The King's Favorite

by Susan Holloway Scott

  “No.” His eyes were half closed as he studied me at my business, so that I could not judge his humor. “These are your lodgings now. I’ll expect you to be here always, waiting for me.”

  “Aye, sir.” I rose, smoothing my skirts, and tucked the pot neatly beneath the bed. I knew enough to be tidy. I might be a poor whore, but I wasn’t a slatternly one. “That was what we agreed.”

  But his thoughts had moved forward. “Take off your clothes, Nell. Let me see you.”

  “Everything, sir?” I asked, though there wasn’t much to shed. A worn-sleeved bodice, an old petticoat of Rose’s that I’d cut down to fit me, and my shift were the sum of my wardrobe. Because it was summer, I wore neither shoes nor stockings, and I’d already mislaid my little linen cap somewhere on the bed. “To my shift?”

  “Your shift, too,” he said firmly. “You’re mine now, Nell, and I’ll see you have better than those dirty rags. In the morning I’ll take you to the shop, and you can have your pick of the stock. I’ll not have anyone say I don’t treat you as you deserve.”

  I tried to smile at that. He was being exceeding generous, first with these lodgings, and now offering me new clothes, as well. This was to be expected of being kept by a draper like Mr. Duncan. He would regard my dress with special attention, and expect me to display the finest goods from his shop on my person. And in truth, my clothes were sadly scarce more than rags. Everything I wore had come to me after another’s hard use, and the finery he now promised would be the first that ever I’d have new made for me.

  But to cast off my sorry dress by his order, to stand before him as naked as Eve in the garden whilst he remained clothed, even to the laces in his shoes—ahh, I balked at that. No one, not even my mam, had seen me in my skin since I’d been a babe, and his order to display myself thus seemed to reinforce both his power over me, and my own pitiful vulnerability in return. I stood unmoving and mute with confusion, my hands limp at my sides as I stared bleakly back at him.

  “Make haste, Nell, and do what I ask.” He motioned impatiently with his hand, a fluttering of fingers to urge me to his bidding. “I’ve already had you the once. There’s no use in playing the modest one now.”

  “No, sir,” I whispered miserably, and at last I began to unlace my bodice.

  He scowled, still displeased by my reluctance. “Damnation, girl. I didn’t pay to see you weep.”

  “I’m not weeping,” I said swiftly. He was right. He hadn’t meant to make me cry, any more than I had meant to do it. Tears were a rare luxury for girls from Coal Yard Alley. There was no place for them here, either, not if I truly wished to advance myself as I’d claimed. The sorrows I felt in my heart didn’t matter. Instead I must be the merry Nell that he had bought, the same Nell I’d been every other night among the gentlemen at Mrs. Ross’s. If that was the face I showed Mr. Duncan, then I could keep the rest of me locked safe behind it. The only power that he or any other man could have over me was that which I’d grant him.

  I shook my tangled hair back from my forehead and forced myself to smile. This was only another performance, I told myself sternly, no different from singing songs to the gentry in the park for a penny or two. It was the work of an instant to whisk away my tattered clothes and stand before Mr. Duncan as God had fashioned me, with no more than my auburn curls above and below for adornment. I knew I was prettily made and should have no shame showing myself for his admiration, especially after what I’d already let him do.

  “Gaze away, sir,” I declared, praying only I could hear the tremble that lingered in my words. The thing was done, and I’d survived, proudly, and with no lasting harm. I set my hands at my waist and raised my chin, and boldly took a few steps of my favorite jig for good measure. “I’ve naught to hide.”

  He grinned at me and blushed like a maid, I swear it. “You’re a saucy snip, aren’t you? ”

  “That I am, dear sir,” I said, already feeling more sure of myself. “Not that you’d wish me otherwise, would you?”

  “I like you fine as you are.” He sat up on the bed, self-consciously stuffing his wilted prick back into his breeches as if the thing had escaped of its own will. “Come, sit with me.”

  “Shall I bring you drink, sir?” I plucked the bottle from the table, unstopping it to sniff the contents. It smelled sweet, Rhenish or Canary wine, and too strong to my tastes. But I’d long ago learned how to drink with a man without actually drinking myself, having seen too well what came of women who were bitten by the tavern bitch. I poured the wine, glowing amber by the fire’s light, and brought the glass back to the bed.

