By now she had worked Philip to such a pitch of infatuation and resentment that it was difficult to make him use discretion. “What are we going to do!” he asked her again and again. “I can’t stand this! Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind.”
Amber was sweetly reasonable, smoothing back the light-brown hair from his face—he never wore a periwig. “There isn’t anything we can do, Philip. He’s your father—”
“I don’t care if he is! I hate him now! Last night I met him in the gallery just as he was going in to you—My God, for a minute I thought I was going to grab him by the throat and—Oh, what am I saying!” He sighed heavily, his boyish face haggard and miserable. Amber had brought him some momentary pleasures, but a great deal of unhappiness, and he had not been really at peace since she had come to Lime Park.
“You mustn’t talk that way, Philip,” she said softly. “You mustn’t even think about such things—or sometime it might happen. I doubt not it’s his lawful right to use me however he will—”
“Oh, Lord! I never thought I’d see my life in such a mess—I don’t know how it ever happened!”
It was only a few days later that Amber came into the house alone from her morning ride—Philip had returned by another route so that they would not be seen together—and found Radclyffe at the writing-table in their bedroom. “Madame,” he said, speaking to her from over his shoulder, “I find it necessary to pay a brief visit to London. I’m leaving this afternoon immediately following dinner.”
A quick smile sprang to Amber’s face, and though she did not really believe that it was his intention to take her with him, she hoped to bluff her way into going. “Oh, wonderful, your Lordship! I’ll set Nan a-packing right now!”
She started out of the room but his next words brought her up short. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’m going alone.”
“Alone? But why should you? If you’re going I can go too!”
“I shall be gone but a few days. It’s a matter of important business and I don’t care to be troubled with your company.”
She drew a quick breath of indignation and then suddenly rushed back to face him across the table. “You’re the most unreasonable damned man on earth! I won’t stay here alone, d’ye hear me? I won’t!” She banged the handle of her riding-whip on the table-top, marring its surface.
He got up slowly, bowed to her—though she could see the muscles about his mouth twitch and squirm with the effort to control his rage—and walked out of the room. Amber banged the whip down again, furiously, and yelled after him: “I won’t stay! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!” As the door closed behind him, she slammed the riding-whip through the window and rushed into the adjoining room where she found Nan gossiping with Susanna’s dry-nurse. “Nan! Pack my things! I’m going to London in my own coach! That bastard—”
Susanna ran to her mother, stamped her foot, and repeated with a shake of her curls: “That bas-tard!”
When dinner was announced Amber did not go down. She was busy getting ready to leave and was so angry and excited that she had no appetite. And when Radclyffe sent again, demanding that she join them, she refused point-blank, shut the outer door to their apartments, locked it and flung aside the key.
“He’s told me one time too many what I can do and what I can’t!” she hotly informed Nan. “I’ll be damned if that stinking old scoundrel can lead me like a bear by the nose any longer!”
But when she had changed her clothes and was ready to go she discovered that the doors leading into the gallery had been locked from the other side and that her own key was not to be found. There was no other outside entrance, for the rooms opened one into another, and though she hammered and pounded and kicked she got no answer. At last in a passionate temper she flung back into the bedchamber and began smashing everything she could lay her hands on. Nan ran out, arms up over her head. By the time Amber had exhausted herself the room was a shambles.
After a while someone opened the door into the entrance hall and slid a trayful of food in, rapped to call her attention, and then ran off down the gallery. The Earl had evidently informed the servants that his wife was having another fit. A maid brought the tray in and placed it on a table beside the bed where her mistress lay. Amber turned, grabbed up the cold fowl and flung it across the room; then shoved away the tray and dishes, which crashed onto the floor.
After three hours had gone by Nan ventured back into the room. Amber sat up cross-legged on the bed to talk to her. She was determined to go to London anyway, if she had to climb out the window, but Nan tried to convince her that if she disobeyed his Lordship he might bring an action against her, obtain a separation and get control of all her money.
“Remember,” cautioned Nan, “his Majesty may like you—but his Majesty likes all pretty ladies. And you know his nature—he doesn’t love to meddle where it’s any trouble to him. You’d be wise to stay here, mam, I think.”
Amber had thrown off her shoes and undone her hair and she sat with elbows propped on her knees, glowering. She was beginning to grow very hungry, for she had had nothing but a glass of fruit syrup since seven o’clock that morning, and it was now four-thirty. Her eye went to the cold roast fowl, which someone had picked up, dusted, and set back on the tray.
“But what am I to do? Moult out here in the country for the rest of my life? I tell you I won’t do it!”
Suddenly they became aware of a muffled pounding and a woman’s faint frantic cries. They looked at each other, both of them held taut in an attitude of listening and surprise. It was Jenny, hammering at the outer door—and with a leap Amber was off the bed and running through the intervening rooms toward her.
“Your Ladyship!” screamed Jenny, and there were hysterical tears in her voice. “Your Ladyship! Your Ladyship!”
“Here I am, Jenny! What’s happened? What’s the matter?”
“It’s Philip! He’s sick! He’s desperately sick! I’m afraid he’s dying! Oh, your Ladyship—you’ve got to come!”
A chill of horror ran over Amber. Philip sick—dying? Only that morning before the ride they had been in the summer-house, and he had been perfectly well then.
“What’s the matter with him? I can’t get out, Jenny! I’m locked in! Where’s the Earl?”
“He’s gone! He left three hours ago! Oh, Amber—you’ve got to get out! He’s calling for you!” Jenny began to sob.
Amber looked around helplessly. “I can’t get out! Oh, damn! Go get a footman! Make them break open the door!”
Nan was beside her now and as Jenny’s heels pounded off down the hallway the two women picked up brass shovels from the fireplace and began to beat at the lock. In only a minute or two Jenny was back.
“They say his Lordship left orders not to let you out no matter what happened!”
“Where’s the footman!”
“He’s here—but he says he doesn’t dare unlock the door! Oh, Amber, tell him he’s got to! Philip—”
“Open this door, you varlet!” shouted Amber. “Open it or I’ll set fire to the house!” She smashed furiously against the lock with the brass shovel.
There was a long moment of hesitation after which the man began to pound at the door from the outside while Amber stood waiting, wet with sweat. Nan had brought her shoes and she pulled them on, jumping up and down, first on one foot and then the other, as she did so. At last the lock broke and she burst out, flung an arm around Jenny’s waist and started down toward the opposite end of the gallery where Philip’s apartments were located.