The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose (16 page)

Eliza scarcely knew whether to be shocked or amused by all these antics, and finally decided to be a little of each. She was very aware of Valentine Howard nearby and couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of her. If he thought of her at all, that was.

‘At last!’ Nell said, after glancing once more to where the king was. ‘Chiffinch is on his way to us.’

Eliza looked over to see a stout man approaching them, formally dressed in black velvet with gold trimmings. He bowed low and Eliza and Nell bowed back to him, flourishing their hats.

‘Mistress Gwyn,’ Chiffinch said smoothly.

‘Oh,’ Nell said, pretending to pout. ‘You have seen through my disguise!’

‘Not many men have such a figure, madam,’ said Chiffinch.

Nell nodded graciously at the compliment. ‘And this is my companion, Eliza Rose.’

Chiffinch gave another short bow but only glanced at Eliza. ‘I’m commanded to say that the king wishes to speak with the ladies of the King’s Company.’

Eliza felt her heart give an enormous leap. It was enough to be here, see such sights, be in such company – but now actually to meet the King of England …

‘Alas, sire,’ said Nell, ‘there are just two of us at present. But Mistress Rose and I will be delighted to attend upon His Majesty.’

Chiffinch bowed again and Eliza had just enough time to exchange an agonised, excited look with Nell before he began to lead the way towards the king in the silk tent. It was only a short stroll across the grass towards him but Eliza, feeling every eye upon the two of them, felt it to be of an immeasurable length. She was aware that she should be taking manly strides, yet feared being tripped up by her sword – and moreover had neglected to put down the goblet she’d been holding and so was forced to flourish this along with her hat. She began to wish she was in a woman’s garb (and it was mere vanity but how she would have loved having her own long hair) for curtsying came more easily and surely looked more charming.

Following close behind Nell, she realised that it was customary to stop every few seconds and bow again to His Majesty, and that as you got closer each bow should be deeper than the one before, each flourish of the hat a grander gesture, until, at last, Eliza stood before the king with knee bent, hat touching the floor
and body bowed so low she was feared she might overbalance. Terrified into immobility, she was relieved at last to hear manly laughter.

‘Do rise, Nelly, for I know it’s you!’ said the king.

There was a moment’s pause, Eliza heard some girlish giggles from Nell, and then the king called, ‘And you may arise, too, my dear,’ and Eliza finally straightened up and looked into the eyes of the King of England. It was the most thrilling moment in her life, and her only disappointment was that his eyes were brown and not green.

A little later, Valentine Howard strode up and stood before Eliza, looking amused.

‘So is this – what? – your fourth incarnation?’ he asked.

Eliza bobbed a curtsy and then, remembering her disguise, turned it into a bow. ‘I don’t know what you mean, sire,’ she said, meeting his eyes boldly.

‘Tonight you are a young rake. Yesterday you were an orange girl. Before that you were a mermaid, were you not?’

Eliza dropped her gaze.

‘And before that?’

Eliza drew in her breath sharply. Surely he didn’t …

‘Before that, I believe you were staying in one of His Majesty’s finest’ –’

‘Please, sire!’ said Eliza, looking around to make sure no one had overheard. ‘No one but Nell knows of my background.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said, amused. ‘Your secret is safe.’

‘I didn’t think you had … I mean, how can you possibly remember seeing me in Clink?’ Eliza asked.

There was a pause. ‘Could any fellow forget those green eyes?’ he said, and Eliza, for one brief second, smiled up at him with surprised delight. Swiftly reminding herself, however, that such compliments were merely part of the ritual undertaken by those of the male sex when they were seeking to bed a girl, she took a step backwards.

‘That is as maybe, sire,’ she said stiffly. ‘I … I’ve put that time behind me now and don’t wish anyone else to know about it.’

He smiled at her. ‘And what will you give me for my silence?’

Eliza felt her face flush. ‘It may surprise you to know, sire, that not all girls are to be bought and sold.’

To her discomposure he burst out laughing. ‘My apologies. Your servant, madam,’ he said, flourishing his hat and bowing low.

They were interrupted by Nell, her eyes sparkling and her colour high.

‘Eliza, the king wishes me to dance,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Will you accompany me by singing? There are musicians waiting and we’ve some ballad sheets.’