  He drank deeply, his gaze never leaving my body. I guessed he’d want to take me again that night, maybe more than once if the wine would let him.

  He lowered the empty glass with a little gasp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Faith, but you’re a fair lass, Nell. And you were virgin, as you said. I didn’t believe you before, but now I know I was first.”

  “Aye, sir.” I was miffed that he’d doubt my word, though Lord knows he’d no reason to trust any whore’s promises. “I came through that door a maid, and I’ll leave through it otherwise.”

  “You will.” He puffed out his narrow chest, and if he could, I vowed he would have perched on the rooftop to crow his conquest like the most vainglorious cockerel in all London. “You pleased me well, Nelly.”

  “You pleased me, too, sir.” I judged this a most necessary lie, to preserve his pride and my future with it. I clambered up onto the high bed and laid one of my little hands on his thigh. “We’ll make one another happy enough, won’t we?”

  “We will indeed.” He circled his arm around my waist awkwardly, as if he still feared I’d rebuff him. He’d long ago confessed he’d not yet dared ask any woman to marry, for all that he was a grown gentleman set in his trade. Now to see his clumsiness with me, I wondered if his own carnal experience was not much greater than my own.

  “My Nell,” he said proudly. “This will be our own little nest, won’t it?”

  “Aye, dear sir.” At that I thought again of the wry, paradoxical name of the tavern below us, and spoke aloud the drollery I’d been too anxious to say earlier. “Our nest here in the rafters of the Cock and Pie. So long as you bring your cock, I’ll keep my own little pie at the ready.”

  He guffawed with surprise and delight that only served to encourage me, the way laughter generally did.

  “Then the more filled I am by your cock, sir,” I continued, tipping my head whimsically to one side, “the more of your fill you have of my pie, and yet the more you slice my pie, the less filling you’ll have to your cock. Thus, sir, is your less more, or is my more your less?”

  “Ah, Nell, I cannot begin to answer such a riddle!” he exclaimed, clapping with approval. “What answer can I offer, save that you please me beyond measure?”

  “I am glad, sir,” I said with a grin. “Because your more is always my more, as well, just as cock and pie are always best served together.”

  “And so they shall be, as long as I have my say.” He beamed at me, fair doting. “You make my head spin clear around with your cleverness, Nell. I swear your wit is wicked as any courtier’s.”

  “Me at court?” I scoffed, pleased by his flattery but not believing it, either. “Oh, Mr. Duncan, not I.”

  “You could be, Nell,” he insisted loyally. “You make me laugh more than anyone else ever has.”

  I wrinkled my nose and puffed out my cheeks, a face of humorous doubt. “Oh, aye, as if wit alone were enough to secure a place at court.”

  “At this king’s court, it is,” he said. “I’ve sat within hearing of His Majesty’s box at the theatre, and you cannot imagine the idle rubbish those folk will say to try to make His Majesty laugh. Someday I’ll take you to the playhouse with me, and then you’ll hear for yourself, too. More wine, lass; fill my glass again.”

  I hurried to do as he’d bid. “You’d take me with you to a play, sir?”

  “Why would I not
?” he asked, clearly amused that I’d ask. “I wouldn’t have put you here if I were ashamed of you.”

  “Which playhouse?” I asked eagerly. “Which company, sir? What play? ”

  He smiled, enjoying the role of expansive patron. “Whichever you choose, Nell. Consider it a promise. We’ll take seats in the middle gallery, so that I might show you off to fine display.”

  I gasped, wordless with amazement, and he laughed aloud. “Oh, I’ve quite a special friendship with Sir William Davenant, Nell. I granted him cloth for costuming his actors when his fortunes were low, and he has remembered me with kindness ever since.”

  “You a friend of Sir William!” I was amazed, and more than a little skeptical. Even I knew that Sir William Davenant was a rare poet and a great favorite at court, as well as the proprietor of the Duke’s Company of players, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. How could such a grand gentleman be indebted to my shy Mr. Duncan? “You must have given him a huge pile of cloth, sir.”

