She answered without hesitation. “I’d like to have some earrings, m’lord.”
Already the young woman behind the counter, seeing them pause, had set up a noisy babble and was picking up necklaces and combs and bracelets for her inspection. Now, as Amber mentioned earrings she snatched up a pair from which dangled pieces of crudely cut glass, both coloured and clear.
“Look at these, sweetheart! Fine enough for the ears of a countess, I do vow! Lean over, dear, and I’ll try ’em on you. A little closer—There. Why! will you look at that, your Lordship! I vow and swear they make her quite another person, a lady of quality, let me perish! Here, my dear, look at yourself in this glass—Oh, I vow I’ve never seen such a change come over anyone as those jewels make in you, madame—”
She rattled on at a furious rate, holding up a mirror to let Amber see for herself the phenomenal improvement. And Amber leaned forward, tossing her hair back from her face so that her ears would show, her eyes shining with pleasure. They made her feel very grand, and also a little wicked. She gave Lord Carlton a sideways smile to see what he thought about it, longing to have them but afraid of making him think something bad about her if she seemed too eager. He grinned at her, then turned to the other woman.
“How much?”
“Twenty shillings, my lord.”
He took a couple of gold coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the counter. “I’m sure they’re worth every farthing of it.”
He and Amber started on, Amber delighted with her gift and positive that it was all real gold, diamonds, and rubies. “I’ll keep ’em always, your Lordship! I vow I’ll never wear another jewel!”
“I’m glad they please you, my dear. And now what are we to do? Would you care to see the play?”
With a nod of his head he indicated the tent which they were approaching. Amber, who had always wanted to see one—for they had been forbidden ever since she could remember-cast a quick wistful glance toward it. But now she hesitated, partly for fear of meeting someone inside whom she knew—perhaps even more because she wanted to be alone with him, away from everyone else.
“Oh—well—to tell you truly, sir, I don’t think my Uncle Matt would want me to go—”
And as she stood there beside him, wishing that he would make the decision for her, she saw—not ten yards away—Agnes and Lisbeth Morton and Gartrude Shakerly. All three of them were staring at her with their mouths wide open—amazed, indignant, shocked, furious with jealousy. Amber’s eyes met her cousin’s for one instant, she gave an involuntary gasp of horror, and then swiftly looked the other way and tried to pretend she had not seen them. Nervously her fingers began to pick at the brim of her bongrace.
“Uds Lud, your Lordship!” she muttered in an excited undertone. “There’s my cousin! She’s sure to run and tell my aunt! Let’s go over this way—”
She did not see the smile on Carlton’s face for already she had started off, making her way through the crowd, and without glancing around at the three girls he followed her. Amber looked back just once to make sure that Agnes was not at their heels and then she gave him the brightest smile she could muster. But she was scared now. Agnes would rush to find Sarah or Matt, and after that she would be sought out by some member of the family and summoned back to safety. They must get away, out of sight—for she was determined to have this hour or two, whatever discomfort it caused her later.
Now she said hastily: “Here’s the churchyard—let’s go in and make a wish at the well.”
He stopped then and she stopped too, looking up at him with a kind of apprehensive defiance. “My dear,” he said, “I think you’re only going to get yourself into trouble. Evidently your uncle’s a very moral gentleman and I’m sure he wouldn’t care to have his niece in the company of a Cavalier. Perhaps you’re too young to know it, but the Puritans and the Cavaliers don’t trust each other—particularly where it concerns female relatives.”
There was the same lazy sound in his voice, the same look of mild amusement on his face that had so strangely affected her the night before. For she was able to sense that this idle indifference but thinly concealed a temper at once relentless, fierce, and perhaps a little cruel. Without being able to recognize her own desires she was vaguely conscious of wanting to break through that veneer of urbanity, to experience herself something of the stormy power which was there just under the surface, not dormant but carefully leashed.
She answered him recklessly, for she was beginning to feel more sure of herself. “I don’t care about my uncle—My aunt always believes me—Leave me alone for that, your Lordship. Please, sir, I want to make a wish.”
He shrugged his shoulders and they started on, crossed the road and went through the ivy-grown lych-gate to where two small wells stood three feet or so apart. Amber dropped to her knees between them, plunging one hand in each until the cold water covered her wrists, and then closing her eyes she made a silent wish.
I wish for him to fall in love with me.
For a moment she remained still, concentrating intensely, and then lifting each cupped hand she drank the water. He reached out one hand and raised her to her feet.
“I suppose you’ve wished for all the world,” he said. “How long before you’ll get it?”
“In a year—if I believe it—but never, if I don’t.”
“But of course you do?”
“All my other wishes came true. Don’t you want to wish too?”
“A year isn’t long enough for most of my wishes.”
“Not long enough? Gemini! I’d thought a year must be long enough for anything!”
“When you’re seventeen, it is.”
She began looking around her then, partly because she could no longer meet the steady stare of his green-grey eyes, but also because she was searching for some place where they might go. The churchyard was too public. Other people were likely to wander that way at any time, and every man or woman or child seemed a threat to her happiness. She felt that they were all in league to call her away, to make her leave him and go back to the dry sterile protection of her uncle and aunt.
At the side of the church was a garden and beyond it the meadow which separated Heathstone from Bluebell Wood. Why, that was the place of course! In the wood it was cool and dark and there were many little nooks where no one would ever see them—she knew several, remembered from the Fairs of the past three or four years. Now she started off that way, hoping that he would think they had merely chanced upon it.
They went through the garden, climbed the stile, and set out across the meadow.
The grass there was sown thickly with buttercups and field daisies and wild yellow irises. Underfoot the ground was spongy with contained water and their feet sank a little at every step. Farther ahead near the river was an orange wash of colour where the marigolds grew, and as they came closer they could see the tall green reeds standing in the water. On the banks were pussywillow trees and across the stream at the edge of the forest was a cluster of aspen, their leaves glistening like sequins in the sun.
“I’d almost forgotten,” he said, “how beautiful England is in the spring.”
“How long since you left it?”
“Almost sixteen years. My mother and I went abroad after my father was killed at Marston Moor.”
“Sixteen years abroad!” she cried incredulously. “Lud, how’d you shift?”
He looked down at her, smiling with a kind of tenderness. “It wasn’t what any of us would have chosen, but the choice wasn’t ours. And for my part I’ve got no complaint to make.”
“You didn’t like it over there?” she demanded, shocked and almost indignant at this blasphemy.