Someone gave a low whistle and a murmur ran through the bystanders as Barbara looked up with a triumphant smile, her eyes glittering. “There, madame! Try if you can better that!”

And since the object of the game was to throw three alike—else the highest pair took the stakes—even Amber was forced to recognize that her chances could not be very good.

Frantically she stabbed about for a way to save herself. I’ve got to do something—I can’t let her beat me in front of all these people! I’ve got to do something—something—something—

And then she felt the pressure of Buckingham’s knee and a light movement in her lap. Suddenly she found herself cold and clear-headed again, no longer desperate, and with a quick automatic gesture she picked the dice-box up from the table in one hand and the dice in the other. So quickly that it scarce seemed to happen she dropped the box into her lap and the one she recovered was the one just put there by Buckingham. Without looking she knew what it was: a false box painted inside to look like an honest one—and she tossed the dice in. The hours of practice she had had in Whitefriars and since now stood her in good stead—for the dice came forth like loyal soldiers: a five, a five, and another five. There was a gasp all around the room while Amber pretended astonishment at her own good fortune. The beet-faced Brouncker leaned down to whisper in Barbara’s ear.

And suddenly she sprang to her feet. “Very clever, madame!” she cried. “But I’m not one to be so easily put upon! There’s been some scurvy trick here—I’ll pass my word for that!” she added, addressing herself to the audience in general, and his Majesty in particular.

Amber was beginning to grow nervous, though already the Duke had reclaimed his box and the one she held in her hand was the same one Barbara had used. But she was prepared to run a bluff.

“Can’t anyone be allowed to get the better of your Ladyship but by some trick?” That drew a general laugh and Amber felt somewhat more comfortable; she carelessly tossed the box onto the table.

Still it was a serious matter for one person to accuse another of cheating, though all of them did—for just as some of the ladies liked to pretend they were virtuous or unpainted, so they pretended to play on the square. And to be caught now and labelled a cheat before all the Court, suddenly seemed to Amber so horrible a fate she would rather have been dead. It would be unbearable—to have everyone stand there and witness her defeat at the hands of Barbara Palmer!

And Barbara, convinced she had the hare cornered, came baying ruthlessly on the scent. “Only a false box would have turned ’em up like that! There wouldn’t be a chance in a thousand it could happen honestly!”

Amber by now was sick and shaking inside, and it took her a few seconds to find her answer. But when she did she tried to sound brazenly assured, so casually scornful that they could have no doubt of her honesty. “Come to think of it, your Ladyship’s throw was almost too good to be true—”

“I’ll have you know, madame, I’m not a cheat!” cried Barbara, who often lost such sums it seemed she must be either honest or clumsy. “There’s the box I used! Examine it, someone—” She snatched it up and suddenly leaned across the table, extending it to the King. “Now, your Majesty! You saw everything that happened! How does it look to you? You tell us which one cheated in this game!”

Charles took the box and looked it over very carefully, both inside and out, wearing his most serious and thoughtful expression. “As far as I can see,” he said at last, “there’s nothing wrong with this box.”

Amber sat there motionless and stiff, her heart hammering so violently she expected to faint. This was the end—the end of everything—it would be no use to go on living after this—

“Aha!” cried Barbara’s voice, in a triumphant brassy tone that Amber felt scrape mercilessly along her nerves. “Just as I thought! I knew—”

“But,” interrupted Charles in a lazy drawl, “since both of you used the same box I can see no reason for all this bustle and stir.”

Amber’s relief was so great now that it was all she could do to keep herself from slumping over and falling face down onto the table-top. But Castlemaine gave a high little screech of indignation.

“What? But we didn’t! She changed it! She—”

“I beg your pardon, madame, but—as you said—I saw everything that happened, and it’s my opinion her Ladyship played as much upon the square as you did.”

“But—”

“The hour’s growing late,” continued Charles imperturbably, and his snapping black eyes glanced round the table. “Don’t you all agree we might better be in bed?”

There was a general laugh at that and the crowd, convinced the show was over, began to break up. “A pretty deal of an odd sort!” muttered Castlemaine sourly. And then she leaned forward and said tensely to Amber, “I wouldn’t play with you again for crooked pins!” and she swung about and started off, with Brouncker and Bab May and little Jermyn hurrying in her wake like tenders.

