by Mary Hooper
Eliza laughed and agreed that she’d love nothing more than to live with Nell and provide these services whenever and wherever they were needed.
‘I can well do this for you,’ she said, ‘for I have no other ties on my time, no family and no one else to consider at all.’
‘We’ll soon find you someone to consider,’ Nell said. ‘There are many rich young men who’d love to bed a girl as pretty as you.’
Eliza nodded and smiled, but did not say what she usually did on these occasions: that she yearned to be loved for herself, not for her looks, and nor did she want to become someone’s mistress and be cast aside when her lover married. She’d be regarded as no more than a whore, then, and no decent man would ever wish to take her.
‘And maybe,’ Nell said, ‘you’ll be able to find your family, for at Tunbridge Wells I spoke to the king’s astrologer and he’s the cleverest man imaginable and can find out anything in the world!’
Eliza shrugged. ‘After attending on the charlatan necromancer who claimed to see my father I don’t know if I can believe that.’
‘Astrologers are different – even the king believes in Doctor Deane. Why, he forecast that I was with child fully a week before I found out myself.’
‘But that’s not difficult,’ Eliza said, ‘for surely anyone who sleeps regularly with a man soon finds herself with child?’
‘But he told me many other things – about my sister and my mother, and how it was forecast in the stars that I should be the king’s mistress, and that the king might find other mistresses but would never forsake me as long as he lived.’
Eliza struggled for a while, but the notion was irresistible. ‘Do you really think, then, that he might be able to tell me of my family and where they might be found?’
‘Of course,’ Nell said. ‘Or at least he can point you in the right direction.’
She squeezed Eliza’s hand. ‘Write down your birth date and the place where you were born, and then write my own details along with these and we’ll have him cast a proper birth chart for each of us.’
‘I’m not sure of my birth date any more,’ Eliza faltered. ‘Nor where I was born, for if I’m not the child of the parents I thought were mine …’
‘You’re sure to have been born on the same date. And at least must be from the same area, or very close.’
‘I’ve always believed my birth day to be the third of November. My mother used to tell me that she went into labour on Saturday night and gave birth to me on Sunday morning in time for church.’ Eliza smiled at the childish tale, but then the smile faded. Why go on believing that? It had all been lies …
‘Put what you know down on paper,’ Nell said, ‘and we’ll see what transpires.’
A few days later they received a message from the astrologer to ask that the two young ladies whose charts he had cast should go along to his consulting room, to be found on London Bridge at the sign of the Pen and Star. Eliza took the opportunity of this carriage ride to ask Nell about the new French lady-in-waiting, Louise de Keroualle, and whether she’d also been travelling with the court.
Nell nodded, pulling a sour face. ‘Squintabella?’ she said. ‘Yes, she was there, as was Barbara Castlemaine and her brood – and Queen Catherine too!’
‘And does the queen honestly not mind all these mistresses?’ Eliza asked.
‘She does not!’ Nell said. ‘She seems to tolerate us all. I believe she thinks that as long as the king is kept happy in the bedchamber, then he won’t bother her too much.’
At the astrologer’s house they were shown into a room with a dismal aspect. There were two tables covered in a confusion of dusty, yellowing papers, charts and scrolls, and above these were pinned parchments showing different conjunctions of the planets and their positions in the heavens. The room was lit by two miserable tapers and the stinking miasma from the river outside seeped through its closed windows and set Eliza to coughing.
Doctor Deane was wearing the same faded black scholar’s gown that he’d been wearing when Eliza had seen him at the palace. He rose to his feet as they entered the room and, looking from one to the other, gave Eliza a deep bow whilst holding on to his wig. To Nell he gave a more cursory acknowledgement.
The girls exchanged glances and raised eyebrows; Eliza felt she wanted to laugh. He hadn’t even got that right.
‘Good day, Doctor Deane,’ Nell said in a forthright tone. ‘’Tis me, you may remember, who’s mistress to the king. This is Eliza, my companion and maid.’
