Winsor, Kathleen (6 page)

"Who
else? Not an hour since I saw her come out of the dairy and a minute later Tom
Andrews followed her, looking like a whipped pup. She's got the boy half out of
his noddle— he's all but useless to me. And what was she doing, pray, down at
the inn with a pack of gentlemen?" His voice rose angrily.

Sarah
went to stand the broom just outside the door and then closed it, throwing the
bolt. "Hush, Matt! Some of the men are still in the parlour. I don't think
she was doing anything she shouldn't have. She was just passing by and saw them
—it's natural she should stop."

"And
come home alone in the dark? Did it take her an hour to hear that the King's to
return? I tell you, Sarah, she's got to get married! I won't have her
disgracing my family! D'ye hear me?"

"Yes,
Matt, I hear you." Sarah went to the cradle beside the fireplace where the
baby had begun to stir and whimper, took him out and put him to her breast,
then she went to sit down on the settle. She gave a weary little sigh.
"Only she don't want to get married."

"Oh!"
said Matt sarcastically. "So she don't want to get married! I suppose Jack
Clarke or Bob Starling's not good enough for 'er—two of the finest young
fellows in Essex."

Sarah
smiled gently, her voice soft and tired. "After all, Matt, she is a
lady."

"Lady!
She's a strumpet! For four years now she's caused me nothing but trouble, and
by the Lord Harry I'm fed up to the teeth! Her mother may have been a lady but
she's—"

"Matt!
Don't speak so of Judith's child. Oh, I know, Matt. It troubles me too. I try
to warn her—but I don't know what heed she pays me. Agnes told me tonight— Oh,
well, I don't think it means anything. She's pretty and the girls are jealous
and I suppose they make up tales."

"I'm
not so sure it's just tale-telling, Sarah. You've always got a mind to think
the best of folks—but they don't always deserve it. Bob Starling asked me for
her again today, and I tell you if she an't married soon not even Tom Andrews
'll have her, dowry or no!"

"But
suppose her father comes, and finds her married to a farmer. Oh, Matt,
sometimes I think we're not doing the right thing— not telling her who she
is—"

"What
else can we do, Sarah? Her mother's dead. Her father's dead, too, or we'd have
heard some word of him— and we've never found trace of the other St. Clares. I
tell you, Sarah, she's got no choice but to marry a farmer and for her to know
she's of the quality—" He made a gesture with his hands. "God forbid!
the fellow who gets her 's got my pity as 'tis. Why make it any the worse for
'im? Now, don't give me any more excuses, Sarah. It's Jack Clarke or Bob
Starling, one or t'other, and the sooner the better—"

In
their painted blue and red wagons, on foot and on horseback, every farmer and
cottager within a twenty-mile radius converged upon Heathstone. With him he
brought his wife and children, the corn and wheat and livestock he had to sell
and the linens or woollens woven by the women during the long winter evenings.
But he came to buy also. Shoes and pewter-plates and implements for the farm,
as well as many things he did not need but which it would please him
to have: toys
for the children, ribbons for his daughters' hair, pictures for the house, a
beaver hat for himself.

Booths
were set up on the green about the old Saxon cross, making lanes which swarmed
with people in their holiday dress —full breeches and neckruffs and
long-sleeved gowns—all many years out of the style but nevertheless kept
carefully in wardrobes from one great occasion to the next. Drums beat and
fiddles played. The owners of
the booths bawled out their wares in voices which
were already growing hoarse. Curious crowds stood and stared, each face
contorted with sympathy, to watch a sweating man have his rotten tooth pulled,
while the dentist loudly proclaimed that the extraction was absolutely
painless. There was a fire-eater and a stilt-walker, trained fleas and a
contortionist, jugglers and performing apes, and a Punch and Judy show. Over
one great tent flew a flag to announce that a play was in progress—but the
Puritan influence remained strong enough so that the audience inside was a thin
one.

