To Amber’s dismay they perked up immediately when she told them her name. “Mrs. St. Clare?” repeated Will Wigglesworth, an ugly pock-marked weasel-toothed young man. “I vow to gad the name’s familiar, madame. What about you, Frank? Haven’t we met Mrs. St. Clare somewhere before?”

“Why, yes, I’m sure we have, madame. Where could it have been, I wonder? Were you at Banstead Downs last year, perhaps?”

Oh, damn! thought Amber. If these fools find out who I am and Mr. Dangerfield hears about it, I wouldn’t have any more chance with him than the man in the moon!

But she smiled at them very sweetly. “No, gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve got some other lady in mind. Neither of you looks at all familiar to me—and I know I’d never have forgotten your faces if we’d ever met.”

Both of them took that for a compliment, grinned and coughed and made simultaneous bows. “Your servant, madame.” But even then they would not let the subject drop and, probably for lack of other conversation, galloped along in relentless pursuit. Frank asked Will if they hadn’t seen her in the Mall, and Will assured Frank it must have been in the Drawing-Room. Amber denied having been anywhere at all and was casting about for a means of escape when Mr. Dangerfield arrived and came to speak to her.

“You’re looking very well, madame. I hope your ague is improved?”

She curtsied and smiled at him, and wished she could blow Kifflin and Wigglesworth away like two puffs of smoke. However, while Amber and Mr. Dangerfield talked of the weather, the taste of the well-water, and Tansy’s scuffed shoes, they fiddled with their ribbons and combs and rolled their eyes about, obviously wishing that the old dotard would go away. But when Amber presented them to him she was amused to see the great change in their manners. She knew for sure then that she had guessed them for what they really were.

“Samuel Dangerfield, sir?” repeated Will Wigglesworth, as both of them jerked suddenly to attention. “I know a Bob Dangerfield. That is, we met once at the home of a mutual friend. He’s a member of the great merchant family. Are you, by any chance, sir, a relative?”

“I’m Bob’s father.”

“Well, well. Only fancy, Frank. This is Bob’s father.”

“Hm, only fancy. Pray take our regards to Bob, sir, when you return to London.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, I will.”

Amber was growing nervous for she did not want them to begin talking and guessing at her identity again before Mr. Dangerfield. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I must be getting back now. Your servant, sir.” She curtsied again to Mr. Dangerfield, but as she would have left, the two young men insisted that they be allowed to see her home.

“Faith and troth, Will,” said Frank Kifflin, as soon as they were out of Mr. Dangerfield’s hearing. “Only think of meeting Bob’s old father here. He seems a close acquaintance of yours, Mrs. St. Clare.”

“Oh, no. I happened upon him just after his coach had been held up and his horses stolen, and carried him the rest of the way.”

Will was indignant. “Lord, to see the effrontery of the highwaymen nowadays! I vow it’s barbarous! They’ll stop at nothing to gain their ends. And only to think of the scurvy rascals daring to attack a man of Mr. Dangerfield’s consequence!”

“Barbarous!” agreed Frank.

As Amber stood in her doorway bidding them goodbye, Wigglesworth, who had been studying her face carefully for some moments, suddenly gave a snap of his fingers. “I know who you are now, Mrs. St. Clare! You’re the player from His Majesty’s Theatre!”

“Of course! That’s who she is, Will! I knew all along we’d seen you before, madame. But why so modest, pray? Most actresses are—”

“An actress!” protested Amber. “Lord, whatever put that unlucky notion into your heads! It may be I resemble one of the wretches, but then it’s the practice of all of ’em to try to look like quality, they tell me. No, gentlemen, you’ve made a mistake. I assure you I’ve never been nearer the stage than the middle-box. And now, good-day.”

But she knew by the sly looks they exchanged and the smiles on their faces when they bowed, that she had not convinced them. When the door was shut Amber leaned back against it with a low whistle.

“Whew! Blast those two paper-skulled nuisances! I’ve got to find a way to be rid of them, that’s flat!”

When they came that night and invited her to go with them to the gaming-house Amber’s first impulse was to refuse. But it occurred to her then that she might be able to catch them at something and scare them away from the Wells, and so she agreed. On the way Frank Kifflin suggested that they stop and ask Mr. Dangerfield to join them.

“Most likely the poor old gentleman’s lonely, and though gad knows I hate to play with an old man I can’t bear to think of Bob’s old father being lonely.”

