The Darling Strumpet (23 page)
Read The Darling Strumpet Online
Authors: Gillian Bagwell
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance, #General
“Of course,” she said. She turned away, then realized that she did not want to have this meeting, whatever it was, before the other members of the company.
“Mr. Killigrew,” she called. “Would you ask His Grace to give me a few minutes? So that I may make myself presentable?”
NELL PICKED UP HER ALREADY-DAMP HANDKERCHIEF AND BLOTTED IT across her forehead and chest, then dusted powder across her face, hoping that it would dull the sheen of sweat without caking. She glanced in the mirror. Her hair was as good as it was like to get, the ringlets and curls pagan-wild in the damp heat of the tiring room.
Well. He had asked to see her, not she him. He had just had as good a view of her as anyone could desire, and she had been at her best today, she knew, carrying the house to wave after wave of laughter. So she had nothing to fear.
Lords were nothing new to her now, she reflected. And yet—the Duke of Buckingham. A duke was only one step below a prince, and some said this duke was less than that step, having been raised almost as brother to the king when his own father died. What was it Hart had said once? “Like one of the royal pups.”
To counter her nervousness, she leaned back in her chair and breathed deeply of the familiar mixture of smells—sawdust, paint, tallow candles, gunpowder, dirt, and sweat, overlaid with the sweetness of face powder and perfume. Motes of dust drifted in the rays of summer evening sunlight that came through the high window.
She heard a footstep in the hall and half rose, then forced herself to sit again. She’d meet him like a lady. Or as close to that as she could manage. She turned as she heard the rap of his stick against the door, and then found herself rising, unable to keep her seat in his overwhelming presence.
He was very big, this duke—tall and broad, and his height and breadth emphasized by the fullness of his wig and the feathered broad-brimmed hat that topped his finery. The richness of the burgundy fabric of his coat and breeches, the fall of soft lace at his throat and wrists, the gold buttons, and the gloss of the fine leather of his high boots overshadowed any show of wealth the gawdy costumes of the theater had to offer.
His eyes met Nell’s and she felt her stomach lurch. With fear? Desire? For what? Surely not a carnal craving, but a coursing flame of longing to possess that assurance, that unquestioning belonging in the world. Though she’d bed him right enough, Nell thought, and think it no drudgery.
“Mistress Nelly.” His voice was deep, the accent not striking in any particular way except that it was somehow free of the cramped quarters of London.
“Your Grace.” Nell dropped her eyes and swept him a low curtsy, taking the opportunity of the break in eye contact to compose herself, to will her heart to slow and her damp palms to dry. As she met his eyes again, Nell found that he was smiling faintly and it steadied her.
“Will you not join me for supper?” So she was to be fed, any road. “You must be famished after your labors.”
Was he mocking her? This man who had never known a moment’s labor in his life? Perhaps he caught a flash of something behind her eyes, for he bowed again and gave her a smile that seemed to light the room. “After your enchanting labors, which so deliciously relieve the daily dreariness of our lives.”
Nell, suddenly felt that she stood on more solid ground than she had a few moments before, and smiled back at him. “It would be my great pleasure, Your Grace.”
HART WAS IN HIS SHIRT AND BREECHES WITH A WORN GOWN OVER them to keep warm when Nell crept in the door of his rooms.
“And so? What brings you down from Olympus so soon? Surely you didn’t refuse His Grace the pleasure of your continued company?”
Nell felt flustered at the mockery in his words.
“I tried to find you,” she said. “I asked Mr. Killigrew to tell you where I’d gone.”
“And so he did,” Hart said. “And I’m sure everyone else in the company heard, as well.”
“Nothing happened,” she said. “He took me to supper. We talked. And that was all. I wanted to come home to you, and here I am.” She knelt and laid her head on his lap. “Don’t be angry.”
Hart stroked her hair and sighed.
“I’m not angry. I just see what will come. So he didn’t try to bed you tonight. But he will. You know it.”
“And if he does?” Nell asked, looking up into his eyes. “Do you think it will change how I feel for you?”
“You will not mean it to,” he said after a moment. “But yes. In time it will change you.”
THE KING HAD ORDERED A COMMAND PERFORMANCE OF
SECRET LOVE
. Nell was at Whitehall Palace and could scarce believe it. She remembered how she had listened to Marmaduke Watson and Harry Killigrew talk about the theater at court and longed to see it, and now she would be acting there, wearing a new costume constructed for her by the royal tailors. The rhinegraves breeches she wore when in disguise as a young man were slashed to the thigh, so that they flew open to show her legs, especially when she danced.
