Kathleen Winsor - Forever Amber

“Ten days, then.”

He closed the door on Father Scroope and slammed the bolt.

Amber stood listening to Father Scroope.

At the price of fifteen hundred pounds he had just sold her Buckingham’s plot against the Queen. For, whether his Majesty was in it or wasn’t, he had no intention of talking himself out of a comfortable place at Court—if the Queen went into a nunnery he would be left drifting and unprotected in an England hostile to the Catholics. Charles, it was true, had tried repeatedly to gain toleration for all religions, but Parliament hated that policy and Parliament could force obedience by refusing to grant money.

“Good Lord!” she whispered in horror. “That devil’s going to be the ruin of us all! Have you talked to her?”

Father Scroope closed his fat lips smugly, crossed his hands on his stomach and slowly shook his head. “Not one word, your Ladyship. Not so much as one word. And I was alone with her Majesty in the confessional booth today, too.”

“And you’d better not speak one word, either! You know what would happen to you if her Majesty left! Oh, damn that varlet! I wish someone would slit his throat!”

“Will you tell her Majesty?”

“Tell her? Of course I’ll tell her! Maybe he’s paid someone else to talk to her already!”

“I don’t think so, madame. Though I doubt not he will if he finds he’s failed with me.”

At that moment Nan entered softly and beckoned to Amber. Amber started out. “Come on,” she said to him. “The way’s clear. You can go now.”

They left the room and went into a very narrow dark corridor. The two women knew their way but Father Scroope had to feel with his hands along the wall until they came to a door. There Amber and the Father waited back out of sight while Nan opened the door, peeked, and then motioned for them to follow her. Outside they could hear the quiet washing of the river as it came up into the reeds and rushes which grew along the banks. Amber had the same trouble everyone else did who lived on the side of the Palace next the water; the lower floor of her apartments was sometimes invaded by the overflowing Thames.

But Father Scroope had scarcely set one foot out the door when there was a sudden splashing and—so close that it seemed to be almost upon them—the sound of heavy breathing and struggling and men’s voices in low muttered curses. Quick as a jackrabbit, the Father jumped back inside and Amber froze where she was, reaching out to grab hold of Nan’s hand.

“What was that!”

“John must have caught someone snooping,” whispered Nan. She spoke a little louder, just enough to be heard a few feet away. “John—”

He answered, his voice also low and cautious. “I’m here—Caught a fellow hiding in the reeds. He’s alone—”

“Go on,” whispered Amber to Father Scroope, and he streaked out the door and disappeared; they could hear the loud sucking noises of his feet as he hurried away through the mud. “Bring him in here,” she said to Big John, and went back herself into the small room out of which she and Father Scroope had just come.

There she and Nan turned to see Big John come in dragging by the nape of the neck a thin angry little man who still kicked and flailed out with his arms, though each time he did so Big John gave him a rough shake that quieted him. Both of them were muddy almost to the knees and splashed with water. John tossed him into a heap in one corner. He began to shake himself and to straighten his clothes, ignoring all of them with an elaborate pretense of being alone.

“What were you doing out there?” demanded Amber.

He neither looked at her nor made an answer.

She repeated the question and this time he gave her merely a sullen glare as he pulled at his coat-sleeve.

“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.