"I have some very rare Italian books in which I believe you would be interested."
"I don't read Italian." She did not glance around.
"These may be appreciated without a knowledge of the language. They make use of the universal language of pictures."
She at once understood what he meant and paused, caught by her own strong interest in whatever was sensational or prurient. With a smile which clearly betrayed his cynical amusement at her curiosity he turned and took down from a shelf a hand-tooled leather-bound volume, laid it on the table, and stood waiting. She turned, and for a moment hesitated, watching him suspiciously as though this were some trap he had set for her. Then with a defiant lift of her chin she walked forward and opened the book, turned half-a-dozen pages on which was some unrecognizable printing and stopped with a gasp of surprise at the first picture. It was beautifully done, painted by hand, and showed a young man and woman, both of them naked, straining in an ecstasy.
For a moment Amber looked at it, fascinated. Suddenly she glanced up and found him watching her, carefully, with the same expression she had seen that day in Almsbury's library. It disappeared again, as swiftly as the time before; and she picked up the book and started across the room.
"I thought you'd be interested," she heard him saying, "but pray handle it carefully. It's very old and very rare—a treasure of its kind."
She did not answer or look around but went on out of the room. She felt bewildered and angry, both pleasantly excited and disgusted. It seemed, somehow, that he had taken an advantage of her.
Chapter Forty-one
The Queen's Presence chamber was packed with courtiers.
The ladies were dressed in the full splendour of laces, spangled satins and velvets—garnet, carmine, primrose-yellow, dusky plum and flame—with shoulders and bosoms and forearms blazing with jewels. Hundreds of candles burnt in wall-sconces and torcheres, and Yeomen of the Guard held smoking flambeaux. Their Majesties, seated on a dais canopied with crimson velvet swagged with gold and silver fringe, gave their hands to be kissed. At one end of the room waited the musicians, in vari-coloured taffeta suits and with garlands about their heads, quietly tuning their instruments. There were no outsiders, no spectators thronging the gallery to watch, for the plague was persistent, the number of deaths fluctuating week by week. The women had only recently arrived from Hampton Court.
"Her Ladyship, the Countess of Castlemaine!" cried the usher.
"Baron Arlington! Lady Arlington!"
"Lord Denham! Lady Denham!"
"The Earl of Shrewsbury! The Countess of Shrewsbury!"
As each name was announced eyes swept toward the door, murmurs ran round the room behind raised fans, glances were exchanged; there were feminine giggles and sometimes the sound of a man's low chuckle.
"Damn me," remarked one young beau to another, "but I wonder my Lord Shrewsbury dares show his face in public. Her Ladyship has laid with half the men at Court and yet he's never once so much as offered to defend his honour."
"And why should he, pray?" retorted the other. "Any man who thinks his honour depends upon that of his wife is a fool!"
"Look!" whispered a twenty-year-old fop, stroking at his elaborate curled wig, arranging the profusion of ruffles at his wrist. "York's ogling my Lady Denham again. I'll bet a hundred pound he lies with her before St. George's Day."
"I'll bet he doesn't. Her Ladyship's honest."
"Honest? Pshaw, Jack. There's not a woman in the world who's honest at all times and upon all occasions."
"She may not be honest," interrupted a Maid of Honour, "but she's watched mighty close."
"No woman's watched so close she can't give her husband a buttered-bun if once she sets her mind to it."
"Now where d'ye think Lady Arlington got that scurvy gown? She's always as far behind the fashion as a Lancashire's squire's wife."
"She's a Dutchwoman, darling. How should she know how to dress?"
All of a sudden something unexpected happened—the usher announced two unfamiliar names: a new element had entered that close-knit little clique.
"The Earl of Radclyffe! The Countess of Radclyffe!"
The Earl of Radclyffe. Who the devil was he? Some moss-backed old dodderer left over from the last generation? And his countess—a platter-faced jade of at least five-and-forty, no doubt, who disapprove of the new manners as violently as any Puritan alderman's wife. They looked toward the doorway with a kind of bored curiosity. Then, as Lord and Lady Radclyffe appeared, surprise and shock flowed over the room, snapping them out of their lazy indifference. What was this! An actress being presented at Court!
