Winsor, Kathleen (46 page)

She
was very confident, for though she had not spent more than an hour with him she
had come away feeling that of all the women he had known she had pleased him
best. It did not occur to her that perhaps the others had thought the same.

"Well,
madame!" It was Tom Killigrew's voice, sounding cold and sarcastic as he
made his way through the crowded room toward her. "So at last you've
come."

Amber
looked up in surprise, and then gave him a friendly smile. She was prepared to
be no different from usual, in spite of her changed status—at least until she
was more secure in her new place. "I'm a little late," she admitted,
ducking her head into her gown which Scroggs held for her.

"You
were not at rehearsal this morning, I believe."

"No."
She thrust her arms through the sleeves and as Scroggs pulled the dress down
her head appeared once more. "But that's no matter. I've played the part a
dozen times—I know it well enough without rehearsing." She took up a
mirror and half turned to face the light, examining the paint on her face and
wiping away a little smear of lip-rouge rubbed onto her chin as she had
struggled into the gown.

"With
your permission, Madame St. Clare, I shall decide who will rehearse and who
will not. I've given your part to Beck Marshall-—I don't doubt you'll be able
to play the strumpet well enough without rehearsal."

There
was a concerted giggle at that. Amber shot Beck a quick glare and caught a smug
look of mischief on her face. She was on the verge of bursting out that she
would play her own part or none at all, when caution warned her. "But I
know
my lines! I know every one of 'em if I never rehearsed again! And the other's
but a small part!"

"Perhaps
it is, madame, but those who are too much occupied elsewhere must learn to be
content with small parts— or with no part at all." He glanced around at
the sparkling, smiling faces, on which malicious pleasure was but ill
concealed. "And I advise all of you to keep that in mind—should another
head be turned by attention from high places. Good-day." He swung about
and left the room.

Amber
was furious that he should have dared to treat her like that, and consoled
herself with the promise that one day she would get even with him. I'll get his
patent and run him out of the theatre, that's what I'll do! But for the benefit
of the others she gave a shrug and a pout of her mouth.

"Pooh!
Much I care! Who wants to be a player anyway?"

As
the days began to pass, however, her disgrace was not alleviated by another
request from the King. She continued to play small roles—and to wait for
another invitation. No one let her forget that she had been sent for once and
had expected to go again; the other women, even some of the actors, and the
gallants who came back to the tiring-room, all knew about it and taunted her
slyly. They seemed to have grown more insolent than ever. And Amber, though she
tried to toss off the gibes with a laugh or counter them with some impertinence
of her own, was sick at heart, disappointed and miserably unhappy. She felt
that after all her bragging she would die of shame if he sent for her no more.

And
though she had thought in her first high-flown confidence that she did not care
whether or not she ever saw Rex again, she soon began to miss him. It was not
quite a week after their quarrel that Beck told her he had given a diamond ring
to Mrs. Norris of the rival playhouse and that she was saying he had offered to
take her into keeping.

"Well,
why tell me about it! It's nothing to me if he gives diamond rings to every
tawdry little whore in Whetstone Park!"

But
it was all bravado.

She
was learning that Rex Morgan was more important to
her happiness
than she had ever suspected he could be. Though she had not realized it before,
she knew now that he had protected her from much that would otherwise have been
unpleasant. The tiring-room fops, for example, would never have dared patronize
and bait her as they were doing. Without him she felt that she had been plunged
suddenly into a hard and bleak world which hated her and wished her nothing but
misfortune. There was no kindness or sympathy in any of them—they enjoyed her
failure, battened upon her humiliation, were amused by her not-well-concealed
anger and frustration.

She
began to wish again that she had never seen Lord Carlton and never come to
London.

Nan,
however, continued optimistic even when ten days had gone by. She could think
of more reasons why the King had
been too busy to see her than he could
possibly have found himself. "Don't be downcast, mam," she would say.
"Lord, it takes up one's time—being a king."

But
Amber refused to be comforted. Slumped in a chair before the fireplace, she
muttered petulantly: "Oh, nonsense, Nan! You know as well as I do if I'd
pleased 'im he'd have sent long ago!"

Nan
sat beside her on a stool, working on a piece of embroidered satin, pale green
with a whole English gardenful of flowers on it, which she intended as a
petticoat for Amber. Now she gave a little sigh and made no answer, for she was
finally beginning to grow discouraged herself. But when, just a few minutes
later, there was a knock at the door she leaped up and rushed across the room.

"There!"
she cried triumphantly. "That must be him now!"

Amber,
however, merely looked around over the back of her chair toward the door,
expecting to see one of the gallants or perhaps Hart or Kynaston come to visit
her. But as Nan threw open the door she saw that a young boy stood there,
dressed in some unfamiliar livery, and she heard him ask:

"Madame
St. Clare?"

"I'm
Madame St. Clare!" She jumped up and ran across the room. "What is
it?"

"I
come from Mr. Progers, madame. My master presents his service to you and asks
if you will wait upon him at his lodgings tonight at half-after eleven?"

It
was the royal summons!

"Yes!"
cried Amber. "Yes, of course I will!"

She
picked up a coin off the table and gave it to him, and when he was gone she
turned to throw her arms about Nan. "Oh, Nan! He did like me! He did
remember! Only think! Tonight I'm going to the Palace!"

Suddenly
she paused, made a stiff little bow and said: "Madame St. Clare? My master
presents his service to you and asks if you will wait upon him tonight at his
lodgings." And then she spun around and danced off across the room,
laughing joyously. But in the midst of a whirl she stopped, her face serious
again. "What shall I wear!" And chattering excitedly the two women
ran into the bedroom. The clock on the mantel pointed to nine.

