“Who’s next?” he asked. There was a moment of hesitation, and he turned in irritation to his mates. “What ails you? I said who’s next?”
Toby came forward. He was faster than Nick, and Nick having spent within her made his entry easier, but still it was painful. Nell turned her head so that she would not have to look him in the eyes. The other boys needed no urging now. Davy and Kit hovered on either side of her, watching, eager for their turns, and Davy knelt between Nell’s thighs as soon as Toby was done. He hooked his arms under her knees, and he looked down at her keenly as he moved inside her, snarling like an animal.
The other boys laughed and called out their encouragement. Nell shut her eyes. Rocks and twigs pressed into her back, and the damp earth was soaking through her clothes. She didn’t feel elegant and enchanting, only uncomfortable and frightened. But it would soon be over. And the money would make it all worthwhile.
Kit nearly knocked Davy aside in his haste to get on top of Nell. She was so sore now that she could barely keep from crying, but managed not to let more than a stifled moan escape.
Finally, Kit finished, and sat back to fasten his breeches.
“Come on!” Nick ordered, yanking him to his feet.
“My money!” Nell cried, struggling to get up. “Two shillings.” Nick shoved her onto her back with a foot.
“Two hogs?” he sneered. “For that? We’ll not pay a farthing. You’re not only a whore, you’re a stupid whore, at that.”
Nell scrambled to her feet and caught at him. They couldn’t. After all she had suffered.
“You said-you agreed!” But Nick just flung her away, and she tripped sideways and fell to her knees as the boys ran, crashing away through the branches.
It was hopeless. She gulped, fighting back sobs. Every part of her ached; the insides of her bruised thighs were clammy; she was covered in mud. She tried to straighten her clothes, and cried out as she realized that her rosette was gone. In a panic, she looked and felt around her. And there it was. It must have come off when Nick first pushed her down and been crushed beneath her. It lay crumpled in the muck, its beautiful bright colors sodden gray.
The tears Nell had held back flowed now, and she wept, her body shaking, as she clutched the precious knot of ribbons in her hand. Nick was right. How stupid she had been, to think that she could ever be like the glorious Barbara Palmer. She was just a shabby little ragamuffin, fit for nothing better than selling oysters. Her dreams of freedom had been so much foolishness. She would have no choice but to go back to her mother, to endure the beating that she knew awaited her, and resume her life of drudgery.
When she had finally cried herself out, Nell pushed herself up, wincing in pain, and wiped her nose and eyes on her shift. Her fingers closed around the lump in the hem. Her remaining pennies were still there. One shred of consolation. But the money would not buy her lodging for the night, and she longed to lie herself down. She could go home. Or spend a second night on the street. Unless she could find Rose. That thought brought her to her feet. Rose would surely be at Madam Ross’s.
She emerged from the trees. There were still crowds gathered around the bonfires before the palace. She hurried toward Charing Cross, spurred on by hunger and weariness and the hope of comfort. Fires burned in the Strand and music drifted toward her on the warm evening breeze. She turned into the warren of narrow lanes that lay to the north of Covent Garden. She was near home now, and it felt odd to bypass the familiar close. But, resolutely, she made toward Lewkenor’s Lane.
“Nell!” Rose’s voice called her name. Nell rushed toward Rose and clung to her.
“I’ve been looking for you all the day,” Rose exclaimed, and then took in Nell’s state of dishevelment. “Wherever have you been?”
Nell’s tears burst forth again, and Rose guided her to a step, sat her down, and listened as the whole story came out in a rush. After she finished, Nell sat sobbing, overcome by humiliation and shame. Rose stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.
“Oh, Nelly,” she said. “I wish I had found you this morning. If I had only known what was in your mind…” She shook her head, considering, then put a finger under Nell’s chin and tilted Nell’s face to hers. Nell looked into her sister’s eyes, and Rose’s voice was gentle.
“I cannot make the world a different place than it is. But I can tell you this: Get the money first. Always.”
