Nevertheless she sent Honour to an apothecary to get something which would prevent abortion and when the girl returned she brewed the packet of herbs into a tea. Amber drank the stinking decoction, holding her nose and making a face. The day wore on and as no symptoms of a miscarriage appeared Amber began to feel easier, for though she was sore and bruised she had not been otherwise seriously hurt. But she could think of nothing but Luke Channell and how she hated him, and she was determined that as soon as she got her money back she would leave him—go away from London to some other town and hide. She lay on the bed for several hours with her eyes shut, absorbed in making her plans.
Sally was most solicitous and even when Amber pretended to be asleep she continued to question her, to bring her something to eat, to suggest that she would feel better if she sat up for a little while and played some game to amuse herself. Finally, with a bored sigh, Amber agreed and they started a game of ombre, playing on a board which rested across their laps.
“Poor Luke,” said Sally after a few minutes. “I fear the dear boy inherited his father’s fits. Sometimes, I swear, I’ve seen Sir Walter Channell lie foaming at the mouth and stark rigid for minutes at a time. But when it passes, he’s the pleasantest man alive—just like Luke.”
Amber, giving Sally a skeptical glance, put down her queen and took the trick. “Just like Luke?” she repeated. “Then I’m mighty sorry for Lady Channell.”
Sally pursed her lips primly. “Well, my dear—sure, now, you wouldn’t expect any man to be pleased to find his wife with child by another man’s offices? And d‘ye know—” She played a card, took the trick, and as she was placing it slantwise along the board looked across at Amber. “It would almost seem you must ’ve known what your condition was when you married ’im.”
Amber smiled maliciously. “Oh, would it?” Suddenly her eyes flashed and she snapped out, “Why else would I marry that daggle-toothed lout?”
Sally looked at her, took a deep breath, and then began counting the tricks. She shuffled the cards, dealt, and they played for a while in silence.
All at once Amber said: “I’m missing a wallet that had a deal of money in it. It was on a nail behind that chest and someone stole it.”
“Stole it! Thieves in these rooms! Oh, heaven!”
“I think the thief was Luke!”
“Luke? A thief? Lord, child, how you talk! Why, there’s never an honester man in London than my nephew! And anyway, my dear, how could he
“A few paltry pounds! That wasn’t a few paltry pounds! It was everything I had in the world!”
Sally looked at her quickly. “Everything you had? Then what about your inheritance? What about your five thousand pound?” She was staring at her, her blue eyes narrowed and hard, all the placid good-humour gone from her face.
“What about
Sally refused to let go of her patience. “I explained that to you, my dear. And now am I to understand that you’ve swindled my nephew—made him think you were a person of some fortune when five hundred was all you had?”
Suddenly Amber slammed her handful of cards across the room and swept the board onto the floor. “Understand what you damn please! That wretch stole my money and I’ll have ’im before a constable for it!”
Sally got up, bowed to her with an air of injured dignity, and went into her own room where she closed the door and remained throughout the rest of the day. Honour stayed with her mistress. Quietly she went about her usual duties. She served Amber her supper on a tray, brushed her hair, and when Amber got up to wash her face and clean her teeth she smoothed out the sheets with a bed-staff. She listened with sympathy but made no comment upon Amber’s grumbling about her husband and his aunt and seemed not very much surprised by Amber’s statement that she intended to leave him as soon as she could force him to give her money back.
Though she did not intend to, Amber fell asleep before Luke came home. Some time in the middle of the night she wakened to hear voices in the next room—his and Sally’s—and though she waited for some time in cold angry apprehension the door between their rooms remained closed. And at last the sound of their voices ceased. She fell asleep again.
When she woke the next morning there was a bright fire going and the room had an almost surprising air of contented domesticity. Sally, humming a tune beneath her breath, was arranging a bowlful of green leaves. Honour was dusting the furniture with more enthusiasm than she usually showed for such tasks. And Luke stood knotting his cravat before a mirror, regarding himself with smug approval.
The moment she pulled back the bed-hangings Sally saw her.
