Forever Amber

by Kathleen Winsor

  For a moment Amber sat, unable to move, while every other head in the room turned curiously to watch him making his way through the crowd. Then, as though her neck operated on a creaky hinge, Amber forced herself to turn her head, and just as she did so she looked up into his face. His green eyes met hers for a moment and there was a faint smile on his mouth; he nodded at her, and went on. She saw other smiles too, all around her, mocking jeering faces that seemed to close in upon her, to swim and dance all about her head.

  Oh, my God! she thought wretchedly. Why did he do that to me? Why did he do it?

  Lord Carlton now stood beside his wife and she was getting to her feet; her waiting-woman had gone to take the piece of cloth and she held it in her arms, triumphantly. Chairs scraped and moved, gentlemen stepped aside as Bruce and Corinna walked out. The room was murmurous as a bee-hive, and not every smirk was covered with a polite fan.

  "Lord!" said a nearby baroness. "How'll we shift if it should become the fashion for a man to prefer his wife to his whore?"

  Amber sat there, feeling as though she were imprisoned where she could neither see nor breathe, and that if she did not somehow break her way out she would explode. Lord and Lady Carlton were gone now and the auctioneer was measuring down another inch on his candle, but no one paid him any attention.

  "What d'ye know!" cried Middleton, ruffling her fan and showing her teeth in a simulated smile. "Aren't men the most provoking creatures?"

  All of a sudden Amber ground her heel on the other woman's toe. Middleton let out a yelp of pain and reached one hand down to massage her injured foot. Threateningly she glared back up at Amber, but Amber ignored her. She was sipping her tea, eyes cast into the bowl, and she did not so much as give a surreptitious glance around the room to see who was watching her, for she knew that they all were.

  But later at home she was so sick that she vomited and went to bed and wished she would die. She contemplated suicide— or at least some spectacular try at suicide to rouse his sympathy and bring him back to her. But she was afraid that even that might not succeed. Something in the expression of his eyes, seen for just that moment as he passed, had convinced her at last that he was done with her. She knew—but she would not accept it.

  Somehow, somehow, she told herself, I can win him back again. I know I can. I've got to! If only I can talk to him again I can make him see how foolish this is—

  But now he did not even answer her notes. The messengers she sent came back empty-handed. She tried to meet him herself. Once she dressed in boy's clothes and went to Almsbury House. She waited more than an hour in the rain by the door he was supposed to leave by, but did not see him. She had her informers posted everywhere, to let her know the moment he entered the Palace grounds, but apparently he never came to Whitehall any more. At last she sent him a challenge to a duel —the one infallible means she knew to make him see her again.

  "For some months, sir," it read, "I have suffered the embarrassment of being your cuckold. This has damaged the repute of my family, as well as of myself, and to repair the honour of my house I do hereby challenge your person to mine, by whatever arms you may choose, and do request your attendance at five of the clock tomorrow morning on the twenty-eighth day of May in Tothill Fields where the three great oaks stand by the river. Pray, sir, do me the favour of keeping our rendezvous a secret, and come to it unattended. Your humble servant, sir, Gerald, Duke of Ravenspur."

  Amber thought it had the ring of authenticity and sent Nan to an amanuensis to have it copied in a hand like Gerald's, for though she knew it was unlikely Bruce had ever seen his writing, she intended to take no chances. If this failed— But it couldn't fail! He had to come—no gentleman dared refuse a cartel.

  But Nan protested. "If your husband had been going to fight 'im at all, he wouldn't have waited till now."

  Amber would hear no objections. "Why not? Look how long it took the Earl of Shrewsbury to challenge Buckingham!

  Early the next morning while the Palace was still asleep, she set out on horseback, attended only by Big John Waterman. She wore a riding-habit of sage-green velvet embroidered in gold, and the brim of her Cavalier's hat was loaded with garnet-coloured ostrich-plumes. Though she had scarcely slept at all excitement kept her from feeling or looking tired. They clattered down King Street and through the narrow dirty little village of Westminster into the green fields beyond, past the Horse Ferry and out to the three great oaks. There Amber dismounted and Big John went on with her horse; he was to keep out of sight and not to return until she gave him a signal.