CHAPTER TWO
MADAM ROSS PURSED HER ROUGED LIPS. NELL FIDGETED UNDER the examination and threw an anxious glance to Rose. The madam’s red hair, unblinking gaze, and the quick tilt of her head made Nell think of a russet hen. She supposed Madam Ross must be as old as her mother, maybe even older. But she was a very handsome woman, and elegant in the dark green gown which showed off her buxom figure.
“Hmph,” Madam Ross mused. “Good eyes, good skin. Hair not a bad color, but monstrous wild.” Nell reached a hand up to try to smooth her curls and suffered Madam Ross to take her by the shoulders and turn her about.
“The beginnings of a nice little bosom,” Madam Ross commented. “And I make no doubt you’ll fill out more, like your sister. Yes, not bad at all. Lift your skirts.” Nell hesitantly pulled her skirt and shift to her knees.
“Higher, girl,” said Madam Ross, twitching Nell’s skirts to waist height. “Hmph. Very lovely little legs you have. And bit of feathering to the cuckoo’s nest, I see. Do you have your courses yet?”
“Aye,” Nell stammered. “Just.”
“Well, Rose can teach you what to do to keep yourself from getting with child.” She stepped back and regarded Nell for another moment, then nodded.
“Aye. You’ll do well. Some of them like the look of a game pullet who’s still but a child. We can sell you as a virgin for this day or two. And even without that, you’re a pretty impish little thing.” She smiled at Nell and then turned to Rose.
“She can lie in the room next to yours. Get her things today. We’re like to continue busy and we can use all hands.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Rose said, and Nell echoed her, “Aye, thank you very kindly, ma’am.”
Madam Ross nodded her acknowledgment. “Rose, make sure she has a bath. And help her to do something about that hair.”
She sailed out the door in a rustle of skirts, and Nell and Rose were left alone in Rose’s tiny room. Nell studied Rose, wishing as she frequently did that her own hair would fall in the smooth chestnut waves her sister had. Rose’s blue eyes were intent on her with an expression Nell couldn’t read, the color standing out on her high cheekbones.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rose asked. “’Tis not… all ease. You could go back home.”
“No.” Nell shook her head. “I’ll never go back. Besides, you know Mam would have me working the same way afore long. I must earn my keep in some way. I had rather be with you.”
“Very well.” Rose gave Nell a squeeze and a smile. “At least I can keep an eye on you here.”
THAT AFTERNOON, NELL AND ROSE WENT TO FETCH NELL’S FEW belongings from the Golden Fleece. Their mother, Eleanor, was behind the bar and scowled as they entered.
“I was wondering when you’d come creeping back. High time, too. There’s work to be done.” She turned back to the keg she had been tapping.
Nell’s heart pounded with fear, but knowing that Rose stood beside her, she found the courage to answer.
“I’m not coming back.”
Eleanor whirled to face her.
“What prating nonsense is that? Where else would you go?”
“With me,” Rose spoke up.
Eleanor shot from behind the bar with such violence that she sent a stool clattering to the floor, drawing the attention of the few tipplers who sat in a gloomy corner.
“With you? You talk hog-high. Are you so grand now that you’ve money to spare on the lazy little wretch?”
Rage overcame Nell’s fear.
“Lazy? You’ve worked me day and night since I could scarce walk. I don’t n
eed you. I can get my own living!”
Eleanor’s face flushed and she lunged for Nell, but Rose stepped between them.
“We’ve come to get Nell’s things,” Rose said, toe to toe with their mother. “Madam Ross has taken her on. Stand aside.”
Eleanor stood her ground for a moment, eyes blazing. But Rose did not back down, and all the patrons of the tavern were watching now. With a snort of disgust, Eleanor moved away, and Nell followed Rose behind the bar to the stairs.
In the mousehole of a room she had shared with her mother for as long as she could recall, Nell gathered the few items of clothes she was not already wearing-her spare shift, a pair of woolen stockings, a ragged cloak and cap for winter. Her only other possessions were the precious shard of mirror wrapped in a bit of sacking, and a small doll, its body of stuffed cloth and its face a painted walnut. Nell had had the doll all her life, and Eleanor had told Nell that her father had made it for her. It was the only relic she had of his existence, the only evidence that he had once lived, and had loved her.
