Winsor, Kathleen (5 page)

"Tomorrow's
the Heathstone May Fair."

"It
is?"

His
eyes went down to her breasts which were full and pointed, upward tilting; she
was one of those women who reach complete physical maturity at an early age,
and there had long since ceased to be anything of adolescence about her.

Amber
felt the blood begin to rise in her neck and face. "It's the finest fair
in all Essex," she assured him quickly. "The farmers go ten and
twenty miles to it."

His
eyes came back to meet hers and he smiled, lifting one eyebrow in apparent
wonder at this gigantic local festival, then drank down the rest of his wine.
She could smell the faint pungent odour of it as he breathed and she could
smell too the heavy masculine sweat on his clothes and the scent of leather
from his boots. The combination gave her a sense of dizziness, almost of
intoxication, and a powerful longing swept through her. Almsbury's impertinent
remark had been no very great exaggeration.

Now
he glanced out the window. "It's growing dark. You should be getting
home," and he walked to the door, opening it for her.

The
evening had settled swiftly and many stars had come out; the highpitched moon
was thin and transparent. A cool little breeze had sprung up. Out there they
stood alone,
surrounded by the talking and laughter from the inn, the quiet country sounds
of crickets and a distant frog, the whir of tiny gnats. She turned and looked
up at him, her face white and glistening as a moonflower.

"Can't
you come to the Fair, my lord?" She was afraid that she would never see
him again, and the idea was intolerable to her.

"Perhaps,"
he said. "If there's time."

"Oh,
please! It's on the main road—you'll pass that way! You
will
stop, won't
you?" Her voice and eyes pleaded with him, wistful, compelling.

"How
fair you are," he said softly, and now for the first time his expression
was wholly serious.

For
a moment they stood looking at each other, and then Amber swayed involuntarily
toward him, her eyes shut. His hands closed about her waist, drawing her to
him, and she felt the powerful muscles in his legs. Her head fell back. Her
mouth parted to receive his kiss. It was several moments before he released her,
but when he did it seemed too soon—she felt almost cheated. Opening her eyes
again she saw him looking at her with faint surprise, though whether at himself
or her she did not know. The world seemed to have exploded. She was as stunned
as though she had been given a heavy blow, and all the strength had gone out of
her.

"You
must go now, my dear," he said finally. "Your family will be troubled
to have you out so late."

Quick
impulsive words sprang to her lips. I don't care if they are! I don't care if I
never go home again! I don't care about anything but you— Oh, let me stay here
and go away with you tomorrow—

But
something kept her from saying them. Perhaps the image —somewhere not too far
back in her mind—of Aunt Sarah's troubled, cautioning frown, Uncle Mart's
stern, lean, reproving face. It would never do to be so bold, for he would only
hate her then. Aunt Sarah had often said men did not like a pert woman.

"I
don't live far," she said. "Just down this road and over the fields a
quarter-mile or so." She was hoping that he would offer to walk the
distance with her but he did not, and though she waited a few seconds, at last
she dropped him a curtsy. "I'll look for you tomorrow, m'lord."

"I
may come. Good-night."

He
made her a bow, sweeping off his hat again, and then with a smile and a glance
that took her in from head to foot he turned and went inside. Amber stood there
a moment like a bewildered child; then suddenly she whirled about and started
off at a run and though she stopped once to look back he was gone.

She
ran on then—up the narrow road and past the church, quickening her pace as she
went by the graveyard where her mother lay buried, and soon she turned right
down a tree-lined
lane leading over the fields toward the Goodegroome farm. Ordinarily she would
have been a little scared to be out alone when it was almost dark, but ghosts
and witches and goblins held no terror for her now. Her mind was too full of
other things.

She
had never seen anyone like him before and had not realized that such a man could
exist. He was every handsome, gallant gentleman the cobbler had ever described,
and he was what her dreams had embroidered upon those descriptions. Bob
Starling and Jack Clarke! A pair of dolts!

She
wondered if he was thinking of her now, and felt sure that he must be. No man
could kiss a woman like
that
and forget her the next moment! The kiss,
if nothing else, she thought, would bring him to the Fair tomorrow—draw him
there perhaps in spite of himself. She complimented herself that she understood
men and their natures very well.

The
night air was cool, as though it had blown over ice, and the meadows were thick
with purple clover and white evening campion. Amber approached the farmhouse
from the back. She crossed the creek on a bridge which was nothing but a couple
of boards with a hand-rail, passed the plot where the cabbages and other
vegetables grew, and made her way between the numerous outbuildings—barns and
stables and cowsheds—all of them whitewashed, their roofs covered with moss and
yellow stone-crop. Then, skirting the edge of the duck-pond, she entered the
courtyard.

The
house was two-storied, the oak frame ornately carved, and the soft red brick
walls were spread with vines. Each chimney was muffled in ivy, and an arched
lattice overgrown with honeysuckle framed the kitchen-door, above which had
been nailed a horseshoe for protection against witches. In the brick-paved
courtyard, over against the walls, grew Sarah's flowers, low clusters of white
and purple violets, hollyhocks reaching up to the eaves, a thick clump of
fragrant lavender to put between the sheets. Several fruit trees were in bloom,
scenting the air with a light sweetness. A low wooden bench had two
thatch-roofed beehives on it; attached to the wall beside the door was a tiny bird-house,
lost in the pink roses; and a saucy green-eyed kitten sat on the door-sill
cleaning its paws.

