Forever Amber Read online

  The house had beauty and peace and the suggestion of an active useful life. It was more than a hundred years old and five generations had lived in it, leaving behind them a comfortable aura of prosperity—not of wealth but of solid ease and plenty, of good food and warmth and comfort. It was a house to love.

  As Amber went in she stooped and took the kitten up into her arms, caressing its smooth soft fur with her fingers, hearing it purr with a low, contented little rumble. Supper was over and only Sarah and fifteen-year-old Agnes remained in the kitchen—Sarah just drawing hot loaves of bread from the oven sank into the wall beside the fireplace, Agnes mending a rushlight.

  Agnes was talking, her voice petulant and resentful: "—and it's no wonder they talk about her! I vow and swear, Mother, I'm ashamed she's my cousin—"

  Amber heard her but did not care just then. Agnes had said the same thing often enough before. She came into the room with a joyful little cry and ran to fling one arm about her aunt. "Aunt Sarah!" Sarah's head turned and she smiled, but there was a look of searching worry in her eyes. "The inn's full of noblemen! His Majesty's coming home!"

  The troubled expression was gone. "Are you sure, child!"

  "Aye," said Amber proudly. "They told me so!" She was full of the importance of her news and the wonderful thing that had just happened to her. She thought anyone must be able to tell by looking at her how greatly she had changed since leaving home two hours before.

  Agnes looked frankly suspicious—and contemptuous—but Sarah turned and rushed out of the house toward the barns, where most of the men had gone to finish their evening tasks. Amber ran after her. And the moment the news was told, by both women at once, a general shout of rejoicing went up. Men came running out of the barns and cow-sheds, women rushed from their little cottages (there were several on the farm), and even the dogs barked with a loud gay sound as if they, too, would join in the hilarity.

  Long live his Majesty, King Charles II!

  At market the week before Matthew had heard rumours of a Restoration. They had been floating through the country since early March, carried by travellers, by itinerant pedlars, by all those who had commerce with the great world to the south. Tumbledown Dick, the Protector's son, had been thrown out of his office. General Monk had marched from Scotland, occupied London, and summoned a free Parliament. Civil war seemed on the verge of breaking out again between civilians and the great mobilized armies. These events had left in their wake a trail of weariness and hope—weariness with the interminable troubles of the past twenty years, hope that a restored monarchy might bring them peace again, and security. They yearned for the old familiar ways. And now, if the Cavaliers were returning, it must mean that King Charles was coming home—a Golden Age of prosperity, happiness, and peace was about to begin.

  When at last the excitement had begun to die down and everyone went back to his work, Amber started for the house. They would get up early tomorrow morning to leave for the Fair and she wanted to sleep long enough to look and feel her best. But as she was going by the dairy on her way into the kitchen she heard her name spoken softly, insistently, and she stopped. There was Tom Andrews standing in the shadows, reaching out a hand to catch her wrist as she went by. Tom was a young man of twenty-two who worked for her Uncle, and he was very much in love with Amber who liked him for that reason—though she knew that he was by no means a match for her. For she was aware that her mother had left her a dowry which would enable her to marry the richest farmer in the countryside. But she found a certain luxury in Tom's adoration and had encouraged him in it.

  Now, with a quick glance around to make certain that neither Aunt Sarah nor Uncle Matt would see her, she went inside. The little room was cool, sweet and fresh, and perfectly dark. Tom caught hold of her roughly, one arm about her waist his hand immediately sliding down into her blouse as he sought for her lips. Obviously this was not new to either of them, and for a moment Amber submitted, letting him kiss and fondle her, and then all at once she broke away, pushing violently at him.

  "Marry come up, Tom Andrews! Who gives you leave to be so bold with me!"

  She was thinking that it was incredible the kiss of an ordinary man should be so different from that of a lord, but Tom was hurt and bewildered and his hands reached out for her again.

  "What's the matter, Amber? What've I done? What's got into you?"

