He told her, however, that it would probably not be a great deal longer before her presence there became known and that when it did they would be forced to leave. But that threat did not trouble him for he seldom studied as it was and had no more interest in learning law than did most of the other young men whose fathers sent them to the Inns of Court. Now, more than ever, life was too distracting for a young man to give much time to books and lectures.
She told him her own name and the story of her misfortunes, though she omitted altogether Lord Carlton’s part in it and pretended that the baby had been gotten by her husband. Luke Channell’s name, since she had used it in Whitefriars, was no longer of any value to her and she made Michael promise to keep secret the fact that she had ever been married; she considered that that mistake was over and done and absolutely refused to think of Luke as her husband.
About a fortnight after Black Jack’s death Michael went down to Ram Alley to visit Mother Red-Cap and convince her that Mrs. Channell had gone from London and would never return. He went partly out of curiosity, to see what the old woman’s reaction to the recent events had been, and also because Amber begged him to get the imitation gold ear-rings she had left behind, telling him that her aunt had given them to her just before she had gone away. He brought them back, and some news as well.
“She’s satisfied you’re gone. I told her I’d had a letter from you and that you were back with your family and would never so much as think of London again.”
Amber laughed, taking a bite out of a big red apple. “Did she believe you?”
“She seemed to. She said that you should never have left the country in the first place—and that London was no place for a girl like you.”
“I’ll warrant she’s running distracted to have lost me. I made her a mighty good profit, let me tell you.”
“Sweetheart, Mother Red-Cap wouldn’t run distracted if she lost her own head. She’s got another girl she’s training to take your place—a pretty little wench she found somewhere who’s with child and unmarried and full of gratitude for the kind old lady who’s promised to help her out of her difficulties.”
Amber made a sound of disgust, throwing the apple-core across the room into the fireplace. “That old flesh-broker would pimp for the devil himself if there was a farthing to be got by it!”
Most of her time, when she was alone, she spent learning to read and to write and she undertook both with the same enthusiasm she had had for her dancing and singing and guitar lessons. Hundreds of times she wrote her name and Bruce’s, drawing big hearts around them, but she always burnt the papers before Michael should see them—partly because she knew it would not be tactful to let the man who was keeping her find that she was in love with someone else, but also because she could not bear the thought of discussing Bruce with anyone. Her own signature was a long sprawl of which only the initial letters were made large and distinguishable, and when she showed Michael specimens of her handwriting he laughed and told her it was so illegible it might be mistaken for that of a countess.
One wet early October afternoon she lay stretched out flat on her stomach on the bed, mouthing over the text of one of the bawdy illustrated books which he had given her to practice on, an English edition of Aretino’s sonnets. Hearing the key turn in the lock and the door of the other room open, she called over her shoulder: “Michael? Come in here! I can’t make this out—”
His voice, solemn for once, answered her. “Come here, nephew.”
Thinking that he was playing some joke she leapt off the bed and ran to the doorway, but stopped on the threshold with a gasp of astonishment and dismay. For with him was an old man, a sour prim thin-nosed old gentleman with a forbidding scowl and a look of having been preserved in vinegar. Amber took a startled step backward and one hand went to the throat of her deeply opened white shirt, but it was too late. He could never mistake her for a boy now.
“You said that you were entertaining your nephew, sirrah!” said the old man sternly, drawing down his tufted brows and frowning back at Michael. “Where is he?”
“That is he, Mr. Gripenstraw,” said Michael, respectfully, but nevertheless with an air of whimsical unconcern.
Mr. Gripenstraw looked at Amber again, over the tops of his square-cut green spectacles, and he screwed his mouth from side to side. Amber’s hand dropped and she spoke to Michael, pleading.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I thought you were alone.”
He made a gesture, motioning her into the bedroom, and she went, closing the door but standing next to it so that she could hear what was said between them. Oh, God in Heaven! she thought despairingly, rubbing the palms of her hands together. Now what will happen to me? What if he finds out who I—Then she heard Mr. Gripenstraw’s voice again.
“Well, Mr. Godfrey—and what excuse have you to make this time?”
“None, sir.”
“How long has this baggage been on your premises?”
“One month, sir.”
“One month! Great God! Have you no respect for the ancient and honourable institution of English law? Because of my regard for your father I have overlooked many of your past misdemeanours, but this is beyond anything! If it were not for the honour and esteem in which I hold Sir Michael I would have you sent to the Fleet, to learn a better view of the conduct befitting a young man. As it is, sirrah, you are expelled. Never show me your face again. And get that creature out of here—within the hour!”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The door opened. “Let me tell you this, sirrah—there is nothing a young man may get by wenching but duels, claps, and bastards. Good-day!” The door closed noisily.
Amber waited a moment and then flung open her own door. “Oh, Michael! You’re expelled! And it’s all my fault!”
She began to cry but he came swiftly across to take her into his arms. “Here, here, sweetheart! What the devil! We’re well rid of this scurvy place. Come now, put on your hat and doublet and we’ll find us lodgings where a man may live as he likes.”
He took two rooms in an inn called the Hoop and Grapes, situated in St. Clement’s Lane, which wound up out of Fleet Street. It was outside the City gates in the newer and more fashionable west-end of the town. Drury Lane was nearby, and Covent Garden, and not five minutes walk away was Gibbon’s Tennis Court in Vere Street, which had become the Theatre Royal.
He bought her some clothes, second-hand at first because she needed them immediately—though later she had some made—and she found herself precipitated into a whirl of gaiety and pleasure. She had met several of his friends while they were still at the Temple, but now she met many more. They were young men of good family, future barons and lords; officers in the King’s or the Duke’s guards; actors from one of the four public theatres. And she met, too, the women they kept, pretty girls who sold ribbons or gloves at the Royal Exchange, professed harlots, actresses, all of them wise and gay and no more than Amber’s age—flowers that had bloomed since the Restoration.
They went to the theatres and sat in the pit where the women wore their masks and sucked on China oranges, bandying pleasantries with everyone in earshot. They went to the gambling-houses in the Haymarket and once Amber was thrown into a frenzy of excitement when a rumour swept through that the King was coming. But he did not and she was bitterly disappointed, for she had never forgotten his expression that day he had looked at her. They went to the New Spring Gardens at Lambeth and to the Mulberry Gardens, which was temporarily the height of fashion. They went to dinner at all the popular taverns, Lockets near Charing Cross which was always filled with young officers in their handsome uniforms, the Bear at the Bridgefoot, the notorious Dagger Tavern in High Holborn, a rough-and-tumble place that abounded in riots and noise but was famous for its fine pies. They went to see the puppet-play in Covent Garden, currently the resort of all the fashionable world. At night they often drove about town in a hackney, contesting as to who could break the most windows by throwing copper pennies through them.