Winsor, Kathleen (71 page)

It
was not easy to convince Samuel that Jemima's wedding must be postponed. But
she did, at last, succeed in making him agree to put it off for a few more
weeks to let the poor child recover from her grief at Lord Carlton's departure.
Amber, nervous and worried and lonely for Bruce, was made even more morose and
irritable by pregnancy. But she had to conceal her ill-humour from everyone but
Nan, who listened patiently and with sympathetic concern to her mistress's
perpetual grumbling and sighing.

"I'm
so damned sick and tired of being virtuous," she said wearily one day as
she came in from having paid several afternoon calls.

She
spent a great deal of time visiting the wives and daughters of Samuel's
friends, sitting about and discussing babies and servants and sickness with
them until she wanted to yell. She worked hard at being a respectable woman.
Now all at once she arranged her mouth into a smug smile and began to mimic the
elderly aunt upon whom she had just called. No one—not even the immediate
family—had yet been told that she was pregnant, though Samuel knew it and was
almost absurdly delighted.

"My
dear, I do hope you'll soon prove with child. Believe me, no woman can know
what it is to be truly happy until she holds her first little one in her arms
and feels its tiny mouth at her breast." Amber screwed up her face and
gave a noisy rattle with her tongue: "I'll be damned if I can see where
the pleasure is to throw-up every morning and look like a stuffed pig and blow
and puff like an old nag going up Snow Hill!" She slammed her fan onto the
floor. "Crimini! I'm sick of this business!"

To
make matters worse, when Bruce had been gone four weeks Samuel firmly announced
that the wedding-date was definitely set for October 15th. Nothing at all, he
assured her, would induce him to change his mind again. The Cuttles were
growing impatient, people were beginning to wonder at the delay, and it was
high time Jemima stop her foolishness and behaved like a grown woman. Amber was
frantic with worry and though she mulled over her problem most of the day and
half the night she could discover no solution. Jemima warned her again that if
she did not do something to stop it she would tell her father, even though he
threw both of them into the streets.

"Oh,
Lord, Nan! After everything I've been through to get that money I'm going to
lose it! I'll never get a shilling! Oh, I always knew
something
would
happen! I knew I'd never
really
be that rich!"

"Something
'll save you, mam," insisted Nan cheerfully. "I know it will. Your
stars are lucky."

"Something?"
demanded Amber, her voice sliding up an octave. "But what? And when?"

By
the tenth Amber was half-wild with worry and remorse. She wished that she had never
seen Bruce Carlton. She wished that she was back home in Marygreen and married
to Jack Clarke or Bob Starling. She paced the floor and beat her hands together
and bit her knuckles.

Oh,
my God, my God, my God, what am I to do!

Thus
she was one morning, still in her dressing-gown and walking distractedly about
the bedroom, when Nan came rushing in. Her cheeks were pink and her blue eyes
sparkled triumphantly. "Mam! What d'ye think? I just saw one of Mrs.
Jemima's women and she told me Mrs. Jemima's been in a green-sickness all this
past fortnight—but no one's supposed to know it!"

Amber
stared at her. "Why, Nan!" she said softly.

And
then all at once she ran out of the bedroom, down the long hallway toward the
opposite wing of the house, and into Jemima's chamber. She found it crowded
with dressmakers, maids, several mercers and other tradesmen. Amber had told
her that if she would go ahead and pretend she was going to be married, she
would somehow find another excuse at the last moment—if she had to throw
herself out the window. And Jemima, not because she wished to oblige her
step-mother, but because she really was confused and helpless, had done so.

There
were gowns heaped on every chair and stool, lengths of brocade and satin and
sheer tiffany ran like rivers over the floor, fur-skins lay in soft shining
piles. Jemima stood in the midst of the crowded, noisy room, her back turned to
the door, having her wedding-gown fitted; it was made of the gold cloth Lord
Carlton had given her.

