Amber turned impatiently away and started down the hall toward her own rooms. “What if he was?”

Lady Stanhope took a few moments to recover from that and then she came after Amber, panting at her heels, jabbering in her ear. “Do you mean to tell me, you brazen creature, that his Lordship was alone with you in there—at an hour when no honest woman should be alone with any man but her husband? Do you mean to tell me you’ve cuckolded my Gerry? Answer me, huswife!” She grabbed Amber by the arm and jerked her around.

Amber stopped perfectly still for just an instant and then suddenly she whirled and faced Lucilla. “Take your hands off me, you overgrown jade! Yes, I was with Lord Carlton and I don’t give a damn who knows it! You’d have been with him yourself if he’d given you so much as a sideways glance! Go find your blasted Gerry now and leave me alone—”

“Why! you impertinent strumpet! Wait until Gerry hears about this! Wait until I tell him what you—”

But Amber had walked away so swiftly that she left her bewildered and sputtering in the middle of the hall. For a moment the Dowager Baroness hesitated, as though she could not decide whether it was more important to follow her daughter-in-law and give her the tongue-lashing she deserved, or to set out for the country and save herself. “Well—I’ll take a course with her later!” She glared after Amber’s hurrying figure, muttered, “Slut!” and then summoning her two women rushed off down the stairs.

Amber, with a cloak thrown over her dressing-gown, went down into the courtyard to see them off. Both Emily and Nan begged her again to come with them but she refused, insisting that she would be perfectly safe there. She was, in fact, no longer afraid—for the excitement of the drums, of horses pounding by along the streets, screams and cries and churchbells ringing, had roused a reckless energy in her.

The children were together in one coach, with two of their nurses, and even Susanna was beginning to think that it was a frolic of some kind. Amber kissed both of them. “Take care of your sister, Bruce. Don’t let her be frightened or lonely.” Susanna began to cry again when she found that her mother was not going along, and she was standing on the seat with her hands plastered to the window when the great carriage rolled out of the yard. Amber waved them goodbye and went back into the house; she had a great deal to do.


She did not sleep at all the rest of the night, but stayed up to oversee the removal of the Earl’s valuables down into the strong-room. His gold and silver plate, the pewter service which Charles I had presented to his father when the old Earl had melted down his plate to make a war contribution, their jewellery and her own, all went into the stone crypt in the cellar. When that was done she got dressed, swallowed a cup of hot chocolate, and set out before six for Shadrac Newbold’s house in Lombard Street where he and many other goldsmiths had removed since the Fire.

It was a long ride from the Strand through the ruined City. Scaffolding was everywhere but many houses had been completed; a few streets, solidly rebuilt, stood perfectly empty. There were cellars still smoking and the smell of dew-wet charcoal was strong in the air. A soil had formed upon the ashes and it was covered with a small, bright-yellow flower, London rocket, which showed cheerily through the gruel-thick fog that hung almost to the ground.

Amber, tired and worried, sat gloomily in the rocking coach. She felt sick at her stomach and her head spun wearily. As they approached Newbold’s house she saw a queue of coaches and of men and women which reached around the corner into Abchurch Lane. Exasperated, she leaned forward and rapped her fan against the wall of the coach, shouting at John Waterman.

“Drive down St. Nicholas Lane and stop!”

There she got out and with Big John and two footmen, walked through a little alley which led to the back entrance of his house. It was fenced in and they found the gate guarded by two sentries with crossed muskets.

“My Lady Danforth to see your master,” said one of the footmen.

“I’m very sorry, your Ladyship. We have orders to admit no one at all by this gate.”

“Let me by,” said Amber shortly, “or I’ll have both your noses slit!”

Intimidated either by her threat or by Big John’s towering bulk they let her go in. A servant went to call Shadrac Newbold, who soon appeared, looking as tired as she felt. He bowed to her, politely.

“I took the liberty of coming in by your back entrance. I’ve been up all night and I couldn’t wait in that line.”

“Certainly, madame. Won’t you come into my office?”