"Jesus Christ!" remarked one gentleman to another. "Isn't that Amber St. Clare?"
"Why!" hissed an indignant lady. "That's that comedian— Madame What-d'ye-call who was at the Theatre Royal a couple of years ago!"
"Intolerable!"
Amber kept her head high and looked neither right nor left, but straight ahead toward the Queen. She had never felt so nervously excited, so eager, or so scared. I really am a countess, she had been telling herself all day. I've got as much right at Whitehall as anyone. I won't let 'em scare me—I won't! They're only men and women—they're no different from me or anyone else. But the truth was she did believe them different— here, at least, in Whitehall.
Her heart pounded so hard she was breathless, her knees trembled and her ears rang. The back of her neck ached. She kept looking straight toward the dais, but all she could see was a blur, as though she had her eyes open under water. Slowly she walked forward, her shaking fingers on Radclyffe's arm— down the long long corridor of faces toward the throne. She sensed the whispers, the smiles and smirks, the indignation, but actually she saw and heard nothing.
Radclyffe was splendidly dressed. His wig was white, his coat gold-and-purple brocade and his breeches pale-green satin; precious stones glittered on his sword-hilt. His sharp austere face forbade them to criticize his wife, defied them to remember that she had been an actress, demanded that they admire and accept her. And Amber's costume was as gorgeous as any in the room. Her long-trained gown was cloth-of-gold covered with stiff gold lace; a veil fell over her head and she wore her impressive collection of emeralds.
Now they had reached the throne. She spread a deep curtsy; he knelt. As Amber's lips touched the Queen's hand she raised her eyes, to find Catherine smiling, a gentle wistful smile that caught suddenly at her heart. She's kind, thought Amber, and she's unhappy, poor lady. But she's harmless. I like her, she decided.
But she dared not look at Charles. For here in his Palace, surrounded by all the pomp and circumstance of royalty, he was not the man she had visited secretly at night three years before. He was Charles II, by the Grace of God King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland. He was all the might and glory of England—and she knelt before him reverently.
Slowly she rose, moving backward, and went to stand among the throng that lined the approach to the dais. For several moments she remained half-dazed—but gradually the world began to expand again beyond herself and her feelings. She glanced to the right and found Buckhurst there, grinning down at her. Sedley looked over his shoulder with a wink. Immediately across from her was the magnificent Buckingham, and though she had not seen him since that night at Long's in the Hay-market, he smiled at her now and she was grateful. There were others: the two Killigrews, father and son; Dick Talbot and James Hamilton and several more young men who had frequented the tiring-room. And then all at once her eyes came to a stop. She was looking straight at Barbara Palmer. Castlemaine was watching her, her face speculative and predatory. For several seconds their stares held, and it was Amber who looked away first, with flaunting unconcern. She was beginning to realize that these people were not, after all, gods and goddesses—even here on Olympus.
Finally the presentations were over, the King gave a signal, and music swelled suddenly through the room. The ball opened with a coranto, danced by Charles and Catherine, the Duke and Duches
s of York, and the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth. Only one couple performed at a time. The dance was a slow stately parade, full of attitudes, requiring a high degree of skill and gracefulness.
Amber watched the King with enchanted eyes.
How handsome he is, she thought, and how he walks and stands! Oh, I wonder if I dare ask him to dance? She knew that court etiquette required that ladies ask his Majesty to dance with them. I wonder if he still remembers me—no, of course he doesn't. How could he? That was three years and a half ago—God knows how many women there've been since then. But, oh, I want to dance—I don't want to stand here all evening by myself!
In her excitement she had altogether forgotten Radclyffe just beside her, silent and unmoving.
When the coranto ended Charles called for an allemande— in which several couples might participate—and as the floor began to fill Amber waited breathlessly, praying that she would be asked. She felt like a little girl at her first party, lost and forlorn, and she was beginning to wish herself safe at home again when—to her immense joy and relief—Lord Buckhurst made her a bow.
