The Perfect Royal Mistress (10 page)

F
ATE NOW FOR HER DID ITS WHOLE FORCE ENGAGE
A
ND FROM THE PIT SHE MOUNTED TO THE STAGE
; T
HERE IN FULL LUSTRE DID HER GLORIES SHINE, AND LONG ECLIPS’D SPREAD FOR THEIR LIGHT DIVINE.

—The Earl of Rochester

S
HE
knew he was standing there, watching. Nell could feel his eyes upon her from behind the heavy stage curtain, lecherous, imposing. Richard had told her Hart would come to observe them rehearsing, and so he had. For the first time since considering Richard Bell’s plan for her, Nell smiled. It had never occurred to her, watching her mother with men, that there might be another element to be harvested from sex.
Power.
And seeking power was certainly better than tolerating the shame. Guilt was a powerful weapon she could use; it would empower her and wound him. With great determination, Nell smiled more broadly, and prepared to manipulate Charles Hart into offering up something to her—though this time it would be a thing of her own choosing. Looking to Richard, she spoke the next line for a laugh. “Well, then, shall I see you again?”

“When I have a mind to it. Come, I’ll lead you to your coach for once,” Richard responded with flair.

“And I shall let you for once.”

“Oh, Mr. Hart! Nell here was just helping me with my lines,” Richard said, pretending only just to have seen him standing there. “But, I confess, she outacts the lot of us. Did you get to hear her?”

Hart was scowling. “I heard her.”

“And? We could use a girl like her in the troupe. She’s got a natural instinct for comedy.”

There was a long pause. “Very well. See the wardrobe mistress. You can try a place in the crowd scenes.”

Nell glanced at Richard. Another awkward moment slipped by. “You wish to give me a part in the production?”

“Let’s say I’ve been made to see the value in giving you a try.”

“Well, what I
want
is a proper apology.”

“What have I to regret to you?”

“You were wrong to behave like a stag in season.”

“A rather vulgar way to put it.”

“I’ve no patience for dressin’ things up, Mr. ’Art. With Nell Gwynne, what you see is what you get.”

“Exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“Well, I accept your apology, such as it is, but I’ll not take a place in the crowd. I’ll be playin’ Lady Wealthy to your Mr. Wellbred, thank you very much indeed.”

“Lady Wealthy? You?” He barked out a laugh. “That is a lead role!”

“And I made her the comedian she should be! I saw you laugh in spite of yourself!”

Hart glanced back at Richard Bell, who merely shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he had indeed enjoyed Nell’s interpretation of a character who, played each afternoon by Rebecca Marshall, called Beck, never garnered more than a few tepid chuckles.

“There’s simply too much at stake to risk making an
orange girl
into a leading player.”

“What will you gain if she is a success? She does have that spark, sir. And if another of Mr. Dryden’s plays should fail—”

“I’d wager what you’d lose is a playwright to the duke’s house,” Nell interjected.

“Is this blackmail?”

“Not if it’s workin’.”

He was getting angry. “What would you call it then?”

“Compensation for a girl’s stolen virtue,” Richard put in.

“Rather easy virtue, if you ask me.” Hart’s face was tense. He looked like a man backed into a very uncomfortable corner. And he was. “Oh, very well. You may have a more substantial role. But
not
Lady Wealthy. This afternoon, you will go on as the niece. Then, if you don’t mangle the part too horribly, we shall see.”

“But sir, she doesn’t even know that role!”

“Then that’ll be a challenge for her, won’t it?”

“How much does it pay?”

“Now that really is too much!”

“Well, Mr. Hart, you cannot expect her to do something else for you for nothing. You won’t want it to get around that she is being given some other means of compensation, or the rest of the actresses that you’ve—”

“I take your meaning, Bell. Twenty shillings and not a penny more.”

“Thirty,” Nell said, smiling broadly up at him.

“You haven’t even been onstage!”

“I performed well enough for you, didn’t I?”

“Vulgar as any other doxy!”

“But ’alf again as clever!”

Richard laughed, and Charles Hart even did battle with his own bitten smile. “Thirty shillings, and if you foul this up, you shall be pleading with Mary Meggs for your old job back before sunrise tomorrow.”

The next afternoon, she stood behind the heavy red velvet side curtain, filled with fear. Beyond the rhythm of her heart pounding, there was ribald laughter and jeers from the capacity audience who sat stuffed into the pit.