‘Quite so, madam,’ Doctor Deane said, not looking in the least bit put-out. ‘You must forgive my greeting your companion first, but she’s high-born and so convention demands it.’
Eliza bobbed a curtsy, trying not to laugh. ‘Thank you, sire – but I’m not high-born!’
‘And how do you know that, madam?’ he asked sternly.
Eliza looked at him, somewhat confused. ‘Because … I was born in a poor village in Somersetshire, and my parents – at least, my foster parents – were in reduced circumstances and perhaps took me in to earn a little money.’
Doctor Deane smiled slightly. ‘But from where do you think they acquired you?’ he asked and, turning, he reached for a rolled parchment and spread it out across his desk. Eliza looked at Nell, startled, and they both drew closer to stare at it.
On the parchment had been inscribed a large circle and this was divided into twelve segments. Over these had been drawn geometric shapes, with crosses and astrological signs. Eliza thought it looked very pleasing and interesting, but didn’t have the least idea what it meant.
‘This is your birth chart, milady,’ he said to Eliza, ‘showing where the planets were in the sky at the time of your birth.’ He traced with his finger. ‘See the second house – the house of money – has the Sun and Jupiter conjoined, and the tenth house – the house of fame and fortune – has Jupiter rising. The Sun is in the seventh house, and all the major planets are in the ascendant, which leads me to the conclusion that you’re very high-born.’ He paused and declared solemnly, ‘What happened to you after your birth is another matter.’
Eliza was stunned into silence.
‘Perhaps, indeed, you’re a member of the nobility and only posing as maid to Mistress Gwyn to try and fool me?’ Doctor Deane asked, frowning a little.
‘No,’ Eliza said. ‘Not at all. But I can’t really believe –’
‘She may not have got the timing exactly right,’ Nell interrupted. ‘What difference would it make if she was born, say, a few hours before or after this time?’
‘According to the chart I’ve prepared,’ Doctor Deane said solemnly, ‘milady here was born with almost every planet in a favourable position. Her birth a few hours before or after would only alter things very slightly.’ He turned to Eliza and looked at her steadily for some moments. ‘You have a noble forehead, clear eyes and are tall for a woman, and none of these traits are seen in peasant stock. I stand by my belief that you’re of the nobility.’
Nell gave a peal of laughter. ‘That shows me my place, Doctor, for I’m short enough to be knee-high to a bear!’
Eliza smiled, but hardly heard Nell’s joke. Could her earlier fantasy really be true? She thought about this while Doctor Deane was going through Nell’s chart with her, explaining how the different planets acted and reacted, and only spoke again when he’d finished.
‘Could it be,’ she asked then, ‘that I’m related to the king?’
He smiled slightly as he shook his head. ‘I said high, I didn’t say the highest in the land.’
‘But if I am high-born, when will I find out about it?’
Doctor Deane spread his hands. ‘Who knows? Astrology is not an exact science, and your future is also subject to your own will. You may never discover who you are – or you may, perhaps, come into your birthright and take your rightful place in the world.’
Eliza struggled to make sense of this. ‘So I may not ever find out my origins. But are you able to tell me where I
might discover my real family?’
‘I’m an astrologer, madam,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Not a fortune-teller.’
Eliza shrugged. Everything was too vague, too fantastical. And even if it was true that she was highborn, if she wasn’t going to find her family, then what was the point of knowing such a thing?
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Eliza moved with her few trifles over to Nell’s new house she discovered, to her great delight, that she’d been given a room of her own. It was only a very small one with a high window, but it overlooked part of the garden and also the ancient brick wall that ran around Whitehall Palace, some of the roofs of which could be seen in the distance. In the room was a fireplace, an iron bedstead with real feather mattress, a nest of drawers and a low rocking chair, and to this Eliza added a mirror which she’d bought with the remains of the money given to her by Claude Duval, and a wooden stand on which to hang her undersmocks and gowns.
