The Darling Strumpet
Page 29
“I’ll have to-I haven’t the-I’ll make it good.”
“Of course,” Hortense said carelessly. “Of course. When quite convenient.”
THAT NIGHT NELL LAY AWAKE UNTIL THE WEE HOURS, HAUNTED BY the enormity of her folly, and when she finally fell asleep, she was tormented by her old nightmare of creeping terrified and cold toward safety only to have the great door slam, condemning her to face the overwhelming darkness alone.
“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HOLD ON TO THE BITTER END,” CHARLES SAID gently the next evening, kissing the back of Nell’s neck.
“I know,” she said, rolling over in bed to face him and burying her face against his shoulder. “It was foolish. But I couldn’t stand the way they were looking at me.”
“Ah, yes. I know that look.”
“You do?” Nell pulled back to look at Charles’s face, shadowed in the darkness of his bedroom.
“Yes. I felt that look many and many a time during my years away. When we were at the French court, someone presented me with a pack of hunting dogs. There was an audience watching, oohing and aahing over the magnificence of the gift. And all I could think was that I couldn’t afford to feed them. I couldn’t even afford to feed myself.”
“I can sell my silver,” Nell murmured.
“No, sweetheart, don’t do that. I’ll find money in the Secret Service accounts somewhere. But don’t get yourself backed into a corner next time.”
“I won’t,” Nell promised. “Oh, Charles, thank you. I swear I’ve learned my lesson.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SO MUCH TO DO BEFORE THE PARTY. BUT IT WOULD BE WORTH IT. Nell looked with satisfaction at the army of silver that ranged across the kitchen table, waiting to be polished. Plates, flagons, bowls, cups, great wine cisterns, salt cellars, spoons, forks, knives, and platters. Fourteen thousand ounces in all, and all of it would be rubbed to gleaming perfection.
She always enjoyed her birthday parties for Jemmy, coming as they did at Christmas, when everyone was in a festive mood, but this year, celebrating the fifth anniversary of his birth, she was particularly happy. Rose was keeping company with a new man, Guy Foster, one of the soldiers who had been set to keep watch on the house. It was true that Hortense was much in Charles’s company, but he dined with Nell two or three times a week and came to her bed with increasing frequency, and she no longer feared that she would lose him or be cast adrift to make her own way.
Nell’s steward, Thomas Groundes, appeared at her elbow.
“If you’ve time now, Mrs. Nelly, we must go over the orders for tomorrow.”
They sat by the fire in his little pantry office, and Groundes read to her from his lists.
“From the poulterers, a swan, three geese, and two dozen pigeons, all for two pounds tuppence. From the butcher’s, one lamb at ten shillings, and a leg of beef, sixpence. From the fishmonger, a dozen each of lobsters and crabs, and eels for a pie. Oysters are cheap just now, only two pounds for three barrels. Now as for cheese…”
Nell’s mind drifted away from the present. Two pounds for oysters. She thought back to when it had taken her a week of selling oysters to earn five shillings, to the day when Charles had come back to London and how a penny had made the difference between hunger and comfort. And here she was to spend twenty pounds for the supper for her party. She thanked what power there might be listening that her Jemmy and Charlie would never know hunger or want.
“Most excellent, Thomas. Thank you.” She stood and made to go. Snow was falling outside the window, and she turned back to Groundes, bent over his books. “And Thomas-when the fishmonger comes, give him ten shillings and bid him give them to ten oyster wenches who lack clothes enough to keep them warm.”
THE NEXT NIGHT, NELL’S HOUSE WAS CROWDED WITH GUESTS, THE rooms ablaze with candles and hung with holly and ivy. Charles had not yet arrived, but she knew he would come-he had hinted at some mysterious surprise the previous day. A crowd had gathered in the snowy street outside to watch the guests arriving and share in the festive mood, and Nell sent Dicky One-Shank and the kitchen maids and pages out with spiced wine to warm them. She heard cheers that were louder than could be accounted for by the drink, and knew that Charles must have arrived.