Eleanor looked up as Nell and Rose descended the stairs.
“You’re an ungrateful little fool. And that Ross woman is an even greater fool if she thinks any man will pay to bed the likes of you.” The words hit Nell like a slap across the face, but Rose put a steadying hand on her shoulder and guided her past their mother.
“Good-bye, Mam,” Rose said.
ROSE OPENED THE DOOR INTO WHAT WOULD BE NELL’S HOME AND place of work. The room was tiny, scarce big enough for a bed, a chair, and a stand that held a basin and bowl for washing and a towel. There were three hooks on one wall, for hanging clothes, and a battered wooden box in which Nell could keep her belongings. Rough-cast walls rose to the dingy ceiling. Wide oak planks formed the floor, the grooves between them packed with ancient dust, the path from the door to the bed worn smooth from the passage of countless feet. A tallow candle stood in a bracket on the wall, but it was not lit, as the room’s best feature, the southward-facing window overlooking Lewkenor’s Lane, let in the noontime sun.
It was the most space that Nell had ever had to herself and she surveyed the little room with a sense of proprietorial delight. But the sudden change in her life was unsettling. She didn’t want Rose to leave her, and turned to her sister.
“What must I do now?”
“We’ll find you some better duds, and then you can sleep a bit before evening. ’Tis like to be busy tonight.”
“How will I know what to do?” Nell asked.
“Just chat as you’re used to at the Fleece. Not everyone in the taproom is there to dance Moll Pratley’s jig. If they want to go upstairs, they’ll pay Madam direct. She’ll tell you who to take next. Or Jack will.”
“Who’s Jack?”
“Madam’s man, who serves as bullyboy. Best to keep on his good side. He’ll have his way with one of the wenches once in a while, but if you’re lucky he’ll leave you be.”
“How much do we get paid?”
“The house takes two shillings. We get sixpence. But regulars are more like to be generous and give you extra coin, or bring you fal-lals of some sort.”
“Like what?
“Oh, garters, ribbons, maybe a fan or the like.”
Nell was pleased at the thought of owning such fine things and determined that she would get herself some regular customers as soon as ever she could.
“There’s more you need to know,” Rose continued. “You don’t want to get with child. You can’t work once you’re far along, and you’re like to get flung out before then anyway.”
Nell had not thought about pregnancy, and wondered what other unexpected hazards lay ahead.
“Come,” Rose said. “I’ll show you what to do.”
In Rose’s own little chamber, she produced a small lemon and a knife. She cut the lemon in two, squashed one half against a protruding knob in the bottom of a small wooden dish, and held up the resulting hollow little cup of rind and juiceless pulp.
“You put this up you, and set it so that it covers the entry to your womb.”
Nell goggled at her. “How will I know where it is?”
“Lie on your bed or squat down and put your finger up inside you. You’ll feel what I mean. A man’s seed is what gets you with child, do you see, when it gets into your belly. This helps keep it out. A little sponge soaked in vinegar will work, too. And after a man spends inside you, get up as soon as you can, use the chamber pot, and squeeze the stuff out. And wash between men.” She hesitated, and her fair face flushed pink as she spoke.
“Since your mind is made up, I’d best tell you some other things. Some men will prefer your mouth to your belly. It can be bad but at least it will not get you with child. When you think a cull is about to come off, get his yard as far back in your mouth as possible so you need not taste his spendings. Or have the necessary ready to hand so you can spit it out.”
Nell glanced at the chamber pot beneath the bed. It seemed that implement was quite an important tool of her new trade.
“What else?”
“Some will want to take you up the arse. It can hurt but you get accustomed. I’ll give you some salve. If you put a bit onto him or yourself it will make the business easier no matter where he takes you.”
“Even in the mouth?”
“No, of course not.” Rose spoke brusquely, dismayed at the depth of Nell’s innocence, and then continued more gently. “That’s different. The only difficulty there is breathing if he pushes in deep. You’ll learn.”