Lying on her bed and surveying all this one afternoon, she felt content. Or, she thought to herself, almost content. She searched her mind for what it was that eluded her: a sense of permanency, perhaps, for the king seemed fickle and she feared Nell could lose her position and thus her house at any time. And if Nell lost all, then she would lose all too. There was also no sense of stability, no family, no feeling that she belonged to someone irrevocably and someone belonged to her. As for what Doctor Deane had told her – well, it was a wonderful story. A wonderful, fantastical story – like a fairy tale, she thought, and that was the only way she could allow herself to think of it.
There was a sudden high call of ‘E-liiii-za!’ from downstairs and she jumped to her feet and ran down.
‘I should have asked the maid to call you but I forgot,’ Nell said, meeting her on the polished wooden staircase. ‘It’s so difficult to get used to having servants!’ She took Eliza’s arm and turned her round. ‘Now, tell me what you think of my new drawing room,’ she said and, opening the double doors before them, gave Eliza a gentle push inside.
Eliza gazed around the fine room with its gleaming wood panelling, colourful tapestries and carved mantelpiece with wooden garland of intricately worked fruit and flowers.
‘’Tis beautiful – and all most excellently done,’ she said, looking around and gasping with delight.
‘But we must go to the shops, Eliza,’ Nell said. ‘I need more damask and velvet drapes and you must help me with the colours. I also need some oil paintings, a quantity of blue and white Delft china and all manner of little treasures to place on the shelves.’
Eliza looked at her questioningly. ‘What sort of little treasures?’
‘Boxes inlaid with pearl, some framed miniatures, marble statues, Chinese vases and lots of costly silver items so that the king feels quite at home when he comes to visit. Oh, and I want some clocks – the king loves clocks!’ Nell paused for breath and then went on, ‘You should see the bed I’ve ordered. It has four posts which reach the ceiling and draperies of cloth-of-gold, and is inlaid at the back with the king’s royal coat of arms in appliqué and precious stones. I’ve also ordered a comfortable close-stool to match it, with a padded velvet seat.’
Eliza raised her eyebrows, smiling.
‘I wish the king to be at ease whatever throne he’s sitting on!’ Nell continued with a giggle. Stopping suddenly, she ran her hands over her stomach. ‘Does it show yet that I’m with child, Eliza?’
Eliza scrutinised her figure carefully. ‘A little, but your gown is so stiff with embroidery and you’re wearing so many petticoats that I can’t tell which is your finery and which is you. But how many months are you?’
‘About four or five, I think.’
‘And are you …’ Eliza hesitated; she didn’t wish to cause offence but was desperately curious to know, ‘… are you completely sure that it’s the king’s child you’re carrying?’
‘Eliza!’ Nell said, affecting to be shocked. Then she laughed. ‘I haven’t lain with another man since my first time with the king. And I won’t do so again.’
‘Not ever?’
Nell shook her head. ‘There would be too much to lose and I’d be stupid to trifle with his affections. Not like some I could mention.’
‘Barbara Castlemaine?’
Nell’s eyes gleamed. ‘Her latest lover is Jacob Hall, the fairground tightrope walker!’
‘No!’
‘She’s just insatiable in her longings,’ Nell said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She pulled Eliza over towards the settle in the window. ‘But I want you to start reading me the new play. Do you have it there with you?’
Eliza nodded and held up the inked sheets. The play had been written by Charles Hart, who had forgiven Nell for passing him over for the king and was anxious now to use this connection as a means of rising in the world.
‘The king was most intrigued to hear news of it,’ Nell went on. ‘A comedy by Hart called The Prince and the Courtesan, with me playing the courtesan – well, of course he was!’
Eliza laughed. ‘He’ll be wanting a part in it next.’
‘As a matter of fact he’s been saying that for some time.’