SECRET LOVE
. Nell was at Whitehall Palace and could scarce believe it. She remembered how she had listened to Marmaduke Watson and Harry Killigrew talk about the theater at court and longed to see it, and now she would be acting there, wearing a new costume constructed for her by the royal tailors. The rhinegraves breeches she wore when in disguise as a young man were slashed to the thigh, so that they flew open to show her legs, especially when she danced.
THE PERFORMANCE WAS THE BEST THEY HAD GIVEN. THE KING roared with laughter at Nell’s personification of a cocky young gallant, and the audience clapped along as she danced the jig that had made her famous. Offstage, Hart swept her into his arms, beaming.
“You’ve never been better,” he cried. “I’m so proud of you, my Nell.”
A sudden flurry of movement caught Nell’s eye. The king had entered the room and was making his way straight to them. Nell dropped into a deep curtsy and flushed as she raised her head to find the king’s eyes intently on her, his teeth showing in a broad grin. Despite his elegance, she could not help thinking there was something piratical about him.
“Mistress Nell,” the king said, “’od’s my life, I scarce know where to begin. You captured the carriage and manner of a spark to perfection. I was thinking I would tell you that I had never been more entertained by anything in all my life than to see you as a blade, when you topped all in that final scene. ‘Love until we no longer can,’ forsooth!”
He turned to Hart. “And you, sir. You never disappoint, and you are a prince among players, but by God, I think you’ve met your match in the wench!”
“You speak the truth, Your Majesty,” Hart laughed. “I try to hold my own against her, but it would take a better man than I to steal a scene from Nell.”
EVERYTHING SEEMED WRONG THE NEXT DAY AS NELL WORKED WITH Hart to learn lines for their new play,
All Mistaken
.
All Mistaken
.
“Your wits are woolgathering.” Hart spoke sharply. “Pay attention if you want to get through this scene. I have to get ready in half an hour.”
He was right. Nell’s mind had been on the excitement of the performance at court, and the fact that not only the king but both Buckingham and Rochester had been there and had come back to pay their addresses after the show. Hart’s voice, reading her next line, had penetrated somewhere at the back of her mind, but she could not have repeated the words if her life depended on it. And she had so many lines to learn.
“I’m sorry, Hart,” she said. “Read it to me again.”
“ ‘I tell the fat man I cannot marry him till he’s leaner, and the lean man I cannot marry him till he’s fat. So one of them purges and runs heats every morning to pull down his sides, and the other makes the tailor stuff his clothes to make him show fatter,’” he read, and she repeated it. She did love the part of Mirida. James Howard had written the play for her and Hart, capitalizing on their success in
Secret Love
. Once more Nell disguised herself as a young man, providing the opportunity to display her legs, and once more she and Hart jousted and sparred wittily, but ended up happily together at the end. The theater was almost counting the ticket sales already.
Secret Love
. Once more Nell disguised herself as a young man, providing the opportunity to display her legs, and once more she and Hart jousted and sparred wittily, but ended up happily together at the end. The theater was almost counting the ticket sales already.
“THE PLAY BANNED?” NELL ASKED, STUNNED. “THE THEATER CLOSED? Lacy locked up? But why?” Hart had just come home from the first performance of Edward Howard’s new play,
The Change of Crowns
.
The Change of Crowns
.
“Because the king was there and flew into a towering rage.”
“For what cause?”
“The play sails mighty close to the wind in making light of the court,” Hart said. “And Lacy was so flown with his own wit that he threw in a handful of extra jests at the expense of the king, in the presence of not only His Majesty, but the queen, the Duke and Duchess of York, and half the court.”
Nell threw up her hands in frustration. “What are we to do? How long will we be closed?”
“I don’t know.” Hart sank onto the bed, his head in his hands. “Pray God not long. Mohun’s gone to beg of the king that he might relent.”
“Will you run my lines with me as you’re home?” Nell asked.
“Not now. My head is so full of this I cannot think.”
Nell’s heart melted to see him so troubled, and she went to him. “Come. Your neck and shoulders are in knots. Lie down and let me knead them for you. It will all come right, I’m sure.”