He made his way beaming to where she stood with the boys, Monmouth following in his wake. Charles was carrying two long wood and leather boxes of the kind that were made to hold important documents, and an expectant murmur swept through the party.
The boys made their bows and then rushed into Charles’s arms as he stooped to greet them. His eyes met Nell’s above their heads and he grinned.
“It’s a special birthday for you, Jemmy, deserving of a special gift,” he said. “But we cannot leave your brother out, so there is something for him, too. Charlie, will you read this to your brother?” He opened one of the boxes to show a scroll of vellum within. Charlie unfurled it, revealing red wax seals, dangling ribbons, and Charles’s bold signature, and read.
“ ‘I, Charles the Second of that name, do on this date bestow upon my son James, born upon Christmas Day in the year of Our Lord 1671, the title of Lord James Beauclerk, with the place and precedence of the oldest son of an earl.’ ” Jemmy’s eyes shone as he turned to Nell with a smile of pure joy. Applause and cries of “God keep Lord James Beauclerk” rang out as Charles proffered the second box. Charlie reverentially removed the scroll, his eyes alight.
“What does it say, Charlie?” Nell prompted, and he held it up for her to see, grinning proudly. “It says I am made Baron Hedington and Earl of Burford, Mother.”
Nell tried to find the words to thank Charles, but was too choked with tears of joy to speak.
“There’s more,” Charles said, receiving another two long cases from Monmouth. “You open these, Nell.”
They contained scrolls with coats of arms for the boys, the same as Charles’s royal arms, but each with a different heraldic mark indicating that the bearers were the king’s natural children. Charlie’s shield was depicted as being supported by a white antelope on one side and a white greyhound on the other and was topped with an earl’s coronet.
“The antelope shows that you are descended collaterally from King Henry the Fourth,” Charles explained, “and the greyhound that your five-times-great-grandfather was King Henry the Seventh. Happy Christmas, sons.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE TOWER ROSE GRIM AND GRAY, AND THOUGH NELL WAS ONLY there to visit Buckingham, she could not help a shudder of fear as her boat pulled to the dock, thinking how many poor wretches had entered this way, never to leave.
Buckingham was as comfortable as he could be under the circumstances, not in a cell but in the home of one of the yeoman warders, with a fire burning in the grate, a real bed, a table and chair, books and writing materials, and light to read by. It was his own political machinations that had got him here, she thought, but the relief on his face at the sight of her overcame her exasperation.
“You look like you have a cold, George, are you warm enough? Here-heated brandy and food. And a letter from Dorset.”
“Oh, Nell,” he said, cupping the stoneware bottle in his hands and inhaling its scent, “you can’t think how grateful I am that you’ve come. It’s all a silly misunderstanding, you know.”
“George, why can you not keep from quarreling with Parliament?” she asked, and then regretted it as he drew breath for what would surely be a lengthy and impassioned self-defense. “Never mind, don’t tell me. I’m doing what I can, and so are Dorset and Rochester and all your friends, and I’m sure the king will let you out, but really, you must stop from picking fights.”
“I will, Nelly. Tell His Majesty so. Oh, this is good cheer.” Buckingham threw down the bone from the chicken leg he had just gobbled, wiped his hand on his breeches, and gave closer attention to Dorset’s letter.
“ ‘The best woman in the world brings you this paper,’ he says, and so you are, Nell. ‘Resign your understanding and your interest wholly to her conduct.
’ And I will, Nell. Truly I will, if only you can get me out of this dog hole.” He coughed, and Nell was alarmed by its harsh rattle, and how drawn and drained he appeared when the spasm was over. The handkerchief with which he wiped his lips came near to having more color than he did, she thought.
“HE’S TRULY ILL,” NELL PLEADED TO CHARLES IN HER BED THAT NIGHT. “He has a churchyard cough would make your heart bleed to hear it.” Charles lay with his back to her so that she could not read his face, but she heard the resignation in his sigh, and knew she had won.