"M-m-may I have the pleasure of her Ladyship's company f-for this dance, my lord?" When sober, Buckhurst had a slight tendency to stutter, which caused him much annoyance.
Amber, with a start of surprise, remembered her husband then and turned to him with a look of apprehension. Suppose he should refuse! But he bowed as graciously as she could have hoped.
"Certainly, my lord."
Amber gave Buckhurst a dazzling happy smile and laid her hand on his arm. They walked out to join the other dancers, who stood in a double line halfway down the room. Charles and Castlemaine were the first couple and everyone followed their lead—a few steps forward and a few steps back, and then a pause. The figure of the dance offered them all opportunity for flirtation or talk.
Buckhurst smiled down at Amber. "H-how the devil did you get here?"
"Why, how d'ye think, sir? I'm a countess!"
"You told me, m-madame, that you weren't g-going to marry again."
She gave him a mischievous sparkling glance. "But I changed my mind. I hope your Lordship won't be inclined to hold a grudge."
"Good Lord, no! Y-you can't believe what a pleasure it is to s-s-see a new face here at Court. We're all s-so damned bored with one another."
"Bored!" cried Amber, shocked. "How can you be bored?"
But he was not able to answer, for by now they had reached the opposite end of the room where they parted, the gentlemen walking down one side and the ladies down the other. Each couple met again, executed a few steps which formed a square, and the dance ended. Buckhurst led her back to Radclyffe, thanked the Earl, and there left her. Amber knew at once that his Lordship was displeased, that he did not like to see her enjoying herself and attracting attention, completely forgetful of him.
"You're having a pleasant evening, madame?" he asked her coldly.
"Oh, yes, your Lordship!" She hesitated for an instant and then, doubtfully, "Are you?"
But he did not reply, for all at once the King was beside them, smiling. "It was most considerate of you, my lord," he said, "to marry a beautiful woman. There isn't a man here tonight who isn't grateful to you." Radclyffe bowed. "We're all of us tired of looking at the same faces and gossiping about the same people."
Charles smiled down at Amber who was looking at him, fascinated, powerfully aware of his charm, which was so strong it seemed to be an almost physical force. As his black eyes met hers her head began to spin dizzily. But she was even more aware that here before her, with the whole world looking on, stood the Monarch of Great Britain, smiling and complimenting her.
"You're very kind, Sire," said Radclyffe.
Amber made a curtsy, but her tongue was maddeningly tied. Her eyes, however, had almost too much eloquence—and Charles's face would always betray him in the presence of a pretty woman. Radclyffe watched them, his own face noncommittal as a mummy's.
But it was only for an instant, and then Charles turned back to address Radclyffe. "I understand, my lord, that you've recently acquired a very rare Correggio."
Radclyffe's cold blue eyes lighted, as always at any mention of his paintings. "I have, your Majesty, but it's not yet arrived. I'm expecting it very soon, however, and when it comes if you are interested I should be most happy to show it to you."
"Thank you, sir. I'd very much like to see it. And now, will you permit me, my lord?" Already he was extending his arm to Amber, and as Radclyffe gave his assent, bowing again, they walked out onto the floor.
Amber's whole being filled with fierce buoyant pride. It was as though she stood in a blazing light and all the rest of the world in darkness, its eyes focused upon her. The King had sought her out, and flouted convention, had asked her to dance! Before all these people, and here in his own Court! The dreary weeks she had spent alone with Radclyffe, his selfish brutal abortive lust, his unconcealed dislike and contempt— all vanished at once in her violent joy. The price had been paid and it was not too high.
The King called for the traditional merry old folk-dance: "Cuckolds All Awry," and just as they stood facing each other at the head of a long line, waiting for the music to begin, he said in an undertone: "I hope your husband won't suspect that choice of music. He doesn't look as though he'd wear a pair of horns gracefully."
"I don't know, Sire," she murmured, "whether he would or not."
"What?" asked Charles, in mock surprise. "Married two months and still a faithful wife?"