Amber
came in breezily. "Oh, Jemima!" she cried. "Such a marvellous
gown! How I envy you—getting married in that!"

Jemima
gave her a sullen, warning glance from over her shoulder. But Amber saw to her
satisfaction that the girl was pale and seemed tired.

"Are
you almost done now?"

Jemima
spoke wearily to two of the dressmakers who were kneeling about her on the
floor, pins in their mouths, arranging each smallest fold and crease with the
most meticulous care.

"In
a moment, madame. Can't you bear it just a little longer?"

Jemima
sighed. "Very well. But hurry—please."

Amber
went to stand before Jemima, her head cocked to one side as she examined the
dress, and her eyes ran tauntingly up and down the girl's figure. She saw
Jemima begin to fidget nervously, a faint shine of sweat came to her forehead;
and then all at once her arms dropped and she sank to the floor, her head
falling back, her eyes rolling. The dressmakers and maids gave excited squeaks
and the men stepped aside in alarm.

Amber
took charge. "Pick her up and lay her on the bed. Carter, bring some cold
water. You—run for some brandy."

With
the help of two of the maids she got Jemima out of her gown, took the pillow
from under her head and began to unlace her busk. When Carter brought the cold
water she sent them all out of the room—though Carter was obviously reluctant
to leave Jemima in the care of her step-mother—and wrung out a cloth to lay on
Jemima's forehead.

It
was not more than a minute before Jemima regained consciousness and looked up
at Amber, who leaned above her. "What did I do?" she asked softly,
her eyes going uncertainly about the empty room.

"You
fainted. Take a sip of this brandy and you'll feel better." Amber put her
hand behind Jemima's head and tipped it forward. Both of them were silent for a
moment, and Jemima made a face as she tasted the brandy.

"The
dizzy feeling's gone," she said at last. "You can call the others
back in now." She started to sit up.

"Oh,
no, Jemima. Not yet. I want to talk to you first."

Jemima
glanced at her swiftly, her eyes guarded. "What about?"

"You
know what about. There's no use trying to pretend. You're pregnant—aren't
you?"

"No!
Of course I'm not! I can't be! It's just that— Well, I've had the vapours,
that's all."

"If
you thought it was only the vapours why didn't you tell anyone? Don't try to
fool me, Jemima. Tell me the truth and maybe I can help you."

"Help
me? How could
you
help me?"

"How
long has it been since your last flux?"

"Why—almost
two months. But that doesn't mean anything! Oh, I know I'm not pregnant! I
can't be! I'd die if that happened!"

"Don't
be a fool, Jemima! What the devil did you think when you laid with him? That
you had a charm of some kind— it couldn't happen to you? Well, it has, and the
sooner you admit it the better for you."

Suddenly
Jemima began to cry, scared and distracted now that she was finally forced to
confront the fact from which she had been fleeing for weeks. "I don't
believe you! I'll be well again in a few days, I know I will! You're just
trying to scare me, that's all! Oh—go away and leave me alone!"

Amber
gave her an angry shake. "Jemima, stop it! Most likely some of the
servants are listening! D'you want everyone to know what's happened? If you'll
keep your mouth shut and be sensible you can save yourself and your family too.
Don't forget what a disgrace this will be for them if it's ever found
out—"

"Oh,
that's what I'm afraid of! They'll hate me! They'll— Oh—I wish I were
dead!"

"Stop
talking like an idiot! If you marry Joseph Cuttle on the 15th—"

Jemima
snapped out of her hysteria as if she had been dashed with cold water.
"Marry Joseph Cuttle! Why, I won't marry Joseph Cuttle and you know it! I
wouldn't marry him for—"

"You've
got to marry him! There's nothing else you can do now! It's the only way you
can keep the Dangerfields from being disgraced."

"I
don't care! I don't care about them! I won't marry him! I'm going to run away
from home and take lodgings somewhere and wait till Lord Carlton comes back.
He'll marry me then, when he knows what happened."

