteen-year-old daughter-in-law, though Radclyffe had made no mention of her beyond her name. She was slender and plain-f
aced with pale blonde hair which was already beginning to darken in streaks; and she was obviously very much awed by her two worldly visitors.
Ye gods! thought Amber impatiently. So this is what living in the country does to you! It no longer seemed to her that she had lived most of her life in the country herself.
Radclyffe was all graciousness and courtesy. "Don't trouble yourself about it, my dear. We came unexpectedly and there was no time to send a message. Madame—" he turned to Amber —"this is my son's wife, Jennifer, of whom I've told you. Jennifer, may I present her Ladyship?" Jenny gave Amber another quick fugitive glance and then curtsied; the two women embraced with conventional kisses and Amber could feel that the girl's hands were cold and that she trembled. "Her Ladyship has not been well during the journey," said Radclyffe now, at which Amber gave him a swift glance of indignation. "I believe she would like to rest. Are. my apartments ready?"
"Oh, yes, your Lordship. They're always ready."
Amber was not tired and she did not want to rest. She wanted to go through the house, see the gardens and the stables, investigate the summer-house and the orangerie—but she followed the Earl upstairs into the great suite of rooms which opened from the northwest end of the gallery.
"I'm not tired!" she cried then, facing him defiantly. "How long have I got to stay shut up in here?"
"Only until you are prepared to stop sulking, madame. Your opinion of me interests me not at all—but I refuse to have my son or my servants see my wife behaving like an ill-natured slut. The choice is your own."
Amber heaved a sigh. "Very well then. I don't think I could ever convince anyone that I like you—but I'll try to seem to endure you with the best grace I can."
Philip was back by supper-time and Amber met him then. He was an ordinary young man of about twenty-four, healthy and happy and unsophisticated. His dress was careless, his manners casual, and it seemed likely that his most intellectual interests were horse-breeding and cock-training. Thank God, thought Amber at first sight of him, he's nothing like his father! But it surprised her to see that though Philip was so different from him Radclyffe was deeply attached to the boy—it was a quality she had not expected to find in the cold proud lonely old man.
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