The Loves of Charles II (142 page)

Louise was distraught. Nell shrugged her shoulders. She was beginning to understand her position at Court. She was there when she was wanted, ready to make sport and be gay. She never reproached Charles for his infidelities. She knew she was safe and that no reigning beauty would be able to displace her. For one thing, Charles would never let her go. She was the buffoon, the female court jester, apart from all others. This was a battle between Louise and Hortense, and Hortense held all the cards which should
bring victory. She was so beautiful that people waited in the streets to see her pass. She was deeply sensual. Louise was cold by nature, and had to pretend to share Charles’ pleasure in their relations. Hortense had no need to pretend. Louise must constantly be considering instructions from France, and the King knew it. Hortense need consider nothing but her own immediate satisfaction. Hortense never showed jealousy of Louise; Louise continually showed jealousy of Hortense. Hortense offered not only sexual delight but peace. In this she was like Nell. But she lacked Nell’s maternal devotion and she lacked Nell’s constancy—although this was not apparent at this stage.

Edmund Waller wrote a set of verses called
The Triple Combat
, in which he portrayed the three chief mistresses struggling for supremacy. The country was amused; so was the Court. Charles acquired a new nickname—Chanticleer; and everyone was aware of how the affair progressed. Barbara had left for France, and Charles had at last made it clear that he wished to sever their relationship. “All that I ask of you,” he had said, “is to make as little noise as you can and I care not whom you love.”

Louise, who had been with child, suffered a miscarriage, and appeared at Court looking thin and ill. She had a slight affliction of one eye, and the skin round the affected eye became discolored.

“It would seem,” said Rochester, “that Her Grace, aware of the superior attractions of Madame Mazarin’s dark eyes, would seek to transform herself into a brunette.”

The Court took up the story. Everyone was only too glad to jeer at Madam Carwell.

Louise was indeed melancholy. She feared that that nightmare, which had haunted her whenever she felt she was losing her hold on Charles, would become a reality. She was terrified that Hortense would persuade the King to send her, Louise, back to France and he, unable to deny his latest mistress what she asked, would agree. Louise need not have worried on that score, for Hortense would never bestir herself to make such demands.

Nell, as merry as ever, appeared at Court dressed in mourning.

“For whom do you mourn?” she was asked.

“For the discarded Duchess and her dead hopes,” explained Nell maliciously.

The King heard of this and was amused. He wished now and then that Louise would go back to France, but he was determined that whatever happened he would keep Nell at hand. It was pleasant to remember that she was always there, ready, without recriminations, to make good sport.

Louise lifted tearful eyes to the King. She had wept so much that those eyes, never big, seemed almost to have shrunk into her head. Her recent miscarriage and her illness of the previous year had undermined her health considerably. Charles would have been sorry for her had she been less sorry for herself. Although he was kind as always, Louise sensed that his thoughts were far away—she believed with Hortense—and she fancied she saw distaste in his eyes.

None of Charles’ mistresses—not even Barbara—had been so acquisitive as Louise, and her great consolation now was that she and her sister Henriette, whom she had brought to England and married to the dissolute Earl of Pembroke, were very rich. But was that to be the only gratification of one who had sought to be a queen?

“I have served Your Majesty with all my heart,” began Louise.

She did not understand him. Recriminations dulled his pity.

“You are the friend of Kings,” he said.

She noticed that he used the plural, and her hopes sank.

A less kindly man would have called her Louis’ spy.

She said: “I come to ask Your Majesty’s leave to retire to Bath. There I think I might take the waters and regain my health.”

Her eyes were pleading with him: Forbid me to go. Tell me that you wish to keep me beside you.

But Charles had brightened. “My dear Fubbs,” he said, “by all means go to Bath. One of my favorite cities. There you will recover your health, I doubt not. Lose no time in going there.”

It was a sorrowing Louise who made arrangements for the journey.

She did not know that the King was no longer as completely enamored of Hortense as he had been. She was beautiful—the most beautiful woman in his kingdom—he was ready to admit that. But beauty was not all. She had brought into her house a French croupier, Morin, and had introduced the game of basset to England. The King deplored gambling. He had always sought to lure his mistresses from the gaming table. It had always proved less costly in the long run to provide them with masques and banquets. He was therefore annoyed with Hortense for introducing a new form of gambling.

