Barberry Hill had not been the most important country possession of the Earls of Almsbury, but it was the one he had been able to have restored to the family. Though less imposing than Almsbury House in the Strand, it had a great deal more charm. It was L-shaped, built of red brick, and lay intimately at the foot of a hill. Part of it was four stories high, part only three; there was a pitched slate roof with many gables and dormer-windows and several spiralling chimneys. All the rooms were decorated with elaborate carvings and mouldings, the ceilings were crusted with plaster-work as ornamental as the frosting on a Twelfth Day cake, the grand staircase was a profusion of late Elizabethan carving and there were gay gorgeous colours everywhere.

Almsbury immediately sent a party of men to find Nan Britton and bring her there. And when Amber had rested and put on one of Lady Almsbury’s gowns—which she did not think had any style at all and which she had to pin in at the sides—she and Bruce went to the nursery. They had not seen their son for more than a year, not since the mornings when they had met at Almsbury House, and he had grown and changed considerably.

He was now four and a half years old, tall for his age, healthy and sturdy. His eyes were the same grey-green that Bruce’s were and his dark-brown hair hung in loose waves to his shoulders, rolling over into great rings. He had been put into adult clothes —a change which was made at the age of four—and they were in every way an exact replica of Lord Carlton’s, even to the miniature sword and feather-trimmed hat.

These grown-up clothes for children seemed symbolic of the hot-house forcing of their lives. For he was already learning to read and write and do simple arithmetic; riding-lessons had begun, as well as instruction in dancing and deportment. Before long there would be more lessons: French, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew; fencing, music, and singing. Childhood was brief, manhood came early, for life was an uncertain risk at best. There was no time to be lost.

When they entered the nursery little Bruce, with Almsbury’s eldest son, was seated at a tiny table studying his horn-book. But obviously he knew that his parents were coming to see him, for just as they opened the door he looked around with a quick expectancy which suggested many previous eager glances in that direction. As the horn-book went clattering to the floor, he was off the chair and running toward them joyously: But instantly, at a sharp word from his nurse, he stopped, swept off his hat and bowed with great ceremony, first to Bruce and then to Amber.

“I’m glad to see you, sir. And, madame.”

But Amber was not in awe of the nurse. She rushed forward, dropped to her knees and swooped him into her arms, covering his pink cheeks with passionate kisses. Tears glistened in her eyes and began to fall, but she was laughing with happiness. “Oh, my darling! My darling! I thought I would never see you again.”

His arms were about her neck. “But why, madame? I was sure I’d see you both again one day.”

Amber laughed and murmured quickly beneath her breath: “Damn the nurse! Don’t call me madame! I’m your mother and that’s what I’ll be called!” They laughed together at that, he whispered “Mother,” and then gave a quick half-apprehensive, half-defiant look over his shoulder to where the nurse stood watching them.

He was more reserved with Bruce and apparently felt that they were both gentlemen from whom such demonstrations were not expected. It was obvious, however, that he adored his father. Amber felt a pang of jealousy as she watched them but she scolded herself for her pettiness and was even a little ashamed. After an hour or so they left the nursery and started back down the long gallery toward their own adjoining apartments at the opposite end of the building.

All of a sudden Amber said: “It isn’t right, Bruce, for him to live this way. He’s a bastard. What’s the use for him to learn to carry himself like a lord—when God knows how he’ll shift once he’s grown-up.”

She looked up at him sideways, but his expression did not change and now, as they reached the door to her apartment, he opened it and they went in. She turned about quickly to face him, and knew at that instant he was about to say something which he expected would make her angry.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, Amber—I want to make him my heir—” And then, as a flash of hope went over her face, he hastily added: “In America no one would know whether he’s legitimate or not—they’d think he was the child of an earlier marriage.”

She stared at him incredulously, her face recoiling as though from a sudden cruel slap. “An earlier marriage?” she repeated softly. “Then you’re married now.”

“No, I’m not. But I’ll marry someday—”

“That means you still don’t intend to marry me.”

He paused, looking at her for a long moment, and one hand started to move in an involuntary gesture, but dropped to his side again. “No, Amber,” he said at last. “You know that. We’ve talked this all over before.”