  It was just beginning to grow light and she stood there alone for several moments, surrounded by quiet familiar country sounds: the river washing its banks, the "tick-tick" of a stone-chat, the unseen scurrying of many little creatures. All about her the fog moved gently, like breath blown on a cold morning. She watched a Polly Dishwasher dragging at a worm, cocking its head in bewilderment when the captive slipped away and disappeared into the earth again. She laughed nervously aloud at that and then started suddenly, glancing around her. Quickly she darted back behind the tree, out of sight, for he was riding toward her across the meadow.

  She did not dare to peek for fear he would see her, wheel about and go back, but she could hear the sound of hoofs coming over the soggy ground and her heart sped with relief and apprehension. Now that he was here—what would he do? She had never had less confidence in her ability to coerce and charm him.

  She could hear the horse, heaving and panting, and she heard him talking to it as he swung down and stood there beside it. Trying to screw up the courage to show herself she hesitated several moments longer. At last he gave a short impatient shout.

  "Hey! Are you ready?"

  Her throat was too dry and tight for her to answer, but she stepped out from behind the tree and confronted him. Her head was lowered a little, like a child who expects a beating, but her eyes darted up quickly to his face. He did not look very much surprised but gave her a faint one-sided smile.

  "So it is you," he said slowly. "I didn't think your husband was an ardent duellist. Well—" He had been holding his cloak in his hand and now he swung it on again, turned and walked back to where his horse was grazing.

  "Bruce!" She ran toward him. "You're not going! Not yet! I've got to talk to you!" She reached for him, seizing his forearms, and he paused, looking down at her.

  "What about? Everything there is to be said between us has been said a thousand times."

  There was no smile on his face now, but seriousness and the impatience and simmering anger she had come to recognize and to dread.

  "No it hasn't! I've got to tell you how sorry I am! I don't know what happened to me that day—I must have been crazy! Oh, Bruce—you can't do this to me! It's killing me, I swear it is! Please, darling, please—I'll do anything, anything in the world if only I can see you again!" Her voice was intense and passionate, pleading with wild desperation. She felt that she had to convince him somehow, or die.

  But he looked skeptical, as he always had at her extravagant promises and threats. "I'll be damned if I know what you want. But one thing I do know, and that's that we're done meeting. I'm not going to cause my wife any more unpleasantness when her confinement is so near."

  "But she'd never know!" protested Amber, frantic at the uncompromising hardness she saw on his face.

  "Less than a week ago she got a letter telling her that we were still seeing each other."

  Amber looked at him in momentary surprise, for she had not sent it herself and had not known of it, and then a pleased secret smile came to her lips.

  "What did she say?"

  A look of disgust flickered across his face. "She didn't believe it."

  "Didn't believe it! She must be an awful fool!"

  Suddenly she stopped, one hand clapped to her mouth, staring at him and wishing that she could bite off her own treacherous tongue. Her eyes fell and all her spirit crumpled.

  "Oh," she murmured, "forgive me for that!"<
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  After a long moment she looked up again to find him watching her, some strange expression of mingled tenderness and anger in his eyes. They stood there while several moments passed, eyes locked. And then all at once she gave a little sobbing cry and flung herself against him, her arms about his back, her body pressed close to his. For a moment he stood perfectly still and then his hands took hold of her shoulders, his fingers pressed hard into her flesh. With a wild exultant sense of triumph she saw the expression on his face shift and change.

  Her eyes closed and her head tipped back. She felt almost delirious with the violence of her desire. Everything else had been swept away but a longing for union with him. Her mouth, moist and parted, formed his name.

  "Bruce—"

  He gave her a sudden rude hard shake. "Amber!"