  “I told you, sweet, I can be a most generous friend. I’m acquainted with Mr. Killigrew at the King’s Company as well, for the same reason.” He wagged his finger at me as if to scold. “And if you continue to please me, it will be my joy to please you in turn.”

  “But to see a play, sir.” I hugged my knees as I sat beside him, forgetting my nakedness as I giddily contemplated the new prospect he dangled before me. Like everyone in London, I’d heard much of the theatres, of the wondrous entertainments they offered as well as the ribald, charmed lives of the actors and actresses, and the playwrights, too. The king loved plays, and had made play-going so fashionable that he and his courtiers were in the theatres as often as they were in the palace. He also loved the actresses. His royal decree had finally granted women the right to take the women’s roles, instead of being portrayed by beardless boys or catamites, as had always been the law. In gratitude, the actresses often did please His Majesty in more private performances, too.

  Much of this I’d learned from the actors themselves when they’d visited Mrs. Ross’s, idle boasting, to be sure. But I’d also listened, rapt, to the tales of the girls chosen to sell oranges to the grandees in the boxes, and themselves afterward, too, for a pretty sum. For myself, I’d never so much as entered a playhouse; even the meanest seats farthest from the stage cost a shilling—too rich for the likes of me.

  Until now, with Mr. Duncan fair begging my little fingers to dip deep into his pockets.

  “A play, sir,” I said again, still marveling at my good fortune. “These lodgings, sir, new clothes, and now a play. Oh, dear, dear sir, you are too kind!”

  “No, no, not at all,” he demurred, even as he flushed and preened beneath my praise. Emboldened, he reached out and made a prize of my hand, raising it to kiss as wetly as an overheated pup.

  I slanted my eyes at him by way of encouragement. Generosity such as his must be fostered, even rewarded; I’d no need of Rose’s advice to tell me that.

  “Might I ask a favor of you, sir?” I asked sweetly. “Might I know your given name, sir? ”

  “My name?” He laughed aloud, as if this were the greatest jest, though I suspect it was more from relief that I’d asked for nothing greater or more costly. “That is all?”

  “All, sir,” I said. “If you don’t judge me too brash for asking.”

  He flushed again, teasing me by waiting. “It’s Samuel. Samuel Duncan.”

  “My Master Sam,” I said, knowing that was brash of me, but knowing, too, he’d like me the more warmly for it. I grinned and tossed my hair back over my shoulders, the better to display my fledgling breasts.

  “And you, dear, are my own little Nell,” he said, drawing me closer. “Come, let me taste those dear lips of yours again.”

  If I were now his Nell, why, then, he had become my Mr. Duncan, too, so long as he pleased me. Such arrangements as ours seldom lasted long. Being the first man in my life didn’t mean he’d be the only one; only the one who was with me now. It was a settling thought, and a comforting one, as well.

  Thus I smiled and slipped my arm around his shoulders, and with new willingness, I turned my mouth again toward his.

  He made me wait until September before he kept his promise to take me to a playhouse. He claimed it was his work that occupied him during this time, that having the court returned to London with the king and new queen meant his shop was so busy with orders that he couldn’t slip away for a single afternoon of play-going with me.

  God knows he found time enough to visit me nigh every night. His habit was to come to me in my lodgings after sunset, take me swiftly as he had the first time if he were inclined, and then sup with me at his leisure. He never lingered past midnight, returning home to his own bed to sleep, nor did he question how I passed my days, so long as I kept away from Mrs. Ross’s, his only stipulation. Early I realized that he’d more real use for my ears than my body, anyway. For me to listen, rapt (or at least feigning to be, much the same thing), to his litany of the daily indignities he must suffer at his father’s hands was more satisfying to him then any of the fancy whore’s tricks that Rose suggested.

  Most of all, Mr. Duncan liked the notion of keeping a mistress, and letting others know that he did. Mistresses were very much the fashion then, like short doublets and full breeches, and likewise determined by the king himself. If every alderman and petty merchant in the City kept a whore the same as every prince and marquis at the court, then Mr. Duncan was determined to follow the rest, and keep me.

