The Baron had always been polite to Amber, with his own cold aloof Castilian courtesy, but he had never troubled himself to show her any undue attention. For if Charles thought that ladies were better suited to other occupations than politics, his Secretary of State was convinced that all women were a damned nuisance and should be shipped away to let men run the country in peace. Still, Arlington was a politician and he never allowed prejudice or emotion to interfere with important business. Serving his King was the important business of his life, though he hoped and intended to serve himself at the same time. Evidently he had decided that because of the rupture with Buckingham she might be of some use to him.
Amber came in one night, late and very gay—for she and Charles and a dozen or more lords and ladies had put on cloaks and masks and driven out to visit the Beggars’ Bush, a disreputable tavern in High Holborn where the beggars, both men and women, held weekly carousals. Arlington and King Charles were good and close friends, but the stiff solemn Baron seldom made one of such a frivolous party. Amber was astonished when Nan told her that he was downstairs and had been waiting there for almost an hour.
“Ye gods! Send ’im up then—post-haste!”
She tossed her mask and gloves and muff aside and dropped her cloak over Tansy who, completely enveloped, went groping his way across the room. Amber laughed as she watched him, then turned about to face her portrait above the fireplace, frowning critically and with displeasure as she examined it. Now, why had he made her so plump? Certainly
But then, he was the fashion.
She turned back as Nan ushered Lord Arlington into the room. He bowed from the doorway while she made him a curtsy.
“Madame, my humble service to you.”
“Your servant, sir. Pray come in—I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“Not at all, madame. I occupied the time with writing some letters.”
He was wrapped from head to foot in a great swirling black cloak and in his hand was a vizard. And now as he smiled he put on like a garment the charm which he held in reserve for necessary occasions, and wore only where it would show to advantage. There was no sincerity in the man, but there was a good deal of craft and guile as well as shrewdness and, what was rare in Charles’s easy-going Court, a methodical application to business.
“You’re alone, madame?”
“Quite, my lord. Won’t you be seated and may I offer you something to drink?”
“Thank you, madame. It’s kind of your Ladyship to receive me at this inconvenient hour.”
“Oh, never speak of it, my lord,” protested Amber. “It’s I that am grateful for your Lordship’s condescension in paying me a visit.”
A servant came in then carrying a tray, with glasses and decanters, and set it down on a low table. Amber poured brandy for the Baron, clary-water for herself and he proposed her health. They sat there a few moments longer—in her great scarlet-and-silver and black-marble chamber where a hundred reflections of them showed in the Venetian mirrors—bandying compliments.
But at last the Baron got to the business of his visit. “All this privacy, madame, is merely a precaution against his Grace of Buckingham’s jealousy. Don’t misunderstand me, pray, for the Duke and I are good friends—”
They were, of course, desperate enemies, but Arlington was too cautious to admit it though Buckingham was usually ready to tell whoever would listen. Only a short while before he had snorted at Amber, when she had referred to the Baron as a dangerous foe: “Madame, I scorn to have a fool for an enemy!”
“It seems,” continued Arlington, “he doesn’t want you friendly with anyone but himself. The truth on it is, madame, it came to my ears today on very good authority that his Grace has told Colbert it’s useless to make you further gifts because you are already committed to the cause of Spain.”
“The devil he did!” cried Amber indignantly, for she was convinced that she had no more use for Buckingham or his tricky friendship. “He’s as meddlesome as an old bawd! The way he uses his friends it’s no wonder they soon wear out!”
“Oh, please, madame—not so hard on his Grace, I beg of you! It was never my intention to make you suspect his Grace’s friendship for you. But it seems he wants to keep you for himself, and I had hoped that you and I might be friends also.”
“I see no reason why we shouldn’t, my lord. Sure a woman may be allowed two friends—even at Whitehall.”
The Baron smiled. “You seem to be a woman of wit, madame —than which I admire nothing more.” She poured him another glass of brandy. He sat for a moment, staring into it reflectively, saying nothing. Then, finally: “I understand that your Ladyship is to be congratulated.”
“For what, pray?”
