Kathleen Winsor - Forever Amber

“You insolent wretch! I think I know a way to make you find your tongue!”

She gave a nod of her head to Big John and he stepped to a table, opened one of the drawers and took out a short whip having several narrow leather thongs, each of them tipped with lead.

“Now will you answer me!” cried Amber.

He continued silent and Big John raised the whip and slashed it down over his chest and shoulders, one leaden tip biting into his cheek and drawing blood. While Amber and Nan stood coolly watching he lashed at him again and then again, striking him ruthlessly, though the man writhed and drew up his legs, trying to protect his face and head with his hands. At last he gave a sobbing moan.

“Stop! for the love of God—stop! I’ll tell you—”

Big John let the whip fall to his side and stepped back; drops of blood splashed off the leaden ends onto the floor.

“You’re a fool!” said Amber. “What did it get you to hold your peace? Now tell me—what were you doing out there, and who sent you?”

“I dare not tell. Please—your Ladyship.” His voice took on an ingratiating whine. “Don’t make me tell, your Ladyship. If I do my master will have me beaten.”

“And if you don’t, I will,” retorted Amber, with a significant glance at Big John who stood with both fists on his hips, alert and waiting.

The man glanced up, frowned, gave a sigh and then licked at his lips. “I was sent by his Grace—the Duke of Buckingham.”

That was what she had expected. She knew that Buckingham watched her closely but this was the first time she had actually caught one of his spies, though she had discharged four serving-girls she had suspected of being in his pay.

“What for?”

The man talked readily now, but in a sullen monotone, his eyes on the floor. “I was to watch Father Scroope—everywhere he went—and report to his Grace.”

“And where will you report that you saw him tonight?” Her eyes stared at him, slanting, bright and hard and pitiless.

“Why—uh—he didn’t leave his quarters at all tonight, your Ladyship.”

“Good. Remember that, now. Next time my man won’t be so gentle with you. And don’t come back here to prowl again, unless you want your nose slit. Take ’im out, John.”

AMBER HAD ALWAYS been friendly and respectful in her association with the Queen, partly because it seemed politic, partly because she was sorry for her. But her pity was casual and her half-affection cynical—it was the same feeling she had for Jenny Mortimer and Lady Almsbury, or any other woman from whom it seemed she had little to fear. And yet she knew that Catherine, when given the opportunity, was a good and diligent friend; she was so generally ignored by the self-seekers who swarmed Whitehall that she had come to be almost grateful to whoever sought her favour. It had occurred to Amber that this would be a very good opportunity to gain her Majesty’s goodwill—which might be put to use in her own behalf.

Her talk with the Queen had the effect she wanted. Catherine —though struck with horror and bewilderment to learn that her enemies were again plotting to get rid of her—was easily persuaded that King Charles knew nothing of the plan and would have been furious if he had. Her wish to believe that he saved some part of his squandered affections for her, that he continued to think that one day she could give him the heir they both so passionately desired, was pathetic even to Amber. And though Amber did not just then mention her wish for a duchy she spoke of it a few days later; and Catherine immediately, though with a certain shyness, for she was aware of her limited influence, offered to help her if she could. Amber congratulated herself that she had made a friend—not the most powerful one, perhaps; but a friend who could be of any use at all was not to be scorned.

At Court there was a saying that an unprofitable friend was equal to an insignificant enemy. Amber did not trouble herself with either.

She had soon learned that in the Palace opportunities never came to those who sat and waited—patience and innocence were two useless commodities there. It was necessary to be ceaselessly active, to be informed about each great and small event which passed above or belowstairs, to take advantage of everyone and everything. It was a kind of life to which she adjusted herself rapidly and with ease—nothing inside her rebelled against it.

By now she had surrounded herself with a system of espionage which spread in every direction, from the Bowling Green to Scotland Yard and from the Park Gate to the Privy Stairs. Whatever complaints might be made about his Majesty’s secret-service could certainly not be applied to the courtiers, for vast sums were continuously being paid out to keep each man and woman there informed about his neighbours’ doings, whether in love, religion, or politics.

Amber employed a strange assortment of persons. There were two or three of Buckingham’s footmen; a man whom he used for confidential business of his own but who was glad to make a few hundred pounds more by reporting on his master; the Duke’s tailor; the Duchess’s dressmaker and Lady Shrewsbury’s hair-dresser. Madame Bennet kept her informed about the extra-marital activities of many gentlemen, including his Grace, and amused her with stories of Buckingham’s weird devices for stirring up his worn and weary emotions. She received further information on others about the Court from a miscellaneous collection of whores, tavern-waiters, pages, barge-men, sentries.

Many of these spies she never saw at all and most of them had no idea as to who their employer might be. For it was Nan—wearing a blonde or black wig over her golden-red hair, a full-face vizard together with hood and flowing cloak, who went about her mistress’s business after nightfall. Big John Waterman went along to take care of her, dressed now as a porter, now as footman for a great lady, or sometimes merely as a plain citizen. Nan took the news and delivered the money, haggling for a good bargain and proud of herself if she saved Amber a pound, for she had a better memory of the lean days than her mistress.