But the music began then and the dance was too lively to let them talk. He said nothing more and when it was over led her back to Radclyffe, thanked them both, bowed and was gone. Amber was too breathless from excitement and the exertion of the dance to speak. Just as she rose from her curtsy she saw the Duke of Buckingham approaching them.
God's my life! she thought, in half-hysterical delight. It's the truth! The men are tired of looking at the same faces!
She glanced hastily around the great room, caught dozens of pairs of eyes upon her—admiring eyes, amused eyes, hostile eyes. But what did it matter why they looked, or how they looked—so long as they did look? Why! I'm the White Ewe tonight—she thought as she recalled an old Alsatian expression.
Everyone wanted to dance with her. York, Rochester, the popular lazy young fop and playwright, George Etherege, the Earl of Arran, the Earl of Ossory, Sedley and Talbot and Henry Jermyn. All the young and gay and handsome men of the Court flirted with her, paid her outrageous compliments, and asked her for assignations. The women exerted themselves to find fault with her gown, her coiffure, her manners—and reached the comfortable conclusion that, after all, she was new and she was rich and of course her reputation as an actress smelt so high it would have caught the attention of any male within the Verge. It was Amber's night of glorious triumph.
Suddenly into the midst of this perfect world a meteor fell, shattering everything. In one brief interval when she was returned to his side Radclyffe said quietly: "We are going home, madame."
Amber gave him a look of hurt surprise, for already beside her stood the Duke of Monmouth and James Hamilton. "Home, my lord?" she said incredulously.
Monmouth immediately took it up. "You're not thinking of going home, sir? Why, it's still early. And her Ladyship's the toast of the evening."
Radclyffe bowed, his thin lips set in a tight ungracious smile. "By your leave, your Grace. I am not a young man, and to me the hour is already late."
Monmouth laughed, a happy ingenuous laugh which could have offended no one. "Why, then, sir—why not let her Ladyship stay with us? I'll see her home myself—with a band of fiddlers and a score of links to light us."
"Oh, yes!" cried Amber, turning eagerly to her husband. "Let me do that!"
Radclyffe ignored her. "You jest, your Grace," he said stiffly, bowed, and then turned to Amber. "Come, madame."
Amber's golden eyes flamed rebelliously and for an instant she thought of refusing, but she did not quite dare. She
curtsied to Monmouth and Colonel Hamilton, but kept her eyes down. When they stopped to bid his Majesty good-night shame and disappointment had made her face scarlet and tears stung her eyes. She could not look at him, though she heard the lazy amusement in his voice as he asked why they were leaving so early. Smiles and whispers followed them out of the room— for the impression created was that of a little girl who has misbehaved at her first party and is being led home by a disgruntled parent.
She did not speak until they were in the coach, jogging along King Street. Then she could restrain herself no longer. "Why did we have to come away so soon!" she demanded, and suddenly her voice broke with enraged disappointment.
"I am too old, madame, to enjoy many hours of such noise and confusion."
"That wasn't the reason!" she cried accusingly. "And you know it!"
She stared at him, though his face was in a shadow, for the streets were dark and the moon showed only a pale light, like a candle seen through a dirty pane. "I am not interested in discussing the matter," he retorted coldly.
"I am! You made me come away because I was enjoying myself! You can't stand seeing anyone happy!"
"On the contrary, madame. I do not object at all to happiness. But I do object to watching my wife make a ridiculous display of myself."
"Ridiculous! What was ridiculous about it? I was doing nothing but dancing and laughing—is that so ridiculous? Maybe you even danced and laughed once yourself—if you were ever young!" She gave him a look of furious loathing, and turned her face away, muttering, "Which I doubt!"
"You're not so naive, madame, as you try to pretend. You know as well as I do what was in the minds of those men tonight."
"Well!" she cried, clenching her fists. "What of it! Isn't the same thing in the minds of all men! It's in yours too, even if you—" But there she stopped, suddenly, for he gave her a look so swift and so venomous, so threatening that the words caught short in her throat and she remained quiet.
Forever Amber Page 65