Amber,
standing between Bob Starling and Jack Clarke, frowned and tapped her foot as
her eyes ran swiftly and impatiently over the crowd.

Where
is he!

She
had been there since seven o'clock, it was now after nine, and still she had
seen
no
sign of Lord Carlton or his friends. Her stomach churned with nervousness, her
hands were wet and her mouth dry. Oh, but sure, if he was coming at all he'd be
here by now. He's gone. He's forgot all about me and gone on—

Jack
Clarke, a tall blunt-faced young man, gave her a nudge. "Look, Amber. How
d'ye like this?"

"What?
Oh. Oh, yes, it's mighty fine."

She
turned her head and searched the gleefully yelling group about the jack-pudding
who stood on a stand, covered from head to foot with a mess of custard which
had been thrown at him, so many farthings a custard.

Oh,
why doesn't he come!

"Amber—how
d'ye like this ribbon—"

She
gave them each a quick smile in turn, trying to drag her mind away from him,
but she could not. He had been in
her thoughts and heart every waking
moment, and if she did not see him again today she knew she would never be able
to survive the disappointment. No greater crisis had ever confronted her, and
she thought she had met many.

She
had dressed with extraordinary care and was sure that she had never looked
prettier.

Her
skirt, which did not quite reach her ankles, was made of bright green
linsey-woolsey, caught up high in back to show a red-and-white-striped
petticoat. She had pulled the laces of her black stomacher as tight as possible
to display her little waist; and after leaving Sarah she had opened her white
blouse down to the valley of her breasts. Wreathing the crown of her head was a
garland of white daisies, their stems twisted together, and in one hand she
carried a broad-brimmed straw bon-grace.

Now,
must all that trouble go to waste on a pair of dolts who stood hovering over
her, jingling the coins in their pockets and glaring at each other?

"I
think I like this—" She spoke absently, indicating a red satin ribbon
which lay in the pile on the counter and then, frowning again, she turned her
head—and saw him.

"Oh!"

For
an instant she stood unmoving, and then suddenly she picked up her skirts and
rushed off, leaving them to stare after her, bewildered and astonished. Lord
Carlton, with Almsbury and one other young man, had just entered the fair
grounds and were standing while an old vegetable woman knelt to wipe their
boots according to the ancient custom. Amber got there out of breath but
smiling and made them a curtsy to which they all replied by removing their hats
and bowing gravely.

"Damn
me, sweetheart!" cried Almsbury enthusiastically. "But you're as
pretty a little baggage as I've seen in the devil's own time!"

"God-a-mercy,
m'lord," she said, thanking him. But her eyes went back instantly to Lord
Carlton whom she found watching her with a look that made her arms and back
begin to tingle. "I was afraid—I was afraid you were gone."

He
smiled. "The blacksmith had gone off to the Fair and we had to hammer out
the shoe ourselves." He glanced around. "Well—what do you think we
should see first?"

In
his eyes and the expression about his mouth was a kind of lazy amusement. It
embarrassed her, made her feel helpless and tongue-tied and awkward, and a
little angry too. For how was she to impress him if she could not think of
anything to say, if he saw her turning first white and then red, if she stood
and stared at him like a silly peagoose?

The
old woman had finished now and as each of the men gave her a coin to "pay
his footing" she went on her way. But she looked back over her shoulder at
Amber who was beginning to feel conspicuous, for everyone was watching the
Cavaliers and, no doubt, wondering what business a country-girl
might have with
them. She would have been delighted by the attention but that she was afraid
some of her relatives might see her—and she knew what that would mean. They
must get away somehow, to a safer quieter place.

"I
know what I want to see first," said Almsbury. "It's that booth down
here where they're selling sack. We'll meet you at the crossroads below the
town, Bruce, when the sun gets here—" He pointed high overhead and then,
with another bow, he and the other man left them.

