"You mustn't talk that way, Philip," she said softly. "You mustn't even think about such things—or sometime it might happen. I doubt not it's his lawful right to use me however he will—"
"Oh, Lord! I never thought I'd see my life in such a mess— I don't know how it ever happened!"
It was only a few days later that Amber came into the house alone from her morning ride—Philip had returned by another route so that they would not be seen together—and found Radclyffe at the writing-table in their bedroom. "Madame," he said, speaking to her from over his shoulder, "I find it necessary to pay a brief visit to London. I'm leaving this afternoon immediately following dinner."
A quick smile sprang to Amber's face, and though she did not really believe that it was his intention to take her with him, she hoped to bluff her way into going. "Oh, wonderful, your Lordship! I'll set Nan a-packing right now!"
She started out of the room but his next words brought her up short. "Don't trouble yourself. I'm going alone."
"Alone? But why should you? If you're going I can go too!"
"I shall be gone but a few days. It's a matter of important business and I don't care to be troubled with your company."
She drew a quick breath of indignation and then suddenly rushed back to face him across the table. "You're the most unreasonable damned man on earth! I won't stay here alone, d'ye hear me? I won't!" She banged the handle of her riding-whip on the table-top, marring its surface.
He got up slowly, bowed to her—though she could see the muscles about his mouth twitch and squirm with the effort to control his rage—and walked out of the room. Amber banged the whip down again, furiously, and yelled after him: "I won't stay! I won't! I won't! I won't!" As the door closed behind him, she slammed the riding-whip through the window and rushed into the adjoining room where she found Nan gossiping with Susanna's dry-nurse. "Nan! Pack my things! I'm going to London in my own coach! That bastard—"
Susanna ran to her mother, stamped her foot, and repeated with a shake of her curls: "That bas-tard!"
When dinner was announced Amber did not go down. She was busy getting ready to leave and was so angry and excited that she had no appetite. And when Radclyffe sent again, demanding that she join them, she refused point-blank, shut the outer door to their apartments, locked it and flung aside the key.
"He's told me one time too many what I can do and what I can't!" she hotly informed Nan. "I'll be damned if that stinking old scoundrel can lead me like a bear by the nose any longer!"
But when she had changed her clothes and was ready to go she discovered that the doors leading into the gallery had been locked from the other side and that her own key was not to be found. There was no other outside entrance, for the rooms opened one into another, and though she hammered and pounded and kicked she got no answer. At last in a passionate temper she flung back into the bedchamber and began smashing everything she could lay her hands on. Nan ran out, arms up over her head. By the time Amber had exhausted herself the room was a shambles.
After a while someone opened the door into the entrance hall and slid a trayful of food, rapped to call her attention, and then ran off down the gallery. The Earl had evidently informed the servants that his wife was having another fit A maid brought the tray in and placed it on a table beside the bed where her mistress lay. Amber turned, grabbed up the cold fowl and flung it across the room; then shoved away the tray and dishes, which crashed onto the floor.
After three hours had gone by Nan ventured back into the room. Amber sat up cross-legged on the bed to talk to her. She was determined to go to London anyway, if she had to climb out the window, but Nan tried to convince her that if she disobeyed his Lordship, he might bring an action against her, obtain a separation and get control of all her money.
"Remember," cautioned Nan, "his Majesty may like you— but his Majesty likes all pretty ladies. And you know his nature—he doesn't love to meddle where it's any trouble to him. You'd be wise to stay here, mam, I think."
Amber had thrown off her shoes and undone her hair and she sat with elbows propped on her knees, glowering. She was beginning to grow very hungry, for she had had nothing but a glass of fruit syrup since seven o'clock that morning, and it was now four-thirty. Her eye went to the cold roast fowl, which someone had picked up, dusted, and set back on the tray.
"But what am I to do? Moult out here in the country for the rest of my life? I tell you I won't do it!"
