“Your servant, sir,
“CAPTAIN REX MORGAN.”
The handwriting was scratchy and the pen had splattered several times, streaking the page with black ink.
In his rage Rex had ignored half the formal appointments for a duel, for it was customary to let the challenged name the time and the place and the weapon. Nor had he said anything of seconds, either one or two of which were usually selected by each man, according to the French style of fighting imported into England and already responsible for many unnecessary deaths.
Amber looked up at him, giving back the note. “Well?”
“Well! Is that all you have to say! for the love of God, Amber, what’s the matter with you! You know that he’ll lose his rank and have to go into exile—He might never come back again! If you don’t care what happens to him you should at least have the sense to consider your own future! Get hold of him tonight and tell him there’s no reason for this ridiculous meeting!”
Amber was astonished, and then offended, for he obviously did not consider her sufficient cause for a duel. Her pride hurt, she wanted to hurt him, and now a mocking smile curled the corners of her mouth.
“You surprise me, Lord Carlton,” she said softly.
Bruce looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
She gave a little shrug. “I wouldn’t expect to find you troubled about a meeting with swords. I should think a privateer could defend himself as well as any other man.”
Nan gasped, one hand going to her mouth as though to stop the words her mistress had just spoken. But Bruce’s face had a sort of angry contempt on it.
“I’m not afraid to meet him and you damned well know it! But I don’t care to fight a man without a better reason than this!”
“If you mean me, Lord Carlton, Rex thinks I’m reason enough!”
“Tell him you’ve already had a son by me and see what he thinks about it then!”
“He knows it—and he still wants to fight you! Anyway, I don’t know where he’s gone! If you don’t want to fight, you’ll have to make your own excuses!”
She turned away from him, but as she did so she caught a glimpse of his face staring at her with an expression that was almost frightening, and without another word he wheeled and left the room, his long riding-cape swirling about him.
“Oh, mam!” cried Nan despairingly. “Now what ’ve you done! ”
“I don’t care! He needn’t expect me to beg him off!”
“But it wasn’t because he’s afraid, mam! You know that!”
Irritably Amber gave a kick at a low stool and went back into the bedroom, slamming the door hard to ease her feelings. For a few minutes she paced back and forth, angry with Bruce and Rex and herself and all the world. A pox confound all men! she told herself furiously, and flung off her dressing-gown to get into bed, even though she knew she would not be able to sleep.
When Nan came in an hour or so later Amber was still awake and tossing restlessly, but the anger was beginning to wear off and worry was taking its place. The prospect of the duel did not trouble her, for in spite of the fact that duels were forbidden by law they took place every day and hot-tempered young men fought over the flimsiest pretexts: a quick thoughtless word, bad luck at the gaming-table, the giving or taking of the wall as they passed on the streets, a difference of opinion over religion or wine or a woman. Every gentleman learned to handle his sword almost as soon as he learned to walk, and he knew that the art was acquired to be used.
She was not afraid of having them fight. She was, in fact, flattered and almost pleased—or would have been had Bruce been less frankly insulting—for a duel was not often fatal and was usually stopped at the first drawing of blood. But she was afraid now of what would happen to her when it was over.
Suppose Rex would not forgive her this time? Suppose he did have to leave the country and never came back again? Then what would become of her? She had no illusions left about a woman’s place in Restoration London—she knew that she had been lucky to find a man like Rex Morgan who had loved her. For love was not in fashion any more, and without it a man had no obligations, a woman no rights. She realized all at once that she had been a fool to take such a chance—Of course he was sure to know—Her lame story about Aunt Sarah falling sick! And yet, how else could she have done it? She was forced now to admit to herself that there was only one way she could have avoided this—she should never have left London with Bruce. She had wanted too much, she had been too greedy —and this was what she got for it.
What was the matter with me? she asked herself furiously. I had Rex—and I had Bruce, too—now what have I got! But swiftly her anger reverted to Bruce. Damn him! He’s never been anything but trouble to me!
As she heard Nan tiptoeing about in the dark, she spoke to her.
“Light a candle if you want, Nan. I can’t sleep.”
Nan went back to the other room, returned with a wax candle, and lighted three or four others in wall-sconces while Amber sat with one arm across her knees and her hand clenched in her hair.
“Lord, Nan! What’ll I do?’
Nan, who was beginning to undress, heaved a sigh. “To tell you truly, mam, I don’t know. It’s the devil’s own mess we’re in.”
Both of them looked worried and disconsolate. At last Nan blew out the candles and got into bed and they lay side by side, talking; neither one of them was able to sleep for a long while. Finally Nan fell asleep but Amber continued to toss and turn from one side to the other and she heard the bell-man go by, calling out each hour as it passed: one, two, three.
I’m not going to just lie here, she thought, and let my life be ruined! And when she heard, “God give you good morrow, my masters! Past three o’clock and a fair morning!” she flung back the covers and got out of bed, turning to shake Nan.
“Nan! Wake up! Get up! I’m going to Marrowbone Fields!”
“Good Lord, mam! I thought the house was afire—”
Amber dressed quickly but carefully, as though she was aware that this would be a dramatic moment in her life and wanted to look ready for it. She painted her face and stuck on a couple of patches, combed out her hair and let it fall in deep loose waves down over her shoulders. She wore a scarlet velvet suit, the coat of which was cut exactly like a man’s. It fitted her snugly and the neck-line opened in a low V, and there were elaborate scrolls of gold braid decorating the deep cuffs and borders of the coat and skirt. The brim of her low-crowned Cavalier’s riding-hat billowed with scarlet ostrich plumes and she had a pair of red-velvet boots lined with miniver. She had had a tailor make this suit and expected to set a new fashion, but she had not worn it before.
While Jeremiah went to hire four riding-horses Amber drank some hot coffee which Tansy had just made and, well laced with brandy, it tasted good to her for once. It was after four when Jeremiah returned and they set out for Marrowbone Fields, Amber and Nan, with Tempest and Jeremiah. It was just beginning to grow light but a heavy mist was falling which blurred the outlines of houses and trees and made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead; Amber was annoyed, for the dampness would probably spoil her gown.
She soon forgot her appearance, however, and the closer they came the more her anxiety mounted.
It took them no longer than twenty minutes to reach the place in the road where Tyburn Brook ran under a little stone bridge—and looking off toward the east they could dimly see a party of men and several horses, half obscured by a spacious group of Lombardy poplars. Amber immediately turned her horse and started toward them. Presently she could distinguish Bruce and Rex, Almsbury, Colonel Dillon whom she knew slightly, and two others who were apparently the surgeons. But only Bruce and Rex had removed their outer coats, to show that no armour had been worn.