Winsor, Kathleen (134 page)

But
Father Scroope had scarcely set one foot out the door when there was a sudden
splashing and—so close that it seemed to be almost upon them—the sound of heavy
breathing and struggling and men's voices in low muttered curses. Quick as a
jackrabbit, the Father jumped back inside and Amber froze where she was,
reaching out to grab hold of Nan's hand.

"What
was that!"

"John
must have caught someone snooping," whispered Nan. She spoke a little
louder, just enough to be heard a few feet away. "John—"

He
answered, his voice also low and cautious. "I'm here— Caught a fellow
hiding in the reeds. He's alone—"

"Go
on," whispered Amber to Father Scroope, and he streaked out the door and
disappeared; they could hear the loud sucking noises of his feet as he hurried
away through the mud. "Bring him in here," she said to Big John, and
went back herself into the small room out of which she and Father Scroope had
just come.

There
she and Nan turned to see Big John come in dragging by the nape of the neck a
thin angry little man who still kicked and flailed out with his arms, though
each time he did so Big John gave him a rough shake that quieted him. Both of
them were muddy almost to the knees and splashed with water. John tossed him
into a heap in one corner. He began to shake himself and to straighten his
clothes, ignoring all of them with an elaborate pretense of being alone.

"What
were you doing out there?" demanded Amber.

He
neither looked at her nor made an answer.

She
repeated the question and this time he gave her merely a sullen glare as he
pulled at his coat-sleeve.

"You
insolent wretch! I think I know a way to make you find your tongue!"

She
gave a nod of her head to Big John and he stepped to a table, opened one of the
drawers and took out a short whip having several narrow leather thongs, each of
them tipped with lead.

"Now
will
you answer me!" cried Amber. He continued silent and Big John raised the
whip and slashed it down over his chest and shoulders, one leaden tip biting
into
his cheek and drawing blood. While Amber and Nan stood coolly watching he
lashed at him again and then again, striking him ruthlessly, though the man
writhed and drew up his legs, trying to protect his face and head with his
hands. At last he gave a sobbing moan.

"Stop!
for the love of God—stop! I'll tell you—"

Big
John let the whip fall to his side and stepped back; drops of blood splashed
off the leaden ends onto the floor.

"You're
a fool!" said Amber. "What did it get you to hold your peace? Now
tell me—what were you doing out there, and who sent you?"

"I
dare not tell. Please—your Ladyship." His voice took on an ingratiating
whine. "Don't make me tell, your Ladyship. If I do my master will have me
beaten."

"And
if you don't, I will," retorted Amber, with a significant glance at Big
John who stood with both fists on his hips, alert and waiting.

The
man glanced up, frowned, gave a sigh and then licked at his lips. "I was
sent by his Grace—the Duke of Buckingham."

That
was what she had expected. She knew that Buckingham watched her closely but
this was the first time she had actually caught one of his spies, though she
had discharged four serving-girls she had suspected of being in his pay.

"What
for?"

The
man talked rapidly now, but in a sullen monotone, his eyes on the floor.
"I was to watch Father Scroope—everywhere he went—and report to his
Grace."

"And
where will you report that you saw him tonight?" Her eyes stared at him,
slanting, bright and hard and pitiless.

"Why—uh—he
didn't leave his quarters at all tonight, your Ladyship."

"Good.
Remember that now. Next time my man won't be so gentle with you. And don't come
back here to prowl again, unless you want your nose slit. Take 'im out,
John."

Amber
had always been friendly and respectful in her association with the Queen,
partly because it seemed politic, partly because she was sorry for her. But her
pity was casual and her half-affection cynical—it was the same feeling she had
for Jenny Mortimer and Lady Almsbury, or any other woman from whom it seemed
she had little to fear. And yet she knew that Catherine, when given the
opportunity, was a good and diligent friend; she was so generally ignored by
the self-seekers who swarmed Whitehall that she had come to be almost grateful
to whoever sought her favour. It had occurred to Amber that this would be a
very good opportunity to gain her Majesty's good will—which might be put to use
in her own behalf. Her talk with the Queen had the effect she wanted.
Catherine—though
struck with horror and bewilderment to learn that her enemies were again
plotting to get rid of her—was easily persuaded that King Charles knew nothing
of the plan and would have been furious if he had. Her wish to believe that he
saved some part of his squandered affections for her, that he continued to
think that one day she could give him the heir they both so passionately
desired, was pathetic even to Amber. And though Amber did not just then mention
her wish for a duchy she spoke of it a few days later; and Catherine
immediately, though with a certain shyness, for she was aware of her limited
influence, offered to help her if she could. Amber congratulated herself that
she had made a friend—not the most powerful one, perhaps; but a friend who
could be of any use at all was not to be scorned.

At
Court there was a saying that an unprofitable friend was equal to an
insignificant enemy. Amber did not trouble herself with either.

She
had soon learned that in the Palace opportunities never came to those who sat
and waited—patience and innocence were two useless commodities there. It was
necessary to be ceaselessly active, to be informed about each great and small
event which passed above or below stairs, to take advantage of everyone and
everything. It was a kind of life to which she adjusted herself rapidly and
with ease—nothing inside her rebelled against it.

By
now she had surrounded herself with a system of espionage which spread in every
direction, from the Bowling Green to Scotland Yard and from the Park Gate to
the Privy Stairs. Whatever complaints might be made about his Majesty's
secret-service could certainly not be applied to the courtiers, for vast sums
were continuously being paid out to keep each man and woman there informed
about his neighbors' doings, whether in love, religion, or politics.