In the alehouse and around the bawds from her earliest days, Nell had heard of these practices, but she had never given them any particular thought. Faced now with such stark descriptions of what she would shortly be called upon to do, she quailed a little. But surely, whatever came would be easier than her previous work? No hauling sacks of charred scraps of wood and ash, no pushing the unwieldy barrow of oysters, its rough wooden handles making her hands blister and callous, the weight of the load through the long day wearing her out until all she could do was drop to sleep, exhausted. Surely this would be better.
She squared her shoulders and looked at Rose.
“Aye. I’ll learn.”
Rose stroked an errant curl out of Nell’s eyes and smiled.
“Come, let’s find you some rigging.”
This was a part of making ready that Nell thoroughly enjoyed. She watched in delight as Rose threw open the chest where Madam Ross kept a small store of clothes that had been left behind by girls who had been cast out or run away or died.
Rose rummaged through the brightly colored garments, tossing flounced and ruffled articles into a heap on the floor. She pulled out a skirt and matching boned body in a blue that made Nell think of hare-bells. Its fabric was finer by far than any she had ever worn. She held the body against her chest and smoothed it so that the waist met hers. The fit seemed just right, the full skirt grazing the tops of her bare feet. In a moment Rose held up a pair of stays, their long laces trailing, and a shift of fine lawn.
“Perfect. Now all you need is shoes and stockings. You’ll have to start with some of mine. It’s best that way any road-you’ll have to pay Madam Ross for these out of your earnings, and the less you have to work off, the better. But before you put any of that on, you need a bath. A real one, all over.”
Nell looked up at Rose, startled. She washed, using a bucket of water and rough lye soap to get the oyster brine and smell from her hands and arms and face. But bathing her whole body? She had never considered that.
A tub large enough to sit in stood in a small room off the kitchen, and Rose and Nell had only to carry enough buckets of hot water from the great kettle on the stove to fill it partway, and enough cold water to make the temperature bearable.
Nell looked at the steaming tub dubiously, but Rose was impatient.
“Come, off with your clothes. You’ll feel better. And you’ll look better. Keep in mind, you’re a good deal more draggled than what Madam is accustomed to taking i
n.”
Nell pulled off her dress and smock, lifted a leg over the rim of the tub, and waggled her toes in the warm water. It did feel good, and she climbed in and sat down so that the water rose above her waist.
“Wet your head. I’ll wash your hair,” Rose directed. Nell closed her eyes and submerged herself. The water was already an opaque browny gray. Rose handed her a cloth and a pannikin of brown soap, and pulling a stool close to the tub, she rubbed soap briskly into Nell’s hair. Nell submitted, enjoying the novel sensations.
“Well, wash yourself, goose,” Rose laughed.
Nell dutifully scrubbed herself. The water grew dingier, and her skin, flushed in the heat, got pinker. The ever-present feel of sweat and dirt was gone. She breathed in the steam and felt it clear her nose.
So far, her new life seemed more promising than the one she had left. She turned around and smiled up at Rose.
“I knew you would save me.”
Rose shook her head and grimaced wryly.
“I haven’t saved thee, treacle. I’m afraid you’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. But in truth I don’t know what else to do with you.”
After she was bathed and her old clothes set aside for washing, Nell returned to her little cubbyhole. The clean, soft stuff of her new shift clung to her damp skin and gave off a faint scent of lavender and beeswax. Her wet hair made her head pleasantly cool. The bath had helped ease the aches from her mother’s beating and the scrapes and bruises of the lads’ brutal use of her in the park.
She climbed into the bed. It was far more comfortable than the little straw-stuffed pallet she had slept on for as long as she could remember, and had clean linen sheets, a pillow, and a wool coverlet. She curled into this new luxury and went immediately to sleep.
NELL WOKE TO SEE ROSE COMING IN WITH PART OF A COLD MEAT PIE and a mug of small beer.
“Feeling better?”
The Darling Strumpet Page 3
