The Darling Strumpet (16 page)
Read The Darling Strumpet Online
Authors: Gillian Bagwell
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance, #General
“What did you do when the theaters were closed and you could act no more?” Nell asked.
“Went to war,” Hart said. “Many of us who were King’s Men as players came to serve him as soldiers. I was in Prince Rupert’s regiment of horse. Mohun served in Flanders. There was nothing for us here, and the king’s return was our only hope.”
“What was it like?” Nell asked. “The war?” A shadow seemed to pass over Hart’s face.
“Like hell itself,” he said, and walked silently for some time before speaking again. “Not like in the plays. There’s nothing grand about seeing your fellows bleeding and screaming in the mud.”
“Were you a hero?” Nell asked. Hart’s mouth twisted in a bleakly ironic smile.
“I did my duty. Like many more who did not come back. My old master Robinson was captured, and though he gave up his arms readily, I watched him shot like a dog.”
They had turned south toward the river. A bunch of boys ran in the narrow lane, shouting and laughing as they kicked a ball along between them. Hart stopped before some houses, and gazed at them before looking down at Nell.
“This is where it stood,” he said. “The Blackfriars, where I acted as a boy.”
“What happened to it?” Nell asked.
“Pulled down to the ground by Cromwell’s men,” he said. “On a beautiful summer’s day. I wept to see it, as I had not wept at all the horrors I saw in the war.”
CHAPTER NINE
N
ELL AND ROSE WERE LEAVING THE THEATER AFTER A PERFORMANCE when a familiar voice hailed them.
ELL AND ROSE WERE LEAVING THE THEATER AFTER A PERFORMANCE when a familiar voice hailed them.
“Rose! Nelly!” Jane, their friend from Madam Ross’s, bustled toward the stage door. “I hoped as how I’d catch you.” Her straw blonde hair was disheveled, and her eyes were dark with worry.
“Jane! What’s the trouble?” Rose asked.
“Remember you thought it were Jack that had taken that watch and set you up for the pinch? Well, I think you were right. This morning poor Nan was taken off by the bums to Newgate. They said one of her gents claimed she’d took his gold snuffbox. She swore she didn’t, but they were having none of it, and Jack was standing by all the while, looking like the cat that ate the canary bird.”
“What knavery!” cried Nell.
“Aye,” said Jane. “But I ran after the gent and told him about Jack and the time before. He said that if we could prove it weren’t Nan that took his money, he’d withdraw the charge.”
“But how will you do that?” Rose asked.
“Me and Emily have got a plan.” Jane’s eyes shone with excitement. “One of her regulars who’s an alright sort will help us. He’ll stand and chat with Emily near Jack tonight, flash his watch, let on that he’s more drunk than he really is, and drop the watch in his pocket so Jack can’t miss it. If the watch turns up missing, he’ll go and send the bailiffs round.”
“It sounds a dangerous game, Jane,” Nell said. “You’re as good as take a bear by the tooth.”
“But what else can we do?” Jane asked. “Madam won’t help, of course. She’ll stand by him no matter what he’s done. And if this works, we’ve got him. The biter bit, do you see?”
“Oh, Lord, have a care, Jane,” Rose worried. “That Jack is a right bad ’un. He’d stop at nothing, him.”
“Do this for me,” Nell said. “Will you come round tomorrow and let us know what happened?”
“I will,” Jane agreed. “Right on this spot I’ll be tomorrow same time, and tell you we’ve sent the villain away.”
But Jane was nowhere to be seen the next afternoon. Nell and Rose waited for nearly an hour, long past when all the actors, scenekeepers, and others of the playhouse had gone and the stage door was locked. Each time a woman passed on the street they looked up hopefully, but no Jane appeared.
“What now?” Nell asked.
“It looks bad, doesn’t it?” Rose said. “Let’s go to Madam Ross’s. We can go in the taproom, same as anyone else, as if we’re only there to wet our whistles, and see what we can learn.”
Ned was at the bar when they entered, and from his face it was apparent that there was awful news.
“What’s amiss, Ned?” Rose whispered. He looked around and answered in a low voice.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but poor Em was found dead in her bed this morning,” he said, his eyes reddening with tears. “Strangled, by the look of it.”
“Dear God, no!” Rose cried. “Ned, where’s Jane? Where’s Jack?”
“Jane?” He looked at them in confusion. “Why, she went out but a bit ago, saying she needed some air to calm her down. And now that I think on it, Jack went out, too, almost on her heels.”
“We’ve got to find Jane!” Nell cried. “It was Jack! He killed Emily, and now he’s after Jane! Help us, Ned!”
THE SUMMER EVENING WAS LONG, BUT EVEN SO, THE LIGHT WAS fading, and Nell despaired of finding Jane before nightfall. She sank to her haunches and leaned her back against a brick wall still warm from the sun, trying to catch her breath and think. Jane could be anywhere. Maybe Ned or Rose had found her, and she was safe, but she could just as easily be lying dead. Nell felt the tightness in her chest that presaged her fall into panic. Don’t think like that, she told herself. It’s just as like that Jane is with some friend, or sitting down by the river. But she felt cold with fear and decided she must press on. She was a little west of Covent Garden and decided to go up to Long Acre and make her way back to Lewkenor’s Lane. If she hadn’t found Jane before dark fell, she’d go back to Madam Ross’s and see if there was any news.
