Winsor, Kathleen (119 page)

The
King ordered the sinking of several ships at Barking Creek in order to block
the river and keep them from coming any higher. Unfortunately, however, in the
excitement someone misunderstood a command and several boats laden with the
scant precious store of naval supplies were sunk by error. The tenth night
after the attack on Sheerness it was possible to see the red glow made by
burning vessels. Ripped dead carcasses of sheep had floated up-river to London.
And the terrified city was swept again and again by spasms of alarm; business
had stopped dead, for no one had any business now but to save himself and his
family and possessions.

At
last the Dutch retired to the mouth of the river and peace negotiations were
resumed. This time the English were less particular on certain issues and the conference
progressed better than it had.

With
the other men who had volunteered Carlton and Almsbury returned to London,
bearded and sunburnt and in high spirits after the adventure. But Amber was
near nervous collapse from worry and prolonged sleeplessness, and at the sight
of a dry and hardened blood-soaked bandage on Bruce's right upper arm she burst
into frantic hysterical tears.

He
took her into his arms as though she were a little girl, stroking her hair and
kissing her wet cheeks. "Here, darling, what the devil's all this fuss?
I've been hurt much worse than this a dozen times."

She
leaned against his chest and sobbed desperately, for she neither could nor
wanted to stop crying. "Oh, Bruce! You might've been killed! I've been so
s-scared—"

He
picked her up and started up the stairs with her. "Don't you know, you
contrary little witch," he murmured, "that I told you to get out of
London? If the Dutch had wanted to they could have taken the whole country—we
couldn't have stopped them—"

Amber
was sitting on the bed, filing her nails and waiting for Bruce to finish a
letter to his overseer.

Casually
he said, "When I go back I want to take Bruce with me."

She
looked across at him with an expression of horrified shock. Now he got up,
threw off his robe, and just as he bent to blow out the single candle she
caught a glimpse of his
shadowed face. He had been looking at her as he spoke and his eyes were
narrowed slightly, watching. She moved over and he got into bed beside her.

For
several moments she could not answer. She did not even lie down but continued
to sit there, staring into the darkness. Bruce was quiet and waited.

"Don't
you want him to go?" he asked at last.

"Of
course I don't want him to go! He's
my
child, isn't he? D'you think I
want him to go over there and be brought up by another woman and forget all
about me? I do not! And I won't let him, either! He's mine and he's going to
stay here with me. I won't have him brought up by that—by that woman you
married!"

"Have
you any plans for his future?" It was so dark that she could not see his
face but his voice sounded low and reasonable.

"No—"
she admitted reluctantly. "No, of course not! Why should I? He's only six
years old!"

"But
he won't always be six years old. What will you do when he begins to grow up?
Who will you tell him his father was? If I go away and he doesn't see me for
several years he'll forget I ever existed. What will you give him for a last
name? It's different with Susanna—she's supposed to be Dangerfield's child, and
she has his name. But Bruce has no name at all unless I give him mine, and I
can't do that if he stays with you. I know that you love him, Amber, and he
loves you. You're rich now and you've got the King's favour—perhaps you could
get him to confer a title on him sometime. But if he goes with me he'll be my
heir: he'll have everything I can give him—and he'll never have to endure the
humiliations of an acknowledged bastard—"

"He's
a bastard anyway!" cried Amber, quick to find any excuse she could.
"You can't make him a lord just by saying he
is
one!"

"He
won't live in England. Over there it won't matter. And, at least, he'll be
better off than he could be here where everyone will know."

"What
about your wife! Where's she going to think you got him? Out of the parsley-bed?"

"I've
already told her that I'd been married before. She's expecting me to bring him
back this time."

"Oh,
she is! You were mighty confident, weren't you? And what's supposed to have
become of his mother?" Suddenly she stopped, sickened. "You told her that
I was dead!" He did not answer and she cried accusingly, "Didn't
you?"

"Yes,
of course. What else could I tell her? That I was a bigamist?" His voice
had a sound of angry impatience. "Well, Amber, I won't take him away from
you. You can make up your mind for yourself. But try to consider him a little,
too, when you're deciding—"

Amber
was so hurt and so angry at the thought of sending
her son into
the care of another woman, to grow up far away from her with nothing ever to
remind him of her existence, that she refused for several days even to think
about it. And he did not broach the subject again.

The
Dutch fleet still lay at the mouth of the Thames and no English shipping could
enter or leave. Consequently Bruce, though he had been almost ready to sail at
the time of the attack, was now forced to wait on the peace negotiations. But
he refused to go away with her, for when the treaty was concluded he intended
to sail immediately. Much of his time he spent hunting with the King. And there
were other hours when he and the little boy rode together or he helped him with
his fencing-lessons. Sometimes they sailed a few miles up the Thames in
Almsbury's
Sapphire,
and Amber went along. She could not see them
together without feeling a torture of longing and jealousy—for somewhere in her
heart she knew that he would go with his father, and forget her. She could
surrender him to Bruce, but she could not bear the thought of another woman's
having him.

They
were walking, she and the little boy, in the garden one morning, waiting for
Bruce who was going to take him sculling. It was mid-July, hot and bright, and
the walks steamed where the gardener had been watering. The lime-trees were in
bloom and bees hummed incessantly at their sweet yellow-green flowers. Monsieur
le Chien ran along ahead of them, nosing everywhere, and his ears were
draggled, for he had dipped them into the fountain and then trailed them
through the dust.