‘Not really?’ Eliza thought of the difficulty of it all: of His Royal Highness lolling around backstage with the rest of the players, of him dressing in the shabby room where Jemima had given birth and holding court in the tiring room to receive the fops and gallants after his performance – for everyone would want to come along and tell His Majesty how wonderful he’d been. And what if he wanted to bring all his dogs with him? ‘He couldn’t really do such a thing, surely …’
Nell shrugged. ‘He’s the king and can do anything he likes! He loves the theatre and masquerading, and we could arrange it.’ Nell frowned a little. ‘The only thing is, those of the high church might say that it was unseemly for the head of the Church of England to appear on stage with actresses.’
Eliza thought for a moment. ‘What, then, if he were disguised?’
‘At a foot and a half taller than most men that could be difficult.’
‘Not so,’ Eliza said, picking up the script, ‘for I began reading this last night, and there’s an ideal part for him.’
‘Really?’
Eliza nodded. ‘In the play, the courtesan –’
‘Who’s very beautiful and talented, I’m sure!’
‘Of course,’ Eliza confirmed, and continued, ‘the courtesan is loved by a prince, but he’s just one of many men who seek her favours. She has promised to be true, however, and so he follows her around the country to make sure she stays faithful.’
‘Yes, but how –’
‘Well, he disguises himself as a dancing bear to do this, so that the courtesan won’t know he’s spying on her!’
Nell began laughing. ‘A prince disguised as a dancing bear – an excellent part for the king to play. But ’tis a pity that a bear can’t speak, for the king will have no lines to say.’
Eliza smiled. ‘He will, for the bear speaks to the audience when there’s no one else about. He tells the audience, in rhyme, that he intends to follow the courtesan and see if she’s faithful.’
‘And then what happens?’
‘One of his rivals in love, finding out that Brown Bear’s costume conceals his enemy, takes a gun and pretends to shoot him. The play continues with the bear limping around wounded, and goes through plots and counter-plots until at the final curtain the bear reveals himself as the prince. ’Tis very funny.’
Nell clapped her hands. ‘Perfect!’ she said. ‘I’ll tell the king about it tonight.’
The next morning, Eliza, arriving at the theatre early, was surprised to find Jemima already there. Looking at her drooping shoulders, drawn face and lank hair, Eliza wondered guiltily if she should have tried harder to visit her or engaged her on an excursion to take the air, for in the three weeks since William’s birth she’d hardly seen the girl. She’d been so busy since Nell’s return to London that her concerns about Jemima, her wish to tell h
er of William’s real character, had been pushed to one side.
‘How are you, sweeting?’ she asked now, squeezing her friend’s hand.
A listless eye was turned on her. ‘Is there any news of William? How is my husband?’
Eliza, unprepared for this question or indeed for seeing Jemima at all, couldn’t think of what to say in reply and just bit her lip.
‘Is he back in London?’ Jemima asked, her voice rising. ‘Why hasn’t he visited me? Does he know of our child?’
Eliza patted her hand, trying to compose the words she knew would have to be said.
‘I must see him!’ Jemima said plaintively. ‘I must see him or die of heartbreak!’
Eliza would have deemed this an exaggeration with anyone else, but looking at Jemima’s sorry condition decided that this might be a distinct possibility. She searched her mind for ways to sound positive.
‘Are you eating well?’ she asked Jemima. ‘And have you planned when you’ll visit little William? Have you heard from Mrs Reynolds as to his welfare?’
Jemima shook her head miserably. ‘I haven’t seen my Williams. They are both lost to me! How can I care whether I eat or no?’ Her hand clutched at Eliza’s. ‘But tell me truthfully, have you seen William? Does he know I’ve been confined?’
Eliza swallowed. ‘I haven’t seen him,’ she said, ‘but he does know of the child.’
‘Then why doesn’t he come to me?’ Tears began to drip down her cheeks. ‘Oh, I’m truly lost!’
‘He … he …’ Eliza stammered, then pulled Jemima on to a settle and sat down next to her. ‘Jemima,’ she said slowly, ‘’tis a sad and difficult thing I have to tell you, but you must be very brave and think of all you’ve gained from having known William. Your child, for instance. If you hadn’t known William then he wouldn’t have been born.’
Jemima looked at her with her brimming eyes. ‘What are you trying to say?’