“But it’s different now! You love me—you told me so yourself! And I know you do! You must! Oh, Bruce, you didn’t tell me that to—”

“No, Amber, I meant it. I do love you, but—”

“Then why won’t you marry me—if you love me?”

“Because, my dear, love has nothing to do with it.”

“Nothing to do with it! It has everything to do with it! We’re not children to be told by our parents who we’ll marry! We’re grown up and can do as we like—”

“I intend to.”

For several seconds she stared at him, while the desire to lash out her hand and slap him surged and grew inside her. But something she remembered—a hard and glittering expression in his eyes—held her motionless. He stood there watching her, almost as though waiting, and then at last he turned and walked out of the room.


Nan arrived a fortnight later with Susanna, the wet-nurse, Tansy and Big John Waterman. They had spent the four months going from one village to another, fleeing the plague. Despite everything only one cart-load had been stolen; almost all of Amber’s clothes and personal belongings were intact. She was so grateful that she promised Nan and Big John a hundred pounds each when they returned to London.

Bruce was enchanted with his seven-months-old daughter. Susanna’s eyes were no longer blue but now a clear green and her hair was bright pure golden blonde, not the tawny colour of her mother’s. She did not very much resemble either Bruce or Amber but she gave every promise of being a beauty and seemed already conscious of her destiny, for she flirted between her fingers and giggled delightedly at the mere sight of a man. Almsbury, teasing Amber, said that at least there could be no doubt as to her mother’s identity.

The very day of Nan’s arrival Amber put off Emily’s unbecoming black dress and, after considerable deliberation, selected one of her own: a low-bosomed formal gown of copper-coloured satin with stiff-boned bodice and sweeping train. She painted her face, stuck on three patches, and for the first time in many months Nan dressed her hair again in long ringlets and a high twisted coil. Among her jewellery she found a pair of emerald ear-rings and an emerald bracelet.

“Lord!” she said, surveying herself in the mirror with pleased satisfaction. “I’d almost forgot what I look like!”

She was expecting Bruce back soon—he and Almsbury had gone out to hunt—and though she was eager to have him see her at her best again she was a little apprehensive too. What would he say about her putting off mourning so soon? A widow was expected to wear plain unadorned black with a long veil over her hair all the rest of her life—unless she married again.

At last she heard the door slam in the next room and his boots crossed the floor. He called her name and then almost immediately appeared in the doorway, pulling loose the cravat at his neck. She was watching for him with her eyes big and uncertain, and she broke into a delighted smile as he stopped abruptly and then gave a long low whistle. She spread her fan and turned slowly around before him.

“How do I look?”

“How do you look! Why, you vain little minx, you look like an angel—and you know it!”

She ran toward him, laughing. “Oh, do I, Bruce!” But suddenly her face sobered and she looked down at her fan, beginning to count the sticks. “D’you think I’m wicked to leave off mourning so soon? Oh, of course,” she added hastily, with a quick upward glance, “I’ll wear it when I get back to town. But out here in the country with no one to see me or know if I’m a widow or not—it doesn’t matter out here, does it?”

He bent and gave her a brief kiss, grinning, and though she searched his face carefully she could not be sure what he was thinking. “Of course it’s not wicked. Mourning, you know, is done with the heart—” Lightly he touched her left breast.

After an unusually hot and arid summer the weather changed swiftly at the end of October. Violent rainstorms came in rapid succession and by the middle of the month there were hard frosts. The two men went out to ride or hunt in spite of it, though usually the powder became wet and they seldom shot anything. Amber spent most mornings in the nursery. Other times Bruce and Almsbury played billiards while she watched, or the three of them played cards or amused themselves by making anagrams out of their own names or someone else’s—for the most part they turned out to be unflattering. Emily seldom joined in these pastimes for she was an old-fashioned housewife who preferred to oversee each smallest detail of cooking and cleaning, rather than leave it to a steward as many great ladies had begun to do. Amber did not see how she could tolerate spending all her hours in the nursery, the still-room, or the kitchen, but there was no doubt the three of them were gayer when Emily was not present.