Winsor, Kathleen (127 page)

He
raised his eyebrows faintly as he saw her standing there. "Madame
Gwynne?"

Nelly
gave a little curtsy. "Aye."

"You
know, I suppose, madame, that it is not I who sent for you?"

"Lord,
I hope not, sir!" said Nelly. And then she added quickly, for fear of
having hurt his feelings, "Not that I wouldn't be pleased if it had
been—"

"I
understand, madame. And do you feel that you are correctly costumed for an
interview with his Majesty?"

Nelly
glanced down at her blue woollen gown and found it spotted with food and wine,
stained in the armpits from many weeks of wear; there was a rent low in the
skirt through which her red linen petticoat showed. She was unconcerned about
her dress, as she was about all her appearance, and took her
prettiness very
much for granted. Though she was paid the good wage of sixty pounds a year she
spent it carelessly, entertaining friends who came to see her, buying brandy
for her fat sodden mother and gifts for Rose, tossing coins to every beggar who
approached her in the streets.

"It's
what I was wearing, sir, when Mrs. Knight called for me. I didn't know—I can go
back and change—I have a very fine gown for special occasions—blue satin, with
a silver petticoat and—"

"There
isn't time now. But here—try some of this."

He
crossed the room, picked up a bottle and gave it to her. Nelly took out the
stopper, rolling her eyes ecstatically as she smelled the heavy-sweet odour.
Then she tipped the bottle against her bodice until the perfume made a wet
round circle, dabbing more of it on her breasts and wrists and live curling
hair.

"That's
enough!" warned Chiffinch, and took it away from her. He glanced at the
clock in a standing walnut case. "It's time. Come with me."

He
walked out of the room and for an instant Nelly hesitated, gulping hard once,
her heart pounding until she felt scarcely able to breathe; then with sudden
resolution she lifted her skirts and followed him. They went out into a dim
hallway. Chiffinch lighted a candle from one which was burning there, stuck it
into a brass holder and, turning, gave it to her.

"Here,
this will light you up the stairs. At the top there's a door which will be
unlocked. Open it and go into the ruelle, but don't make a sound until his
Majesty comes for you. He may be occupied in talking to one of the ministers or
writing a letter."

She
stared solemnly at him, nodding her head, and glanced up uncertainly toward the
invisible door. In her trembling hand the candle sent shaking shadows across
the walls. She looked back to Chiffinch again, as if for moral support, but he
merely stood and stared at her, thinking that the King would never send again
for this unkempt creature. Slowly she began to mount the stairs, holding up her
skirts with her free hand; but her knees felt so weak she was sure she would
never be able to reach the top. She kept on and on, feeling as though she
mounted some endless flight in a terrifying dream. Chiffinch stood and watched
her until he saw the door open, her profile silhouetted as she paused to blow
out the candle, and then with a shrug of his shoulders he went back to his
supper guests.

But
he was mistaken, for not many nights later she was there again, clean this time
and dressed in her blue satin and silvercloth gown. There was about her still,
however, a certain joyous carelessness, as though her spirits were too
exuberant, too buoyantly full to take time with trifles. And this time
Chiffinch greeted her with a smile, caught in her spell.

Nelly
could not get over the wonder of this thing that had
happened to
her; she felt almost as though she were the first mistress Charles had taken.
"Oh, Mary!" she cried breathlessly that first night when she came
back out to the coach. "He's wonderful! Why—he treated me just like—just
like I was a princess!" And suddenly she had burst into tears, laughing
and crying at once. I've fallen in love with him! she thought. Nell
Gwynne—daughter of the London streets, common trollop and public performer—in
love with the King of England! Oh, what a fool! And yet, who could help it?

Not
long after that Charles asked her what yearly allowance she would want and
though she laughed and told him that she was ready to serve the Crown for
nothing, he insisted that she name a price. The next time she came she asked
Chiffinch what she should say.

"You're
worth five hundred a year, sweetheart—just for that smile."

But
when she came downstairs again she seemed sad and subdued and Chiffinch asked
her what had happened. Nell looked at him for a moment, her chin began to
quiver and suddenly she was crying. "Oh! He laughed at me! He asked me and
I said five hundred pound and—and he laughed!" Chiffinch put his arms
about her and while she sobbed he stroked the back of her head, telling her
that she must be a little patient—that one day soon she would have much more
than five hundred pounds from him.

She
did not care about the money, but she did care a great deal that he should not
consider her to be worth five hundred pounds—when he had spent much more than
that on a single ring for Moll Davis.

Nelly
and Moll Davis were well acquainted, for all the actors knew one another and
knew also everything that happened in that small bohemian world which hung on
the fringes of the Court. And because she liked people and was not inclined to
be jealous she liked Moll despite their rivalry in the theatre —and now in
another sphere—until she heard that Moll had been making fun of her because
Charles had refused her the price she had asked.

"Nelly's
a common slut," said Moll. "She won't amuse him long."

Moll
herself made great capital of the rumour that she was the illegitimate daughter
of the Earl of Berkshire, though actually her father was a blacksmith and she
had been a milkmaid before coming to London to try her fortune.

"A
common slut, am I?" said Nelly, when she heard that. "Well, perhaps I
am. I don't pretend to be anything else. But we'll see whether I know how to
amuse his Majesty or not!"