Amber knew where and with whom the King spent his nights when she did not see him. She knew every time Castlemaine took a new lover or ordered a new gown. She knew when the Queen seemed to have symptoms of pregnancy, what was said in the Council room, which Maid of Honour had just had a secret abortion, what lord or lady was being treated in a Leather Lane powdering-tub for the pox. It cost her a great deal but she knew almost everything which passed at Whitehall—though much of it was of no value to her save for the pleasure of having other people’s secrets. Still she dared not be ignorant of the Palace gossip, for it would only have earned her the scorn of those who knew.

And often, of course, she could turn her knowledge to some practical use—as she did the secret bought from Father Scroope.

It was yet early the next morning when Buckingham came up Amber’s back-staircase, his wig mussed and clothes dishevelled. He rattled across the marble floor on his high-heeled shoes and as he bent to give her a salute his breath had the stale sour smell of brandy drunk several hours before. Amber was propped up against pillows sleepily drinking a mugful of hot chocolate, but at sight of him she was instantly wide awake, on her guard.

“Well, your Grace! You look as if you’ve made a merry night of it!”

He grinned disarmingly. “I think I did, though damn me if I can remember!” Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her. “Well, madame—you’d never think what news I’ve got of you!”

Their eyes swung quickly together, stared hard for the briefest instant; then he smiled and she looked down at Monsieur le Chien where he lay sprawled at the foot of the bed. “Lord, your Grace, I can’t imagine,” she said, growing nervous. “What’s the newest libel? That I’ve got a mole on my stomach or prefer the Dragon upon St. George?”

“No, no. I heard all that last week. Don’t you know the latest gossip about yourself? Tut, tut, madame. They’re saying—” Here he gave a slight and, she thought, a sinister pause. “They’re saying,” he finished briskly, “that Colbert just made you a gift of a diamond necklace valued at two thousand pound.”

Amber had a quick sense of relief, for she had feared that he was there to talk about Father Scroope. She finished her chocolate and set the mug onto the table beside the bed. “Well—if that’s what they’re saying, it’s true. Or true enough, anyhow—my jeweller says it’s worth six hundred pound. Still, it’s pretty enough, I think.”

“Perhaps you like Spanish jewels better.”

Now Amber laughed. “Your Grace knows everything. I wish I had such an intelligence-net myself. I swear all the news comes to me cold as porridge, no matter how high I pay for it. But I’ll tell you truth—the Spanish ambassador gave me an emerald bracelet—and it was handsomer than the French necklace.”

“Then your Ladyship intends to cast in with the Spaniards?”

“Not at all, your Grace. I’ll cast in with the Dutch or the Devil, at a price. After all, isn’t that the way we do business here at Court?”

“If it is you shouldn’t admit it. The news might carry—then what would your price be?”

“Oh, but surely one may be allowed to speak frankly among friends.” Her voice gave him a light flick of sarcasm.

“You’ve grown mighty high, haven’t you, madame, since the days you trod the boards wearing some Maid of Honour’s cast-off gown? Even the Pope, they say, begins to court your favour.”

“The Pope!” cried Amber, horrified. “Good Lord, sir, I protest! I’ve had no traffic with the Pope, let me tell you!”

Amber had little use for her own religion—except when she was alarmed or worried or wanted something—but she shared the popular hatred of Catholicism, without any idea as to why she hated it.

“No traffic with the Pope? But I’ve got it on very good authority your Ladyship sometimes entertains Father Scroope in the dead of the—Oh! I beg your Ladyship’s pardon!” he cried with mock concern. “Have I said something to startle your Ladyship?”

“No, of course not! But where the devil did you get an idea like that? Me, entertaining Father Scroope! What for, pray? I’ve got no taste for bald fat old men, not I!” She tossed back her hair and started to get out of bed, pulling her dressing-gown around her as she did so.

“Just a moment, madame!” Buckingham caught hold of her arm and she looked at him defiantly. “I think you know well enough what I’m talking about!”

“And what, then, are you talking about, sir?”

Amber was growing angry. Something insolent in his Grace’s manner always brought her temper to the surface with a rush.

“I’m talking, madame, about the fact that you are interfering in my business. To be quite plain with you, madame, I know that you discovered my arrangement with Father Scroope and took steps to forestall the plan.” His arrogant handsome face had settled into hard lines and he stared at her with threatening violence. “I thought that we had agreed to play the game together—you and I.”

She gave a swift jerk of her arm to free herself and jumped to her feet. “I’ll play the game with you, your Grace—but damn me if I’ll play it against myself! It could scarce be much to my advantage, d’ye think, if her Majesty left the Court and—”

Just at that moment the King’s spaniels rushed scraping and clawing into the room and before Amber and the Duke could compose themselves Charles had strolled in, followed by several of the courtiers.

Buckingham instantly smoothed out his face and went to kiss the King’s hand—it was the first time he had seen him since the day in the garden when Charles had called him a scoundrel. The Duke lingered several minutes longer, affable and talkative, pretending to Amber and all of them that they had merely been having a friendly chat; but she was considerably relieved when he left. News of the quarrel spread rapidly. When she met Barbara in her Majesty’s apartments before noon the Lady had already heard of it and undertook to let her know that her cousin had sworn to all his acquaintance he would ruin Lady Danforth if it took the rest of his life. Amber laughed at that and said Let Buckingham do his worst, she did not doubt to hold her own. And she knew that she could, too, while the King liked her. After all, she had been at Whitehall only one year and any possible loss of Charles’s affections still seemed to her, like old age, a distant and unlikely misfortune.