Amber nodded solemnly, her own guilty conscience writhing inside her, and she wondered miserably if her behaviour had given the strait-laced Mrs. Goodman some clue to her predicament. And then, as the coach stopped, she looked out the opened window and gave a sharp horrified cry at what she saw: Trudging slowly along was a woman, naked to the waist and with her long hair falling over her breasts, moaning and wincing each time a man who walked behind her slashed his whip across her shoulders. Following in her wake and trailing beside her was a considerable crowd—laughing jeering little boys, grown men and women, who mocked and taunted.
“Oh! Look at that woman! They’re beating her!”
Sally Goodman glanced at her and then away, her face complacently untroubled. “Don’t waste your sympathy, my dear. Wretched creature—she must be the mother of a bastard child. It’s the common punishment, and no more than the wicked creatures deserve.”
Amber continued to watch with reluctant fascination, turning her head to look as the procession passed. There were streaks of blood laced across the woman’s naked shoulders. And then suddenly she turned back again and shut her eyes hard. For a moment she felt so sick that she was sure she would faint, but fear of Mrs. Goodman made her take hold of herself again. But all her gaiety was gone and she was aware as never before that she had committed a terrible crime—a punishable crime.
Oh, Gemini! she thought in frantic despair. That might be me! That
The next morning Amber was up, wearing her dressing-gown and eating a dishful of gooseberry jelly, which was supposed to cure her nausea, when there was a rap at the door and Mrs. Goodman’s cheerful voice called her name. Quickly she shoved the dish under the bed and ran to let her in.
“I was just putting up my hair.”
Mrs. Goodman followed her back to the dressing-table. “Let me help sweetheart. Has your maid gone abroad?”
Amber felt her fingers working competently, making a thick braid, twisting it into a chignon high on her head, then sticking in gold-headed bodkins to hold the heavy scroll in place. “Why—I had to turn my maid off. She—she got herself with child.” It was the only excuse she could think of.
Mrs. Goodman shook her head, but her mouth was too full of bodkins to cluck her tongue. “It’s a wicked age, I vow and swear. But Lord, sweetheart, how’ll you shift, without a maid?”
Amber frowned. “I don’t know. But my aunt’ll have dozens, when she comes.”
Mrs. Goodman had finished now and Amber began combing out the long thick tresses at the sides of her face, rolling the ends into fat curls that lay on her shoulders.
“Of course, sweetheart. But until then—Heaven, a lady can’t do without a serving-woman.”
“No,” agreed Amber. “I know it. But I don’t know where to get one—I’ve never been in London before. And a woman alone must be mighty careful of strangers,” she added virtuously.
“She must, my dear, and that’s the truth on it. You’re a wise young creature to know it. But perhaps I can help you. A dear friend of mine has just removed to her country-estate and left some of her serving-maids here. There’s one of ’em I have in mind in particular—a neat modest accomplished young creature she is, and if she’s not already found a new place I can get her for you.”
Amber agreed and the girl arrived in less than an hour, a plain-faced plump little thing in neat dark-blue skirt, tucked-up fresh white apron and long-sleeved white blouse with a linen cap that covered her hair and tied in a knot beneath her round chin. She curtsied to Amber, her eyes lowered modestly, and she spoke in a soft voice that suggested she would never try to bully whoever took her into service. Her name was Honour Mills and Amber hired her promptly at two pounds a year, with her room and board and clothing.
It made her feel very fashionable and elegant, having a maid to brush her hair and lay out her clothes, run small errands and walk behind her when she went out of doors. And she was grateful, too, for the girl’s company. Honour was quiet and well-behaved, always neat in her appearance, always good-tempered, and a most satisfactory audience for her mistress whom she seemed to admire greatly.
But nevertheless Amber remembered Lord Carlton’s advice, kept her money well-hidden and did not confide her private affairs to her. She had not, however, taken the five hundred pounds to Shadrac Newbold, as he had suggested, for she had never heard of a goldsmith before and was distrustful of putting her money into the hands of a complete stranger. She thought herself quite competent to manage it. Nor did she intend to go to either of the two women he had suggested until she was forced by her own appearance to do so.
