She did not sleep at all the rest of the night, but stayed up to oversee the removal of the Earl’s valuables down into the strong-room. His gold and silver plate, the pewter service which Charles I had presented to his father when the old Earl had melted down his plate to make a war contribution, their jewellery and her own, all went into the stone crypt in the cellar. When that was done she got dressed, swallowed a cup of hot chocolate, and set out before six for Shadrac Newbold’s house in Lombard Street where he and many other goldsmiths had removed since the Fire.
It was a long ride from the Strand through the ruined City. Scaffolding was everywhere but many houses had been completed; a few streets, solidly rebuilt, stood perfectly empty. There were cellars still smoking and the smell of dew-wet charcoal was strong in the air. A soil had formed upon the ashes and it was covered with a small, bright-yellow flower, London rocket, which showed cheerily through the gruel-thick fog that hung almost to the ground.
Amber, tired and worried, sat gloomily in the rocking coach. She felt sick at her stomach and her head spun wearily. As they approached Newbold’s house she saw a queue of coaches and of men and women which reached around the corner into Abchurch Lane. Exasperated, she leaned forward and rapped her fan against the wall of the coach, shouting at John Waterman.
“Drive down St. Nicholas Lane and stop!”
There she got out and with Big John and two footmen, walked through a little alley which led to the back entrance of his house. It was fenced in and they found the gate guarded by two sentries with crossed muskets.
“My Lady Danforth to see your master,” said one of the footmen.
“I’m very sorry, your Ladyship. We have orders to admit no one at all by this gate.”
“Let me by,” said Amber shortly, “or I’ll have both your noses slit!”
Intimidated either by her threat or by Big John’s towering bulk they let her go in. A servant went to call Shadrac Newbold, who soon appeared, looking as tired as she felt. He bowed to her, politely.
“I took the liberty of coming in by your back entrance. I’ve been up all night and I couldn’t wait in that line.”
“Certainly, madame. Won’t you come into my office?”
With exhausted relief she dropped into the chair he offered her. The rims of her eyelids felt raw and her legs ached. She gave a sigh and leaned her head against her hand, as though unable to hold it up herself. He poured a glass of wine, which she accepted gratefully; it gave her at least a temporary sense of spurious vitality.
“Ah, madame,” murmured Newbold. “This is a sad day for England.”
“I’ve come for my money. I want all of it—now.”
He gave her a mournful little smile, turning his spectacles thoughtfully in his hand. Finally he sighed. “So do they, madame.” He gestured toward the window through which she could see a part of the waiting queue. “Every one of them. Some have twenty pound deposited with me—some, like you, have a great deal more. In a few minutes I must begin to let them in. I’ve got to tell them all what I tell you—I can’t give it to you.”
“What!” cried Amber, the shock jerking her out of her tiredness. “Do you mean to say—” She was starting to get up from her chair.
“Just one moment, madame, please. Nothing has happened to your money. It is quite safe. But don’t you see, if I and every other goldsmith in London were to try to give back every shilling which has been deposited with us—” He gave a helpless little gesture. “It is impossible, madame, you know that. Your money is safe, but it is not in my possession, but for a small sum. The rest is out at interest, invested in property and in stocks and in the other ventures of which you know. I do not keep your money lying idle, and neither have I kept the money of my other depositors lying idle. That is why we can’t return it to all of you all at once. Give me twenty days—and if you want it then I can have it for you. But we must all ask for that twenty days of grace to bring the money into our possession again. Even that will create a condition of financial anarchy which may upset the entire nation.”
“The entire nation’s upset as it is. Nothing worse than invasion
