The two women exchanged cool murmurous greetings and all three of them lapsed into silence. It was only a few minutes, however, until the coach stopped, and as she got out Amber saw that they were at the edge of the river. They climbed swiftly into the barge that waited there and the water-man started upstream; it was perfectly black and moonless and though none of them could see the others Amber felt Bess staring insistently at her and could sense her jealous hostility.
Much I care, she thought, if she likes my company or not!
But she did not expect to stay long with Black Jack. For somehow, she was sure, she could get him to give her four hundred pounds. He seemed to have so much money, and so little use for it, she was convinced she would have it from him in less than a fortnight. And then she would leave him—though what she would do or where she would go she had no idea. She had even lost the names of the women Lord Carlton had said would take care of her during her lying-in.
At the foot of Water Lane they disembarked and Bess started out ahead up the steep stone steps to the street level. Amber, holding the bird-cage in one hand and her skirts in the other, cautiously felt her way along until all at once Black Jack—who had been delayed while he paid the bargeman—came up behind her, swung her into his arms and went up as swiftly as though it had been broad daylight. They passed through the gardens which had belonged to the old Carmelite monastery that had once stood there, and finally came into a narrow street.
Here, there was light and noise, and great street signs indicated that almost every other building was a tavern. Through the square-paned windows they could see men playing cards, a naked woman dancing, two other women stripped to the waist and fighting before a crowd of onlookers that cheered and threw coins. The sound of fiddles blended with screams and laughter and the wailing of babies. They were in Ram Alley, Whitefriars, a part of the district which gave the privilege of sanctuary to criminals and debtors. Those who lived there preferred to call it, ironically, Alsatia.
They stopped before one of the houses, Bess opened the door with a key and Black Jack set Amber down. She stepped inside and instantly the two women turned to look at each other.
Bess, Amber saw, was no more than her own age, and of about the same height. Her hair, which was abundant, was dark brown and curly and fell below her shoulders; her eyes were blue and she had a small piquant face, somewhat too broad at the cheekbones, with a nose that turned up saucily. Her figure was round almost to plumpness and her breasts were full-blown. Amber thought that she looked vulgar—an ill-bred slut.
But she was uneasy and angry herself to be put under the girl’s scrutiny. For though she had used Black Jack’s comb and scrubbed her face she was still miserably dirty, and now she could feel a louse begin to bite. But she would have died rather than reach down to scratch. As it was, Bess lifted her brows and smiled faintly to indicate that she considered her no very formidable rival.
Pox on her! thought Amber furiously. Just wait till I’ve had a bath, Mrs.! We’ll see whose nose is out of joint then, I’ll warrant you! Her speech was taking on the colour of her surroundings, reflecting Lord Carlton and Almsbury, Luke Channell and his aunt, Moll Turner and Newgate, and now, Black Jack and Alsatia.
But if Black Jack was conscious of the resentment crackling between the two women he gave no indication of it. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Where’s Pall?”
Bess shouted the name and within a few moments a girl pushed open the door which led into another room and stood sleepily on the threshold. Evidently the kitchen-slavey, she was barefooted and ill-kempt, and her hair hung in greasy yellow streaks about her neck. But at the sight of Black Jack she blushed and smiled self-consciously and dropped him a curtsy.
“Glad t’see ye back, sir.”
“Thanks, Pall. I’m glad to be back. Can we have something to drink? I’ll have cherry-brandy. What do you want, sweetheart?” He turned to Amber.
Bess scowled swiftly at that and the next instant she was berating Pall, pouring her jealous spleen over her. “What’ve you been doing, you lazy slut! Why aren’t those dishes cleaned?” She pointed to a table littered with dishes and bones and nut-shells, glasses and wine-bottles. “By Jesus, you’ll mend your ways or I’ll give you a flogging—D’ye hear me?”
Pall winced, evidently believing her, but Black Jack interrupted the tirade. “Leave the girl alone, Bess. Maybe she’s been busy in the kitchen.”
“Busy sleeping, I’ll warrant you!”
“Bring a bottle of Rhenish for Mrs. Channell, and Bess will have—”
“Brandy!” snapped Bess, and gave Amber a quick furious glare.
Amber turned her back and went to sit down. She felt tired and listless and suffered acutely from knowing that she had never been less attractive. She wished only that she might get away from them all and go somewhere to sleep, and then in the morning have a fine warm bath with soap-suds enough to float on. Oh, to be really clean again!
Black Jack and Bess began to talk then, but it was in the underworld cant of which Amber had learnt only a few words. She heard their voices but did not try to understand what they were saying. Instead, she looked idly about her at the furnishings of the room. It was crowded with a vast number of chairs and tables and stools. Half-a-dozen cupboards and hutches ranged the walls. There were innumerable portraits in heavy gold frames and several more stood stacked in a pile against the fireplace. Some of the pieces were obviously expensive, but others were so old or so badly scarred and broken as to be of no possible value and very little use.
Pall brought the glasses and bottles and they drank a toast to the night’s success. Amber then told Black Jack that she was tired and he asked Pall to light her upstairs to the west-center bedroom, kissing her casually when she left. Even that made Bess fume and draw down her brows. But Amber hoped the girl might have her way that night, for she did not care to be troubled with him.
Amber sat in a great wooden tub full of warm water and soap, sought out the lice and cracked them while they were wet and immobilized. Her hair, just washed, had been wrung out and skewered onto the top of her head. On a gold and white brocade chair beside her Black Jack sat, idly flipping a knife into the floor between his feet. Amber gave a wave of one arm that surveyed the room.
“Why d’you have so much of everything?”
For the bedroom was as overfurnished as the parlour downstairs, and in much the same helter-skelter fashion. The bed was hung luxuriously with violet velvet and the counterpane was yellow satin; several of the chairs were covered with violet velvet and another with crimson, fringed with gold tassels. There were at least two dozen portraits on the walls, a great many mirrors, three wardrobes, and two screens.
“Mother Red-Cap’s a pawn-broker. The house is furnished with what she takes in—the portrait of grand-dad always seems to go first.” He grinned and gave a lift of one eyebrow to indicate the numerous old gentlemen in stiff black doublets and white ruffs who looked down from the walls.
Amber laughed. Her spirits had revived and she was once more full of energy and optimism and self-confidence. She knew that she should not be in a tubful of hot water, for Sarah had always said that sitting in a warm bath was sure to bring on a baby before its time, but she was enjoying herself so that she had no intention of moving for at least another half-hour.
“Who lives here? Anyone besides Mother Red-Cap and Bess and Pall?” The corridor down which Pall had led her had been a long one and the house seemed to be quite large.