Nell suddenly recalled that Jane was friendly with one of the barmen at the Lamb and Flag. Perhaps she’d gone there for a visit. She headed for Rose Street, the short and winding passage where the alehouse lay. She had always disliked the blind curve of the little street, with brick walls rising on either side. One man at each end easily turned it into a trap, and it was a favorite haunt of footpads.
She entered the street, and joyfully saw Jane ahead. And then everything seemed to happen in a flash. Jack stepped from the door of the alehouse, clapped a hand over Jane’s mouth, and dragged her a few feet. She had been taken completely by surprise, and Nell saw the blind terror in her eyes as Jack shoved her against the wall and wrenched her head back. Nell saw the knife in his hand as he drew it back, saw the blade plunge into Jane’s bared throat, saw the shower of blood.
She cried out as Jane slumped to the ground in a widening pool of crimson. Jack turned and saw her. For a second that seemed to last a century, his eyes held hers as he hefted the knife in his hand. Nell felt rooted to the spot. Then Jack moved swiftly toward her, and she turned and ran, not making a sound, so profound was her terror. She raced for her life, not knowing where she was headed, as long as it was away from Jack and certain death.
It was dark now, and Nell scrambled her way toward Covent Garden. Perhaps even now there would be boys finishing a game of football, or costermongers packing up the last of their goods. She stole a glance over her shoulder. She could see Jack’s shape, but she had put some distance between them. And then she heard a crash and a curse. He had fallen over something. She had precious seconds to make her escape, and willed herself to run faster, but she knew she couldn’t run much longer.
The Church of St. Paul’s Covent Garden rose before her. She sprinted into the black emptiness of its portico and threw herself to the ground, flattening herself against the wall of the church. She heard Jack’s heavy footsteps. Too late to do anything but stay where she was and pray that he would not think to look there. She covered her face with her arm, held her breath, and willed her thudding heart to be silent. She heard Jack run past, stop, return to the front of the church. He had surely seen her. And then, miraculously, with an exhalation of fury, he left.
Nell lay motionless. Church bells rang the hour of nine. Ten. Finally she dared to move, barely able to stand, her body stiff and painful from lying so long on the cold stone. She did not dare go anywhere near Lewkenor’s Lane and instead made her way south to the Strand. There were people abroad there, but still she looked over her shoulder fearfully until she reached the Cat and Fiddle and the safety of her room.
THE NEXT DAY, EVEN IN THE CROWDED PLAYHOUSE, NELL FELT SHE could not stop shaking. The image of Jane’s terrified eyes haunted her, and she could not shake the feeling that Jack could be nearby, watching her and waiting. Rose had sought out Harry Killigrew and begged for his help, and he met them in the greenroom after the performance had done. The word of the murders had spread, and other members of the company clustered near to hear the news.
“I went to Madam Ross’s with a couple of bailiffs,” Harry reported. “Ned says Jack never went back last night and if Madam knows where he is, she isn’t saying. The watch will be looking for him, but unless they catch him, Nell, the best I can say is you should watch your back.”
“And we’ll be watching, too, Nell,” Clun assured her. “You’re safe here with us.”
“Don’t go anywhere on your own, will you?” Rose asked anxiously. “Will you promise me that?”
Nell was happy to promise. She felt terrified at the thought of finding herself alone and face-to-face with Jack, and for weeks, she left the Cat and Fiddle only to go to the playhouse, always in Rose’s company and always keeping to the well-traveled Drury Lane, and made sure she was never abroad when it was dark. Only when two months had gone by, and Harry’s inquiries confirmed that Jack had disappeared, did she begin to feel less fearful.
CHAPTER TEN
N
ELL HAD NEVER HEARD AN AUDIENCE LAUGH SO LOUDLY. WALTER Clun had set the house on a roar again. His performance as Subtle in
The Alchemist
had packed the theater though the audience was sweltering in the heat of the August afternoon. Nell looked around the pit. Orange Moll was using her apron to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. Sir Charles Sedley’s guffaws had turned into a cough and Henry Savile was striking him on the back. Dorset was pounding his walking stick on the floor in approval. The crowded galleries shook.
ELL HAD NEVER HEARD AN AUDIENCE LAUGH SO LOUDLY. WALTER Clun had set the house on a roar again. His performance as Subtle in
The Alchemist
had packed the theater though the audience was sweltering in the heat of the August afternoon. Nell looked around the pit. Orange Moll was using her apron to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. Sir Charles Sedley’s guffaws had turned into a cough and Henry Savile was striking him on the back. Dorset was pounding his walking stick on the floor in approval. The crowded galleries shook.
I want to do that, Nell thought. I want to make them love me like that.
AFTER THE PERFORMANCE, NELL SPOTTED CLUN IN THE GREENROOM, toweling off his face as he spoke with Kate Corey.
“Truly the best show ever, Wat,” Kate said, kissing Clun’s ruddy cheek. “Ain’t life grand sometimes?”
“It is, Kate, it is. And the best thing is—we get to do it all again tomorrow.” Kate’s hearty chuckle floated behind her as she left, and Nell judged she had better speak to Wat now while he was alone for a moment.
“Will you teach me to act?”
Wat raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Nell was afraid he was going to tell her not to be silly, and to run along. But he gave her an appraising look.
“Why do you ask me?”
“Because you can do what I want to do,” Nell said. “You can make people laugh.”
“I’m not the only one can make folks laugh,” Clun said.
“No, but you do it better than anyone. You know how to make them laugh, and you know what you have to do differently if what you did at first doesn’t work. I’ve watched you. I want you to show me. Please.”
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