The little Countess of Sussex, Barbara’s daughter, who was reputed to be Charles’ also, was completely charmed by Hortense. She would not leave her side and Hortense, attracted by the little girl, gave herself up to playing games with her. This was very charming, but often when the King wished for Hortense’s company Hortense could not tear herself away from his daughter.

There was another matter which was changing the King’s attitude. She
had a lover. This was the young and handsome Prince of Monaco who was visiting England. He had come, it was said, all the way from Monte Carlo with the express purpose of making Hortense his mistress.

Hortense was unable to resist his good looks and his youth. The young man became a constant visitor at her house, for Hortense was too reckless, too careless of the future, to hide her infatuation for him.

Barbara had taken lovers while she was the King’s mistress, and he had gone back again and again to Barbara; but those were different days. He was almost forty-seven—no longer so young, and even his amazing virility was beginning to fade. Since he had recovered from his illness he appeared to be sterile, for he had fathered no child since the birth of Moll Davies’ daughter.

He was growing old; therefore that immense infatuation he had felt for Hortense, and which had flared up so suddenly, as suddenly died down. He wanted to be amused. Louise was no good at amusing him. She would only weep and recount her ills. So he made his way to Nell’s house in Pall Mall.

Nell was delighted to receive him. There she was, ready to act court jester, ready to laugh at him, the disconsolate lover who had been disappointed in his mistress, but ready to comfort, ready to show beneath all that banter and high spirits that she felt motherly towards him and was really very angry with the foolish Hortense for preferring the Prince of Monaco.

Buckingham was often at Nell’s house. So was Monmouth. Shaftesbury was there. Nell was getting herself embroiled with the Whigs, thought Charles with amusement.

But it was pleasant to have Nell dance and sing for them and, when Charles saw her imitation of Lady Danby, and Buckingham’s of Lady Danby’s husband, the King found himself laughing as he had not laughed for some weeks. He realized that he had been foolish to neglect the tonic only Nell could give.

Then, with Louise recuperating at Bath, and Hortense relegated to being just one of Charles’ more casual mistresses, Nell stepped into chief place once more.

Rochester warned her: “’Twill only be for a while, Nell. Louise will be back to the fray—doubt it not. And she’s a fine lady, while the dust of the Cole-yard still clings to little Nell. Not that I should try to wipe it off. That was where Moll failed. But do not be surprised if you are not number one all the time. Just fall back when required, but make hay, Nelly. Make hay while the sun shines.”

So Nell made the King visit her not only for parties but during the day, that he might come to better acquaintance with his two sons.

One day she called little Charles to tell him that his father had come.

“Come hither, little bastard,” she called.

“Nelly,” protested the King, “do not say that.”

“And why should I not?”

“It does not sound well.”

“Sound well or not, ’tis truth. For what else should I call the boy since his father, by giving him no other title, proclaims him such to the world?”

The King was thoughtful, and very shortly after that one of Nell’s dearest ambitions was realized.

Her son was no longer merely Charles Beauclerk; he was Baron Headington and Earl of Burford.

Nell danced through the house in Pall Mall, waving the patent which proclaimed little Charles’ title.

“Come hither, my lord Burford,” she shouted. “You have a seat in the House of Lords, my love. Think of that! You have a King for a father, and all the world knows it.”

The new Earl laughed aloud to see his mother so gay, and little James—my lord Beauclerk—joined with him.

She seized them and hugged them. She called to the servants, that she might introduce them to my lord Burford and my lord Beauclerk.

She could be heard, shouting all day: “Bring my lord Burford’s pectoral syrup. I swear he has a cough coming. And I doubt not that it would be good for my lord Beauclerk to take some too. Oh, my lord Burford needs a new scarf. I will go to the Exchange for white sarcenet this very day.”

She fingered delicate fabrics in the shops. She bought shoes, laced with gold, for the children. “My lord Burford has such tender feet … and his brother, my lord Beauclerk, not less so.”

The house echoed with Nell’s laughter and delighted satisfaction.

The servants imitated their mistress, and it seemed that every sentence uttered to any in that house must contain a reference to my lord Earl or my lord Beauclerk.

ell was busy during the months which followed. These were the happiest of her life, she believed. Charles was a frequent visitor; his delight in my lord Burford and my lord Beauclerk was unbounded; the little boys were well; and Nell’s parties were gayer than ever.