A
gardener had given each of them a ripe yellow pear to eat. It tasted like wine
as she bit into it. "Bruce," she said all at once, "will you
miss your father a great deal when he goes?" She had not actually expected
to say it but now she found herself waiting, tensely, for his answer.

She
saw it in the wistful little smile he gave her. "Oh, yes, Mother. I
will." He hesitated, then: "Won't you?"

Surprised,
the tears started into her eyes; but she looked away, thinking hard about the
musk-rose that lay half opened against the wall. She reached over to pluck it.
"Yes, of course I will. Suppose, Bruce—suppose—" Suddenly she said
it. "Would you like to go with him?"

He
stared up at her with a look of perfect incredulity, and then he grabbed her
hand. "Oh,
could
I, Mother?
Could
I go?"

Amber
looked down at him, unable to keep the disappointment from her face, but his
eyes had such a shine she knew then what would happen. "Yes—you can. If
you want to.
Do
you want to?"

"Oh,
yes, Mother! I do! Please let me go!"

"You
want to go and leave me?" She knew that it was unfair when she said it,
but she could not help herself.

As
she had hoped, the look of happiness fled and a kind of bewildered
conscience-stricken worry took its place. For a moment he was quiet. "But
can't you go too, Mother?" Suddenly
he smiled again. "You come with
us! Then we can all be together!"

Amber's
eyes brooded over him; lightly her fingers reached out to touch his hair.
"I can't go, darling. I've got to stay here." The tears sparkled in
her eyes again. "You can't be with both of us—"

He
took her hand with a little gesture of sympathy. "Don't cry, Mother. I
won't go and leave you—I'll tell Father that I— can't go."

All
at once Amber hated herself. "Come here," she said. "Sit beside
me on this bench. Listen to me, darling. Your father wants you to go with him.
He needs you over there— to help him—there's so much to do. I want you to stay
with me—but I think he needs you more."

"Oh,
do you, Mother? Do you
really
think so?" His eyes searched her face
anxiously, but there was no concealing the joyous relief.

"Yes,
darling, I really think so."

Amber
looked up over his head and beyond to see Bruce coming toward them along the
garden walk. The little boy glanced around, saw his father, and jumped up to
run and meet him. His manners were always much more formal with Bruce than with
her, not because Bruce insisted but because his tutor did, and he bowed
ceremoniously before speaking a word.

"I've
decided to go to America with you, sir," he informed him solemnly.
"Mother says that you need me there."

Bruce
glanced down at the boy and then his eyes moved swiftly to meet Amber's. For a
moment they looked at each other, unspeaking. His arm went about his son's
shoulder and he smiled at him. "I'm glad you've decided to come with me,
Bruce." Together they walked toward Amber, and she got to her feet though
her eyes had not once left Bruce's face. He said nothing but he bent and kissed
her, softly, briefly; and it was, almost a husband's kiss.

At
first Amber felt that she had done a noble and unselfish thing and she was
quite willing to have Bruce think so too. But the hope came creeping, and she
had to recognize it, that perhaps having her child there with him all the time
would keep her alive in his memory as nothing else could do. Perhaps she could
defeat Corinna without even seeing her.

The
Treaty of Breda was signed and news of it arrived at Whitehall at the end of
the month. Bruce sailed with the next morning-tide. Amber went down to the
wharf, determined to preserve the good opinion both of them had of her now if
it tore out her heart. But as she half-knelt to kiss her son her throat swelled
with unbearable agony. Bruce took her arm to help her up again, for the burden
she carried was beginning to make her awkward.

"Don't
let him forget me, Bruce!" she pleaded.

"I
won't forget you, Mother! And we're coming back to see
you too! Father
said so—didn't you, sir?" He looked up at Bruce for confirmation.

"Yes,
Bruce—we'll come back. I promise you." He was restless, eager to get on
the ship, to be away, hating this painful business of parting.
"Amber—we're late now,"

She
gave a scared little cry and threw her arms about him; he bent his head and
their lips met. Amber clung frantically, perfectly heedless of the crowds who
moved around them, who turned to stare with curious interest at the handsome
man and woman, the quiet watching child. This was the moment she had not
believed—even yesterday, when she had known he was going—would ever really
come. Now it was here—it was here and she had a sense of helpless despair.

All
of a sudden his hands took hold of her arms and forced them down. Swiftly he
turned and almost before she could realize it had happened Bruce and their son
had crossed the gangplank onto the ship. It began to move, very slowly, and the
sails snapped out white and full in the wind, catching up the ship as though
life had gone through her. The little boy took off his hat and waved.

"We'll
be back, Mother!"

Amber
gave a sharp cry and started forward, along the wharf, but the ship was getting
away from her. Bruce was half turned, giving directions to the men, but all at
once he walked swiftly back and his hand dropped about the boy's shoulders. He
raised one arm in a good-bye salute and though Amber's hand started to go up in
reply she instead put her bent forefinger into her mouth and bit down hard. For
a long moment she stood there, lost and forlorn, and then she lifted the other
arm and gave them a spiritless little wave.