This
time she was more sure than ever that he liked her.

Some
of her earlier awe and self-consciousness was gone and they laughed and talked
like old friends; she thought him the most fascinating man she had met since
Lord Carlton. When she left he said, as he had the time before,
"Good-night, my dear, and God bless you," gave her a playful slap on
the buttocks, and another bagful of coins.

Tempest
and Jeremiah were waiting for her at the Holbein Gate and they set off swiftly
for home, rattling and clanging through the night.

But
the coach had no sooner turned into the Strand than a
party of
horsemen rushed at them from out of the shadows. Before Amber knew what was
happening Tempest had been hauled down from his perch and Jeremiah knocked to
the ground. The horses began to rear and neigh with excitement. Amber was
looking around her, wondering what she should do, when the door was flung open.
A masked man leaned in, seized her by the wrist and began dragging her toward
him. Amber screamed and started to struggle, though she knew well enough what
little good that could do.

He
gave her a rough shake. "Stop that! I won't hurt you— just hand me that
bagful of coins his Majesty gave you! Quick!"

Amber
was kicking at him and trying to tear his fingers loose from her wrist. But now
as she leaned over to bite his hand he gave her a violent shove that knocked
her across the coach and half onto the floor and she could see the gleam of
moonlight on his levelled pistol. "Give me that bag, madame, or I'll shoot
you! I have no time for playful tricks!"

Amber
continued to hesitate, expecting to be rescued somehow, but as she heard the
sound of the pistol cocking she took the bag from her muff and tossed it at
him. He caught it, gave her a bow and backed away. But just before the door
shut she heard a woman's triumphant laugh and a voice cried: "Many thanks,
madame! Her Ladyship appreciates your charity! I promise you the money will be
laid out in good cause!" The door slammed and there was a sound of
prancing horses' hoofs as they wheeled about and then started off again at a
gallop— riding back down King Street toward the Palace.

Amber
lay for a moment without moving, dumfounded. That voice! she thought. I've
heard it somewhere before! And then suddenly she remembered: It was the same
laugh, the same aggressive, high-pitched feminine voice she had heard that
night outside the Royal Saracen—it was Barbara Palmer!

That
was the last of Amber's visits to Whitehall.

The
King, it was well known, liked to live in peace and quiet, and a jealous
woman's sharp venomous tongue could make that impossible. Fortunately for her
though, gossip spread that Charles had said he liked Madame St. Clare well
enough— but not to the point of sacrificing his ease for her. And that was all
that saved her. As it was they kept at her for several days, stinging and
biting like malicious insects, but at last they grew tired of baiting her and
found another victim.

By
the time a fortnight had passed her life had settled back to normal. Everyone
but Amber had forgotten that the King had ever sent for her.

But
she did not forget or intend to forget. She nursed her new grievance against
Barbara Palmer as carefully as she had the old. Someday, she promised herself,
I'll make her sorry she ever was born. I'll find a way to get even with her if
it's the last thing I do on earth! She spent much time and found much pleasure
in imagining her revenge, but those images, like everything else she could not
see or touch, slid gradually into
some back compartment of her mind to be
saved and brought out again when she had a use for them.

She
had been entertaining, one night, a dozen young men and women whom she had
invited to supper and they had just gone home, leaving the tables littered with
dishes, the floors covered with nut-shells and fruit-peelings and a torn deck
of cards. There were wine-bottles and glasses, with only a sticky sediment in
the bottoms, the air was thick with tobacco smoke, and the furniture had all
been pushed out of place.

While
Nan began to pile up dishes and pick up nut-shell Amber went to stand with her
back to the fireplace, raising her skirts to warm her buttocks. It was
mid-December and the ground was covered with snow, the first in three years,
and even the Thames was frozen over. For a while they talked idly about who had
said what, whether a certain lady was now having an affair with a certain
gentleman or with another, or with both, and discussed at some length the gowns
and coiffures and figures of the women who had been present, to the detriment
of each.

Amber
had taken off her gown and stood yawning and stretching in her puff-sleeved
smock and frilly petticoats, when a low knock sounded at the door. Both of them
started and then looked at each other, and Amber waited tensely as Nan crossed
the room and flung back the bolt. Can it be—can it—

It
was Captain Morgan who stood there, his long riding-cloak thrown across his
shoulder, his hat pulled low. He looked in and his eyes met hers, pleading, his
expression that of a small boy who has run away and now returns to his home.
Instantly forgetting that she hoped it might be the King's messenger, Amber ran
to him with her arms outstretched.

"Rex!"

"Amber!"
He swung her up off the floor, kissing her face again and again, and at last he
gave a kind of sobbing exultant laugh. "Oh, my God! I'm
glad
to see
you!" He put her onto her feet again but kept her in his arms, stroking
her head, running his hands eagerly over her back. "Jesus, darling! I
couldn't stay away any longer! I love you—oh, God, I love you so much!"

There
were tears in his eyes and from behind them came Nan's surreptitious sniffle as
she stood and watched them, smiling and crying at the same time. They both
turned to look at her and suddenly all three of them began to laugh.

"Come
in, Rex darling! Close the door. Oh, how sweet of you to come back! Why— Have
you been waiting outside for the others to leave?"

He
smiled, gave a nod.

"But
you knew them all! Why didn't you just come in! Lord, it's bitter-cold out
there!"

He
hesitated: "Well—I wasn't sure you'd—let me in."

"Oh,
Rex!"

Suddenly
and thoroughly ashamed of herself Amber stood
staring at him, fully aware for
the first time how kind and generous and good he had been to her, and great
tears rolled down her cheeks.