Winsor, Kathleen (43 page)

To
the amused relief of the Court most of Catherine's ugly train departed within a
few days, for Charles allowed only Penalva, the priests, and a few kitchen
attendants to remain. He did not trouble to send so much as a letter of
explanation with them, but he hoped the Dowager Queen would know that he was
displeased because she had paid most of the dowry— at the last moment—in sugar
and spices instead of in gold.

For
days the contest between them persisted.

Catherine
remained most of the time in her own rooms and,
when she did appear, she and
Charles scarcely spoke. When the courtiers met in the garden or at the cockpit
they asked each other: "Are you going to the Queen-baiting this
afternoon?" The young and gay wanted to see Barbara Palmer triumphant
because she represented their own way of living; the older and more circumspect
sympathized with the Queen but wished that she understood men better and had
been taught that tact could often accomplish what blustering and threats could
not. As usual, Charles heard advice from both camps, but though he listened
politely to everyone he was no more influenced than usual. In any matter which
he considered to be of importance to his comfort he made his own decisions— and
he did so now.

Queen
Henrietta Maria was coming to pay her son another visit, and Charles did not
intend that she should arrive to find his wife pouting and his house in a
turmoil. Determined to settle the issue for once and all, he sent for Barbara
to come to Hampton Court.

One
warm late-July afternoon Catherine's drawing-room was crowded to capacity and
many who could not force their way in stood in the anteroom. There was a sharp
tension in the air which she felt but could not understand, unless it was because
Charles had not yet appeared. In spite of herself she continued to look
anxiously for him, over their heads toward the doorway. For he was always
there, and even when he ignored her she could find some comfort in the mere
fact of his presence. But now, feeling lonely and forsaken, she had to force
herself to smile, bit the inside of her lower lip so that it would not tremble,
swallowed hard over the lump in her throat.

Oh!
she was thinking desperately, how I wish I'd never come to England! I wish I wasn't
married! I wish I was back home again! I was happy then—

Her
memory returned with longing to the lazy still afternoons in the convent
garden, washed with the hot Portuguese sun, when she had sat with her brush and
palette trying to catch the sharp contrast of white walls and blue shadows, or
had worked her needle and listened to the murmurous chant of prayers in the
chapel. What a quiet safe world that was! She envied that Catherine for the
things she had not known.

And
then suddenly she saw him and her back stiffened, a cold wave washed over her
and the sadness and the dreamy languor were gone. Alert, glad to see him though
she knew he would pay her no attention, a little smile touched her mouth. How
tall he is, she thought, and how handsome! Oh, I do love him! She had scarcely
noticed that a woman—dressed in white lace that sparkled with silver
sequins—walked by his side.

As
they came forward the room fell into a hushed waiting silence, every eye
watching, every ear straining to hear. It was not until Charles, in a low but
perfectly distinct tone, had spoken the lady's name that Catherine turned to
look at her,
holding out her hand to be kissed as the woman dropped to one knee.

At
the same moment she felt a grasp on her shoulder and heard Penalva's hiss in
her ear: "It's
Castlemaine!"

Catherine's
hand jerked involuntarily, and her eyes turned to Charles, surprised,
incredulous, questioning. But he was merely watching her, his face hard and
speculative, his whole manner coolly defiant, as though daring her to refuse
him now. She looked then at Lady Castlemaine, who had risen, and had a quick
unforgettable glimpse of a beautiful face—the lips curled faintly, the eyes
shining with triumph and mockery.

She
turned suddenly sick and weak. The world began to swim and rock dizzily, a
ringing in her ears drowned out every other sound, and the room blackened
before her eyes. She pitched forward out of her chair, but was kept from
falling by the quick restraining hands of two pages and the Countess of
Penalva, who glared at Charles with cold and unrelenting hatred. A sudden look
of horror crossed his face and involuntarily one hand went out. But he quickly
remembered himself, stepped back, and stood there silently while the Queen was
carried from the room.