But Amber did not intend to have Mr. Dangerfield told that she was an actress. “Mr. Dangerfield never plays cards, gentlemen. He hates the sight of ’em worse than a Quaker hates a parrot. You know these old Puritans.”

The men, obviously disappointed, agreed that they did.

There were not a score of persons gathered about the tables in the gaming-house, and of those some were obviously natives of the town playing for only a few pence or shillings. Amber and the two men watched for a while and finally Frank Kifflin suggested that they try their luck at raffle—a dice-game which they assured her was the most harmless in the world and depended upon nothing but a turn of the wrist. “Oh; heavens, gentlemen,” said Amber with an air of surprised innocence. “I can’t play. I only came along to watch and keep you company. I never carry money with me when I’m travelling.”

That seemed to please Mr. Kifflin. “Very wise, Mrs. St. Clare. Travel is full of too many hazards these days. But pray let me lend you ten or twenty pound—it’s but dull entertainment watching others play.”

Amber pretended to hesitate. “Well—I don’t know if I should or not—”

“Tush, madame! Why shouldn’t you? And let’s not speak a word of interest, I beg of you. Only a rook would accept interest from so fine a person as yourself.”

“What a courtier you are, Mr. Kifflin!” said Amber, thinking that if they did not want interest for their money they must have some other game.

Between them Mr. Kifflin and Mr. Wigglesworth produced a great many shiny shillings from their pockets and put them on the table before her. There was not a guinea or a penny or another coin in the pile, nothing but shillings. It was not very difficult to guess that they must be hired by some counterfeiter to pass his false money and get back true. Amber obligingly lost several pounds and when she quit said that she would send a note to her goldsmith immediately so that they could collect next time they were in London.

“But remember, Mrs. St. Clare,” said Wigglesworth the last thing before they parted. “We’ll accept not a penny in interest. Not a penny.”

Amber examined some of the coins and was sure that they were “black-dogs”—double-washed pewter discs; they looked and sounded exactly like those made by the counterfeiter who had lived on the third-floor at Mother Red-Cap’s. She tossed one of them up and caught it, laughing and giving a wink to Nan.

“I’ll take care of those two young fop-doodles, I warrant you. Send Jeremiah the first thing tomorrow morning to invite Mr. Dangerfield to take his dinner with me. Let’s see—I believe I’ll wear that black velvet gown with the white lace collar and cuffs—it gives me a maidenly air, don’t you think?”

“If anything could, mam.”

When Samuel Dangerfield arrived Amber met him at the door. Her gown was high-necked but the bodice fitted snugly. She had her hair combed into deep waves and held at each temple by a black velvet bow; and her face was painted so subtly that even a woman could not have been sure the colouring was not natural.

“It was kind of you to invite me to dinner, Mrs. St. Clare.”

“I know it isn’t proper,” she said demurely, “but I sent such a barbarous reply to your note—pray forgive me, sir. It was the sickness made me churlish.”

Amber knew that her invitation was unconventional but hoped she could affect sufficient modesty to fool him. He smiled at her now much as he might have smiled at a pretty little kitten.

They discussed her ague for a few moments, and then took their places at a table which Nan had set in the parlour next the fireplace. The footman had informed Nan that his master had a hearty appetite—though he was now under his physician’s orders to eat sparingly—and the meal Amber had had sent down from the inn was an ample one. She thought it would be more to her interest to please Mr. Dangerfield than his doctor.

Without much difficulty Amber had soon maneuvered the conversation around to Mr. Kifflin and Mr. Wigglesworth. Off-handedly, she told him how they had come to her house last night to ask her to change some money for them. She said that she had only brought fifteen or twenty guineas to Tunbridge, but that she had given them to the young men to pay their gambling debts with, and was now wondering how she would ever pack all those shillings into her trunk.

Mr. Dangerfield, as she had hoped, seemed somewhat alarmed by this innocent tale. “Are you well acquainted with Mr. Kifflin and his friends?”

“Heavens, no! I met them yesterday morning at the well. They introduced themselves. You know how little one goes upon ceremony in places like this.”

“You’re very young, Mrs. St. Clare, and I don’t imagine you understand the ways of the world so well as an old man. If I may I’d like to give you some advice—and that is not to accept too much money from those gentlemen. They may be honest as they pretend, but when you’ve lived as long as I you’ll know it’s best to be cautious with a new acquaintance—particularly if you happen upon him at a public resort.”