Suddenly they became aware of a muffled pounding and a woman's faint frantic cries. They looked at each other, both of them held taut in an attitude of listening and surprise. It was Jenny, hammering at the outer door—and with a leap Amber was off the bed and running through the intervening rooms toward her.
"Your Ladyship!" screamed Jenny, and there were hysterical tears in her voice. "Your Ladyship! Your Ladyship!"
"Here I am, Jenny! What's happened? What's the matter?"
"It's Philip! He's sick! He's desperately sick! I'm afraid he's dying! Oh, your Ladyship—you've got to come!"
A chill of horror ran over Amber. Philip sick—dying? Only that morning before the ride they had been in the summer-house, and he had been perfectly well then.
"What's the matter with him? I can't get out, Jenny! I'm locked in! Where's the Earl?"
"He's gone! He left three hours ago! Oh, Amber—you've got to get out! He's calling for you!" Jenny began to sob.
Amber looked around helplessly. "I can't get out! Oh, damn! Go get a footman! Make them break open the door!"
Nan was beside her now and as Jenny's heels pounded off down the hallway the two women picked up brass shovels from the fireplace and began to beat at the lock. In only a minute or two Jenny was back.
"They say his Lordship left orders not to let you out no matter what happened!"
"Where's the footman!"
"He's here—but he says he doesn't dare unlock the door! Oh, Amber, tell him he's got to! Philip—"
"Open this door, you varlet!" shouted Amber. "Open it or I'll set fire to the house!" She smashed furiously against the lock with the brass shovel.
There was a long moment of hesitation after which the man began to pound at the door from the outside while Amber stood waiting, wet with sweat. Nan had brought her shoes and she pulled them on, jumping up and down, first on one foot and then the other, as she did so. At last the lock broke and she burst out, flung an arm around Jenny's waist and started down toward the opposite end of the gallery where Philip's apartments were located.
Philip was lying on the bed, still fully dressed but with a blanket thrown over him; his head was forced back upon the pillows and his face contorted almost beyond recognition. He was writhing and turning, clutching at his stomach, his teeth ground together until the veins in his neck seemed ready to burst.
Amber hesitated for only an instant on the threshold and then ran forward. "Philip! Philip, what's the matter? What happened to you?"
He looked at her for a moment without recognition. Then he grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her toward him. "I've been poisoned—" His voice was a harsh whisper. Amber gasped in horror, starting backward, but he held onto her wrist with a clutch so strong she thought it would break. "Have you eaten anything today—"
Suddenly she realized what had happened. The Earl had found out about them and had tried to poison them both. The food sent up on her tray must have been poisoned. She felt sick, dizzy and cold, swept with selfish anxiety.
Maybe it was in the fruit-syrup this morning— Maybe I'm poisoned too!
"I had some fruit-syrup," she said softly, her eyes staring like glass, "early this morning—"
There was an explosive spitting sound from beneath the blankets and Philip's body leaped upward in convulsion; he threw himself furiously from side to side, as though trying to escape the pain. Agonized paroxysms jerked at his face, and it was several moments before he was able to speak again. Then each word as it came out was a forced and painful grunt.
"No. I got
it at dinner, I think— Pains began half-an-hour ago. The summer-house—there's a hollowed eye in that stone mask on the wall—"
He could say nothing more for Jenny was close beside them, but Amber understood his meaning. Radclyffe could have been there that morning, watching them. He could have been there many mornings—watching them. Disgust and loathing and helpless rage filled her. But there was relief too—because she was not poisoned; she was not going to die.
Jenny now helped Philip to sit up, holding a mugful of warm milk to his mouth. After he had taken several greedy swallows he gave a groan and flung himself backward again. Amber turned away, her hands over her face.