Because
of Rex Morgan's place at Court, Amber was able to watch the King and Queen's
state entry into London from the roof of one of the Palace buildings along the
Thames.

For
as far as it was possible to see in both directions the shores were packed; on
the water the barges lay so thick a man could have walked from Westminster Hall
to Charing Cross Stairs on them. Banners whipped out in the brisk breeze, and
garlands of flowers trailed in the water. Music played, and as the first of the
great gilded state-barges appeared cannon went off, roaring along the
river-front, while shouts echoed back from shore to shore and every bell-tower
in the city began to rock clamorously.

Amber,
her hair blowing about her face, was standing over in one corner, very close to
the edge and trying hard to see everything. With her were three young men who
had just come from Hampton Court and who had been telling her the story of how
the Queen had fainted when Castlemaine was presented to her, and how angry the
King had been, thinking she had done it on purpose to embarrass him.

"And
since then," one of them was saying, "the Lady's gone to all the
balls and entertainments and they say his Majesty is sleeping with her
again."

"Can
you blame him?" demanded another. "She's a mighty delicate
creature—but as for that olivader skinned—"

"Well,
damn me!" interrupted the third. "If there isn't the Earl
himself!"

Elbow-nudges
and glances passed along the roof, but Roger Palmer ignored them all; and
presently they turned their attention back to the pageant, for the great City
barges were now moving by just below. A few minutes later, however, Barbara
herself came up the stairway. She was followed by her handsome waiting-woman,
Mrs. Wilson, and a nurse carrying her little son. She made a perfunctory curtsy
to her husband, who bowed coldly, and immediately she was surrounded by the
three young gallants who had left Amber with never a word of apology.

Angry
and resentful, hot at the mere sight of this woman she despised, Amber gave her
head a toss and turned away. At least
I'll
not stare like a
country-bumpkin at a puppet show! she thought furiously. But no one else seemed
to have any such compunctions.

Not
very much later she was surprised by the sound of a strangely familiar
masculine voice, a hand on her shoulder, and she looked swiftly about to see
the Earl of Almsbury grinning down at her. "Well, I'll be damned!" he
was saying. "If it isn't Mrs. St. Clare!" He bent then and kissed
her, and she was so charmed by the warmth of his smile, the admiration she saw
in his eyes, that she forgave him on the instant for having neglected her when
she was in Newgate.

"Why,
Almsbury!"

The
questions rose immediately to her tongue: Where's Bruce? Have you seen him? Is
he here? But her pride bit them down.

He
stepped back now and his eyes went over her from head to toe. "You're
looking mighty prosperous, sweetheart! Matters have gone swimmingly with you, I
doubt not—"

Amber
forgot Luke Channell and Newgate and Whitefriars. She gave him a little smile
with the corners of her mouth and answered airily. "Oh, well enough. I'm
an actress now—in the Theatre Royal."

"No!
I'd heard they have females on the stage now—but you're the first I've seen.
I've been in the country for two years past."

"Oh.
Then maybe you never got my letter?"

"No—did
you write me?"

She
made a light gesture of dismissal. "Oh, it was a great while since. In
December, a year and a half gone."

"I
left town just after—at the end of August in '60. I tried to find you, but the
host at the Royal Saracen said you'd packed and gone to parts unknown, and the
next day I left myself for Herefordshire—his Majesty granted me my lands
again."

At
that moment the noise about them swelled deafeningly, for the Royal barge had
reached the pier and the King and Queen were getting out, while the Queen
Mother came forward to meet them.

"Good
Lord!" shouted Amber. "What the devil is her Majesty wearing?"
From the distance the Queen's propped-out
skirts made her look almost as wide as
she was tall, and as she moved they rocked and swayed precariously.

"It's
a farthingale!" bellowed Almsbury. "They wear 'em in Portugal!"

