But Katherine sensed that Lettice knew something she had not told them, and her eyes lighted with the prospect of scandal. “What’ve you heard, Lettice? What’s she done?” At Katherine’s tone the other two instantly leaned forward.
“What do you know, Lettice?”
“Has she done something
Lettice threaded her needle. “We can’t discuss it now with the children in the room.”
Immediately Philadelphia rose. “Then I’ll send them to bed.”
“Philadelphia!” said Lettice sharply. “I’ll handle this! Wait until she begins to sing.”
For every night, after the children had gone to bed and just before they all retired, Amber sang to them. Samuel had instigated the custom, and now it was a firmly-established part of household routine.
The women fidgeted nervously for almost an hour, begging Lettice in whispers over and over again to send the children to bed, but she would not do so until exactly the time when they went every night. She returned from seeing them into the custody of their nurses to find Amber strumming her guitar and singing a mournful pretty little song:
“What if a day, or a month, or a year,
Crown thy delights
With a thousand glad contentings?
Cannot the chance of a night or an hour
Cross thy delights
With as many sad tormentings?”
When it was done the listeners applauded politely, all but Jemima and Samuel, who were enthusiastic. “Oh, if only I could sing like that!” cried Jemima.
And Samuel went to take her hand. “My dear, I think you have the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard.”
Amber kissed Jemima on the cheek and slipped her arm through Samuel’s, smiling up at him. She was still holding her guitar which had been a gift from Rex Morgan and was decorated with a streamer of multicoloured ribbons he had bought for her one day at the Royal Exchange. She was relieved to have the evening done and was eager to get upstairs where she could feel safe. Never again, she had promised herself a dozen times, will I be such a fool.
Lettice sat leaning forward in her chair, tense, her hands clasped hard, and now Katherine gave her an impatient nudge with her elbow. Suddenly Lettice’s voice rang out, unnaturally clear and sharp: “It’s not surprising that Madame’s voice should be pleasant.”
Henry, standing across the room, gave a visible start and his adolescent face turned red. Amber’s heart and the very flowing of her blood seemed to stop still. But Samuel had not heard, and though she continued to smile up at him she was wishing desperately that she could stop up his ears, push him out of the room, somehow keep him from ever hearing.
“What do you mean, Lettice?” It was Susan.
“I mean that any woman who used her voice to earn her living should have a pleasant one.”
“What are you talking about, Lettice?” demanded Jemima. “Madame has never earned her living and you know it!”
Lettice stood up, her cheeks bright, fists clenched nervously at her sides, and the lappets on her cap trembled. “I think that you had better go to your room, Jemima.”
Jemima was instantly on the defensive, looking to Amber for support. “Go to my room? Why should I? What have I done?”
“You’ve done nothing, dear,” said Lettice patiently, determined that there should be no quarrel within the family itself. “But what I have to say is not altogether suitable for you to hear.”
Jemima made a grimace. “Heavens, Lettice! How old do you think I am? If I’m old enough to get married to that Joseph Cuttle I’m old enough to stay here and listen to anything you might have to say!”
By now Samuel was aware of the quarrel going on between his daughters. “What is it, Lettice? Jemima’s grown-up, I believe. If you have something to say, say it.”
“Very well.” She took a deep breath. “Henry saw Madame at the theatre this afternoon.”
Samuel’s expression did not change and the three women about the fireplace looked seriously disappointed, almost cheated. “Well?” he said. “Suppose he did? I understand the theatre is patronized nowadays by ladies of the best quality.”
“You don’t understand, Father. He saw her in the tiring-room.” For a moment she paused, watching the change on her father’s face, almost wishing that her hatred and jealousy had never led her to make this wretched accusation. She was beginning to realize that it would only hurt him, and do no one any good. And Henry stood looking as if he wished he might be suddenly stricken by the devil and disappear in a cloud of smoke. Her voice dropped, but Lettice finished what she had begun. “She was in the tiring-room because she was once an actress herself.”
There was a gasp from everyone but Amber, who stood perfectly still and stared Lettice levelly in the eye. For an instant her face was naked, threatening savage hate showing on it, but so quickly it changed that no one could be certain the expression had been there at all. Her lashes dropped, and she looked no more dangerous than a penitent child, caught with jam on its hands.
