“Very well, mem.”
“Oh, please do! And you’ll keep him warm and never let him be hungry, won’t you?”
“Yes, mem. I will, mem.”
Black Jack went along to see her safely into a hackney, but when he came back Amber was sitting alone in a chair by the table, staring morosely into space. He sat down beside her and took her hands into his; his voice was teasing but sympathetic. “Here, sweetheart. What’s the good of all this moping and sighing? The little fellow’s in good hands, isn’t he? Lord, you wouldn’t want ’im to stay here. Would you now?”
Amber looked at him. “No, of course not. Well—” She tried a little smile.
“Now, that’s better! Look here—d’ye know what day ’this is?”
“No.”
“It’s the day before his Majesty’s coronation. He rides through the City on his way to the Tower! How would you like to go see ’im?”
“Oh, Black Jack!” Her whole face lighted eagerly and then suddenly collapsed into a discontented frown. “But we can’t—” She had come to feel that she was as much a prisoner here in Whitefriars as she had been in Newgate.
“Of course we can. I go into the City every day of my life. Hurry along now, into your rigging and we’ll be off. Bring your mask and wear your cloak,” he called after her, as she whirled and started out on a run.
It was the first time Amber had left Alsatia since she had come there two months and a half before, and she was almost as excited as she had been the first day she had seen London. After weeks of rain the sky was now blue and the air fresh and clean; there was a brisk breeze that carried the smell of the outlying fields into the city. The streets along which the King’s procession would pass had been covered with gravel and railed off on either side and the City companies and trainbands formed lines to keep back the eager pushing crowds. Magnificent triumphal arches had been erected at the corners of the four main streets and—as the year before—banners and tapestries floated from every house and women massed at the windows and balconies threw flowers.
Black Jack shepherded Amber through the crowd before him, elbowing one man aside, shoving his hand into the face of another, until finally they came to the very front. She dropped her mask—which was kept in place by a button held between the teeth—and could not stop to pick it up. Black Jack did not notice and in her own excitement she soon forgot that it was gone.
When they got to where they could see, the great gilt coaches, filled with noblemen in their magnificent Parliament robes, were turning slowly by. Amber stared at them with her eyes wide open, impressed as a child, and unconsciously she searched over each face, but did not see him. Lord Carlton had ridden the year before with the loyal Cavaliers returning from over the seas. But when the King approached she forgot even Bruce.
His Majesty was on horseback and as he rode along, nodding his head and smiling, hands reached out trying to touch him or the trappings of his horse. From time to time his attention was caught by a pretty woman somewhere in the crowd. And so he glanced once, then again, at a girl whose tawny eyes stared up at him in passionate admiration and awe, her lips parted with a sudden catch of breath as his gaze met hers. And as he passed he smiled at her, the slow lazy smile that—for all its cynicism-was so strangely tender. Her head turned, following him, but he did not look back.
Oh! thought Amber, dizzy with exultation. He looked at me! And he smiled! The King smiled at me! In her excitement she did not even see the camel lumbering along bearing brocaded panniers from which a little East Indian boy flung pearls and spices into the crowd.
The King’s swarthy sombre face and the expression in his eyes stayed with her for hours as vivid as the moment she had seen him. And now she was more than ever dissatisfied with her life in the Sanctuary. The world of which she had half lost remembrance called to her again like an old and beloved melody and she yearned to follow it—but did not dare. Oh, if only somehow, somehow I could get out of this scurvy place!
That evening the four of them sat at the supper-table: Bess sullen and glowering because she had not been to the pageant; Amber eating in silent preoccupation; Black Jack laughing as he showed Mother Red-Cap the four watches he had stolen. Amber was conscious of the conversation but she paid no attention to what was being said until she heard Bess’s angry protest.
“And what about me, pray? What am I to do?”
“You may stay here tonight,” said Mother Red-Cap. “There’ll be no need for you to go along.”
Bess banged her knife onto the table. “There was a need for me once! But now Mrs. Fairtail’s come I find I’m as unwelcome as a looking-glass after the small-pox!” She gave Amber a venomous glare.
Mother Red-Cap did not answer her, but turned to Amber. “Remember the things I’ve told you—and above all, don’t be uneasy. Black Jack will be there when you need him. Keep your wits and there’ll be no possibility of mistakes.”
Amber’s hands had turned cold and her heart was beginning to pound. During the discussions and rehearsals for these holdups she had always felt that she was merely pretending, that she would never really have to do any of those things. And now all of a sudden—when she had least expected it—the pretending was done. Mother Red-Cap did intend her to go. Amber could feel the noose about her neck already.
“Let Bess go if she wants to!” she cried. “I’ve no great maw for the business! I dreamed about Newgate again last night!”
Mother Red-Cap smiled. Her temper was never ruffled, she never lost her cool, reasonable tone and manner. “My dear, surely you know that dreams are expounded by contraries. Come, now, I had expected great things of you—not only for your beauty but for your spirit, which I had thought would carry you undismayed through any adventure.”
“Undismayed spirit, my arse!” snorted Bess.
Amber gave her a sharp hard stare across the table and then got to her feet. Without another word she left the room and went upstairs to get her cloak and mask, to powder her face and smooth a little rouge on her lips. A few minutes later she came down to find Bess and Black Jack quarrelling. Bess was chattering furiously at him though he merely lounged in his chair with a wine-bottle in his hand, and ignored her. Seeing Amber at the door he smiled and got to his feet. Bess whirled around.
“Your!” she cried. “You’re the cause of all my troubles—you jilting whore!” And suddenly she grabbed a salt-cellar from the table and hurled it to the floor. “There! And the devil go with you!” She turned and rushed out of the room, sobbing as she went.
“Oh!” cried Amber, staring at the spilt salt with scared and anxious eyes. “We’re cursed! We can’t go!”
Black Jack, who had gone after Bess, now gave her a cuff with his great hand that almost knocked her off her feet. “You damned meddling jade!” he roared at her. “If we run into ill-luck I’ll cut your ears off!”
But Mother Red-Cap scoffed at Amber’s superstitious fears and assured her that it could be no ill omen because it had been done purposefully. She gave them some last-minute admonitions, Black Jack swallowed a glass of brandy and—though Amber was still reluctant and worried—they set out. By the time they had climbed the stairs and entered the Temple gardens she was beginning to feel excited and eager for whatever adventure might lie ahead; Bess and the spilled salt were already far out of her mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IN THE CITY the bells were ringing, and blazing bonfires sent up a glow against the sky. Every house was brightly lighted and crowds of merrymakers filled the streets; coaches rattled by and there were sounds of laughter and singing and music. Taverns were packed and the inns were turning customers away. It was the night of the Restoration all over again.