When
at last the crowds began to break up Almsbury took her arm, asking if he might
carry her to her lodgings. They turned, to find Barbara with a man's
wide-brimmed hat on her head, standing only a few feet away, and she gave
Almsbury a wave and a smile, though her eyes slid with unmistakable hostility
over Amber. Amber lifted her chin, lowered her lashes, and sailed by without a
glance.

Her
coach was waiting in King Street with a great many others, just outside the
Palace Gate, and at sight of it Almsbury gave a low whistle. "Well! I
didn't know acting was such a well-paid profession!"

Amber
took the cloak which Jeremiah handed her and tossed it over her shoulders, for
evening had set in and it was growing cool. Picking up her skirts she gave him
a sly smile over her shoulder.

"Maybe
acting isn't. But there's another that is." She climbed in, laughing as he
sat down heavily beside her.

"So
our innocent country-maid has listened to the Devil after all."

"What
else could I do after—" She stopped quickly colouring, and then hastily
added, "There's only one way for a woman to get on in the world, I've
found."

"There's
only one way for a woman to get on very well—or very far. Who's your
maintainer?"

"Captain
Morgan, of his Majesty's Horse Guard. D'you know 'im?"

"No.
I think I'm somewhat out of the fashion, in keepers and clothes alike. There's
nothing will run a man out of the mode so quick as a wife and a home in the
country."

"Oh!
So now you're married!" Amber gave him a roguish grin, almost as though he
had just admitted some indiscretion.

"Yes,
now I'm married. Two years the 5th of next month. And
I've got two
boys—one a little over a year and another just two months. And—a—weren't
you—" His eyes went down over her questioningly, but he hesitated.

"I
have a boy, too!" cried Amber suddenly, unable to control herself any
longer. "Oh, Almsbury, you should see him! He looks just like Bruce! Tell
me, Almsbury: Where is he? Has he been back to London? Have you seen him?"
She did not care any longer about seeming flippant and independent. She was
happy with Rex and had almost thought that she was no longer in love with Bruce
Carlton—but the mere sight of Almsbury had brought it all churning up again.

"I've
heard that he's in Jamaica and sails from there to take Spanish ships. Lord,
sweetheart, don't tell me you're still—"

"Well,
what if I am!" cried Amber, tears in her voice, and she turned her head
quickly to look out the window.

Almsbury's
tone was soothing. He moved closer and put an arm about her.
"Here—darling. Good Lord, I'm sorry."

She
dropped her head onto his shoulder. "When do you think he'll come back?
He's been gone two years—"

"I
don't know. But I suppose one of these days when we least expect it he'll be
putting into port."

"He'll
stay here then, won't he? He won't go away again, will he?"

"I'm
afraid he will, sweetheart. I've known Carlton for twenty years, and most of
that time he's been just coming home or just going away. He doesn't stay long
in one place. It must be his Scottish blood, I think, that sends him off
adventuring."

"But
it'll be different—now that the King's back. When he has money he can live at
Court without having to crawl on his belly—that's what he said he didn't
like."

"It
was more than that. He doesn't like the Court."

"Doesn't
like it! Why, that's ridiculous! That's where everybody would live—if they
could!"

Almsbury
shrugged. "Nevertheless he doesn't like it. No one does—but few of 'em
have got the guts to leave."

Amber
shook her shoulders, pouting, and leaned forward to get out as the coach drew
up before her lodging-house. "That sounds like damned nonsense!" she
muttered crossly.

Her
maid, Gatty, was not in, for Amber had given her permission to see the pageant
and then pay a visit to her father. Prudence she had long since dismissed when
she had come home unexpectedly to find the girl parading about in her best and
newest gown. And there had been two others before Gatty, one sent away for
pilfering and the other for laziness. Amber sent Jeremiah to bring them some
food from the Bear, an excellent nearby ordinary which sold French food cooked
by Englishmen. Her meals were all sent in, from taverns or cook-shops.