Forever Amber

by Kathleen Winsor

  The meal was everything that Amber had hoped it would be.

  There was a hot thick pea soup, steamingly fragrant, with leeks and chopped bacon and small crusty meat-balls that floated on the surface. There was roast duck stuffed with oysters and onions and walnuts; fried mushrooms; sweet biscuits; and an orange pudding baked in a dish lined with a crisp flaky puff-paste and decorated with candied orange-blossoms. And she had ordered a potful of black coffee because she knew that Bruce liked it—it was becoming a fashionable, though still an expensive, drink. The men were enthusiastic and Amber was as pleased as though she had cooked it all herself.

  When supper was done they went into the parlour to talk; Amber and Lady Almsbury sat on the couch before the fire while the men took chairs, one on either side of them. For a few minutes Amber and her Ladyship discussed the new fashions—gowns were now being made with trains three feet long —and Bruce and the Earl talked of the Dutch war, which both were sure would come soon. But Amber presently grew tired of that. She had not invited Bruce there to talk to Almsbury.

  "You say you're not here to stay, my lord," she said now, turning to him. "What do you intend doing?"

  Bruce, who sat with both elbows resting on his wide-spread legs, holding his brandy glass in his two hands, glanced across at Almsbury before he answered her.

  "I'm going back to Jamaica."

  "Why there, for Heaven's sake? I've heard it's a nasty place."

  "Nasty or not, it's a very good place for my purpose."

  "And what's your purpose, pray?" She was thinking of Mrs. Leah.

  "To get some more money."

  "Some more? Aren't you rich enough by now?"

  "Is anyone ever rich enough any time?" Almsbury wanted to know.

  Amber ignored him. "Well, now, sure you don't intend to be a pirate all the rest of your life!" She knew well enough what was the difference between a pirate and a privateer, but liked to make his profession sound as disreputable as she could.

  Bruce smiled. "No. Another year or two, perhaps, depending on what luck I have—and then I'm through."

  Her face brightened. "Then you'll come back here to stay?"

  He drew a deep breath, drained his glass, and as he answered her he started to get up. "Then I think I'll go to America and plant tobacco."

  Amber stared at him, nonplussed. "Go to America!" she cried, and then added, "To plant tobacco! Why, you must be out of your head!" Suddenly she sprang up and ran after him where he had gone to pour himself another glass of brandy. "Bruce! You're not serious!"

  He looked down at her. "Why not? I don't intend to stay here and play at cross-or-pile with the Court politicians for the next thirty years."

  "But why America! It's so far away! Why not plant your tobacco here—in England?"

  "For one thing, there's a law against planting tobacco in England. And even if there were not it would still be impractical. The soil isn't suitable and tobacco culture requires a great deal of ground—it exhausts the land quickly and you've got to have room to spread out."

  "But what will you get by it? You won't need money over there—money's no good if you're not where you can spend it!"

  He did not answer her, for just then the door opened and Rex Morgan came in; and paused in surprise to find her staring up so intensely at a man he had never seen before. Amber was disappointed and a little troubled, wondering what her expressions had been at the moment he had opened the door, but immediately she ran to take his hand, welcoming him gaily.

  "Come in, darling! I wasn't expecting you and we've eaten everything but the nut-shells! Here—let me present my guests—"

  Rex had already met Almsbury but neither the Countess nor Bruce, and once the introductions were acknowledged Amber made a quick suggestion that they play cards. She did not want the men to begin talking. They sat down to a five-handed game of lanterloo and as Almsbury began to shuffle the cards Amber saw Rex and Lord Carlton exchange glances across the table that sent a chill down her spine.

  Oh, Lord! she thought. If he guesses!

  She played badly, unable to keep her mind on her cards, and the room seemed too hot and close. But Bruce paid her no particular attention and was as casual in his manner as though he were merely the friend who had come along because he happened to be staying at Almsbury's house. And in her turn Amber tried desperately to convince Rex of her undivided interest in him. She flirted with him as flagrantly as though they had just met, asked his opinion on several matters of no importance, called Nan to fill his wine-glass the moment it was empty, and scarcely looked at Bruce. For he had given her no reason as yet to think she would not continue to need Rex Morgan.