And
she set out to visit Moll with a large box of homemade candy tucked under her
arm. She threaded her way up one narrow crooked little alley and down another,
flipping coins to a dozen beggars, waving an arm in greeting at various women
hanging out their windows, stopping to talk to a little girl selling
a platter of
evil-smelling fish—she gave her a guinea to buy shoes and a cloak, for the
winter was setting in. The day was sunny but cold and she walked along swiftly,
her hair covered with a hood, her long woollen cloak slapping about her.

Moll
lived not far from Maypole Alley in a second-floor lodging much like Nell's
own, though she had been bragging that his Majesty was going to take a fine
house and furnish it for her. Nelly rapped at the door, greeted Moll with a
broad grin, and stepped inside while the girl still stood staring at her. Her
eye went quickly round the room, picking out evidences of new luxury:
yellow-velvet drapes at the windows, a fine carved chair or two, the
silver-backed mirror Moll was holding in her hand.

"Well,
Moll!" Nelly tossed back her hood, unfastened the button at her throat.
"Aren't you going to make me welcome? Oh! Maybe you've got company!"
She pretended surprise, as though she had just noticed that Moll wore only her
smock and starched ruffled petticoat, with her feet in mules and her hair down
her back.

Moll
stared at her suspiciously, searching for the motive of this visit, and her
plump dainty-featured little face did not smile. She knew that Nell must have
heard the things she had been saying about her. She lifted her chin and pursed
her lips, full of airs and newly acquired hauteur. "No," she said.
"I'm all alone. If you must know—I'm dressing to see his Majesty— at ten
o'clock."

"Heavens!"
cried Nell, glancing at the clock. "Then you must hurry! It's nearly
six!" Nelly was amused. Imagine taking four hours to dress—even for the
King! "Well, come on, then. We can gossip while you're making ready. Here,
Moll—I brought you something. Oh, it's really nothing very much. Some sweets
Rose and I made—with nuts in, the kind you always like."

Moll,
disarmed by the thoughtful gesture, reached for the box as Nell held it toward
her, and finally she smiled. "Oh, thank you, Nell! How kind of you to
remember how much I love sweets!" She opened it and took up a large piece,
popped it into her mouth and began to munch, licked her fingers and extended
the box to Nell.

Nelly
declined. "No, thanks, Moll. Not just now. I ate some while we were making
it."

"Oh,
it's delicious, Nell! Such an unusual flavour, too! Come on in, my dear—I have
some things to show you. Lord, I vow and swear there can't be a more generous
man in Europe than his Majesty! He all but pelts me with fine gifts! Just
look
at this jewel case. Solid gold, and every jewel on it is real—I know
because I had a jeweller appraise it. And these are real sapphires on this
patch-box too. And look at this lace fan! Have you ever seen anything to
compare? Just think, he had his sister send it from Paris, especially for
me." She thrust two more pieces of candy into her mouth and her eyes ran over
the gown Nelly
was wearing. It was made of red linsey-woolsey, a material warm and serviceable
enough, but certainly neither beautiful nor luxurious. "But then of course
you didn't want to wear your diamond necklace coming through the streets."

Nell
felt like crying or slapping her face, but she merely smiled and said softly,
"I haven't any diamond necklace. He hasn't given me anything."

Moll
lifted her brows in pretended surprise and sat down to finish painting her
face. "Oh, well—don't fret about it, my dear. Probably he will—if he
should take a fancy to you." She picked up another piece of candy and then
began to dust Spanish paper onto her cheeks with a hare's foot. Nelly sat with
her hands clasped over one knee and watched her.

Moll
struggled with her hair for at least an hour, asking Nelly to put in a bodkin
here or take one out there. "Oh, gad!" she cried at last. "A
lady simply can't do her own head! I vow I must have a woman—I'll speak to him
about it tonight."

When
the royal coach arrived at shortly after nine Moll gave an excited shriek,
crammed the last three pieces of candy into her mouth, snatched up mask and fan
and muff and gloves and went out of the room in a swirl of satins and scent.
Nelly followed her down to the coach, wished her luck and waved her good-bye.
But when the coach rattled off she stood and watched it and laughed until tears
came to her eyes and her sides began to ache.

Now,
Mrs. Davis! We'll see what airs you give yourself next time we meet!

The
following day Nelly went to the Duke's Theatre with young John
Villiers—Buckingham's distant relation, somewhere in the sprawling Villiers
tribe—to see whether her rival dared show herself on the boards after what had
happened the night before. And Villiers—because he hoped to have a favour from
her after the play—paid out four shillings for each of them and they took their
seats in one of the middle-boxes, directly over the stage where Moll could not
miss seeing them if she was there.

As
they sat down Nell became conscious that there were two men in the box directly
adjoining theirs and that both of them had watched her as she came in. She
glanced at them, a smile on her lips—and then she gave a little gasp of
horrified surprise and one hand went to her throat. It was the King and his
brother, both apparently incognito for they were in ordinary dress, and the
King wore neither the Star nor the Garter. In fact, their suits were far more
conservative than those of most of the gallants buzzing away down in Fop
Corner, next the stage.

Charles
smiled, nodding his head slightly in greeting, and York gave her an intent
stare. Nelly managed to return the smile but she wanted desperately to get up
and run and would, in fact, have done so but that she did not care to draw the
attention of the
entire theatre upon them. And furthermore Betterton, wrapped in the traditional
long black cloak, had now come out onto the apron of the stage to speak the
prologue.

She
stayed, but even after the prologue was over and the curtains had been drawn
for the first act she sat rigid and tense, not daring to move her head,
scarcely seeing the stage at all. Finally Villiers shook her elbow and
whispered in her ear.