The Royal Exchange stood at the junction of Corn Hill and Threadneedle Street, not far from the Royal Saracen Inn. The building formed an immense quadrangle completely surrounding a courtyard and the galleries were divided into tiny shops attended by pretty young women who kept up a continual cry: “What d‘ye lack, gentlemen? What d’ye lack, ladies? Ribbons, gloves, essences—” The gallants loitered there, flirting with the ’Change women, lounging against a pillar to watch the ladies walk by and calling out boldly to them. The courtyard itself was crowded with merchants, soberly dressed, intent on business, talking of stocks and mortgages and their ventures at sea.
As they went inside and began to mount the stairs Amber reluctantly followed Sally Goodman’s example and put on her vizard. What’s the good of a pretty face, she thought, if no one’s to see it? and she let her cloak fall back, showing her figure. But in spite of the mask there was no doubt she attracted attention. For as they walked along, pausing now and then to examine a pair of gloves, some embroidered ribbons, a length of lace, enthusiastic comments followed them.
“She’s handsome—
“Those killing eyes!”
“As pretty a girl, for a fortnight’s use or so, as a man could wish.”
Amber began to feel pleased and excited and she cast furtive sidelong glances to see how many men were watching her and what they looked like. Mrs. Goodman, however, took another view of the compliments. She clucked her tongue and shook her head.
“Lord, how bawdy the young men talk nowadays!”
Somewhat abashed at this Amber guarded her eyes and frowned a little, to show that she was displeased too. But the frown did not last long—for she was half-intoxicated by the sights and sounds all about her.
She wanted to buy almost everything she saw. She had little sense of discrimination, her acquisitive instincts were strong, and she felt so boundlessly rich that there seemed no reason why she might not have whatever she desired. Finally she stopped before a stall where a plump black-eyed young woman stood surrounded by dozens of bird-cages, painted gold or silver or bright colours; in each one was a brilliant bird, canaries, parrots, cockatoos brought back by the East India Company or some merchant fleet.
While she was making her selection, unable to decide between a small turquoise-coloured parakeet and a large green squawking bird, she heard a man’s voice in back of her remark: “By God, she’s tearing fine. Who d’ye think she is?”
Amber glanced around to see if he was speaking of her, just as the other replied, “I’ve never seen her at Court. Like as not she’s some country heiress. By God, I’ll make her acquaintance though I perish for it!” And with that he stepped forward, swept off his hat and bowed to her. “Madame, if you’ll permit me, I should like to make you a present of that bird—which is, if I may be permitted the observation—no more gorgeous than yourself.”
Delighted, Amber smiled at him and had just begun to make a curtsy when Mrs. Goodman’s voice cut in sharply: “How dare you use a young woman of quality at this rate, sir? Begone, now, before I call a constable and have you clapped up for your impertinence!”
The fop raised his eyebrows in surprise and hesitated a moment as if undecided whether to challenge the issue, but Mrs. Goodman faced him so stoutly that at last he bowed very ceremoniously to the disappointed Amber and turned to go off with his friend. As they walked away she heard his scornful remark:
“Just as I thought. A bawd out with her protégée. But apparently she intends to save her for some gouty old duke.”
At that Amber realized she had seemed too eager to make the acquaintance of strangers, and she began to fan herself swiftly. “Heaven! I swear I thought he was a young fellow I’d seen sometime at my aunt’s!” She drew her cloak about her and went back to the business of selecting her bird, but now she kept her eyes decorously within the shop.
She paid for the gilt cage and little turquoise parakeet with a random coin which she fished out of her muff. And once again Mrs. Goodman’s quickness came to her rescue, for as she was scooping the change back into her hand, Sally caught hold of her wrist.
“Hold on, sweetheart. I believe you’re lacking a shilling there.”
The girl behind the counter quickly produced one, giggling, saying that she had miscounted. Mrs. Goodman gave her a severe frown and she and Amber left, going downstairs then to get into the coach.
On the ride back Mrs. Goodman undertook to warn Amber of the dangers a young and pretty woman, unaccustomed to town life, must encounter in the city. The times were wicked, she said; a woman of virtue had much ado to preserve not only her honesty but even the appearance of it.
“For in the way of the world, sweetheart,” she warned, “a woman loses as much by the appearance of evil as she does by the misdeed itself.”
