Arlington carefully placed his spread finger-tips against each other. “And how does your Grace propose to get rid of this menace to my life?” His tone was faintly, but politely, sarcastic, and there was the suspicion of a sneer about his mouth.

Buckingham now put on an air of good-natured frankness. “Your Lordship knows me too well to believe that I act only in your interests. I’m heartily sick of her myself—she’s cost me a great deal of money and I’ve got next to nothing by it. But we don’t dare poison her or have her kidnapped and shipped away. Old Rowley would never forgive it.”

“Your Grace is a chivalrous man,” observed the Baron in mock admiration.

“Chivalry be damned! I want to get her out of England—and I don’t care how it’s done so it doesn’t bring reprisals on my head!” He wanted to get her out, in fact, before she had a chance to tell someone that it was he who had plotted the Baron’s death. In his opinion the island would no longer comfortably hold both him and the Duchess—and he did not intend to leave.

Arlington dropped his aloofness and superiority. He knew that the Duke was lying baldly but he was altogether in sympathy with his proposal. For her influence with the King was just great enough to make her an inconvenience. If she were gone it would be one woman less for him to deal with. And he had no doubt Buckingham was now thoroughly frightened out of his intention to murder him.

“I think I know a way to make her leave England immediately, and be glad to go,” he said.

“How, for the love of God?”

“Suppose your Grace leaves the business to me. If I fail—then do your worst on her, and with my blessing—”


Amber sat in her coach, nervously tearing to shreds a lace fan she had snatched up as she ran out of the house. It was still so early in the morning that mist hung low on the trees along the Strand and the tops of the great houses disappeared into the thick of it. She felt sick and weak as she waited, and was almost sorry that she had come, for it terrified her to think of actually coming face to face with him again.

She had bribed one of Almsbury’s pages several days ago, and not three-quarters of an hour before he had come to the Palace to tell her that his Lordship was going down to the wharves. Amber, sound asleep when he arrived, had flung on her clothes, pulled a comb through her hair and set out. Now as she waited she tried with shaking hands to powder her face and paint her lips, but her eyes searched anxiously through the coach window more often than they looked into the mirror. It seemed to her that she had been sitting there a long long while and that he must be already gone. Actually, she half hoped that he was, for desperately as she wanted to see him her fear was perhaps even greater.

Suddenly she caught her breath, sitting up intense and alert, dropping the mirror and powder-box into her lap. The great door of Almsbury House had swung open.

Now, while she watched with passionate anxiety, both Bruce and the Earl appeared, spoke to someone behind them, and walked down the steps. Neither took any notice of the hackney which stood beyond the gates, half lost from view in the yellow fog. For three or four minutes they stood talking, waiting for their horses, and when the grooms had brought them they mounted and came toward her at a leisurely pace.

Stiff and trembling with excitement Amber sat there, wretched, sure she would never be able to summon courage enough to speak to him. Then, just as they came abreast of her coach, she leaned forward through the opened window and called his name.

“Lord Carlton!”

Both their heads turned swiftly. A look of surprise crossed Bruce’s face, and he reined in his slow-moving horse. Half turned in the saddle, he sat looking down at her.

“Madame?”

His voice spoke to a stranger. His eyes had never seen her before. Amber’s throat swelled with pain and she wanted to cry: Love me again for just a minute, darling! Give me something happy to remember.

Very softly she said: “I hope her Ladyship is recovered?”

“She is, thank you.”

She searched his eyes with eager tenderness. There must be something there, something left of all the years they had known and loved each other. But they only stared at her, cool green eyes, watching her without emotion or memories.

“You’ll be sailing soon?”

“Today, if the wind serves.”

Amber knew that she was going to make a fool of herself. With the most terrible effort of all her life she murmured quickly, “A good voyage, my lord,” and as her lashes dropped her closed fist came up to press against her mouth.

“Thank you, madame. Goodbye.”

