Kathleen Winsor - Forever Amber

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.

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 north-east 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 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.