With exhausted relief she dropped into the chair he offered her. The rims of her eyelids felt raw and her legs ached. She gave a sigh and leaned her head against her hand, as though unable to hold it up herself. He poured a glass of wine, which she accepted gratefully; it gave her at least a temporary sense of spurious vitality.

“Ah, madame,” murmured Newbold. “This is a sad day for England.”

“I’ve come for my money. I want all of it—now.”

He gave her a mournful little smile, turning his spectacles thoughtfully in his hand. Finally he sighed. “So do they, madame.” He gestured toward the window through which she could see a part of the waiting queue. “Every one of them. Some have twenty pound deposited with me—some, like you, have a great deal more. In a few minutes I must begin to let them in. I’ve got to tell them all what I tell you—I can’t give it to you.”

“What!” cried Amber, the shock jerking her out of her tiredness. “Do you mean to say—” She was starting to get up from her chair.

“Just one moment, madame, please. Nothing has happened to your money. It is quite safe. But don’t you see, if I and every other goldsmith in London were to try to give back every shilling which has been deposited with us—” He gave a helpless little gesture. “It is impossible, madame, you know that. Your money is safe, but it is not in my possession, but for a small sum. The rest is out at interest, invested in property and in stocks and in the other ventures of which you know. I do not keep your money lying idle, and neither have I kept the money of my other depositors lying idle. That is why we can’t return it to all of you all at once. Give me twenty days—and if you want it then I can have it for you. But we must all ask for that twenty days of grace to bring the money into our possession again. Even that will create a condition of financial anarchy which may upset the entire nation.”

“The entire nation’s upset as it is. Nothing worse than invasion can happen to us. Well—I understand you, Mr. Newbold. You took care of my money during the Plague and the Fire and no doubt you can take care of it as well as I can now... .”

Amber went back home, spent four hours trying to sleep, ate her dinner and then set out for the Palace. Along the Strand went a parade of carts and coaches full of refugees hurrying out of town once more to the comparative safety of the country. In the courts and passages of Whitehall there stood more loaded carts. Everywhere people gathered together, listening for the guns, gabbling of nothing but invasion and of trying to get their money, of hiding their belongings and of making out their wills. Several of the courtiers had been among those volunteers who had gone with Albemarle to Chatham or with Prince Rupert to Woolwich, and upon those few hundred men rested all the hope of England.

Amber was stopped every few feet by some excited courtier or lady who asked her what she was going to do and then without waiting for her answer started to tell his or her own troubles. Everyone was gloomy, acknowledging frankly that all fortifications were decayed, unarmed and unmanned, and that the country lay helpless before the invaders. They were angry with the goldsmiths because they would not return their money and swore never to do business with them again. Some of them intended to go to Bristol or another port and sail for America or the Continent. If England was a sinking vessel they did not intend to go down with her.

The Queen’s apartments were hot and crowded and full of shrill noisy voices. Catherine was fanning herself and trying to look composed, but the quick, darting anxious movements of her black eyes betrayed her own worry and uncertainty. Amber went up to speak to. her.

“What’s the news, your Majesty? Have they come any nearer?”

“They say that the French are in Mounts Bay.”

“But they won’t come here, will they? They wouldn’t dare!”

Catherine smiled faintly and shrugged her shoulders. “We didn’t think that they would dare do this much. Most of the ladies are going out of town, madame. You should go too. I’m afraid the sad truth is we didn’t expect this and we’re not prepared.”

Just then they heard the loud clear voice of Lady Castlemaine, standing only a few feet away talking to Lady Southesk and Bab May. “Someone’s going to smoke for this, you may be sure! The people are in a tearing rage! They’ve been chopping down Clarendon’s trees and breaking his windows and they’ve writ their sentiments plain enough on his gate. They’ve got a sign there that says, ‘Three sights to be seen: Dunkirk, Tangier, and a barren Queen!’ ”

Lady Southesk gave her a warning jab and Barbara glanced around, puffed out her cheeks as though in horrified surprise and pressed one hand to her mouth. But the glitter in her eyes said plainly that she had intended to be overheard. While Catherine stared, Barbara gave a careless shrug and signalled to Bab May. They left the room together.

Damn that hard-hearted bitch! thought Amber. I’d like to jerk her bald-headed!