A couple of hours later, Mohun knocked on Hart’s door.
“His Majesty has agreed we can play tomorrow, but not
Change of Crowns
, of course. What’ll it be instead?
Secret Love
?”
Change of Crowns
, of course. What’ll it be instead?
Secret Love
?”
“Pox on it,” Hart said. “No, not that, we’ve played it too much lately. We have
Epicene
on for next week. I suppose we can throw that up instead. But not with John. Nick Burt will have to go on as Otter.”
Epicene
on for next week. I suppose we can throw that up instead. But not with John. Nick Burt will have to go on as Otter.”
“Right,” said Mohun. “Rehearsal in the morning then. I’ll send someone round to let the actors know.”
THE COMPANY WAS TO PERFORM
SECRET LOVE
AT THE PALACE THREE days later, but Nell did not look forward to it as she had her first command performance of the play two months earlier. Lacy was still locked up, and she felt as if she were venturing into the lion’s den to play.
SECRET LOVE
AT THE PALACE THREE days later, but Nell did not look forward to it as she had her first command performance of the play two months earlier. Lacy was still locked up, and she felt as if she were venturing into the lion’s den to play.
The actors usually enjoyed their performances at court, but the rest of the cast seemed to share her feelings, and they were uncharacteristically subdued as they arrived at Whitehall. As she made herself ready, Nell glanced down the table. Betsy Knepp, Kate Corey, Beck and Anne Marshall, Franki and Elizabeth Davenport, and Margaret Rutter sat in a row, silently focused on their images in the mirrors set up to face them.
“It’ll be like pulling teeth to get laughs tonight,” Nell murmured to Betsy.
“You’re right there,” Betsy agreed. “Feels like we’re getting ready for a hanging, not a comedy.”
“Don’t even say that,” Nell said, putting down her powder puff. “Not with John Lacy under lock and key.”
“Oh, the king won’t go that far,” Betsy said. “Though I thought he’d have a fit right enough on Monday, with Lacy throwing out lines extempore right in his face, practically calling him a thief and a cheat for the selling of places.”
Nell struggled to be comfortable on the stage that night, and for the first time her usually triumphant scene with Hart at the end failed to get its usual laughs. The mood at the playhouse was grim the next morning when she and Hart arrived for a rehearsal of
All Mistaken
, and the afternoon’s performance of
The Surprisal
felt leaden. More than ever, she hated having to play a serious part, although, she considered as she sat in the tiring room after the show taking her makeup off, at least in a tragedy she wasn’t waiting for laughter that didn’t come.
All Mistaken
, and the afternoon’s performance of
The Surprisal
felt leaden. More than ever, she hated having to play a serious part, although, she considered as she sat in the tiring room after the show taking her makeup off, at least in a tragedy she wasn’t waiting for laughter that didn’t come.
Angry voices rose from the greenroom below. Kate Corey looked at Nell.
“That sounds like Lacy.”
No doubt about it, it was Lacy’s voice, now raised in a shout. Nell and Kate sprang to their feet and rushed down the stairs.
John Lacy, his clothes dirty and rumpled, his round face red and sweaty, stood faced off against Sir Edward Howard, the playwright of
The Change of Crowns
.
The Change of Crowns
.
“Because of your poxy play I’ve been locked up for three days!” Lacy shouted.
“In the porter’s lodge at the palace! Drinking wine and taking your ease, no doubt,” Howard scoffed. “Don’t make out as if you were in Newgate with the cutpurses and whores!”
“By God, then you try how you like it!” Lacy retorted, shaking his walking stick at Howard. “Locked up is locked up. No change of shirt, let alone wine to drink.” Actors, scenekeepers, and behind-the-scenes visitors were crowding into the room, drawn by the sound of the argument.
“Don’t cry to me, sir,” Howard said, drawing himself up. “It’s not my play that’s got you in trouble but your confounded additions. No wonder the king was in a rage. Damned impertinence!”
Lacy appeared ready to swallow his tongue with rage, and took a step toward Howard, towering over the little playwright.
“Impertinence! True enough that my family be not high like yours, yet I’ll have you remember that I’m a shareholder and manager of this company, sir, and I am no hireling to do your bidding.” There were mutterings of agreement from the gathered actors.
“I am a gentleman, sir, and a poet!” Howard cried. He looked like a bantam rooster taking on a yard dog, Nell thought.
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