“Now,” said Amber to the hostess, “you must make a hot fire and bring me a kettle and crane so that I can heat water. Bring me all the hot-water bottles you have and some more blankets. Nan, open that trunk and get out the boxful of herbs —Jeremiah, go find my almanac—it’s in the bottom of the green leather trunk, I think. Now get out of here, all of you, so Mr. Dangerfield can rest—”
Amber loosened his clothes, took off his cloak and hat, cravat and doublet, piled hot-water bottles around him and covered him with blankets. She was quick and gentle, cheerful but concerned; an outsider would have thought she was already his wife. He begged her not to trouble herself with him, but to go on to London and send back a doctor. And, apparently in some apprehension that this might be another and perhaps final stroke, he asked her to notify his family. Amber firmly refused.
“It’s nothing serious, Mr. Dangerfield,” she insisted. “You’ll be hearty as ever in a few days, I know you will. It wouldn’t be right to scare them that way—especially with Lettice about to lie-in.” Lettice was his eldest daughter.
“No,” he agreed meekly. “It wouldn’t be right, would it?”
And in spite of his discomfort it soon became clear that he was enjoying his illness and the attentions it brought him. No doubt he had always felt obliged to be stoical before; now, far from home and those who knew him, he could luxuriate in the care and endless concern of a beautiful young woman who seemed to think of nothing at all but his comfort. She refused even to leave him alone at night, for fear the attack might recur, and slept there on the trundle only a few feet away.
The slightest sound from him and she was out of bed and beside him, her rich heavy hair falling about her face as she bent over him, the faint light from the candle throwing shadows across her arms and into her breasts. Her murmuring voice was like a caress; her flesh was warm whenever she happened to touch him; the heat in the room brought out an intoxicating fragrance of jasmine flowers and ambergris in her perfume. No illness had ever been so pleasant. And, half because she persuaded him he was pale and not strong enough to be moved, he remained in bed many days after all the pain had gone.
“Ye gods!” said Amber to Nan one day as she was dressing in the room which adjoined his chamber. “I think when I marry this old man I’ll be a nursemaid and not a wife!”
“Heavens, mam, it’s you’ve insisted he can’t get out of bed! And it was your idea in the first place to feed ’im those toadstools—”
“Shhh!” cautioned Amber. “You’ve got no business remembering such things.” She got up, gave herself a last glance in the mirror, and went toward the door into the next room; an expression of sweet tenderness spread over her face before she opened it.
CHAPTER TWENTY–FIVE
BARBARA’S HEAD LAY on James Hamilton’s shoulder.
And both of them lay motionless, half between waking and sleeping, eyes closed, faces smooth and peaceful. But slowly Barbara began to grow uneasy. Her nose wrinkled a little and then the nostrils flared; she sniffed once or twice. What the devil’s that smell? she thought irritably. And then all at once she realized.
Smoke!
The room was on fire!
She sat up with a start and saw that an entire velvet drapery was aflame, apparently having been lighted by a candle into which it had blown. She put her fists to her mouth and screamed.
“James! The room’s on fire!”
The handsome colonel sat up and glared resentfully at the flaming drapery. “Good Lord!”
But Barbara was pushing him out of bed, sticking her feet into mules, reaching for her dressing-gown. And now, suddenly wide awake, Hamilton rushed across the room and with a swift movement jerked the hanging from its rod and started to stamp the flame out. But already it had spread to a chair and as he flung it onto the floor a Turkish rug caught fire.
Barbara ran to him with his clothes in her hand. “Here!” She thrust them at him: “Get into these! Quick—down that stairway before someone comes! Help! Help!” she screamed. “Fire! Help!”
James got out of the room just as Barbara admitted half-a-dozen servants from the other door. By now the flames were licking up the walls, the opposite drapery was afire and smoke was beginning to fill the room and make them cough.
“Do something, some of you!” yelled Barbara furiously, but though the room was filling with people—footmen, pages, blackamoors, serving-women, courtiers who had been passing by—no one had yet made a move to put out the fire. They all stood for several seconds, looking on in stupefied amazement, each waiting for someone else to decide what should be done.
And then a couple of footmen arrived carrying buckets full of water and pushed their way in; they gave a mighty sling and sent the water splashing over one burning chair and carpet. There was a hissing and the smoke rolled out and everyone retreated, squinting his eyes and coughing. Several now began to run for more water.
Dogs were barking. A scared monkey leaped chattering from one shoulder to another and in his terror bit the hand of a woman who tried to knock him aside. Men rushed in and out with buckets of water, most of the women ran around distractedly, doing nothing. Barbara was trying to give orders to everyone at once, though no one paid her much attention. And now she seized a page by the arm as he went hurrying by, huge buckets slopping with water in either hand.
“Boy! Wait a moment—I want a word with you!” The young man stopped and looked at her; his eyes were bloodshot and his face wet with sweat and smeared with soot. She lowered her voice. “There’s a cabinet in there—a small one over in this corner—with a guitar atop it. Bring it out and I’ll give you twenty pound.”
His eyes flickered in surprise. Twenty pounds when his pay for the year was three! She must want it badly. “The whole side’s aflame, your Ladyship!”
“Forty pound, then! But bring it out!” She gave him a shove.
Two or three minutes later he came back carrying the cabinet easily in one hand, for it was very small. One side had been charred and as he set it down it fell apart and several folded letters dropped to the floor. He stooped quickly to retrieve them but Barbara cried: “Leave them alone! I’ll pick them up! Go back to your work!”
She knelt on one knee and began to gather them swiftly, when all at once a hand reached across and took one from beneath her very fingers. Looking up she saw the Duke of Buckingham standing there smiling down at her. Her purple eyes narrowed and her teeth closed savagely.
“Give that to me!”
Buckingham continued to smile. “Certainly, my dear. When I’ve had a look at it. If it’s so important to you, perhaps it’s also important to me.”
For a moment they continued to stare at each other, Barbara still half crouching, her tall cousin looming over her, both impervious to the noise and confusion all about them. And then suddenly she sprang at him, but he stepped lightly aside and warded her off with one raised arm, meanwhile sliding the letter into an inside pocket of his doublet.
“Don’t be so hasty, Barbara. I’ll return it to you in good time.”
She gave him a sullen glare and muttered some impolite curse beneath her breath, but evidently realizing that she would have to wait until he was ready she went back to directing the workmen. The fire was almost out by now and they were carrying from the bedroom all the furniture which had not been scorched. But the entire apartment was black with smoke and the bedchamber a wet charred mess. The windows were flung open to air the rooms, though it was a gusty rainy night, and Wilson brought Barbara a mink-lined cloak to put over her dressing-gown.