His voice went on in a low monotonous tone that did not sound like him and his face was twisted with rage and sickness and jealousy into something she could scarcely recognize. This was a man she had never known existed beneath the quiet gentle Rex Morgan she had taken so casually for granted; this was some malevolent, savage stranger.
Amber stared at him in terror. She took a step or two backward, intending to turn and run if he made the slightest move. Slowly he started toward her. And like a frightened animal she whirled, but he was quicker; before she knew what was happening he had grabbed her arm and jerked her back again. She screamed, but he clapped one hand over her mouth and gave her head a vicious shake.
"Shut up, you lousy little coward! I'm not going to hurt you!" He was straining every nerve and muscle, exhausted by jealousy and sleeplessness, to hold his fury in leash. Amber's eyes looked up at him, big and glittering with fear, but the grasp he had on her was so tight she could not have moved if she had tried. "I want you to live—I want you to live long enough to know how I've felt—I want you to live and wish you were dead because he is—" Suddenly he let her go.
Relieved, Amber shook herself a little. She had scarcely realized what he was saying but now, as he started out, she looked up suddenly. "Where are you going?" All at once she understood what he had meant. "Rex! You're not going to fight him!"
"I'm going to fight him, and kill him."
Confident that her own life was no longer in danger, Amber gave him a scowl of contemptuous disgust. "You're crazy, Rex Morgan, if you do! He's a better swordsman than you are—"
He slammed his hat onto his head, picked up his cloak and went swiftly out of the room. At the door he knocked into Nan and Tansy and Jeremiah just coming in with their arms full of boxes, but he brushed on by without a word of apology.
Nan caught her balance and her blue eyes widened as she turned to watch him running down the stairs. "Where's he going in such a rage, mam?" She looked back anxiously at Amber. "He's not going to fight Lord Carlton!"
"He's a fool if he does!" muttered Amber, and turned away.
But Nan whirled about, and started down the stairs after him, crying, "Captain Morgan! Captain Morgan! Come back here!"
Chapter Twenty-one
An hour later Bruce came to her rooms.
He walked in swiftly when Nan opened the door, and there was a dark scowl on his face that did not clear when Amber came running out of the bedroom in her dressing-gown. Her eager expectant smile disappeared as she saw his angry expression.
"Why, Bruce! What is it? What's happened?"
He crossed to her and gave her a folded sheet of paper on which the seal had been broken. "Look at this! It was just brought to me at Almsbury House!"
She took it and began to read:
"Sir: You have done me an injury which one gentleman may not accept from another. I will see you tomorrow morning at five in Marrowbone Fields, where Tyburn Brook meets the road. Have your sword in your hand. Or I shall be at your service at the earliest time you shall appoint.
"Your servant, sir,
"Captain Rex Morgan."
The handwriting was scratchy and the pen had splattered several times, streaking the page with black ink.
In his rage, Rex had ignored half the formal appointments for a duel, for it was customary to let the challenged name the time and the place and the weapon. Nor had he said anything of seconds, either one or two of which were usually selected by each man, according to the French style of fighting imported into England and already responsible for many unnecessary deaths.
Amber looked up at him, giving back the note, "Well?"
"Well! Is that all you have to say! for the love of God, Amber, what's the matter with you! You know that he'll lose his rank and have to go into exile— He might never come back again! If you don't care what happens to him you should at least have the sense to consider your own future. Get hold of him tonight and tell him there's no reason for this ridiculous meeting!"
Amber was astonished, and then offended, for he obviously did not consider her sufficient cause for a duel. Her pride hurt, she wanted to hurt him, and now a mocking smile curled the corners of her mouth.
"You surprise me, Lord Carlton," she said softly.
Bruce looked at her, his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"
She gave a little shrug. "I wouldn't expect to find you troubled about a meeting with swords. I should think a privateer could defend himself as well as any other man."
