Amber dragged her eyes away from Corinna, who either did not know that she was in the room or pretended not to know it, and gave Middleton a savage glare. The bidding was idle and the customers inattentive for, as at the theatre, they were more interested in themselves than in what they had ostensibly come for. Without much success the auctioneer tried to whip up some competition; the calico was a beautiful piece, printed in soft shades of rose and blue and violet, but the highest bid so far was only five pounds.
Amber was leaning across the woman on her left to talk to a couple of young men and the three of them were busily murmuring and laughing together over the newest scandal.
The night before Charles had gone with Rochester to the Russia House, a brothel in Moor Fields, and while the King’s attentions were occupied his Lordship had stolen his money and left. When he was ready to pay his fee and go Charles found himself penniless and was only saved from a severe beating when someone chanced to recognize him. Rochester had gone to take the country air and, no doubt, to polish a new set of lampoons which would soon flood the Court.
“D’you think it’s true?” Henry Jermyn wanted to know. “I saw his Majesty this morning and he looked as spruce as you please.”
“He always does,” the other reminded him. “It’s his Majesty’s great good fortune that his dissipations don’t show in his face—at least not yet.”
“We’ll never know if it’s true or not,” said Amber. “For he won’t tolerate being reminded the next morning of what he did the night before.”
“Your Grace should know.”
“They say he’s mightily taken with Nell Gwynne these days,” said Jermyn, and he watched Amber carefully as he spoke. “Chiffinch tells me he goes to see her two or three times a week, now her belly’s got so big she can’t hop in and out of hackneys.”
Amber knew that already, and in fact Charles had not visited her at night for several weeks. Ordinarily she might have been worried about it, but she had been too much concerned over Bruce to give it very much thought. He had neglected her before, and she knew that he would do so again, for the King liked variety in his love-affairs and no one woman could satisfy him for long. It was a habit he had contracted early in life and which he had never wanted or tried to change. But it made her angry to have others know and remind her that she was less a favourite than she had been on her first coming to Court.
She might have thought of something flippant to say in retort, but at that moment she caught the end of the auctioneer’s sentence: “—if no one else wishes to bid, this length of cloth goes to my Lady Carlton for the sum of six pound—” His eyes went over the room. “Is there another bid? No? Then—”
“Seven pound!”
Amber’s voice rang through the room, loud and clear and defiant; she was half startled herself to hear it. For certainly she had no use for that calico—pretty as it was; it was printed in colours she never wore and would not have considered wearing. But Corinna had bid for it, wanted it—and must not have it.
Corinna did not turn her head to look at Amber, but for several seconds she sat quietly, as if surprised or embarrassed. The auctioneer was setting up a lively chatter, sensing that these two ladies were rivals who might be persuaded to bid against each other. Amber, fully expecting that Corinna would retire meekly and let her have the cloth, was astonished when her voice, soft but determined, spoke again.
“Eight pound.”
Damn her! thought Amber. I’ll get it now if it costs me my last farthing!
The flame was burning close to the pin. In just a few moments the pin would fall out and whoever had made the last bid took the prize. Amber waited until the auctioneer was once more announcing that the cloth went to Lady Carlton and then she interrupted him.
“Twenty pound!”
The room had grown quiet now and at last they were taking an interest in the auction, for the Duchess of Ravenspur’s affair with Lord Carlton was known to all of them. They understood why she was so anxious to get the cloth, and they hoped to see her beaten and embarrassed. Their sympathy for Corinna was not great, but their resentment against Amber was. She had got too much, been too successful, and now even her sycophants and pretended friends hoped secretly for her unhappiness. No defeat of hers could be too small to give them satisfaction.
Corinna hesitated, wondering if it was not absurd to haggle with a woman who had neither the breeding nor the manners to appreciate that both of them were being made conspicuous in the worst possible way. Amber had no such misgivings. She sat tensely forward in her chair, her eyes wide and shining with excitement, fists clenched inside her muff.
I’ve got to beat her! she was thinking. I’ve got to! It seemed that nothing else in her life had ever been so important.