She
hesitated a moment, waiting for him to suggest what she wanted to do, but when
he did not she turned and started toward the pillory and wooden stocks and the
tent where the play was going on. The crowds were still thick, but it was away
from the center of the fair grounds. He walked along beside her and for several
minutes they said nothing. Amber was glad that it was too noisy to talk without
shouting—and she hoped that he would think that was what kept her quiet.

She
had a miserable sense of inadequacy, a fear that whatever she said or did would
seem foolish to him. Last night, lying in bed, she had seen herself very gay
and easy, casting her spell over him as she had over Tom Andrews and Bob
Starling, and many, many others. But now she was once more aware of some great
distance between them and she could not find her way across it. Every sense and
emotion had heightened to an almost painful intensity and there was an
unnatural brilliance about everything she saw.

To
cover her embarrassed confusion Amber looked with the greatest interest at each
booth they passed. Finally, as they came to one where a young woman had a great
deal of sparkling jewellery for sale, Lord Carlton glanced down at her.

"Do
you see anything there you'd like to have?"

Amber
gave him a quick look of delighted surprise. All of it looked wonderful to her,
but of course it must be very expensive. She had never worn any such ornaments,
though her ears had been pierced because Sarah said that when she married she
was to have a pair of earrings which had belonged to her mother. Now, of
course, if she came home wearing something like that Uncle Matt would be
furious and Aunt Sarah would begin to talk to her again about getting
married—but the lure of the jewels and the prospect of a gift from his Lordship
was more than she could resist.

She
answered without hesitation. "I'd like to have some earrings,
m'lord."

Already
the young woman behind the counter, seeing them pause, had set up a noisy
babble and was picking up necklaces and combs and bracelets for her inspection.
Now, as Amber mentioned earrings she snatched up a pair from which dangled
pieces of crudely cut glass, both coloured and clear.

"Look
at these, sweetheart! Fine enough for the ears of a countess, I do vow! Lean
over, dear, and I'll try 'em on you. A little closer— There. Why! will you look
at that,
your Lordship! I vow and swear they make her quite another person, a lady of
quality, let me perish! Here, my dear, look at yourself in this glass— Oh, I
vow I've never seen such a change come over
anyone
as those jewels make
in you, madame—"

She
rattled on at a furious rate, holding up a mirror to let Amber see for herself
the phenomenal improvement. And Amber leaned forward, tossing her hair back
from her face so that her ears would show, her eyes shining with pleasure. They
made her feel very grand, and also a little wicked. She gave Lord Carlton a
sideways smile to see what he thought about it, longing to have them but afraid
of making him think something bad about her if she seemed too eager. He grinned
at her, then turned to the other woman.

"How
much?"

"Twenty
shillings, my lord."

He
took a couple of gold coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the counter.
"I'm sure they're worth every farthing of it."

He
and Amber started on, Amber delighted with her gift and positive that it was
all real gold, diamonds, and rubies. "I'll keep 'em always, your Lordship!
I vow I'll never wear another jewel!"

"I'm
glad they please you, my dear. And now what are we to do? Would you care to see
the play?"

With
a nod of his head he indicated the tent which they were approaching. Amber, who
had always wanted to see one—for they had been forbidden ever since she could
remember—cast a quick wistful glance toward it. But now she hesitated, partly
for fear of meeting someone inside whom she knew—perhaps even more because she
wanted to be alone with him, away from everyone else.

"Oh—well—to
tell you truly, sir. I don't think my Uncle Matt would want me to go—"

And
as she stood here beside him, wishing that he would make the decision for her,
she saw—not ten yards away— Agnes and Lisbeth Morton and Gartrude Shakerly. All
three of them were staring at her with their mouths wide open— amazed,
indignant, shocked, furious with jealousy. Amber's eyes met her cousin's for
one instant, she gave an involuntary gasp of horror, and then swiftly looked
the other way and tried to pretend she had not seen them. Nervously her fingers
began to pick at the brim of her bongrace.