Nan gasped, one hand going to her mouth as though to stop the words her mistress had just spoken. But Bruce's face had a sort of angry contempt on it.
"I'm not afraid to meet him and you damned well know it! But I don't care to fight a man without a better reason than this!"
"If you mean me, Lord Carlton, Rex thinks I'm reason enough!"
"Tell him you've already had a son by me and see what he thinks about it then!"
"He knows it—and he still wants to fight you! Anyway, I don't know where he's gone! If you don't want to fight, you'll have to make your own excuses!"
She turned away from him, but as she did so she caught a glimpse of his face staring at her with an expression that was almost frightening, and without another word he wheeled and left the room, his long riding-cape swirling about him.
"Oh, mam!" cried Nan despairingly. "Now what 've you done!"
"I don't care! He needn't expect me to beg him off!"
"But it wasn't because he's afraid, mam! You know that!"
Irritably Amber gave a kick at a low stool and went back into the bedroom, slamming the door hard to ease her feelings. For a few minutes she paced back and forth, angry with Bruce and Rex and herself and all the world. A pox confound all men! she told herself furiously, and flung off her dressing-gown to get into bed, even though she knew she would not be able to sleep.
When Nan came in an hour or so later Amber was still awake and tossing restlessly, but the anger was beginning to wear off and worry was taking its place. The prospect of the duel did not trouble her, for in spite of the fact that duels were forbidden by law they took place every day and hot-tempered young men fought over the flimsiest pretexts: a quick thoughtless word, bad luck at the gaming-table, the giving or taking of the wall as they passed on the streets, a difference of opinion over religion or wine or a woman. Every gentleman learned to handle his sword almost as soon as he learned to walk, and he knew that the art was acquired to be used.
She was not afraid of having them fight. She was, in fact, flattered and almost pleased—or would have been had Bruce been less frankly insulting—for a duel was not often fatal and was usually stopped at the first drawing of blood. But she was afraid now of what would happen to her when it was over.
Suppose Rex would not forgive her this time? Suppose he did have to leave the country and never came back again? Then what would become of her? She had no illusions left about a woman's place in Restoration London—she knew that she had been lucky to find a man like Rex Morgan who had loved her. For love was not in fashion any more, and without it a man had no obligations, a woman no rights. She realized all at once that she had been a fool to take such a chance— Of course he was sure to know— Her lame story about Aunt Sarah falling sick! And yet, how else could she have done it? She was forced now to admit to herself that there was only one way she could have avoided this—she should never have left London with Bruce. She had wanted too much, she had been too greedy— and this was what she got for it.
What was the matter with me? she asked herself furiously. I had Rex—and I had Bruce, too—now what have I got! But swiftly her anger reverted to Bruce. Damn him! He's never been anything but trouble to me!
As she heard Nan tiptoeing about in the dark, she spoke to her.
"Light a candle if you want, Nan. I can't sleep."
Nan went back to the other room, returned with a wax candle, and lighted three or four others in wall-sconces while Amber sat with one arm across her knees and her
hand clenched in her hair.
"Lord, Nan! What'll I do?"
Nan. who was beginning to undress, heaved a sigh. "To tell you truly, mam, I don't know. It's the devil's own mess we're in."
Both of them look worried and disconsolate. At last Nan blew out the candles and got into bed and they lay side by side, talking; neither one of them was able to sleep for a long while. Finally Nan fell asleep but Amber continued to toss and turn from one side to the other and she heard the bell-man go by, calling out each hour as it passed: one, two, three.
I'm not going to just lie here, she thought, and let my life be ruined! And when she heard, "God give you good morrow, my masters! Past three o'clock and a fair morning!" she flung back the covers and got out of bed, turning to shake Nan.
"Nan! Wake up! Get up! I'm going to Marrowbone Fields!"