Amber, still weak and helpless, finally managed to look up at the king with a grateful smile and a soundless whistle. He reached down to put his hand beneath her elbow and slowly she got to her feet.

“Thank you, Sire,” she said softly, for of course he knew that she had cheated. “I’d have been disgraced forever.”

Charles laughed. “Disgraced—here at Whitehall? Impossible, my dear. Did you ever hear of anyone being disgraced in hell?”

Her energy and confidence were coming back again. She looked at Buckingham, still there beside them, with an impudent grin. “Thanks, your Grace,” she said, though she knew that he had given her the false box not to help her but to humiliate his cousin.

Buckingham made a comical face. “I protest, madame. I assure you I had no hand in your luck—not I. Why, all the world knows I’m an honest fellow.”

As the three of them laughed at that Amber was conscious of the lords and ladies moving everywhere about them, glancing in her direction—and she knew what they were thinking. The King had taken her part tonight, defied and embarrassed Castlemaine before them all; it could have only one meaning. The Countess of Radclyffe would soon be the topping mistress at Court. Amber thought so herself.

As they stood there looking at each other, the smiles slowly fading from their faces, Buckingham said good-night and left; they did not notice. Amber knew that she was in love with Charles—as much as she would ever be with any man but Bruce Carlton. His dark lazy eyes stirred the embers of desire, at which Radclyffe had rudely raked but never once brought into flame, and she longed with all her being to lie in his arms again. She had completely forgotten that Radclyffe must be there nearby, watching them, and her recklessness was now so great she would not have cared anyway.

“When can you escape your duenna?” murmured Charles.

“Anytime. Whenever you say.”

“Tomorrow morning at ten?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll post a sentry to admit you at the Holbein Gate—on this side.” He glanced up, over her head, and then smiled faintly. “Here comes your husband—and he looks horn-mad already.”

Amber had a sharp unpleasant sense of shock.

Your husband!.

She felt resentful that he should have the effrontery still to be alive, when she had no longer any use for him and had half imagined he would somehow disappear from her world like an exorcised demon. But he was there now—beside her, and Charles was greeting him with a pleasant smile. Then the King was gone and Radclyffe extended his arm to her. Hesitating for only a moment, she put her fingers on his arm as they started slowly from the room.


For a long while Amber struggled to return to consciousness. She felt as if there was a heavy pressing weight on her head and her eyeballs throbbed. A twisting cramp in her neck sent pains shooting out along her shoulders and down her back as she began to move, moaning softly. She seemed to have been aware for some interminable time of an uneven rolling and jogging motion that shook her from side to side and made her sick at her stomach. With a great effort she forced herself to lift her eyelids and look about, striving to discover where she was and what had happened to her.

She saw first a man’s small veined hands, clasping a walkingstick which he held between his legs, and then as her eyes raised slowly she found herself looking into Radclyffe’s impassive expressionless face. She now realized that part of her discomfort was because her legs were bound together, about the thighs and below the knees, and her arms tied close to her sides. They were in his coach, and the window pane showed only a grey sky and green meadows with lonely bare-branched trees. She wanted to speak, to ask him where they were—but an intolerable weight on her head pressed down, heavier and heavier, until at last she slid off again into unconsciousness.

She was aware of nothing more until she suddenly opened her eyes to find that the coach had stopped and that someone was lifting her out; she felt the cool fresh evening air in her face and took a deep breath.

“Try not to wake her,” she heard Radclyffe say. “When she’s in these spells she must not be disturbed or it may cause another.” It made her furious that he should dare tell anyone such an insulting lie about her, but she had no energy to protest.

The footman carried her, covered with her cloak and a long fur-lined robe, toward the inn and someone pushed open the door. The room was warm and filled with the savoury smells of fresh-baked bread and a roasting-joint which turned in the fireplace. Dogs circled about, wagging their tails and sniffing inquisitively, several children appeared, ostlers ran to unhitch the horses and a cheerful landlady came to greet them. At the sight of Amber lying with her head limp against the footman’s chest and her eyes closed, she gave a sympathetic little cry and hurried forward.