Suddenly she picked up her skirts and started to run as fast as she could—out of the room and down the gallery, down the stairs and onto the terrace. She fled down the steps and through the gardens and did not stop once until she was forced to by the splitting pain in her side and the dryness of her lungs. Then she stood there for a minute or so, one hand pressed to her chest and the other hard against her side, struggling to breathe. But gradually it became easier for her and at last she turned her head, slowly, to look back up at the bedroom window that faced from the south-east end of the house. Then with a wail of animal terror she threw herself onto the ground and buried her face in the grass, shutting her eyes as tight as she could and closing her ears with her fingers. But still she could see Philip's face in its agony and hear the hoarse desperate sound of his voice.
Chapter Forty-five
Philip was buried that same night as the dusk settled through a brilliant sunset sky. The family chaplain who had baptized him administered the last sacraments and conducted the services in the little Catholic chapel where Jenny and Amber and Radclyffe's many servants knelt in silence. Poison was suspected in almost any sudden death, and because there was a general belief that a poisoned body decomposed rapidly they had not dared to wait upon formality. Philip's constant request had been to keep it secret, to let no one know what had caused his death. He wanted it told that he had accidentally shot himself while cleaning a gun.
Amber was so hungry that her stomach ached, but she refused to eat or drink anything at all. She was terrified for fear Radclyffe had instructed one of the servants to kill her if he failed. For there could be no doubt he had intended to kill them both: she fed a few slices of the fowl to a dog, and it died swiftly and in great pain.
Neither Amber nor Jenny wanted to be alone that night and Jenny was having spasmodic cramps which she feared might mean that her labour had begun prematurely. They stayed together in a seldom used guest apartment in the northeast wing of the building overlooking the courtyard, for they were both reluctant to return to their own chambers. Amber was determined she would never go back to hers again as long as she lived. By ten o'clock Jenny's pains had stopped and she went to bed, but Amber stayed up, nervous and jumpy, apprehensive of shadows, alarmed at any unexpected sound. She felt as though hideous unseen things surrounded her on every side, shutting her in until she could scarcely breathe, and once she screamed aloud in terror. She kept lighted all the candles she could find and refused to take off her clothes.
At last Jenny got up and came to put her arms about her. "Amber, dear, you must try to sleep."
Amber shook her off. "I can't. I can't." She ran her fingers through her hair, shivering. "What if he should come back. He meant to kill me. If he found me alive— Oh! What's that!"
"Nothing. Just an animal outside. He won't come back. He wouldn't dare. He won't ever come back. You're safe here."
"I'm not going to stay! I'm going away tomorrow morning —as soon as it's light!"
"Going away? But where will you go? Oh, please, Amber, don't go and leave me!"
"Your mother will come. I can't stay here, Jenny! I'd go mad! I've got to go—and don't try to stop me!"
She could not and would not tell Jenny where she was going, but she knew very well herself. For now the chance had come and all the plans over which she had mulled and brooded these past few weeks fell into a pattern. She had expected to use Philip, but now he was dead and she realized that she could do it better without him. It seemed so simple she wondered why she had endured all these months of hatred and degradation, without realizing that it had taken time and circumstances to bring her to her present pitch of desperation.
With Big John Waterman and two or three other serving-men she would set out for London. Perhaps they could ambush him on the way, but if not she would somehow contrive to meet him alone in London, some dark night. It was no uncommon occurrence, she knew, to find a gentleman of quality badly beaten or even dead—for every man had his enemies and vengeance was crude and decisive. A slit nose, a brutal kicking, a sword through the stomach, were all popular means of avenging some real or imagined insult. She intended Radclyffe to die of his injuries—since now it was either his life or hers.
Because it was both easier and safer to travel in masculine dress she prepared to set out the next morning wearing one of the Earl's suits—which was not a great deal too large—his hat and riding-cloak. Big John and four husky footmen were to go with her, though no one but John knew what her intentions were. Jenny wept and begged her over and over to change her mind, but when Amber refused she helped her get ready and gave her many admonitions about taking care of herself.
"There's one thing I'll never be able to understand," Jenny said, as she watched Amber pulling on a pair of his Lordship's boots. "I don't know why he spared me— If he wanted to kill you, and Philip—why would he have let me live?"