  Angrily she wrenched her hand free and ran out. For she now felt herself above such trifling with men of Tom Andrews' station and was only eager to get upstairs and into bed where she could lie and think of Lord Carlton and dream of tomorrow.

  The kitchen was deserted except for Sarah, sweeping the flag-stoned floor one last time before going to bed. There were three or four rushlights burning, a circle of tiny moths darting about each tenuous reaching flame, and only the bell-like song of the crickets invaded the evening stillness. Matt came in, scowling, and without a word went to the barrel of ale which stood in a far cool corner of the room, poured himself a pewter mugful and drank it off. He was a middle-sized serious man who worked hard and made a good living and loved his family. And he was conscientious and God-fearing, with strong beliefs as to what was right and what was wrong, what was good and what was bad.

  Sarah gave him a glance. "What is it, Matt? Is the foal worse?"

  "No, she'll live, I think. It's that girl."

  His face was sour and now he went to stand before the great fireplace which was surrounded on all sides with blackened pots and pans, gleaming copper, pewter polished till it looked like silver. Bacon and hams, in great nets, hung from the overhead beams, and there were several thick tied-up bunches of dry herbs.

  "Who?" asked Sarah. "Amber?"

  "Who else? Not an hour since I saw her come out of the dairy and a minute later Tom Andrews followed her, looking like a whipped pup. She's got the boy half out of his noddle— he's all but useless to me. And what was she doing, pray, down at the inn with a pack of gentlemen?" His voice rose angrily.

  Sarah went to stand the broom just outside the door and then closed it, throwing the bolt. "Hush, Matt! Some of the men are still in the parlour. I don't think she was doing anything she shouldn't have. She was just passing by and saw them —it's natural she should stop."

  "And come home alone in the dark? Did it take her an hour to hear that the King's to return? I tell you, Sarah, she's got to get married! I won't have her disgracing my family! D'ye hear me?"

  "Yes, Matt, I hear you." Sarah went to the cradle beside the fireplace where the baby had begun to stir and whimper, took him out and put him to her breast, then she went to sit down on the settle. She gave a weary little sigh. "Only she don't want to get married."

  "Oh!" said Matt sarcastically. "So she don't want to get married! I suppose Jack Clarke or Bob Starling's not good enough for 'er—two of the finest young fellows in Essex."

  Sarah smiled gently, her voice soft and tired. "After all, Matt, she is a lady."

  "Lady! She's a strumpet! For four years now she's caused me nothing but trouble, and by the Lord Harry I'm fed up to the teeth! Her mother may have been a lady but she's—"

  "Matt! Don't speak so of Judith's child. Oh, I know, Matt. It troubles me too. I try to warn her—but I don't know what heed she pays me. Agnes told me tonight— Oh, well, I don't think it means anything. She's pretty and the girls are jealous and I suppose they make up tales."

  "I'm not so sure it's just tale-telling, Sarah. You've always got a mind to think the best of folks—but they don't always deserve it. Bob Starling asked me for her again today, and I tell you if she an't married soon not even Tom Andrews 'll have her, dowry or no!"

  "But suppose her father comes, and finds her married to a farmer. Oh, Matt, sometimes I think we're not doing the right thing— not telling her who she is—"

  "What else can we do, Sarah? Her mother's dead. Her father's dead, too, or we'd have heard some word of him— and we've never found trace of the other St. Clares. I tell you, Sarah, she's got no choice b
ut to marry a farmer and for her to know she's of the quality—" He made a gesture with his hands. "God forbid! the fellow who gets her 's got my pity as 'tis. Why make it any the worse for 'im? Now, don't give me any more excuses, Sarah. It's Jack Clarke or Bob Starling, one or t'other, and the sooner the better—"

  Chapter Two

  In their painted blue and red wagons, on foot and on horseback, every farmer and cottager within a twenty-mile radius converged upon Heathstone. With him he brought his wife and children, the corn and wheat and livestock he had to sell and the linens or woollens woven by the women during the long winter evenings. But he came to buy also. Shoes and pewter-plates and implements for the farm, as well as many things he did not need but which it would please him to have: toys for the children, ribbons for his daughters' hair, pictures for the house, a beaver hat for himself.