"Good Lord, mam! I thought the house was afire—"
Amber dressed quickly but carefully, as though she was aware that this would be a dramatic moment in her life and wanted to look ready for it. She painted her face and stuck on a couple of patches, combed out her hair and let it fall in deep loose waves down over her shoulders. She wore a scarlet velvet suit, the coat of which was cut exactly like a man's. It fitted her snugly and the neck-line opened in a low V, and there were elaborate scrolls of gold braid decorating the deep cuffs and borders of the coat and skirt. The brim of her low-crowned Cavalier's riding-hat billowed with scarlet ostrich plumes and she had a pair of red-velvet boots lined with miniver. She had had a tailor make this suit and expected to set a new fashion, but she had not worn it before.
While Jeremiah went to hire four riding-horses Amber drank some hot coffee which Tansy had just made and, well laced with brandy, it tasted good to her for once. It was after four when Jeremiah returned and they set out for Marrowbone Fields, Amber and Nan, with Tempest and Jeremiah. It was just beginning to grow light but a heavy mist was falling which blurred the outlines of houses and trees and made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead; Amber was annoyed, for the dampness would probably spoil her gown.
She soon forgot her appearance, however, and the closer they came the more her anxiety mounted.
It took them no longer than twenty minutes to reach the place in the road where Tyburn Brook ran under a little stone bridge—and looking off toward the east they could dimly see a party of men and several horses, half obscured by a spacious group of Lombardy poplars. Amber immediately turned her horse and started toward them. Presently she could distinguish Bruce and Rex, Almsbury, Colonel Dillon whom she knew slightly, and two others who were apparently the surgeons. But only Bruce and Rex had removed their outer coats to show that no armour had been worn.
At the sound of horses' hoofs pounding across the field they all turned; it was not uncommon for a party to be sent to stop such meetings. But as Amber pulled on her reins and they saw who it was Bruce looked quickly away—though not before she had seen the angry annoyance on his face. Rex, however, stood and stared at her.
"Oh, Rex, darling!" she cried, stopping only a few feet from him and holding out her hand. "Thank God I got here in time! You mustn't fight this duel—you mustn't Rex! Please, darling, for my sake!" Her eyes turned swiftly to the corners and she saw Bruce look across at her; his expression was sombre and a cynical half-smile touched one side of his mouth. Sick with fury she wanted to hurt him, any way she could. "There's no reason for you to fight, Rex! Why, I don't care any more for him than the man in the moon!" There! she thought savagely, and flung him a vindictive glance; he met it with cold contempt, impervious as stone.
But as her eyes shifted across to Bruce and back again she missed altogether the look on Rex's face, and when she looked down at him it had gone. The wild unreasoning rage of despair had disappeared. Now he was quiet, self-possessed, and seemed cool. In her preoccupation with her own worries Amber did not realize that his seeming calm was a deadly determination and that his own tension quivered like the thin blade in his hand. Misunderstanding, she still thought that she could make him do what she wanted.
"You shouldn't have come out here, Amber," he said. "A duelling-ground is no place for a woman. Go on back." He turned away and walked toward the rest of the group.
"Rex!" she cried, really alarmed now, and as Jeremiah came to help her dismount she got down as quickly as she could and ran after him, grabbing him by the arm. "Rex! I don't want you to fight! I don't want you to, d'you hear me?"
He neither looked at her nor answered, but jerked his arm free and went on. Amber would not have stopped even then, but suddenly Almsbury caught hold of her. "Come back here. You'll be in the way up there."
"But I can't let them fight! I won't—"
"Amber, for the love of Christ!" he growled at her. "Now stay here! Don't move!"
Helplessly she stood where he had left her. Bruce and Rex both had unsheathed their swords, and with Almsbury and the officer they were talking in low tones. At last, giving a shrug of his shoulders, Almsbury moved back; Dillon took out a white handkerchief and indicated where each man was to stand. The Earl looked at her with a scowl.
"What is it?" she asked him anxiously. "What's the matter?"