  But she was uncomfortably nervous and the back muscles of her neck were beginning to ache when Almsbury, giving his wife's pregnancy as an excuse, suggested that it was time to go home. She threw him a look of grateful relief.

  Nan brought out the men's cloaks and plumed hats and Amber walked into the bedroom with Lady Almsbury, telling her how pleased she was to have made her acquaintance. She held her cloak for her and took her fan while Emily adjusted her hood, then gave back her own instead. Emily did not notice the change and they went back into the parlour. The three men were having a last drink and all of them seemed to be on perfectly friendly terms; when they left Rex invited them to come again.

  Nan went out with a candle to light them to the bottom of the stairs and Amber waited a minute or two. "Oh!" she cried then. "I've got her Ladyship's fan!" And before Rex, who had gone into the dining-room to pick up a cold biscuit, could offer to take it down for her she had run out of the room. She reached them when they had just gotten to the bottom of the stairs, for Emily had to move with care, and all of them laughed politely as they made the exchange.

  But as she turned to go back up again she gave a swift glance around, and then whispered to Bruce, "I'll come to Almsbury House tomorrow morning at eight," and before he could reply or object she had picked up her skirts and was running up the stairs once more.

  Bruce was busy most of the time.

  The days he spent down at the wharves overseeing the cleaning and repairing and supplying of his ships, signing new men, and talking to the merchants from whom he ordered provisions, for many of them had a monetary share in his ships. Privateering was the greatest speculative business of the nation, and not only the King and courtiers but most of the great merchants and many of the lesser ones were engaged in it, usually through money invested in a venture such as his. At night he went to Whitehall, saw the plays there, gambled in the Groom Porter's Lodge, attended the never-ending succession of balls and supper-parties.

  Consequently Amber saw him for only an hour or two in the morning when she visited his apartments at Almsbury House, and she did not go every day because, when he could, Rex waited until she was ready to start for the Theatre before he left. But as far as she knew he had no slightest suspicion that she had seen Lord Carlton either before or since that one night. And she intended to make sure that he never would suspect it.

  But contending against her determination to be cautious and clever, to keep Rex Morgan's confidence and his love, was the violent infatuation which made her reckless in spite of herself.

  She had begged Bruce again to take her with him when he went and again he had refused, nor would any amount of tears and imploring change his mind. She was accustomed to Rex, who could usually be coaxed, and his obdurate refusal filled her with frantic, impotent fury.

  "I'll stow away on your ship then!" she told him one day, half-joking, but thinking nevertheless that if she did there would be nothing he could do about it. She would be there and he couldn't very well throw her overboard.

  "And I'll send you back again when I find you, no matter how far out we are." His eyes had a warning glitter as he looked at her. "Privateering's no game of handy-dandy."

  Amber worried because she knew that soon he would be gone and she would not see him at all—perhaps for years— but she worried even more because no
w, while he was here, the days were getting away from them one by one and they were able to be together only for a snatched hour or two at a time. She longed to spend whole days and nights with him, uninterrupted by either his obligations or hers. And at last she discovered the solution—a plan so simple and obvious it seemed incredible she had not thought of it weeks ago. They would go away together into the country.

  "And what about Captain Morgan?" Bruce wanted to know. "Is he going along too?"

  Amber laughed. "Of course he isn't! Don't you trouble yourself about Rex. I'll take care of him, I warrant you. I know just what I'm going to tell him—and he'll never suspect a thing. Oh, please, Bruce! You will go, won't you?"

  "My dear—I'd like to, of course. But I think you'd be taking a very great risk for a very small reward. Suppose that he—"

  But she interrupted him swiftly. "Oh, Bruce, he won't! I know Rex better than you do—he'll believe anything I tell 'im!"

  He gave her a slow smile. "Darling, men aren't always as gullible as women think they are."