Amber
gave a short brutal laugh. "Oh, Jemima, you silly green foolish girl. Lord
Carlton marry you! Are you cracked in the head? He wouldn't marry you if you
had triplets. If he'd married every woman he's ever laid with I don't doubt
he'd have as many wives as King Solomon. Besides, if you ran away from home you
wouldn't even have a dowry to offer him! Marry Joseph Cuttle while you've still
got time—it's the only thing you can do now."

For
a long moment Jemima lay perfectly still and stared up at her.

"So
at last you're going to get your way," she said softly. Her eyes
glittered, but her next words merely formed on her mouth:

"Oh,
how I
despise
you—"

Jemima's
wedding was a social event of considerable importance.

Between
them the Dangerfields and the Cuttles had friends
or relatives in almost every one
of the great City families. Gifts for the bride and groom had been pouring into
the house for weeks past, and had almost filled one large room set aside to
receive them. The bride walked on a golden tapestry to the improvised altar
which had been set up in the south drawing-room, while her aunts and female
cousins sniffled and the mighty music of three great organs made the walls
tremble. She wore her dark coppery hair flowing over her shoulders— symbol of
virginity—and a garland of myrtle and olive and rosemary leaves; she was
sober-faced and dry-eyed, which was unfortunate, for it was believed to be
bad-luck if the bride did not weep. But she seemed preoccupied and almost
unaware of what she was doing or saying, and when the ceremony was over she
accepted the kisses of her eager happy groom and her friends and relatives with
an air of absent-minded indifference.

The
newly married couple opened the ball, and when the first dance was over they
retired, as was customary, to the decorated bridal-chamber above. She began to
cry when the women were undressing her, and everyone was pleased at this happy
omen. When the two young people sat side by side in the great bed, Jemima's
eyes now wide and troubled like those of a frightened animal which has been
trapped, the spouted posset-pot was handed ceremoniously from one to another,
all around the room.

There
was no unseemly laughter, no bawdy jests or boisterous singing as was common at
many weddings, but an atmosphere of quiet good-natured but serious
responsibility. They went out then, leaving Jemima and her groom alone— and
Amber heaved a grateful sigh of relief. There! she thought. It's done at last!
And I'm safe.

But
once she knew that she was secure, boredom began to settle on her like the
gloomy fogs that hung over the river. She had bought too many gowns and too
much jewellery to be satisfied by that any longer, particularly since she felt
contemptuous of the opinion of those who saw them. Consequently she moped over
her pregnancy, worried about the colour of her skin and the circles beneath her
eyes, wept when her belly began to enlarge, and was sure that she was hideous
and would always be so. For amusement she spent a great deal of time wishing
for out-of-the-season foods—it was now winter—and since everyone knew that when
a pregnant woman "longed" she must be satisfied or the child might be
lost, it kept Samuel and all the household in a pother to supply her with the
things she wanted. Usually by the time she got them the longing was gone, or
another had taken its place.

She
slept ten or eleven hours every night, no longer getting up at six with Samuel,
but often drowsing till ten; and then she lay in bed another half-hour thinking
discontentedly of the day before her. By the time she had dressed it was noon
and dinnertime. If he stayed home after that she did too; otherwise she went to
visit some of the dozens of Dangerfield relatives
or the hundreds of Dangerfield
friends, and sat talking talking talking of babies and servants, servants and
babies.

"When
do you reckon, Mrs. Dangerfield?" they asked her everywhere she went, and
time after time. And then came the discussion of Cousin Janet and the frightful
labour she had had—fifty-four hours of it—or of Aunt Ruth who had been brought
to bed of triplets twice in succession. And all the while they sat and munched
on rich cakes, thick pastries, cream and curds, plump good-natured happy
satisfied women whom Amber thought the most absurd creatures in the world.

Weeks
went by very quickly this way.

Ye
gods! thought Amber dismally. I'll be twenty-one in March! I'll most likely be
too old to enjoy it when I finally get that damned money.