"Carlton wants to consider it settled when blood has been drawn, but your noble champion won't be satisfied until one of them is dead."
"Dead! Why, he's out of his mind! He can't! I won't let him!" She broke away from Almsbury and started forward at a run. "Rex!"
Almsbury caught her arm before she had gone three steps and brought her up with a jerk. "Stop it, you little fool! A duel's no game between children! Keep your mouth shut or go back home! You've got no business here in the first place!"
Surprised, she obeyed him, and stopped perfectly still. The two men now stood facing each other, poised, sword-tips touching, and Colonel Dillon held the handkerchief over his head.
"All's ready!" called Bruce and Rex in the same voice.
"All's ready!" Dillon brought the handkerchief down with a sweep.
Both of them were quick, fierce, and graceful, expert swordsmen. But the English style of fencing was to cut rather than to thrust, as the French did, and as they were almost of a height neither had the advantage in that respect. Rex, however, was not fencing but fighting with reckless fury, and obviously intended to kill or be killed, while Bruce was on the defensive— protecting himself but making no effort to wound his antagonist.
Amber stood watching them, her eyes darting from one to the other; her throat was dry and she twisted her skirt in her fingers. But her fears were all for Bruce—she might not have even known the man he was fighting. And when Rex's sword pierced his right upper-arm, just below the shoulder, and drew a quick streak of blood she gave a scream and staffed forward. Almsbury threw one arm about her waist and dragged her back.
Bruce had lowered his sword and Rex, refusing to seize an unfair advantage, dropped his own to his side. The blood from the small gash was streaming down Bruce's right arm, staining his shirt and making red rivers along the exposed brown skin, and the sight of it filled Amber with terror and remorse.
"Oh, Bruce!" she wailed. "You're hurt!"
Rex's jaw set tensely, but Bruce ignored her.
"There," he said to Rex. "That should satisfy you."
More furious than ever since Amber's impulsive cry, Rex answered him through clenched teeth. "Nothing could satisfy me but to see you dead."
Amber gave a terrified scream that momentarily drew all eyes to her but Almsbury clapped his hand to her mouth and gave her a rough shake.
"If you don't shutup you'll distract him and he will get killed!"
Already the swords had begun to ring out and clash again; now there was no doubt that Bruce was fighting in earnest, no longer merely defending himself. For several minutes, the men moved rapidly back and forth, slashing and hacking, without either one being able to touch the other.
And then all at once the swords met, engaged, and locked. For a long tense moment they strained to get free, both m
en pouring sweat, their faces contorted with the intensity of effort. Then, so swiftly that it was not possible to see it happen, Bruce forced his sword free and thrust it into Rex's chest until the tip showed through his shirt in back; and then he withdrew it, red with blood.
For an instant Rex stood as though stunned, and then he fell slowly, crumpling. The surgeons ran toward him and Amber rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him where he lay on the grass. Her throat muscles were so stiff with horror that for a moment she could not even say his name, but she took his head into her arms, cradling it against her breast, and then suddenly a mournful frightened sob broke from her and her tears splashed onto his face.
"Oh, Rex! Rex!" she moaned. "Speak to me, darling! Speak to me—please!" Her mouth touched his forehead, his temples and eyelids, with frantic passionate kisses.
Behind her, Bruce took Almsbury's handkerchief and wiped the blood from his sword, jammed it back into its case and buckled the belt around his hips once more. By tradition the sword of the defeated man was forfeit, but he made no move to take it and Rex's fingers were still loosely clasped on the hilt. Bruce's surgeon was tearing open his shirt and binding the wound with a strip of white cloth while Bruce stood, hands on his hips and feet spread, looking down at Rex. His face was dark and grim, bitter but not triumphant.
Rex was moving restlessly, as if to escape the pain, and though he coughed and turned his head to spit out blood there was very little blood coming from the wound in his chest. Amber was sobbing hysterically, covering his face with kisses and stroking his head with her hands.