and a
few drops of lemon juice, scattering the shells on the table and floor.
Almsbury predicted that oysters would become the staple food at Court and when
Amber looked puzzled Bruce told her what he meant. She laughed heartily,
thinking it a very good joke.
By
the time they had finished the oysters the rest of the meal appeared: a roast
duck stuffed with oysters and onions, fried artichoke bottoms, and a rich
cheesecake baked in a crust. After that there was Burgundy for the two
men, white Rhenish for Amber, fruit, and some nuts to crack. For a long while
they sat at the table talking, all of them warm and well-fed and content, and
Amber quite forgot her earlier chagrin.
The
wine was stronger than the ale to which she was accustomed and after a couple
of glasses she became quiet and drowsy, and sat with her eyes half closed
listening to the men talk. A sense of lightness pervaded her, as though her
head had become detached and floated somewhere far above her. She watched Bruce
admiringly, every expression that crossed his face, every gesture of his hands.
And when he would turn to smile at her or, as he did once or twice, lean over
to brush his lips across her cheek, her happiness soared dizzily.
At
last she whispered in his ear and, when he answered, got up and crossed the
room to a small closet. While she was in there she heard a knock at the outer
door, another voice speaking, and then the sound of the door closing again.
When
she came out, Almsbury was sitting at the table alone, pouring himself another
glassful of wine. He glanced around over his shoulder. "He's been called
out on business but he'll be back in a moment. Come here where I can look at
you."
Ten
minutes or more dragged slowly by with Amber watching the door, looking up with
swift eager expectancy at each slight sound, nervous and unhappy. It seemed as
though he had been gone an hour when the waiter came in. He bowed to Almsbury.
"Sir,
his Lordship regrets that he has been called away on a matter of important
business, and asks that you do him the kindness of carrying madame to her
lodging."
Almsbury,
who had been watching Amber while the man delivered his message, nodded his
head. And now Amber looked at him with her face white, her eyes as hurt as if
she had been struck.
"Business,"
she repeated softly. "Where can he go on business at this hour?"
Almsbury
shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, sweetheart. Here, have another
drink."
But
though Amber took the wineglass he proffered she merely sat and held it. For a
month and a half she had looked forward to this night—and now he must go off
somewhere on business. Every time she asked him where he had been or where he
was going it was always the same answer—"business." But why tonight?
Why this one night for which she had planned so long and from which she had
hoped so much? She felt tired and discouraged and hung listlessly in her chair,
scarcely speaking, so that after a few minutes Almsbury got up and suggested
that they go.
During
the ride back she did not trouble herself to make conversation with the Earl,
but when they reached the Royal Saracen she asked him if he would care to come
upstairs, half hoping that he would refuse. But he accepted readily and, while she went
on ahead to take off her gown, stopped in the taproom for a couple of bottles
of sack. Coming out of the bedroom in a pair of clopping mules and a gold satin
dressing-gown—another recent acquirement—she found him stretched comfortably on
a cushion-piled settle before the fire. He gave a wave of his arm, signalling
her to come to him and, when she sat down beside him, took hold of one of her
hands, looked at it reflectively for a moment and then touched it to his lips.
Frowning, Amber stared off into space, scarcely conscious of him.
"Where
d'you think he went?" she asked at last.
Almsbury
shrugged, tilted the bottle again.
"What
the devil is this 'business' he's always about? Do you know what
few drops of lemon juice, scattering the shells on the table and floor.
Almsbury predicted that oysters would become the staple food at Court and when
Amber looked puzzled Bruce told her what he meant. She laughed heartily,
thinking it a very good joke.
By
the time they had finished the oysters the rest of the meal appeared: a roast
duck stuffed with oysters and onions, fried artichoke bottoms, and a rich
cheesecake baked in a crust. After that there was Burgundy for the two
men, white Rhenish for Amber, fruit, and some nuts to crack. For a long while
they sat at the table talking, all of them warm and well-fed and content, and
Amber quite forgot her earlier chagrin.
The
wine was stronger than the ale to which she was accustomed and after a couple
of glasses she became quiet and drowsy, and sat with her eyes half closed
listening to the men talk. A sense of lightness pervaded her, as though her
head had become detached and floated somewhere far above her. She watched Bruce
admiringly, every expression that crossed his face, every gesture of his hands.
And when he would turn to smile at her or, as he did once or twice, lean over
to brush his lips across her cheek, her happiness soared dizzily.
At
last she whispered in his ear and, when he answered, got up and crossed the
room to a small closet. While she was in there she heard a knock at the outer
door, another voice speaking, and then the sound of the door closing again.
When
she came out, Almsbury was sitting at the table alone, pouring himself another
glassful of wine. He glanced around over his shoulder. "He's been called
out on business but he'll be back in a moment. Come here where I can look at
you."
Ten
minutes or more dragged slowly by with Amber watching the door, looking up with
swift eager expectancy at each slight sound, nervous and unhappy. It seemed as
though he had been gone an hour when the waiter came in. He bowed to Almsbury.
"Sir,
his Lordship regrets that he has been called away on a matter of important
business, and asks that you do him the kindness of carrying madame to her
lodging."
Almsbury,
who had been watching Amber while the man delivered his message, nodded his
head. And now Amber looked at him with her face white, her eyes as hurt as if
she had been struck.
"Business,"
she repeated softly. "Where can he go on business at this hour?"
Almsbury
shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, sweetheart. Here, have another
drink."
But
though Amber took the wineglass he proffered she merely sat and held it. For a
month and a half she had looked forward to this night—and now he must go off
somewhere on business. Every time she asked him where he had been or where he
was going it was always the same answer—"business." But why tonight?
Why this one night for which she had planned so long and from which she had
hoped so much? She felt tired and discouraged and hung listlessly in her chair,
scarcely speaking, so that after a few minutes Almsbury got up and suggested
that they go.
During
the ride back she did not trouble herself to make conversation with the Earl,
but when they reached the Royal Saracen she asked him if he would care to come
upstairs, half hoping that he would refuse. But he accepted readily and, while she went
on ahead to take off her gown, stopped in the taproom for a couple of bottles
of sack. Coming out of the bedroom in a pair of clopping mules and a gold satin
dressing-gown—another recent acquirement—she found him stretched comfortably on
a cushion-piled settle before the fire. He gave a wave of his arm, signalling
her to come to him and, when she sat down beside him, took hold of one of her
hands, looked at it reflectively for a moment and then touched it to his lips.
Frowning, Amber stared off into space, scarcely conscious of him.
"Where
d'you think he went?" she asked at last.
Almsbury
shrugged, tilted the bottle again.
"What
the devil is this 'business' he's always about? Do you know what
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