  He finally agreed, though, to go away with her for five or six days, after he had settled his business. A Spanish merchant-fleet was known to be returning from Peru, heavily laden with gold and silver, and he hoped to intercept it sometime at the end of May, which meant that he must leave London in the middle of the month.

  And, as when he had agreed to bring her to London, Amber thought that she had persuaded him. She still did not realize that selfishness and cynicism made him indifferent to what might happen to her. He had warned her, but he did not believe that he either could or should protect her from the risks of living and of her own headstrong temper.

  They took the main road down through Surrey toward the sea-coast. As in London it was raining—and had been almost every day for a month and a half—so that they travelled slowly and had to make frequent stops to haul the coach out of mud-bogs, for the roads were now nothing more. But the countryside was beautiful. This was the rich agricultural heart of England and prosperous farms lay spread over the rolling hills; many of them were enclosed by hedges, though that practice was as yet an uncommon one. The cottages and manor-houses were made of cherry-coloured brick and silver oak and the luxuriant gardens were massed with purple-and-white violets, tulips, crimson ramblers.

  Amber and Bruce sat side by side, hands tightly clasped, looking out the glass windows and talking softly. As always his presence gave her a sense of finality, a sureness that his was all she wanted from life and that it would last as it was forever.

  "It makes me think of home," she said, gesturing to take in the village through which they were passing. "Marygreen, I mean."

  " 'Home'? Does that mean you'd like to go back?"

  "Go back—to Marygreen? I should say not! It gives me the vapours to so much as think of it!"

  The first night they stopped at a little inn, and since the rain continued they decided to stay there. It was warm and comfortable and friendly and the food was good. The host was a veteran of the Civil Wars, a bluff old fellow who cornered Bruce every time he saw him and went into lengthy reminiscences of Prince Rupert and Marston Moor. They were the only guests there.

  But the week which she had expected would pass so slowly seemed to pick up speed as it went and the precious minutes and hours rushed along, slipping out of her hands as she tried to catch at them and drag them back. So soon now it would be over—he would be gone—

  "Oh, why does the time go by so fast, just when you want it to go slow!" she cried. "Someday I hope the clock will stand still and never move!"

  "Haven't you learned yet to be careful of what you wish for?"

  They spent the days idly, lay long in the mornings, and went to bed early at night. While the rain poured down outside they sat before the fire and played card games, costly-colours, putt, wit-and-reason; invariably he won and, though she thought that she had become very clever, he always seemed to know when she was cheating. If the evenings were nice, as two or three of them were, they bowled on the green beside the inn.

  They had brought the baby with them—as well as Nan and Tansy—and Bruce told her that he had arranged with Almsbury to take him from Mrs. Chiverton and put him into the nursery with the Earl's two sons. Amber was delighted to see how intensely fond he was of the child she had borne him. It encouraged her to think that sooner or later he would give up his roving life, and marry her—or take her to America with him.

  Until the last day she kept her resolution not to argue with him, and then she could not resist making one more effort to convert him. "I don't see why you want to live in America, Bruce," she said, pouting a little before he had even had time to answer. "What can you like about that country—full of nothing but wild Indians and blackamoors! Why, you said yourself there isn't a town the size of London in the whole of it. Lord, what can you find to do? Why don't you come back to England and live when you're done privateering?"

  The rain had stopped and the sun came out hot. They had spread a blanket beneath a beech-tree, heavily laden with long drooping clusters of purple blossoms, and Amber sat cross-legged on it while Bruce lay stretched out on his stomach. As she talked she kept an eye on the baby who had wandered some yards away to watch a duck and several little tawny ducklings swimming on a shallow pond; from his hand trailed a neglected wooden doll tied to a cord. She had just cautioned him not to go too close, but he was absorbed in the ducks and paid her scant attention.

  Bruce, with a stalk of green grass between his teeth and his eyes narrowed against the sun, looked up at her and grinned.

  "Because, my darling, the life I want for myself and my children doesn't exist in England any more."