  Booths were set up on the green about the old Saxon cross, making lanes which swarmed with people in their holiday dress —full breeches and neckruffs and long-sleeved gowns—all many years out of the style but nevertheless kept carefully in wardrobes from one great occasion to the next. Drums beat and fiddles played. The owners of the booths bawled out their wares in voices which were already growing hoarse. Curious crowds stood and stared, each face contorted with sympathy, to watch a sweating man have his rotten tooth pulled, while the dentist loudly proclaimed that the extraction was absolutely painless. There was a fire-eater and a stilt-walker, trained fleas and a contortionist, jugglers and performing apes, and a Punch and Judy show. Over one great tent flew a flag to announce that a play was in progress—but the Puritan influence remained strong enough so that the audience inside was a thin one.

  Amber, standing between Bob Starling and Jack Clarke, frowned and tapped her foot as her eyes ran swiftly and impatiently over the crowd.

  Where is he!

  She had been there since seven o'clock, it was now after nine, and still she had seen no sign of Lord Carlton or his friends. Her stomach churned with nervousness, her hands were wet and her mouth dry. Oh, but sure, if he was coming at all he'd be here by now. He's gone. He's forgot all about me and gone on—

  Jack Clarke, a tall blunt-faced young man, gave her a nudge. "Look, Amber. How d'ye like this?"

  "What? Oh. Oh, yes, it's mighty fine."

  She turned her head and searched the gleefully yelling group about the jack-pudding who stood on a stand, covered from head to foot with a mess of custard which had been thrown at him, so many farthings a custard.

  Oh, why doesn't he come!

  "Amber—how d'ye like this ribbon—"

  She gave them each a quick smile in turn, trying to drag her mind away from him, but she could not. He had been in her thoughts and heart every waking moment, and if she did not see him again today she knew she would never be able to survive the disappointment. No greater crisis had ever confronted her, and she thought she had met many.

  She had dressed with extraordinary care and was sure that she had never looked prettier.

  Her skirt, which did not quite reach her ankles, was made of bright green linsey-woolsey, caught up high in back to show a red-and-white-striped petticoat. She had pulled the laces of her black stomacher as tight as possible to display her little waist; and after leaving Sarah she had opened her white blouse down to the valley of her breasts. Wreathing the crown of her head was a garland of white daisies, their stems twisted together, and in one hand she carried a broad-brimmed straw bon-grace.

  Now, must all that trouble go to waste on a pair of dolts who stood hovering over her, jingling the coins in their pockets and glaring at each other?

  "I think I like this—" She spoke absently, indicating a red satin ribbon which lay in the pile on the counter and then, frowning again, she turned her head—and saw him.

  "Oh!"

  For an instant she stood unmoving, and then suddenly she picked up her skirts and rushed off, leaving them to stare after her, bewildered and astonished. Lord Carlton, with Almsbury and one other young man, had just entered the fair grounds and were standing while an old vegetable woman knelt to wipe their boots according to the ancient custom. Amber got there out of breath but smiling and made them a curtsy to which they all replied by removing their hats and bowing gravely.

  "Damn me, sweetheart!" cried Almsbury enthusiastically. "But you're as pretty a little baggage as I've seen in the devil's own time!"

  "God-a-mercy, m'lord," she said, thanking him. But her eyes went back instantly to Lord Carlton whom she found watching her with a look that made her arms and back begin to tingle. "I was afraid—I was afraid you were gone."

  He smiled. "The blacksmith had gone off to the Fair and we had to hammer out the shoe ourselves." He glanced around. "Well—what do you think we should see first?"

  In his eyes and the expression about his mouth was a kind of lazy amusement. It embarrassed her, made her feel helpless and tongue-tied and awkward, and a little angry too. For how was she to impress him if she could not think of anything to say, if he saw her turning first white and then red, if she stood and stared at him like a silly peagoose?