“Very well,” Charles said. “But on one condition. He must stay with you. And you must do your utmost to keep him out of trouble. He’ll listen to you, Nell, above anyone in the world. Tell him he has my love, as always, but he must stop his games for good and all.”
HORTENSE’S DOWNFALL BEGAN SOON AFTER BUCKINGHAM’S RELEASE from the Tower.
“Apparently,” Sam Pepys chortled to Nell over coffee one afternoon, “she has formed a friendship with Anne, Countess of Sus-sex, the daughter of the king and Lady Castlemaine, who is now with child, and frequently visits her ladyship in her Whitehall apartments.”
“Which makes it convenient for the king to see Hortense,” Buckingham commented. “No one can fault him for visiting his own daughter, after all.”
“Quite,” Sam agreed. “But the other day, His Majesty entered the countess’s apartments and found the two ladies in bed, unclothed, and kissing.”
“Really?” Nell could think of nothing else to say, so lurid were the layers of intrigue presented by the idea of Charles’s current lover and formerly almost-wife Hortense carnally entwined with the pregnant daughter of Charles and his longtime consort Barbara.
“He was at a loss for words,” Sam said. “At first. But later he regained his composure to the extent of ordering Anne to France, to the keeping of her mother.”
Shortly after Hortense was deprived of Anne’s company, Nell heard rumors of other lovers-men again. And all the court heard Charles’s royal roar of indignation when he discovered that Hortense had cuckolded him with the visiting Prince of Monaco.
“And thus has she forfeited his favor,” Buckingham smiled. “I told you she’d not last.”
BUCKINGHAM HAD LOST SOME OF HIS GRAVELIKE PALLOR IN THE days since he had been released to Nell’s care, but at her insistence he was bundled in shawls and blankets and sat nearest the fire in the drawing room. Nell, Rochester, and Dorset sat close by, the room cheerfully bright in contrast to the snowy gray sky outside the window.
“You really are the best-loved wench in the king’s eyes, Nell,” Buckingham said. “And do you know why? Because you’ve followed my advice all these years.”
“Is that so?” Nell asked, annoyance fighting with amusement at his earnestness.
“Your advice, George?” said Rochester. “It’s my counsel has kept her in the royal bed so long.”
Dorset chuckled. “I think Nell would have managed fine without any of us, you know. She’s not only kept her feet on the ground and her sweet cunt in the king’s mind, but she’s beloved of the people, as well.”
“Exactly,” said Buckingham. “Because that’s what I taught her to do. Keep Old Rowley happy, make no demands, and ride out the storms. The storms are what Charles cannot abide.”
“Speaking of storms,” Rochester said, “have you heard that no sooner did Barbara arrive in Paris but she began a bit of jockumcloy with Ralph Montagu?”
“Well, he is the ambassador,” Buckingham put in. “Perhaps he considers it no more than his duty to welcome a newly arrived English lady with all the warmth at his disposal.”
“And further to the matter of royal buttock,” Rochester said, when the laughter had died down, “I have a new little piece I’m rather proud of. I’ll give you only a taste:
“That pattern of virtue her Grace of Cleveland
Has swallowed more pricks than the ocean has sand,
But by rubbing and scrubbing so large it does grow
It is fit for just nothing but Signor Dildo.
“Good, isn’t it? I’m going to send it to the king.”
“God’s arsehole, Johnny,” Nell cried, “he’s only just forgiven you for destroying his favorite sundial. Are you longing for a stay in the Tower?”
“What possessed you to do that, anyway, Johnny?” Dorset asked. “Beat down the sundial, I mean?”
“I could not abide to see it there,” Rochester said, drinking. “Standing there like some great stone prick, fucking the sky, fucking time. It had to be laid low.”
“You were drunk, I suppose?” Nell asked.