  If that was what pleased him, so be it. I would oblige and be cheerful, and why shouldn’t I? For the first time in my life, I could eat my fill. I was warm when the weather was chill, and dry when it rained, and I slept each night on a bed so soft that sometimes I jolted awake just from the luxury of it.

  But I was also lonely. I missed Rose, and I missed my mother, even though through Mr. Duncan I now could help ease her wants. I know that it must sound wicked ungrateful of me to make so selfish an admission, but I missed the merry bustle of Mrs. Ross’s house. I missed the ever-changing company, and the boisterous humor, and matching my wits against men with more glibness than my dullard Mr. Duncan would ever possess. I missed singing for a tossed coin and the cheering acclaim that came with it.

  Most of all, I missed being privy to all the little scandals and missteps of others, both highborn and low-, that made me feel a part of London’s society. I felt as locked away as a pet linnet in a bamboo cage; cared for by my owner, even cherished in a way, but with no future beyond the present, and no freedom to follow my own will or inclinations.

  Thus when at last Mr. Duncan announced we were to go to the duke’s house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, I was beside myself with joy. The day was bright with sun, still warm for late September. I could scarce eat any of my dinner, but instead begged Mr. Duncan for us to go early to the playhouse, far before the hour that was fashionable. I was determined to see everything—even though I’d no real notion of what that everything might be.

  “The Duke of York’s house,” I marveled, staring up at the blockish, plain building before us. Bright flags fluttered in the breeze outside to indicate there was a performance this day, as if the jumble of other playgoers wasn’t sign enough. “And the Duke’s Company, playing at The Duchess of Malfi. That’s a deal of duke-ing and duchess-ing, sir, isn’t it?”

  “I told you how it would be, Nell,” he grumbled as we made our way through the others crowding the street before the playhouse entrance. “No one of any quality comes at noon.”

  “Plenty of folk for being no one, sir.” I clung to his arm, wary of being trampled by the crush pushing their way through the narrow passage into the playhouse. Though jolly enough, the crowd seemed mostly youngish men, apprentices and such, ill dressed and boisterous, and already half-drunk, nor were these fellows disinclined to shove their way ahead of their neighbors, either.

  “Base-born rabble,” Mr. Duncan muttered, slipping his arm over my shoulders to keep me close. “Most of these rascal
s are only place keepers for gentlemen who remain at their dinners. For a penny or two, they’ll hold a seat in the pit for anyone who wishes to come in late. Come, Nell, I’ll see that you’re safe.”

  In his role as my protector, he made a great show of hurrying me up one of the narrow corner staircases, clucking all the way like a broody hen with but one chick left in her nest. I let him play the hero, though secretly I suspected he was far more uneasy among these rollicking fellows than I. To be truthful, their laughter and loud voice reminded me fondly of the better times in Mrs. Ross’s house—not, of course, that I was so foolish as make such an admission aloud to Mr. Duncan.

  “Here we are,” he said, turning through a doorway at the end of the second flight. “At least we’ll have our pick of places.”

  The gallery was a kind of extended balcony, boxed in like pews in a church. Three rows of long planked benches stretched before me, each row slightly higher than the one before it, with two more matching galleries flanking the other two walls. The square shape was awkward, true, but the building had begun life as a tennis court for sporting gentlemen, and its old usage still dictated its current one, with the placement of the stage across the farthest wall. More benches were arranged across the floor before the stage, and this was where most of the bold fellows we’d seen before were gathering. I leaned over the rail to gaze down at them, and at once Mr. Duncan took my arm to steady me and hold me back.

  “You don’t wish to encourage those rascals in the pit, Nell,” he warned. “Leave them to torment the actors instead.”

  “Oh, they don’t frighten me,” I said, waving gaily at some blade who was blowing me a kiss on his fingertips. “Likely I know half of those by name already, anyway.”

  I knew I must look snapping bright as a holiday pennant there among the empty benches. With my coppery hair curled loosely over my shoulders (I’d given up caps, the better to show my hair), I wore a blue woolen bodice and petticoat, pinned back to show another in deep red beneath, and green stockings with my new shoes. I’d never owned such finery before, and it made me glory in my appearance with unabashed delight.