It was the one question she dreaded to ask, each time he came back, though she could not imagine whom a man could find to marry in that barbarous empty land across the ocean.
“No,” said Emily.
Amber sat down on the floor with Bruce and a fat barking spotted puppy which belonged to him, while Emily’s two sons came to join them. Between playing with the puppy and talking to her son, she managed to ask Emily some questions.
“How long is he going to stay this time?”
“A month or so, I believe. He’s going to volunteer his ships for the war.”
“The war! It hasn’t begun yet, has it?”
“Not yet, but soon, I believe. At least that’s what they’re saying at Court.”
“But what’s he going to do that for? He might lose them all—”
Emily looked faintly surprised. “Why, he wants to. England needs every ship and every experienced seaman she can get. Many privateers will do the same thing—”
At just that moment Bruce came through the opened doorway and walked toward them. While Amber sat speechless and helpless, the baby broke out of her arms and ran to his father, who swung him up onto one shoulder. He was standing above her now, looking down and smiling.
“I thought I might find you here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY–EIGHT
JEMIMA CAME RUNNING into the bedroom that evening as Amber was getting dressed for supper. “Amber!” she cried joyously. “Oh, Amber, thank you!”
Amber turned and saw to her annoyance that Jemima, dressed in a gown of cornflower-blue satin, with the skirt caught up by artificial roses and real roses pinned into her glossy curls, was looking prettier than she ever had.
“Thank you for what?”
“For inviting Lord Carlton to supper, of course! Father told me he was coming and that you had asked him!”
“Joseph Cuttle’s coming too, remember,” said Amber crossly. “And if you’re not nice to him your father will be mighty displeased.”
“Oh, Joseph Cuttle! Who cares about him! Oh, Amber, I’m so excited. What’ll I do? What’ll I say? Oh, I do want to make a great impression! Tell me what I shall do, Amber, please—You know about those things.”
“Just be quiet and modest,” advised Amber, somewhat tartly. “Remember, men never like a pert woman.”
Jemima was instantly subdued, struggling to compose her face. “I know it! I’ve got to be very formal and languishing—if only I can! But, oh, I think I’ll faint at the sight of him! Tell me—how do I look?”
“Oh, tearing fine,” Amber assured her. She got up to put on her gown.
Amber was unhappy and worried and sickeningly jealous, desperately afraid of her step-daughter. She and Bruce had been together all afternoon, and the glow of those hours still lingered, throbbing and reverberating through every chord of her being. But now here was Jemima, young, lovely, audacious, who suddenly seemed to her a dangerous rival. For by her own marriage to a rich old merchant Amber had acquired a sort of counterfeit respectability which she felt made her less alluring. She was married but Jemima was not; and for all Samuel’s certainty that Lord Carlton would not care to marry into the Dangerfield family, Amber was scared.
Don’t be a fool! she had told herself a hundred times. He wouldn’t marry a simpleton like Jemima for all the gold in England! Besides, he’s rich enough himself now. Oh, why doesn’t Jemima look like Lettice!
She did not look at Jemima as she got into her gown but she could feel the girl watching her, anxiously, and her own confidence began to return. The gown was made of champagne-coloured lace over champagne satin, and was spangled with thousands of golden stars. She turned, still avoiding Jemima’s eyes, and walked back to the dressing-table to put on her emeralds.
“Oh!” cried Jemima at last. “How beautiful you are!” Her eyes wistfully sought out her own reflection in a mirror. “He won’t even see me!”
“Of course he will, sweetheart,” said Amber, better-natured now. “You’ve never looked half so pretty.”
At that moment Jemima’s woman, Mrs. Carter, stuck her head in the door. “Mrs. Jemima!” she hissed. “His Lordship’s here! He just came in!”
Amber’s heart gave a bound, but she did not turn her head or move. Jemima, however, looked as distraught as a girl summoned to her execution. “He’s here!” she breathed. “Oh, my God!” That alone was enough to show her mortal desperation, for blasphemy was no more allowable in Dangerfield House than was bawdry.
And then Jemima picked up her skirts and was gone.
Five minutes later Amber was ready to go downstairs herself. She was eager to see how he looked at Jemima, what he seemed to think of her—but most of all she wanted nothing but to see him again, to hear his voice and watch his face, to be in the same room with him.
“Take care, mam,” cautioned Nan softly, as she gave her her fan.
Amber saw him the moment she entered the drawing-room. He was standing across from her talking to Samuel and two other men, and Jemima was there at his side, staring up at him like a flower with its face turned to the sun. She started toward them but had to stop a great many times on the way to greet her other guests, most of whom were familiar to her for they had been there often during the past five months.
They were merchants and lawyers and goldsmiths, part of that solid body of upper-middle-class rich which was rapidly becoming the greatest force in England. More and more they were able to control governmental policies both at home and overseas, because they now controlled the largest share of the country’s money. Almost without exception they had been on the winning side in the Civil Wars, and their fortunes had continued to grow during the years that the defeated Royalists suffered imprisonment and ruinous taxes at home or lived in desperate poverty abroad. Even the Restoration had not been able to bring about a return of the old conditions; these were the rich strong men of the kingdom now.
It was the merchants who were loudest and most insistent in demanding a war against the Dutch, which was necessary to protect England’s commerce and trade from the most formidable rival she had in that sphere. And Lord Carlton, as a privateer who had been sinking Dutch ships and capturing Dutch merchandise, was vastly respected and admired by them, in spite of the fact that he was an aristocrat.
At last Amber came up to the small group which stood framed by the new gold-embroidered velvet draperies she had put in the drawing-room. She made a deep curtsy and Bruce bowed to her. Jemima watched them both.
“I’m glad you were able to come, Lord Carlton.” She could face him more calmly now, though her inner excitement was still intense.
“I’m extremely happy to be here, Mrs. Dangerfield.”
No one could have guessed that only three hours ago they had lain together. Now they were cool and polite—strangers.
Supper was announced and the guests began to straggle into the dining-room where the meal was being served in French buffet style. There was food enough to feed three times the hundred people there were to eat it, and gallons of white and red wine. Wax candles cast a soft bright light on the women’s hair and shoulders; music of fiddles drifted from the rooms beyond. Some of the women were dressed with as great splendour as the Court ladies; the men were for the most part in sober dark velvets or wool.
Amber and Bruce were immediately separated, for she had her duties as hostess and he was captured by a circle of merchants who wanted to know when the war would begin, how many ships he had taken, and if it was true that there was a plague in Holland which would lay her so low she would be an easy victim. They asked him why the King did not mend his ways, how long the idleness and corruption at Court would continue and, privately, whether it was a safe investment to loan his Majesty a large sum of money. “Our ships,” “our trade,” “our seas,” were the words that sounded over and over. The women gathered in groups to talk of their children, their pregnancies and their servants. Almost everyone would remark, sometime during the course of the evening, that England had been far happier under Old Oliver; they forgot how they had grumbled about that same Old Oliver.