  Her head snapped and her eyes opened, looking up at him dizzily. Slowly he bent and kissed her mouth, but his hands held her forearms so that she could not move. Then all at once he released her and before she had recovered her senses he walked swiftly to his horse, mounted, and set out at a gallop back toward the city. Amber stood there alone beneath the trees, still too stunned to move or cry out, and helplessly watched him go. The pale white light of daybreak was beginning to sift down through the leaves upon her uncovered head.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Minette was coming to England again. It would be the first time she had seen her two brothers since the joyous days just after the Restoration when, a gay sixteen-year-old, she had come visiting with her mother. That had been the beginning of a new life for all of them—a life which promised to repay the long dark years of wandering and hopelessness. Ten years had passed since then. Now there were only three of all the nine children still living—Charles, James, and Henriette Annie. The Queen Mother had died eight months before.

  The visit had been planned for more than two years, but each time it had had to be postponed—usually through the jealous malice of her husband. At last, however, Charles had a pretext of such importance that Monsieur and his objections were thrust aside. England and France were to form a secret alliance and when Charles demanded that this sister be allowed to visit him before he would conclude it, Louis told his younger brother that state interests came first. But he did allow Monsieur to refuse her permission to go beyond Dover.

  Dover was a fog-laden dirty little town of only one narrow ill-paved street about a mile long, lined with ramshackle cottages and inns. The great old castle had guarded the coast in feudal times, an impregnable barrier to invasion, but after the invention of cannon it had fallen into disuse and was now merely a prison. The English Court came into the village— the men first, for Charles still hoped that Monsieur might be persuaded to let her go on to London—in gilt coaches and on gorgeously caparisoned horses. Early the next morning the French fleet was sighted, far out in the Channel.

  Charles, who had been up most of the night, restless and impatient, immediately got into a small boat with York and Rupert and Monmouth and set out to meet her. He stood up recklessly, constantly urging the men to row faster and faster, until it seemed their arms would tear from the sockets. The French fleet bobbed toward them over the waves, gilded hulls gleaming in the bright early sunlight, coloured sails blown up like fat bellies by the wind. The clouds looked white as suds where they lay piled on the horizon and sea and sky were sharp stinging blue.

  James came to stand beside his brother, dropping one arm about his shoulders, and Charles, with his own arm around the Duke's waist, grinned at him, his black eyes shining with happiness and excitement. The ships were now coming so close that it was possible to make out figures moving on deck, though they could not yet be distinguished individually.

  "Only think of it, Jamie!" cried Charles. "After ten years— we're going to see her again!"

  And then all at once it was possible to pick out Madame who stood in the fore-deck, her white satin gown whipping about her, eyes shaded with her fan against the glare of the water; as she raised her arm and waved to them the brothers gave an excited shout.

  "Minette!"

  "James, it's Minette!"

  Swiftly the barge and the French sailing-vessel drew together. They had scarcely touched when Charles made a leap and started up the rope ladder, hand over hand, as swiftly and easily as though he had lived all his life at sea. Minette ran forward to meet him and as he bounded onto the deck she rushed into his arms.

  He held her close to him and his mouth touched the sleek-brushed crown of her head; there were emotional happy tears in his eyes and Minette wept softly. Instinctively he spoke to her in French, for it was her language, and the words were like a tender caress.

  "Minette," he murmured. "Ma chère petite Minette—"

  All at once she tipped back her head and looked up at him with a laugh, quickly brushing the tears away with her fingertips. "Oh, my dear! I'm so happy I'm crying! I was afraid I would never see you again!"

  Charles looked at her silently, adoration in his eyes, but also a dark anxiety—for he had seen at once how greatly, how tragically she had changed in ten years. Then she had been still half a child, buoyant, eager, unafraid—wholly delightful; now she was completely a woman, poised, accomplished, worldly, with a kind of heart-wringing charm. But she was too thin and even behind the joyous laughter on her face was a seriousness that troubled him, for he knew what had caused it. Pretending could not fool him; she was unhappy, and she was ill.