“Drunk?” Rochester blinked at her. “I’ve been drunk for five years.”
“And see where it’s got you! Why do you do it?” she demanded.
“If all be true that I do think,” Rochester declaimed,
“There are five reasons we should drink:
Good beer, a friend, or being dry,
Or lest we should be, by and by,
Or any other reason why.”
“Excellent!” cried Dorset. “Yours?”
“No, Aldrich.” Rochester waved his hand. “But the sentiments are much my own. Do you know, George, of the three businesses of this age-women, politics, and drinking-the last is the only exercise at which you and I have not proved ourselves arrant fumblers.”
“Speaking of women,” Dorset said. “Are the rumors of your impending fatherhood true, Johnny?”
“Yes.” Rochester looked glumly into the fireplace.
“A son and heir?” Buckingham grinned.
“Alas, no,” Rochester said. “It’s not my wife but Betty Barry who’s shortly to be brought to bed. You’ll have noticed she’s been absent from the stage of late?”
“I hope you intend to provide well for her and the child?” Nell demanded. “Because if you have any thought of playing her a dog trick, you’ll answer to me.”
“Good girl,” Dorset applauded.
“And upon that score,” Nell continued, “I had to dismiss Fleetwood Sheppard. He got one of the maids with child, you know.”
“Really?” said Rochester. “How very ambitious of him.”
“Don’t make light of it, Johnny,” Nell chided. “It’s a poor example for the boys, and now I’m at a loss to know what to do.”
“Well, why not give Thomas Otway a try if you’re in the market for another tutor?” Rochester said. “You’re little Charlie’s trustee, Charlie, what do you say?”
“Yes, good thought,” Dorset agreed. “He’s not finding much of a market for his plays at the moment and would probably be glad of a position.”
“GUY HAS ASKED ME TO MARRY HIM.” ROSE’S EYES SPARKLED AND HER cheeks were flushed, and Nell was relieved to see her looking so happy.
“That’s wonderful, Rose. He’s a good man, and you deserve much joy, after all the hardship you have suffered. It would give me pleasure if you would let me give you the wedding here at the house.”
Rose hugged Nell. “Nothing would make me happier. You are the dearest sister I could imagine having, sweetheart.”
The wedding took place at Christmas, and Nell reflected that the year had ended on a good note. Rose was happy, the children were healthy, and Eleanor was behaving as well as could be expected. Charles had forgiven Buckingham, and Buckingham was once more contentedly waging war against his enemies in Charles’s cabinet and in Parliament. The Duke of York’s fifteen-year-old daughter Mary had been married with great ceremony to the reassuringly Protestant William of Orange, which seemed to have mollified even the most rabidly anti-Papist intriguers. Charles had been able to use the excuse of the threat of war to increase the size of the standing army, and because he breathed easier, all around him did as well.
But the new year of 1678 began badly. Nell returned home from a visit to her mother to find the house in an uproar because of a burglary. Dozens of pieces of her prized silver table service were gone, and advertising for their return produced no results.
Little Jemmy took to crawling into bed with her in the afternoons, lying still and quiet so he would not disturb her, and she was comforted by feeling the small warm body against her, and smelling the sweet scent of his hair. When her headaches were not too bad, Charlie read to her from his lessons, and she praised him, full of unfeigned admiration for his learning.
BY AUGUST, NELL WAS FEELING MUCH BETTER AND ACCOMPANIED Charles first to Windsor and then to Newmarket for a week of relaxation and entertainments. The air of the country and getting away from London refreshed her spirits. Charles was in good humor, putting on his oldest coat and taking Jemmy and Charlie with him for an early morning visit to the stables to see his horses that would race that day and to watch the training gallops, and they returned for breakfast ravenous and full of prattle.
“Father’s going to ride Flat-Foot himself today!” Jemmy cried, his eyes bright with wonder.
“I know, poppet, he’s a man of rare talents, your da is!” Nell laughed, pushing back the mop of dark curls from his forehead.