  "Your children! How many bastards have you, pray? Or are you married?" she asked suddenly.

  "No, of course not." He gave a quick gesture as she started to open her mouth. "And let's not talk about that again."

  "Oh, I wasn't going to! You have such a damned high opinion of yourself! I don't have to go begging for a husband, let me tell you!"

  "No," he agreed. "I don't suppose you do. I'm only surprised that you aren't married already."

  "If I'm not it's because I've been a silly fool and thought that you'd— Oh, I'm not going to say it! But why don't you like England? Lord, you could live at Court and have as fine a station as any man in Europe!"

  "Perhaps. But the price is too high for my purse."

  "But you'll be rich as anything—"

  "It isn't money I mean. You don't know anything about the Court, Amber. You've only seen it from the outside. You've seen the handsome clothes and the jewels and the fine manners. That isn't Whitehall. Whitehall's like a rotten egg. It looks good enough until you break it open—and then it stinks to the heavens—"

  She did not believe that and was about to tell him so, when there was a sudden splash and a loud howl from the baby as he tumbled into the pond. Bruce was on his feet at a bound and running, with Amber close behind, to pick his son out of the water. And when the little boy found himself unhurt and safe in his father's arms all three burst into laughter. Bruce set him up on one shoulder and they started for the inn to get him out of his wet clothes.

  It was late the next night when she left Bruce at Almsbury House. A nurse he had already hired came out to get the baby and disappeared with him. But for a moment Bruce stood in the rain beside the opened door of the coach, while Amber struggled with her tears. This time she was determined that he should go away with a pleasant memory of her, but her throat ached painfully and she thought that she would never be able to bear the parting. For hours she had kept herself talking and thinking of other things, but now she could pretend no longer. This was goodbye.

  "I'll see you when you come back, Bruce—" she whispered, for she could not trust her voice.

  He stood looking at her, but for a moment did not answer. Then he said, "I've put a thousand pound with Shadrac New-bold in your name—you can have it on twenty days' notice. If you have any trouble with Morgan because of
this, that will help take care of you." He leaned forward quickly, kissed her, and turned to walk away. She watched him go, fading from sight in the wet darkness, and then suddenly she could control herself no longer and she began to cry.

  She was still crying when she reached the Blue Balcony. She felt as though she had been away for a great while, it was almost strange to her, and she climbed the stairs slowly. The door, as she tried it, was already unlocked and she went in. Rex was there.

  His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he had not shaved for days, nor perhaps slept either, for his face was haggard and his clothes rumpled. Surprised to find him there and in that condition she stood perfectly still for a moment, sniffling unconsciously though the tears had stopped at sight of him, and one hand went up to wipe her streaked face.

  "Well," he said quietly at last. "So your Aunt Sarah died. Nothing else, I suppose, could make you look like that."

  Amber was wary, for she could not be sure if that was sarcasm in his voice. But she did not think—if he knew where she had been— that he would be so still and calm. "Yes," she said. "Poor Aunt Sarah. It was a mighty bad shock to me— she was the only mother I ever—"

  "Don't trouble yourself to lie to me. I know where you've been and who you've been with." He spoke between his teeth, biting off each word with a savage snap, and though his voice did not rise she saw all at once that he was insanely, murderously angry. She opened her mouth to make some denial but he cut her off. "What kind of a fool do you take me for? Don't you suppose it ever occurred to me to wonder why that brat of yours had the same first name he has? But you'd made me so many promises— Oh, you'd never be unfaithful to the man who loved you, not you! I was determined to believe in you and trust you no matter what happened. And then both of you went out of town at the same time— You ungrateful jilting little slut—I've been here four days and nights, waiting for you to come back— Do you have any idea what I've been through since you went? Of course you don't! You've never thought about anyone but yourself in all your life— You've never cared who you hurt if you got what you wanted— You selfish, mercenary, whoring little bitch. I should kill you—I'd like to kill you—I'd like to watch the breath go out of you—"