The
house had beauty and peace and the suggestion of an active useful life. It was
more than a hundred years old and five generations had lived in it, leaving
behind them a comfortable aura of prosperity—not of wealth but of solid ease
and plenty, of good food and warmth and comfort. It was a house to love.

As
Amber went in she stooped and took the kitten up into her arms, caressing its
smooth soft fur with her fingers, hearing it purr with a low, contented little
rumble. Supper was over and only Sarah and fifteen-year-old Agnes remained in
the kitchen—Sarah just drawing hot loaves of bread from the oven
sank into the
wall beside the fireplace, Agnes mending a rushlight.

Agnes
was talking, her voice petulant and resentful: "—and it's no wonder they
talk about her! I vow and swear, Mother, I'm ashamed she's my cousin—"

Amber
heard her but did not care just then. Agnes had said the same thing often
enough before. She came into the room with a joyful little cry and ran to fling
one arm about her aunt. "Aunt Sarah!" Sarah's head turned and she
smiled, but there was a look of searching worry in her eyes. "The inn's
full of noblemen! His Majesty's coming home!"

The
troubled expression was gone. "Are you sure, child!"

"Aye,"
said Amber proudly. "They told me so!" She was full of the importance
of her news and the wonderful thing that had just happened to her. She thought
anyone must be able to tell by looking at her how greatly she had changed since
leaving home two hours before.

Agnes
looked frankly suspicious—and contemptuous—but Sarah turned and rushed out of
the house toward the barns, where most of the men had gone to finish their
evening tasks. Amber ran after her. And the moment the news was told, by both
women at once, a general shout of rejoicing went up. Men came running out of
the barns and cow-sheds, women rushed from their little cottages (there were
several on the farm), and even the dogs barked with a loud gay sound as if
they, too, would join in the hilarity.

Long
live his Majesty, King Charles II!

At
market the week before Matthew had heard rumours of a Restoration. They had
been floating through the country since early March, carried by travellers, by
itinerant pedlars, by all those who had commerce with the great world to the
south. Tumbledown Dick, the Protector's son, had been thrown out of his office.
General Monk had marched from Scotland, occupied London, and summoned a free
Parliament. Civil war seemed on the verge of breaking out again between
civilians and the great mobilized armies. These events had left in their wake a
trail of weariness and hope—weariness with the interminable troubles of the
past twenty years, hope that a restored monarchy might bring them peace again,
and security. They yearned for the old familiar ways. And now, if the Cavaliers
were returning, it
must
mean that King Charles was coming home—a Golden
Age of prosperity, happiness, and peace was about to begin.

When
at last the excitement had begun to die down and everyone went back to his
work, Amber started for the house. They would get up early tomorrow morning to
leave for the Fair and she wanted to sleep long enough to look and feel her
best. But as she was going by the dairy on her way into the kitchen she heard
her name spoken softly, insistently, and she stopped. There was Tom Andrews
standing in the shadows, reaching out a hand to catch her wrist as she went by.
Tom
was a young man of twenty-two who worked for her Uncle, and he was very much in
love with Amber who liked him for that reason—though she knew that he was by no
means a match for her. For she was aware that her mother had left her a dowry
which would enable her to marry the richest farmer in the countryside. But she
found a certain luxury in Tom's adoration and had encouraged him in it.

Now,
with a quick glance around to make certain that neither Aunt Sarah nor Uncle
Matt would see her, she went inside. The little room was cool, sweet and fresh,
and perfectly dark. Tom caught hold of her roughly, one arm about her waist his
hand immediately sliding down into her blouse as he sought for her lips.
Obviously this was not new to either of them, and for a moment Amber submitted,
letting him kiss and fondle her, and then all at once she broke away, pushing
violently at him.

"Marry
come up, Tom Andrews! Who gives you leave to be so bold with me!"

She
was thinking that it was incredible the kiss of an ordinary man should be so
different from that of a lord, but Tom was hurt and bewildered and his hands
reached out for her again.

"What's
the matter, Amber? What've I done? What's got into you?"

Angrily
she wrenched her hand free and ran out. For she now felt herself above such
trifling with men of Tom Andrews' station and was only eager to get upstairs
and into bed where she could lie and think of Lord Carlton and dream of
tomorrow.

The
kitchen was deserted except for Sarah, sweeping the flag-stoned floor one last
time before going to bed. There were three or four rushlights burning, a circle
of tiny moths darting about each tenuous reaching flame, and only the bell-like
song of the crickets invaded the evening stillness. Matt came in, scowling, and
without a word went to the barrel of ale which stood in a far cool corner of
the room, poured himself a pewter mugful and drank it off. He was a
middle-sized serious man who worked hard and made a good living and loved his
family. And he was conscientious and God-fearing, with strong beliefs as to
what was right and what was wrong, what was good and what was bad.

Sarah
gave him a glance. "What is it, Matt? Is the foal worse?"

"No,
she'll live, I think. It's that girl."

His
face was sour and now he went to stand before the great fireplace which was
surrounded on all sides with blackened pots and pans, gleaming copper, pewter
polished till it looked like silver. Bacon and hams, in great nets, hung from
the overhead beams, and there were several thick tied-up bunches of dry herbs.

"Who?"
asked Sarah. "Amber?"