Nell had been fitted into a costume of layered, emerald-green velvet and flouncing ivory lace. She was to play the daughter of a countess. That, of course, was to be the joke, with her thick accent and streetwise manner. Having stood outside the theater with her basket, then worked the tumultuous pit, Nell understood the remarkable chance before her. Waiting for her cue, she saw the faces of the men at the Cock & Pye in her mind, how she made them laugh with her bold humor, a wink, or a curtsy. She felt her knees stop knocking.
Just be yourself,
she thought.
You ain’t a well-brought-up lady, and that you’ll never be. The best you can ’ope is to make ’em laugh.

She glanced out at the players already onstage and getting a tepid response. The worst of the audience out in that sea beyond the lamplights waited for just the right moment to toss overripe fruit at the characters they disliked the most. There was no going back. The candles at the foot of the stage flared so brightly that she could see no one, not a single face beyond them. She could only sense them there, judging her, waiting. Whispers. A muffled cough. Then frightening silence. Smiling her brightest smile, she skipped onto the stage.

“This life of mine can last no longer than my beauty; and though ’tis pleasant now, I want nothin’ while I am Mr. Wellbred’s mistress, yet if ’is mind should change, I might even sell oranges for my livin’!” she exclaimed, hands on her hips and a broad, confident smile lighting her face.

The first rumblings of laughter rose from the pit, stunning her. For an instant, Nell was almost rising out of herself. Everyone in London knew the players—knew who were lovers, and which ladies were connected to which men. The reference had been lost to no one. Scene after scene unfolded after that, with Nell weaving herself into each of them with nothing more than a nod, a wink, or a sigh.

Afterward, Charles Hart was there to see her first, though a dozen others clambered at the tiring-room door. “You surprised me,” he said, a tone lower than usual.

“I surprised myself.”

“The audience loved you.” He moved nearer to touch her cheek. “Ten shillings a week raise, and tomorrow afternoon you play Lady Wealthy.”

“You’re replacin’ Mrs. Knepp?”

“
You
are replacing Knepp. I admit it, the role is perfect for you.”

She bit back a victorious smile. She would be clever enough to make what happened work to her advantage. “You’ll not be sorry Mr. ’Art. I’ll make you proud! I’ll make the theater proud, I promise!”

“I have no doubt,” he replied. “Nell, you are a delightful breath of air, one I am proud to have in the company. And who I would be even more proud to take into my heart.”

Her mind raced to think of something to say that would not offend him. “Mr. ’Art, I—”

“You must call me Charles.” He framed a canvas with his hand. “People will come from all over London to see us perform together.”

“Mr. ’Art—”

“I shall see that you have the best costumes
and
the wittiest lines.”

“But I—”

“The other girls will all envy you, and you will have to be cautious about the men and the gifts. Richard and Beck Marshall here can certainly warn you about all of that. And I will be your teacher. I shall teach you everything I know.”

Charles pressed a sensual kiss onto her earlobe, and the muscles in her throat constricted. But the choice was clear. It was a pivotal moment in her life, and there would not likely be many others like this. For a life of security, for herself and Rose, there was a price to be paid. Women always paid a price it seemed.
This price.
She drew in a deep breath, knowing all that lay before her, and all that her response implied. Nell was fully prepared to make Charles Hart think she found him attractive and that, since he had apologized, there was no real harm done from their “encounter.” The cost of security was high, but she would gladly pay it. “Mr. ’Art, I accept.”

After he had gone back to his own private tiring-room, and Nell felt herself breathe again, an actress with frizzled, tawny hair came forward, grinning. “I’m Beck Marshall,” she said. “Happy to have you on board our topsy-turvy little ship, tormented by high seas though it can be.” Nell felt an instant kinship with her. “And don’t worry about Mr. Hart. He’s far more interested in the business aspects of our little theater company than the women in it. Once he’s had you, most of the time he’ll let you alone.”

“You and Mr. ’Art—”

“Mr. Hart and every new actress in the company,” Beck Marshall said.

Chapter 6

T
O THE
K
ING’S
H
OUSE, AND THERE DID SEE A GOOD PART OF
‘T
HE
E
NGLISH
M
ONSIEUR’ WHICH IS A MIGHTY PRETTY PLAY, VERY WITTY AND PLEASANT
. A
ND THE WOMEN DID WELL, BUT ABOVE ALL LITTLE
N
ELLY.

—The Diary of Samuel Pepys

T
HE
next afternoon, as Lady Wealthy, Nell garnered three standing ovations and a brimming bouquet of lilacs, and not a single piece of fruit was tossed at her. It was proof positive, Richard Bell assured her, that she was a success. As she walked down the long, low-ceilinged corridor that led from the stage to the tiring-rooms, all of it lined with racks of costumes, hats, and props, she heard the whispers. Who was she? And from where had such a comic talent come? She smiled to herself and saw one thing clearly. She had gotten a thing of value after all from her mother—her stubborn nature.