At this Arlington’s cold austere face showed a faint indication of surprise. But the surprise was at the audacity of this man who, baulked by nothing, would somehow turn any circumstance to his own advantage.
“She intends to murder me, you say?” he inquired mildly.
“Yes, sir, she does. I can’t tell you how I found out, but I can tell you this much: The plot originated in France, where some persons of high authority are afraid your Lordship may try to hinder the proposed commercial alliance between our two countries. Someone has paid her an enormous sum to put you out of the way. I come in the name of our old friendship to warn you against her and put you on your guard.”
All through the recital Arlington had continued to stare solemnly at the Duke with his protruding pale-blue eyes. Something had obviously discouraged his Grace from his project and now here was the Duke trying to make out that the French wanted him murdered so that he could not obstruct a commercial alliance. When already he had sealed and signed a treaty far more complete and important! The man was a sort of strange phenomenon, interesting to observe as were the freaks of Bartholomew Fair.
“That woman’s a damned nuisance,” continued Buckingham. “I think she’d undertake to poison Old Rowley himself for a price. But that fatal weakness of his for never casting off a woman he’s once been in love with may keep her in power many years longer—unless you and I, sir, put our heads together and get rid of her!”
Arlington carefully placed his spread finger-tips against each other. “And how does your Grace propose to get rid of this menace to my life?” His tone was faintly, but politely, sarcastic, and there was the suspicion of a sneer about his mouth.
Buckingham now put on an air of good-natured frankness. “Your Lordship knows me too well to believe that I act only in your interests. I’m heartily sick of her myself—she’s cost me a great deal of money and I’ve got next to nothing by it. But we don’t dare poison her or have her kidnapped and shipped away. Old Rowley would never forgive it.”
“Your Grace is a chivalrous man,” observed the Baron in mock admiration.
“Chivalry be damned! I want to get her out of England—and I don’t care how it’s done so it doesn’t bring reprisals on my head!” He wanted to get her out, in fact, before she had a chance to tell someone that it was he who had plotted the Baron’s death. In his opinion the island would no longer comfortably hold both him and the Duchess—and he did not intend to leave.
Arlington dropped his aloofness and superiority. He knew that the Duke was lying baldly but he was altogether in sympathy with his proposal. For her influence with the King was just great enough to make her an inconvenience. If she were gone it would be one woman less for him to deal with. And he had no doubt Buckingham was now thoroughly frightened out of his intention to murder him.
“I think I know a way to make her leave England immediately, and be glad to go,” he said.
“How, for the love of God?”
“Suppose your Grace leaves the business to me. If I fail—then do your worst on her, and with my blessing—”
Amber sat in her coach, nervously tearing to shreds a lace fan she had snatched up as she ran out of the house. It was still so early in the morning that mist hung low on the trees along the Strand and the tops of the great houses disappeared into the thick of it. She felt sick and weak as she waited, and was almost sorry that she had come, for it terrified her to think of actually coming face to face with him again.
She had bribed one of Almsbury’s pages several days ago, and not three-quarters of an hour before he had come to the Palace to tell her that his Lordship was going down to the wharves. Amber, sound asleep when he arrived, had flung on her clothes, pulled a comb through her hair and set out. Now as she waited she tried with shaking hands to powder her face and paint her lips, but her eyes searched anxiously through the coach window more often than they looked into the mirror. It seemed to her that she had been sitting there a long long while and that he must be already gone. Actually, she half hoped that he was, for desperately as she wanted to see him her fear was perhaps even greater.
Suddenly she caught her breath, sitting up intense and alert, dropping the mirror and powder-box into her lap. The great door of Almsbury House had swung open.
Now, while she watched with passionate anxiety, both Bruce and the Earl appeared, spoke to someone behind them, and walked down the steps. Neither took any notice of the hackney which stood beyond the gates, half lost from view in the yellow fog. For three or four minutes they stood talking, waiting for their horses, and when the grooms had brought them they mounted and came toward her at a leisurely pace.
Stiff and trembling with excitement Amber sat there, wretched, sure she would never be able to summon courage enough to speak to him. Then, just as they came abreast of her coach, she leaned forward through the opened window and called his name.
“Lord Carlton!”
Both their heads turned swiftly. A look of surprise crossed Bruce’s face, and he reined in his slow-moving horse. Half turned in the saddle, he sat looking down at her.
“Madame?”
His voice spoke to a stranger. His eyes had never seen her before. Amber’s throat swelled with pain and she wanted to cry: Love me again for just a minute, darling! Give me something happy to remember.
Very softly she said: “I hope her Ladyship is recovered?”
“She is, thank you.”
She searched his eyes with eager tenderness. There must be something there, something left of all the years they had known and loved each other. But they only stared at her, cool green eyes, watching her without emotion or memories.
“You’ll be sailing soon?”
“Today, if the wind serves.”
Amber knew that she was going to make a fool of herself. With the most terrible effort of all her life she murmured quickly, “A good voyage, my lord,” and as her lashes dropped her closed fist came up to press against her mouth.
“Thank you, madame. Goodbye.”
His hat went back to his head and both men gave a gentle slap of their reins; the horses started off. For a long moment Amber sat in frigid stillness, and then with a bursting sob she flung herself back in the seat. “Drive away!” she cried. Slowly the coach circled about and began to move. For several seconds she fought with herself, but at last she could stand it no longer. She turned, jumping to her knees, and scrubbed with one moist palm at the tiny dusty pane above the seat. They were far in the distance now, cantering, but the thick fog which drifted in shreds obscured them both and she could not tell which one was Bruce.
At noon the page came again. He told her that Lord and Lady Carlton had just sailed on one of the royal yachts which carried persons of quality across the Channel.
The next afternoon a letter was brought to her from Lord Buckhurst, who had sailed on the same vessel. Amber tore it open without much interest. “Your Grace,” she read, “I believe this may be of some concern to you. Lady Carlton, during the crossing, fell suddenly ill and was dead by the time we reached Calais. His Lordship, they say, intends to set sail immediately for America. Your very humble and obliged servant, madame, Buckhurst.”
It was not easy to book passage just then, for most of the merchant-ships sailed in great convoys that set out three times a year, but at last she found a captain who was going to America in an old vessel he called the Fortune, and she gave him a big enough bribe so that he agreed to load hastily and sail with the next tide.