  The old woman had finished now and as each of the men gave her a coin to "pay his footing" she went on her way. But she looked back over her shoulder at Amber who was beginning to feel conspicuous, for everyone was watching the Cavaliers and, no doubt, wondering what business a country-girl might have with them. She would have been delighted by the attention but that she was afraid some of her relatives might see her—and she knew what that would mean. They must get away somehow, to a safer quieter place.

  "I know what I want to see first," said Almsbury. "It's that booth down here where they're selling sack. We'll meet you at the crossroads below the town, Bruce, when the sun gets here—" He pointed high overhead and then, with another bow, he and the other man left them.

  She hesitated a moment, waiting for him to suggest what she wanted to do, but when he did not she turned and started toward the pillory and wooden stocks and the tent where the play was going on. The crowds were still thick, but it was away from the center of the fair grounds. He walked along beside her and for several minutes they said nothing. Amber was glad that it was too noisy to talk without shouting—and she hoped that he would think that was what kept her quiet.

  She had a miserable sense of inadequacy, a fear that whatever she said or did would seem foolish to him. Last night, lying in bed, she had seen herself very gay and easy, casting her spell over him as she had over Tom Andrews and Bob Starling, and many, many others. But now she was once more aware of some great distance between them and she could not find her way across it. Every sense and emotion had heightened to an almost painful intensity and there was an unnatural brilliance about everything she saw.

  To cover her embarrassed confusion Amber looked with the greatest interest at each booth they passed. Finally, as they came to one where a young woman had a great deal of sparkling jewellery for sale, Lord Carlton glanced down at her.

  "Do you see anything there you'd like to have?"

  Amber gave him a quick look of delighted surprise. All of it looked wonderful to her, but of course it must be very expensive. She had never worn any such ornaments, though her ears had been pierced because Sarah said that when she married she was to have a pair of earrings which had belonged to her mother. Now, of course, if she came home wearing something like that Uncle Matt would be furious and Aunt Sarah would begin to talk to her again about getting married—but the lure of the jewels and the prospect of a gift from his Lordship was more than she could resist.

  She answered without hesitation. "I'd like to have some earrings, m'lord."

  Already the young woman behind the counter, seeing them pause, had set up a noisy babble and was picking up necklaces and combs and bracelets for her inspection. Now, as Amber mentioned earrings she snatched up a pair from which dangled pieces of crudely cut glass, both coloured and clear.

  "Look at these, sweetheart! Fine enough for the ears of a countess, I do vow! Le
an over, dear, and I'll try 'em on you. A little closer— There. Why! will you look at that, your Lordship! I vow and swear they make her quite another person, a lady of quality, let me perish! Here, my dear, look at yourself in this glass— Oh, I vow I've never seen such a change come over anyone as those jewels make in you, madame—"

  She rattled on at a furious rate, holding up a mirror to let Amber see for herself the phenomenal improvement. And Amber leaned forward, tossing her hair back from her face so that her ears would show, her eyes shining with pleasure. They made her feel very grand, and also a little wicked. She gave Lord Carlton a sideways smile to see what he thought about it, longing to have them but afraid of making him think something bad about her if she seemed too eager. He grinned at her, then turned to the other woman.

  "How much?"

  "Twenty shillings, my lord."

  He took a couple of gold coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the counter. "I'm sure they're worth every farthing of it."

  He and Amber started on, Amber delighted with her gift and positive that it was all real gold, diamonds, and rubies. "I'll keep 'em always, your Lordship! I vow I'll never wear another jewel!"

  "I'm glad they please you, my dear. And now what are we to do? Would you care to see the play?"

  With a nod of his head he indicated the tent which they were approaching. Amber, who had always wanted to see one—for they had been forbidden ever since she could remember—cast a quick wistful glance toward it. But now she hesitated, partly for fear of meeting someone inside whom she knew—perhaps even more because she wanted to be alone with him, away from everyone else.