  The other men had come aboard and Charles released her while she embraced first James, then Rupert and Monmouth. Finally Minette stood with Charles and James on either side of her, her arms linked with theirs, her face radiant as she looked from one to the other. "We're together again at last— all three of us." The brothers were in deep-purple mourning for their mother, and Minette too wore royal mourning—a simple white satin gown with a thin black veil thrown over her hair.

  None of them dared say what each was thinking: There are only three of us left now—how long shall we be together?

  Behind the royal family on the deck stood a splendid crowd of men and women, for though Minette's suite was a small one of only about two hundred and fifty persons, each had been selected with the utmost care: the women for beauty and grace, the men for gallantry and a great name.

  Among them, her eyes fixed intently on the English King, was a pretty young woman with the face of a little girl grown up and become sophisticated—Louise de Kerouaille, whose family, though ancient and honourable, was no longer rich. This trip was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her, her first real opportunity to make a place for herself in the great world where she knew she belonged. There was speculation in her eyes now as she watched Charles, admiring his dark saturnine good looks, his height and broad shoulders and handsome physique. She caught her breath with a quick little gasp as Minette and the two men turned, and the King's eyes flickered briefly over her face.

  Putting up her fan she whispered to the woman beside her: "Ninon—do you suppose that all the stories they tell about him are true?"

  Ninon, perhaps a little jealous, gave Louise a look of amused scorn. "You are naïve!" At that moment Charles glanced at her again; faintly he smiled.

  But though he was never too much occupied to notice a pretty woman, Charles had no real interest now in anything but his sister. "How long can you stay?" was the first question he asked her when the greetings were over.

  Minette gave him a rueful little smile. "Just three days," she said softly.

  Charles's black eyes snapped and his brows drew swiftly together. "Monsieur says so?"

  "Yes." Her voice had a guilty sound, as though she were ashamed for her husband. "But he—"

  "Don't say it—I don't want to hear you making excuses for him. But I think," he added, "that perhaps he will reconsider."

  Monsieur reconsidered.

  A messenger was back from across the Channel the next morning bringing word that Madame might remain ten days longer, provided she did not leav
e Dover. Minette and Charles were jubilant. Ten days! Why, it was almost an age. He was coldly furious to think that the conceited foppish little Frenchman had dared tell his sister where she might go on her holiday, but Louis sent a note asking him to respect Philippe's wishes in this matter, for Monsieur had learned of the treaty and might talk indiscreetly if angered too far.

  Queen Catherine and all the ladies of the Court came down from London, and with the brief time he had Charles set about doing what he could to make the dismal little sea-coast village into a place fit for the entertainment of the person he loved best on earth. Dover Castle was cold and dark and damp, with scant furnishings of feudal austerity; but it came alive again when the walls were hung with lengths of gold cloth; and scarlet and sapphire and vivid green banners streamed down from the windows. But even the Castle was not large enough to house them all and lords and ladies of both Courts were quartered in cottages or crammed into inns.

  These inconveniences did not trouble anyone, and through every hour ran the noisy laughter and gay high spirits of a Court on holiday. Gilt coaches rattled through the narrow rocky little street. Handsomely gowned women and men in perukes and embroidered coats were seen in the tight courtyards, in the public-rooms of taverns and inns. Life was a continuous round of plays and banquets, balls at night and magnificent collations. While they danced and gambled flirtations sprang up like green shoots after rain between French ladies and English gentlemen, French gentlemen and English ladies. The gossip was that Madame had come to England for the very solemn purpose of laughing the English out of their own styles and back into French ones—temporarily discarded during the War—and that set the tone of the festivities.

  Yet the plots and intrigues went on. They could no more be suspended, even temporarily, than could the force of gravity—for they were what held the Court together.

  It took only a few days to get the treaty signed; it had been in preparation more than two years and there was little left to do but put the signatures to it. Arlington and three others signed for England, de Croissy for France.