But she did not expect to stay long with Black Jack. For somehow, she was sure, she could get him to give her four hundred pounds. He seemed to have so much money, and so little use for it, she was convinced she would have it from him in less than a fortnight. And then she would leave him—though what she would do or where she would go she had no idea. She had even lost the names of the women Lord Carlton had said would take care of her during her lying-in.
At the foot of Water Lane they disembarked and Bess started out ahead up the steep stone steps to the street level. Amber, holding the bird-cage in one hand and her skirts in the other, cautiously felt her way along until all at once Black Jack—who had been delayed while he paid the bargeman—came up behind her, swung her into his arms and went up as swiftly as though it had been broad daylight. They passed through the gardens which had belonged to the old Carmelite monastery that had once stood there, and finally came into a narrow street.
Here, there was light and noise, and great street signs indicated that almost every other building was a tavern. Through the square-paned windows they could see men playing cards, a naked woman dancing, two other women stripped to the waist and fighting before a crowd of onlookers that cheered and threw coins. The sound of fiddles blended with screams and laughter and the wailing of babies. They were in Ram Alley, Whitefriars, a part of the district which gave the privilege of sanctuary to criminals and debtors. Those who lived there preferred to call it, ironically, Alsatia.
They stopped before one of the houses, Bess opened the door with a key and Black Jack set Amber down. She stepped inside and instantly the two women turned to look at each other.
Bess, Amber saw, was no more than her own age, and of about the same height. Her hair, which was abundant, was dark brown and curly and fell below her shoulders; her eyes were blue and she had a small piquant face, somewhat too broad at the cheekbones, with a nose that turned up saucily. Her figure was round almost to plumpness and her breasts were full-blown. Amber thought that she looked vulgar—an ill-bred slut.
But she was uneasy and angry herself to be put under the girl’s scrutiny. For though she had used Black Jack’s comb and scrubbed her face she was still miserably dirty, and now she could feel a louse begin to bite. But she would have died rather than reach down to scratch. As it was, Bess lifted her brows and smiled faintly to indicate that she considered her no very formidable rival.
Pox on her! thought Amber furiously. Just wait till I’ve had a bath, Mrs.! We’ll see whose nose is out of joint then, I’ll warrant you! Her speech was taking on the colour of her surroundings, reflecting Lord Carlton and Almsbury, Luke Channell and his aunt, Moll Turner and Newgate, and now, Black Jack and Alsatia.
But if Black Jack was conscious of the resentment crackling between the two women he gave no indication of it. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Where’s Pall?”
Bess shouted the name and within a few moments a girl pushed open the door which led into another room and stood sleepily on the threshold. Evidently the kitchen-slavey, she was barefooted and ill-kempt, and her hair hung in greasy yellow streaks about her neck. But at the sight of Black Jack she blushed and smiled self-consciously and dropped him a curtsy.
“Glad t’see ye back, sir.”
“Thanks, Pall. I’m glad to be back. Can we have something to drink? I’ll have cherry-brandy. What do you want, sweetheart?” He turned to Amber.
Bess scowled swiftly at that and the next instant she was berating Pall, pouring her jealous spleen over her. “What’ve you been doing, you lazy slut! Why aren’t those dishes cleaned?” She pointed to a table littered with dishes and bones and nut-shells, glasses and wine-bottles. “By Jesus, you’ll mend your ways or I’ll give you a flogging—D’ye hear me?”
Pall winced, evidently believing her, but Black Jack interrupted the tirade. “Leave the girl alone, Bess. Maybe she’s been busy in the kitchen.”
“Busy sleeping, I’ll warrant you!”
“Bring a bottle of Rhenish for Mrs. Channell, and Bess will have—”
“Brandy!” snapped Bess, and gave Amber a quick furious glare.
Amber turned her back and went to sit down. She felt tired and listless and suffered acutely from knowing that she had never been less attractive. She wished only that she might get away from them all and go somewhere to sleep, and then in the morning have a fine warm bath with soap-suds enough to float on. Oh, to be really clean again!
