The King ordered the sinking of several ships at Barking Creek in order to block the river and keep them from coming any higher. Unfortunately, however, in the excitement someone misunderstood a command and several boats laden with the scant precious store of naval supplies were sunk by error. The tenth night after the attack on Sheerness it was possible to see the red glow made by burning vessels. Ripped dead carcasses of sheep had floated up-river to London. And the terrified city was swept again and again by spasms of alarm; business had stopped dead, for no one had any business now but to save himself and his family and possessions.
At last the Dutch retired to the mouth of the river and peace negotiations were resumed. This time the English were less particular on certain issues and the conference progressed better than it had.
With the other men who had volunteered Carlton and Almsbury returned to London, bearded and sunburnt and in high spirits after the adventure. But Amber was near nervous collapse from worry and prolonged sleeplessness, and at the sight of a dry and hardened blood-soaked bandage on Bruce’s right upper arm she burst into frantic hysterical tears.
He took her into his arms as though she were a little girl, stroking her hair and kissing her wet cheeks. “Here, darling, what the devil’s all this fuss? I’ve been hurt much worse than this a dozen times.”
She leaned against his chest and sobbed desperately, for she neither could nor wanted to stop crying. “Oh, Bruce! You might’ve been killed! I’ve been so s-scared—”
He picked her up and started up the stairs with her. “Don’t you know, you contrary little witch,” he murmured, “that I told you to get out of London? If the Dutch had wanted to they could have taken the whole country—we couldn’t have stopped them—”
Amber was sitting on the bed, filing her nails and waiting for Bruce to finish a letter to his overseer.
Casually he said, “When I go back I want to take Bruce with me.”
She looked across at him with an expression of horrified shock. Now he got up, threw off his robe, and just as he bent to blow out the single candle she caught a glimpse of his shadowed face. He had been looking at her as he spoke and his eyes were narrowed slightly, watching. She moved over and he got into bed beside her.
For several moments she could not answer. She did not even lie down but continued to sit there, staring into the darkness. Bruce was quiet and waited.
“Don’t you want him to go?” he asked at last.
“Of course I don’t want him to go! He’s my child, isn’t he? D’you think I want him to go over there and be brought up by another woman and forget all about me? I do not! And I won’t let him, either! He’s mine and he’s going to stay here with me! I won’t have him brought up by that—by that woman you married!”
“Have you any plans for his future?” It was so dark that she could not see his face but his voice sounded low and reasonable.
“No—” she admitted reluctantly. “No, of course not! Why should I? He’s only six years old!”
“But he won’t always be six years old. What will you do when he begins to grow up? Who will you tell him his father was? If I go away and he doesn’t see me for several years he’ll forget I ever existed. What will you give him for a last name? It’s different with Susanna—she’s supposed to be Dangerfield’s child, and she has his name. But Bruce has no name at all unless I give him mine, and I can’t do that if he stays with you. I know that you love him, Amber, and he loves you. You’re rich now and you’ve got the King’s favour—perhaps you could get him to confer a title on him sometime. But if he goes with me he’ll be my heir: he’ll have everything I can give him—and he’ll never have to endure the humiliations of an acknowledged bastard—”
“He’s a bastard anyway!” cried Amber, quick to find any excuse she could. “You can’t make him a lord just by saying he
“He won’t live in England. Over there it won’t matter. And, at least, he’ll be better off than he could be here where everyone will know.”
“What about your wife! Where’s she going to think you got him? Out of the parsley-bed?”
“I’ve already told her that I’d been married before. She’s expecting me to bring him back this time.”
“Oh, she is! You were mighty confident, weren’t you? And what’s supposed to have become of his mother?” Suddenly she stopped, sickened. “You told her that I was dead!” He did not answer and she cried accusingly, “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course. What else could I tell her? That I was a bigamist?” His voice had a sound of angry impatience. “Well, Amber, I won’t take him away from you. You can make up your mind for yourself. But try to consider him a little, too, when you’re deciding—”
Amber was so hurt and so angry at the thought of sending her son into the care of another woman, to grow up far away from her with nothing ever to remind him of her existence, that she refused for several days even to think about it. And he did not broach the subject again.