Amber
employed a strange assortment of persons. There were two or three of
Buckingham's footmen; a man whom he used for confidential business of his own
but who was glad to make a few hundred pounds more by reporting on his master;
the Duke's tailor; the Duchess's dressmaker and Lady Shrewsbury's hair-dresser.
Madame Bennet kept her informed about the extra-marital activities of many
gentlemen, including his Grace, and amused her with stories of Buckingham's
weird devices for stirring up his worn and weary emotions. She received further
information on others about the Court from a miscellaneous collection of
whores, tavern-waiters, pages, bargemen, sentries.

Many
of these spies she never saw at all and most of them had no idea as to who
their employer might be. For it was Nan —wearing a blonde or black wig over her
golden-red hair, a full-faced vizard together with hood and flowing cloak, who
went about her mistress's business after nightfall. Big John Waterman went
along to take care of her, dressed now as a
porter, now as footman for a great
lady, or sometimes merely as a plain citizen. Nan took the news and delivered
the money, haggling for a good bargain and proud of herself if she saved Amber
a pound, for she had a better memory of the lean days than her mistress.

Amber
knew where and with whom the King spent his nights when she did not see him.
She knew every time Castlemaine took a new lover or ordered a new gown. She
knew when the Queen seemed to have symptoms of pregnancy, what was said in the
Council room, which Maid of Honour had just had a secret abortion, what lord or
lady was being treated in a Leather Lane powdering-tub for the pox. It cost her
a great deal but she knew almost everything which passed at Whitehall—though
much of it was of no value to her save for the pleasure of having other
people's secrets. Still she dared not be ignorant of the Palace gossip, for it
would only have earned her the scorn of those who knew.

And
often, of course, she could turn her knowledge to some practical use—as she did
the secret bought from Father Scroope.

It
was yet early the next morning when Buckingham came up Amber's back-staircase,
his wig mussed and clothes dishevelled. He rattled across the marble floor on
his high-heeled shoes and as he bent to give her a salute his breath had the
stale sour smell of brandy drunk several hours before. Amber was propped up
against pillows sleepily drinking a mugful of hot chocolate, but at sight of
him she was instantly wide awake, on her guard.

"Well,
your Grace! You look as if you've made a merry night of it!"

He
grinned disarmingly. "I think I did, though damn me if I can
remember!" Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her.
"Well, madame—you'd never think what news I've got for you!"

Their
eyes swung quickly together, stared hard for the briefest instant; then he
smiled and she looked down at Monsieur le Chien where he lay sprawled at the
foot of the bed. "Lord, your Grace, I can't imagine," she said,
growing nervous. "What's the newest libel? That I've got a mole on my
stomach or prefer the Dragon upon St. George?"

"No,
no. I heard all that last week. Don't you know the latest gossip about
yourself? Tut, tut, madame. They're saying—" Here he gave a slight and,
she thought, a sinister pause. "They're saying," he finished briskly,
"that Colbert just made you a gift of a diamond necklace valued at two
thousand pound."

Amber
had a quick sense of relief, for she had feared that he was there to talk about
Father Scroope. She finished her chocolate and set the mug onto the table
beside the bed. "Well—if that's what they're saying, it's true. Or true
enough, anyhow— my jeweller says it's worth six hundred pound. Still, it's
pretty enough, I think."

"Perhaps
you like Spanish jewels better."

Now
Amber laughed. "Your Grace knows everything. I wish I had such an
intelligence-net myself. I swear all the news comes to me cold as porridge, no
matter how high I pay for it. But I'll tell you truth—the Spanish ambassador
gave me an emerald bracelet—and it was handsomer than the French
necklace."

"Then
your Ladyship intends to cast in with the Spaniards?"

"Not
at all, your Grace. I'll cast in with the Dutch or the Devil, at a price. After
all, isn't that the way we do business here at Court?"

"If
it is you shouldn't admit it. The news might carry—then what would your price
be?"

"Oh,
but surely one may be allowed to speak frankly among friends." Her voice
gave him a light flick of sarcasm.

"You've
grown mighty high, haven't you, madame, since the days you trod the boards
wearing some Maid of Honour's cast-off gown? Even the Pope, they say, begins to
court your favour."

"The
Pope!" cried Amber, horrified. "Good Lord, sir, I protest! I've had
no traffic with the Pope, let me tell you!"

Amber
had little use for her own religion—except when she was alarmed or worried or
wanted something—but she shared the popular hatred of Catholicism, without any
idea as to why she hated it.

"No
traffic with the Pope? But I've got it on very good authority your Ladyship
sometimes entertains Father Scroope in the dead of the— Oh! I beg your
Ladyship's pardon!" he cried with mock concern. "Have I said
something to startle your Ladyship?"

"No,
of course not! But where the devil did you get an idea like that?
Me,
entertaining
Father Scroope! What for, pray? I've got no taste for bald fat old men, not
I!" She tossed back her hair and started to get out of bed, pulling her
dressing-gown around her as she did so.

"Just
a moment, madame!" Buckingham caught hold of her arm and she looked at him
defiantly. "I think you know well enough what I'm talking about!"

"And
what, then,
are
you talking about, sir?"

Amber
was growing angry. Something insolent in his Grace's manner always brought her
temper to the surface with a rush.

"I'm
talking, madame, about the fact that you are interfering in my business. To be
quite plain with you, madame, I know that you discovered my arrangement with
Father Scroope and took steps to forestall the plan." His arrogant
handsome face had settled into hard lines and he stared at her with threatening
violence. "I thought that we had agreed to play the game together—you and
I."

She
gave a swift jerk of her arm to free herself and jumped to her feet. "I'll
play the game with you, your Grace—but damn me if I'll play it against myself!
It could scarce be much
to my advantage, d'ye think, if her Majesty left the Court and—"