Amber gave her a swift narrowed glance and as the blood rushed into her face she bent her head. Poor innocent little Jenny. She still did not know; and certainly it could do her no good to know now. For the first time since she had begun her affair with Philip Mortimer Amber felt a kind of shame. But it did not last long. Soon she was on horseback—waving to Nan and promising Jenny that she would be careful.
The summer had been even hotter than the year before; for weeks it had not rained and the roads were hard. Amber, because she had been riding almost every day during the past four and a half months, was able to set a swift pace for the men. They stopped at the first village they came to because she was ravenously hungry, and then they hurried on again. By five o'clock that evening they had travelled forty-five miles.
Hot and tired and dusty, reeking of sweat—their own and the horses'—the six of them stopped at a pretty little inn. Amber went swaggering in with the men, pretending that she was one of them. She felt pleased at this adventure, the more so because she was keenly aware that but for a lucky accident she would have been lying dead at Lime Park and not sitting here on a settle with her feet cocked up before the fire, stroking a ragged old dog and enjoying the succulent smells from a joint which turned and crackled over the flames. She was luxuriously tired and her muscles felt sore from the unaccustomed strain of riding astride. Nothing had ever tasted so good as the cool golden ale she swallowed from a pewter tankard.
She slept deeply that night and longer than she had intended, but they were off again at six. By noon they had reached Oxford, where they stopped for dinner. The hostess put two enormous black-jacks on the table and while they drank she brought in pewter plates and knives and spoons. When the joint was taken off the fire she carved it for them, very neatly, and then according to the custom they invited her to join them.
"I suppose you gentlemen are on your way to London to see the fire?" she inquired in a polite, conversational tone.
Heads turned all down the table, fingers paused halfway to their mouths. "Fire!"
"Ye hadn't heard? Oh, there's a great fire in London, they say." She was full of importance at having such news to tell: burnt-out crops and the heat had been the most exciting source of conversation for some time. "There was a gentleman here not an hour since just come from there. He says it gets worse by the hour. Looks like it might take the whole city," she added, shutting her mouth complacently and nodding at them.
"You mea
n there's a big fire in London?" repeated Amber incredulously. "Not just a few houses?"
"Oh, Lord, no! It's a big one, well enough. He said it was well along the river when he left—and that was yesterday afternoon.
"Good Lord!" whispered Amber. She had visions of all her money burning, her clothes, and everything else that belonged to her. London in flames! "When did it begin? How did it start?"
"Began early Sunday morning," she said. "Long before sunup. They think it's Papist plot."
"My God! And this is Monday noon! It's been burning almost two days!" She turned excitedly to Big John. "How much farther is it? We've got to get there!"
"It's seventy miles or more, sir. We could never make it if we rode all night. Better ride till dark and then go on in the morning."
In just a few minutes they had finished eating and were mounted. The hostess followed them out, pointing up into the sky. "Look at the sun! How red it's turned!" They all looked up, shading their eyes with their hands, and there were others in the streets also looking up. The sun had a dull glow and its colour was fierce and ominous.
"Come on!" cried Amber, and they swept off, galloping down the road.
Amber did not want to stop at all that night for she was afraid that when she got there not only her money but the Earl too would have disappeared in the confusion. But it would have been all but impossible to reach the City, for travel by night was much slower and more dangerous than by day. When supper was over she went immediately to her room and without taking off more than her hat and boots and doublet threw herself onto the bed and fell fast asleep. Before dawn the hostess was rapping at the door and by five they were on the road again.
At each village they asked for news of the fire and heard the same thing everywhere: it was taking all the town, burning the Bridge, churches, houses, sparing nothing. And the closer they got to London the more people they saw on the roads, all going in the same direction. Farmers and workmen were throwing down their shovels and leaving their fields, setting out for the capital with carts and even wheelbarrows; vehicles of transportation were at a premium and a man might hire himself and cart at forty of fifty pounds for a few hour's work—as much as a farmer was likely to make in a whole year's time.