His hat went back to his head and both men gave a gentle slap of their reins; the horses started off. For a long moment Amber sat in frigid stillness, and then with a bursting sob she flung herself back in the seat. “Drive away!” she cried. Slowly the coach circled about and began to move. For several seconds she fought with herself, but at last she could stand it no longer. She turned, jumping to her knees, and scrubbed with one moist palm at the tiny dusty pane above the seat. They were far in the distance now, cantering, but the thick fog which drifted in shreds obscured them both and she could not tell which one was Bruce.

At noon the page came again. He told her that Lord and Lady Carlton had just sailed on one of the royal yachts which carried persons of quality across the Channel.

The next afternoon a letter was brought to her from Lord Buckhurst, who had sailed on the same vessel. Amber tore it open without much interest. “Your Grace,” she read, “I believe this may be of some concern to you. Lady Carlton, during the crossing, fell suddenly ill and was dead by the time we reached Calais. His Lordship, they say, intends to set sail immediately for America. Your very humble and obliged servant, madame, Buckhurst.”


It was not easy to book passage just then, for most of the merchant-ships sailed in great convoys that set out three times a year, but at last she found a captain who was going to America in an old vessel he called the Fortune, and she gave him a big enough bribe so that he agreed to load hastily and sail with the next tide.

“I’ll shut up my house and pretend I’m going into the country,” she told Nan. “I can’t take much with me—but I’ll send for whatever I want once we’re settled. Oh, Nan! It’s—”

“Don’t say it, mam,” warned Nan. “It’s bad luck to be made happy by another’s death.”

Amber sobered immediately. She was afraid of that herself, afraid to be as happy as she felt, afraid to be grateful now that the one thing she had wanted had come to pass. And so she refused to think about it. She was too busy, and too excited, to think very much anyway. But she told herself it had happened because God had willed it—had always meant them to be together. It was just as she had said to Bruce after the Plague—they had been fated for each other from the beginning of time. Only it had taken him so long to find it out. Perhaps he didn’t realize it even now—but he would, when he saw her again. Even the unwelcome pregnancy of which she was now convinced, fitted into the pattern. That had been fated too—their child would help him forget.

Amber spent the night at Whitehall, pretending that everything was just as usual, while Nan was at Ravenspur House packing and getting the children and their nurses ready to go. They would be ten, altogether: Amber, Nan, Big John, Tansy, Susanna and Charles and their four nurses. And of course Monsieur le Chien. She did not even try to sleep when she came back at midnight from watching a play in the Hall Theatre, but instead changed her clothes and spent her time nervously going through some of her belongings to decide what she would have sent.

But she was not able to think coherently or make any real decisions. Just before five, her footman came to say that the Fortune would be ready to weigh anchor in an hour.

Amber snatched up her cloak and flung it on, dropped her gloves and picked them up again, started out the door and ran back for her fan and when she was halfway down the corridor remembered she had forgotten her mask. Automatically she turned and started back, then suddenly muttered, “Oh, the devil take it!” and ran on. Her coach had been kept in readiness all night at the Palace Gate and Nan and the others would meet her at the wharf.

Entering the Stone Gallery from the narrow corridor she ran directly into a group of men just emerging from Lord Arlington’s suite of rooms across the way. It was still half dark in there and a footman who accompanied them carried a torch. Startled, Amber stopped still, then abruptly she started on again. She did not notice who they were and would have passed them without a glance had not a familiar voice spoken to her.

“Good morrow, your Grace.”

She looked up into the Baron’s face and for a sudden panic-stricken moment she wondered if the King had found out her plan and sent him to stop her. In another moment Buckingham, too, had come out of the shadowy group to stand beside his Lordship. Now she was sure it was some plot! But nothing should prevent her from leaving—nothing on God’s earth. Ignoring the Duke, she raised her head defiantly and looked at Arlington.

“My lord?” Her voice was cold, sharp.

“Your Grace is abroad early.”

Unexpectedly she was ready with a facile lie. “Lady Almsbury is ill—she sent for me. And isn’t this early for you, too, my lord?” she inquired tartly.

“It is, madame. I go on a mission of the gravest importance—I’ve just got word the King’s sister died yesterday morning.”