Amber laughed, holding the bracelet in her hand and admiring it. “At that price how can I afford not to have it? Leave it then. I’ll buy it.” She tossed it onto the dressing-table amid the heap of boxes and jars and bottles, letters, fans, ribbons. “But send me a bill—I never keep such sums on hand.”
“S’il vous plaît, madame—” It was Monsieur Durand’s agonized voice. “I beg of you, do not move about so much! First this way and then that. I can accomplish nothing! Mort Dieu, madame!”
“I’m sorry, Durand. What’ve you got there, Johnson?”
It went on morning after morning, this daily fair, offering entertainment and profit for all, and Amber gave them at least as good a show as she got. Fiddlers were almost always in the room, playing the latest ballads or the newest tune from a play. Half-a-dozen maids came and went. Tansy strolled among them and sometimes made a request for himself; he had grown inordinately vain of his clothes and Amber dressed him at great expense, though he still refused to put on a shoe which was not worn out. The King had given her a spaniel puppy which she called Monsieur le Chien and he nosed at everyone, snapping and barking at whoever had not been previously identified.
Amber was thus occupied one morning when a little page entered the room and came to her. “Madame, the Baroness Stanhope to wait upon you.”
Amber rolled her eyes impatiently. “Hell and furies!” she muttered, and looked around over her shoulder just as her Ladyship entered the room. Then her eyes opened wide in amazement, and it was a moment before she could gather her wits enough to stand and welcome her mother-in-law.
Lucilla was now so different a woman as to be scarcely recognizable. Her head was as golden as Susanna’s, curled in the latest fashion and decorated with ribbons and flowers and a twisted strand of pearls. Her face was painted like the face of a China doll and there were evidently “plumpers” in her cheeks to keep them firm and round. Her gown—made of pearl-grey satin over a fuchsia-coloured petticoat—looked as though it had been turned out by deft French fingers and the busk she wore beneath it narrowed her waist and thrust her breasts high above the neckline. There was a string of pearls about her neck, diamond pendants swinging from her ears, half a dozen bracelets on her wrists, and rings on three fingers of each hand. All of them had a wicked glitter that looked both genuine and expensive. She had become, in just a fortnight, a very elegant lady of fashion, somewhat over-ripe, but still inviting enough.
My God! thought Amber. Look at that old bawd.
The two women embraced, casually, but Lady Stanhope had seen the surprise on Amber’s face and she looked at her triumphantly as though now demanding, not giving, admiration. But after the first shock of seeing how she had changed, Amber’s horrified thought was that all this had been accomplished on her money. The Stanhopes, she knew, had lost their one small source of income when their tenements had burned in the Fire.
“You must forgive my rudeness, madame,” began Lucilla immediately. “I’d have called sooner but I’ve been so furiously busy!” She paused, somewhat breathless, to fan herself. Though she thought it must be envy in her daughter-in-law’s eyes she could not but be conscious for all her finery and dyed hair and false curls that she would never be three-and-twenty again and that the years between had been long and stubborn.
“Oh, it’s I who should have called on you, madame,” protested Amber politely, trying to count up in her head the number of pounds sterling she saw represented in Lady Stanhope’s ensemble; and the higher the total mounted the angrier she became. But she smiled and asked her to be seated while she finished her toilet and then, as Lady Stanhope caught sight of a length of blue velvet, Amber quickly told the tradespeople that it was time for them to go.
“Come to my apartments tomorrow morning,” said Lucilla with a wave of her hand, and the man took up his velvet and left with the others.
Amber sat down to stick on her patches while Lucilla panted, obviously uncomfortable in her too-tight corset. “Heavens!” said her Ladyship, crossing her small feet and cocking her head on one side to admire them. “You wouldn’t believe how taken up with business I’ve been this fortnight! I’ve a great acquaintance here in town, you know, and everyone must see me at once! Provoking creatures! I’ve been most horribly towsed.” She put one hand to her head, preening. “I’ve scarcely seen Gerry at all. Pray tell me, how has my dear boy been?”
“Very well, I think, madame,” replied Amber, too angry over the thought of her hard-gotten money going to decorate this old woman to be able to pay much attention to what was being said.
Now she got up, crossed the room and went behind a magnificent blue-lacquered Chinese screen, beckoning one of the women to bring her gown. Monsieur le Chien was nosing curiously about Lucilla’s shoes and yapping from time to time, not at all intimidated by the sharp looks she gave him. Only Amber’s head and shoulders could be seen now and while she was not looking Lucilla’s eyes studied her, slightly narrowed, hard and critical and disapproving. But as Amber glanced suddenly across at her she smiled, a quick and guilty smile.
“It’s strange I never see Gerry in the mornings. At home he always called on me each day before he did anything else. He’s always been the most devoted child a mother could want. He must go abroad very early.” She spoke rapidly, looking at Amber as though she expected her to lie.
“Why, as far as I remember,” said Amber, sucking in her stomach while the maid jerked tighter the strings of her busk, “he hasn’t been here at all since the day you arrived.”
“What!” cried Lady Stanhope, as horrified as though she had heard that her son was under arrest for picking pockets. “Doesn’t he sleep with you!”
“Tighter,” muttered Amber to the maid. “It’s got to be tighter.” Her waist was growing larger but she intended to lace it in just as long as she could. Far more than the agony of labour she hated the months of being misshapen, and this time more than ever, for Bruce was here and she wanted desperately to look her best. Then she replied, casually, “Oh, yes. He has.” He had, in fact, just three times, and Amber had permitted that only because the King hoped to make him think that the child was his own.
“Well!” Lady Stanhope fanned herself harder than ever and her face flushed, as it always did at the slightest hint of nervousness or embarrassment or anger. “I never heard of such a thing! A man not sleeping with his wife! It’s—Why, it’s immoral! I’ll take a course with him about this, my dear! I’ll see he doesn’t neglect you any more!”
Amber gave her an amused lazy smile over the top of the screen and bent slightly, stepping into first one petticoat and then another. “Don’t trouble yourself, madame. His Lordship and I like the arrangement as it is. The young men have a great deal of business nowadays, you know—going to theatres and taverns, drinking till midnight and scouring about the streets afterward. It keeps ’em well occupied, I assure you.”
“Oh, but Gerry doesn’t live that kind of life, I’m sure of it! He’s a good quiet boy, you may believe me, madame. If he doesn’t come here it must be he’s of the opinion he isn’t wanted!”
Amber swung about and looked directly at her mother-in-law, her eyes cool and with a malicious slant at the corners. “I’m sure I can’t think where he could have got such a notion as that, madame. What’s o’clock, Nan?”
“Almost half-after-twelve, your Ladyship.”
“Oh, Lord!” Amber stepped out from behind the screen, fully dressed now, and a maid handed her her fan and muff while another came to set the cloak on her shoulders. She picked up her gloves and began pulling them on. “I have a sitting with Mr. Lely at one! I must beg to be excused, madame. Mr. Lely is so furiously in demand he cannot stay a moment for anyone. If I’m late I’ll lose my turn and he has the portrait half done.”