“Perhaps. If the Dutch go home.”
But the Dutch did not go home. For six weeks they hovered just off the coast with a fleet of one hundred ships—to which the French added twenty-five—while England had not one good ship at sea and was forced to call in her bad ones. The French army was at Dunkirk.
Consequently Bruce refused, for all her teasing and coaxing, to leave London. He said that if the Dutch did come he did not intend to be several miles up the river, lying about on a pleasure boat like some irresponsible Turkish sultan. His men, at least, were well paid and could, he hoped, be counted upon to help defend his ships.
And then one night as they lay in bed, Bruce fast asleep and Amber just sliding off, a sound began to penetrate her drowsiness. She listened, wondering, as it grew louder. Suddenly it roared out—drums beating like thunder down in the streets. Her heart seemed to stop, and then it began to pound as hard as the drums. She sat up, shaking him by the shoulders.
“Bruce! Bruce, wake up! The Dutch have landed!”
Her voice had a high hysterical quaver and she was cold with terror. The weeks of suspense, which had affected her more than she had realized, the black night, the sudden ominous roll of drums, made her feel that the Dutch were there in the very city—outside the house at that moment. The sound of the drums grew louder, beating frantically, and there were shouts of men’s and women’s voices, excited and shrill.
Bruce sat up swiftly. Without a word, he flung back the curtains and got out of bed. Amber followed him, picking up her dressing-gown and putting it on. Already Bruce was at the window, his shirt in his hand as he leaned out and shouted across the courtyard.
“Hey! What’s happened? Have the Dutch landed?”
“They’ve taken Sheerness! We’re invaded!”
The drum rolled again and bells had begun to ring from church towers; a coach roared through the streets and just afterward a single horseman went careening by. Bruce swung the window closed and began to get into his breeches.
“Holy Jesus! They’ll be here next—we haven’t got a thing to stop them!”
Amber was beginning to cry with distracted terror and a sense of utter helplessness. Outside, the drums were beating more and more wildly, filling the night with a wild terrifying rhythm full of calamity and fear, and people had begun to shout from their windows and to run down into the street. Nan was hammering at their door, begging to be admitted.
“Come in!” shouted Amber. She turned to Bruce. “What are you going to do? Where are you going?” She felt cold and shaking inside and her teeth chattered, though the night was a warm one. Nan entered, carrying a candle, and hurried to light several others. As the room sprang into light some of Amber’s terror disappeared.
“I’m going to Sheerness!”
Bruce stood knotting his neck-cravat; he told Nan to bring him a pair of boots from his own room. Amber picked up his vest and coat and held them as he jammed his arms into the sleeves.
“Oh, Bruce! Don’t go! They probably have thousands of men! You’d be killed! Bruce! You can’t go!” She grabbed hold of his arm, as though she could force him to stay with her.
He jerked his arm free, went on buttoning his coat and vest and then pulled on the calf-high silver-spurred boots which Nan had brought. He buckled on the sword and Nan gave him his hat and cloak.
“Take the children and leave London,” he said to her, cramming his hat onto his head. “Get out of here as fast as you can!”
Nan went to answer a pounding at the anteroom door and Almsbury and Emily rushed in, the Earl fully dressed, his wife in her night-gown and robe. “Bruce! The Dutch have landed! I’ve got horses saddled in the courtyard!”
“But you can’t go, Bruce! Oh, Almsbury! He can’t go—I’m scared!”
Almsbury gave her a disgusted scowl. “For Christ’s sake, Amber! The country’s invaded!” The two men walked swiftly out of the room, all three women at their heels.
The hall-way was full of servants running up and down distractedly in their night-dress; some of the women were crying; all of them were babbling excitedly. Just as they got outside Amber’s door Lady Stanhope arrived in a breathless rush. A night-cap covered her hair but paper-curlers showed beneath it and there were chicken-skin gloves on her hands; all her flesh quivered hysterically. She grabbed at Bruce as at salvation.
“Oh, Lord Carlton! Thank God you’re here! We’re invaded! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?”
Bruce answered her shortly, shaking off the hand that had seized his arm, and he and Almsbury started down the staircase. “I suggest that you leave London, madame. Come with me, Amber. I want to talk to you.”
The men hurried down, the heels of their boots clattering on the stairs, and Amber ran along beside him. The first shock of fright was over but the drums, the bells, the screams and shouts heightened her sense of impending disaster. He can’t go! she thought. He can’t go! But he was going.
“Lady Almsbury is leaving right away for Barberry Hill. All the plans have been ready for weeks—take Susanna and Bruce and go with her. If anything happens to me I’ll send you a message.” She opened her mouth to protest at that, but he ignored her and went on, talking rapidly. “If I should be killed, will you promise me to write to my wife?”
By now they had reached the courtyard where two horses were saddled and waiting for them, stamping and snorting with nervous impatience. Torches blazed; there were servants and stable-boys everywhere; black-and-white coach dogs circled about, barking. The drums pounded in their ears, seemed to echo in the beat of their hearts and the pulsing of their blood. Almsbury mounted instantly but Bruce stopped, his hands on the bridle, and looked down into her face.
“Promise me, Amber.”
She nodded her head, her throat choking. Her hands reached out to grab at his coat. “I promise, Bruce. But don’t let anything happen! Don’t get hurt!”
“I don’t think I will.”
He bent his head and one arm went about her. His mouth touched hers briefly. Then he had swung onto the horse’s back and the two men were galloping out of the courtyard. Just as they rode through the gate he turned and gave her a wave of his hand. With a sudden sobbing cry Amber started forward, one arm outstretched, but they had disappeared into the darkness; she heard the thudding of the horses’ hoofs, growing fainter.
The house was in a turmoil. Some of the servants were carrying out pieces of furniture and dumping them into the courtyard, then rushing back for more. Several of the women were wailing and crying, wringing their hands helplessly. Others, now dressed and with bundles over their backs, fled into the streets with no thought but to get away. Amber lifted her skirts and hurried up the stairs, knocking into first one and then another, almost blind with her tears. She ran down to the nursery.
The doors stood wide open and inside were twelve or fifteen frantic women, running this way and that, tugging and hauling at the children and babies to get them dressed. Emily stood cool and self-possessed, telling them what to do and helping them herself. Little Bruce, who was already fully dressed, caught sight of Amber and ran to her immediately. She dropped to her knees, crying, and caught him against her, more for her own comfort than his. He did not, in fact, seem to need or want any.
“Don’t cry, Mother. Those damned Dutchmen will never get here! Not with Father gone to fight ’em!”
But Susanna was shrieking at the top of her lungs, kicking at the nurse who was trying to dress her, her plump little hands held over her ears to shut out the hammering of the drums. And now, bouncing about on the table where she had been put, she caught sight of her mother and brother together and gave a resentful howl of protest.