Eliza gasped. ‘Sing? I … I’ve not practised for some time,’ she stammered.

‘Possibly not since you were seated on a rock in the ocean,’ Valentine Howard murmured.

Eliza, choosing to ignore this remark, turned away from him. ‘But of course, Nell. I’ll do my best …’

Chapter Fifteen

‘I wish I could have stayed to see you,’ Jemima said in the tiring room of the theatre the following day, ‘for I’m sure that you looked very fine singing before the king.’

Eliza glowed as she thought of it. She’d been a little off-key sometimes, she was sure, and once or twice could barely manage the complicated roundels which sought to twist her tongue, but by and large she’d been pleased at her performance. Even the drunken wits had seemed to appreciate her voice.

Of course, she knew she’d only been secondary, an accompaniment to Nell’s dancing.

‘Nell was magnificent!’ she told Jemima. ‘Everyone was cheering and bravoing her as she whirled around. Why, she had the king clapping and whooping like a schoolboy. “
Nelly!
” he kept shouting – for that’s what he calls her – “Nelly, dance and never stop!”’

‘And
after?
’ Jemima asked meaningfully.

‘After … she went back to Whitehall Palace with him!’

The two girls exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

‘She’s got what she longed for, then,’ Jemima said.

‘It seems like it. But I’ve not told you the most exciting news, Jemima, for when the king commended my voice, he also gave me leave to attend singing
classes with his daughter. He said she has a music teacher newly arrived from France, and he thought she and I would sound very pretty harmonising together.’

‘That’s excellent!’ Jemima said. ‘For the king’s daughter will be sure to have the best teacher – and besides, you’ll have to go to the palace and see all the finery and fashions!’ She thought for a moment. ‘I wonder which daughter he referred to.’

‘Is there more than one?’

Jemima nodded. ‘There’s Catherine Fitzcharles – she was born of Catherine Pegge. And Barbara Castlemaine has a child a year by him as regular as clockwork. I believe that at least two of those are girls.’

‘A child a year!’ Eliza said. ‘So Nell will never be his one and only.’

‘She won’t,’ Jemima said. ‘Even the queen doesn’t have exclusive rights to the king. But I suppose if you set your sights on Charles II for your lover, then that’s what you must expect.’

She smiled at Eliza somewhat sadly. She looked paler than ever, Eliza thought, her complexion almost matching the white-blondness of her hair.

‘And how was my darling William after I left?’ she enquired after a moment.

‘He was …’ Eliza bit her lip. It had been William, she’d discovered, who’d been performing so athletically with the girl in the tent. ‘He wasn’t much with the others,’ she said with diplomacy. ‘Indeed, I hardly saw anything of him.’

Jemima sighed. ‘I must be patient, for we’ll be together soon for the rest of our lives. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.’

They fell into silence for a while, each busy with their own thoughts, then Eliza said, ‘I’ve a favour to ask you. I want to write to someone and I don’t know enough of my letters to do so. Will you help me?’

‘Of course,’ Jemima said. ‘And teach you to write too, if you like, for I’ve much time on my hands.’ She smiled wanly. ‘Is it a love letter?’

‘No, indeed not!’ Eliza said. ‘I don’t have a sweetheart here or at home. In Somersetshire, I mean,’ she corrected, for she wasn’t sure where home was any longer. She hesitated. ‘Do you remember that I told you about my father disowning me?’ As Jemima nodded, she continued, ‘Well, I’ve decided to write to my aunt – my mother’s sister. If anyone knows the truth about this, it’ll be her.’

Some paper, a quill and some ink being sent for, Eliza – with Jemima’s help – wrote the following:

Lewkenor’s Lane, London

My Dear Aunt Thomasina
,

You will be surprised to see from my address that I am in London. To be brief, I came here to find my father, who is at present working on the rebuilding of churches following the Great Fire of four years ago
.

I came to find him due to the fact that my stepmother told me I was no longer welcome at the house and requested that I leave. Be assured that I didn’t do anything to cause this rift between us, but do believe that I have always acted as a loving and dutiful daughter
.

On finding my father here, I was much cast
down to hear him say that it had been he who had told my stepmother to send me away. He also said that I was a cuckoo in his nest and that he
wasn’t
my father. You can imagine that this was a great shock to me
.

Here is a delicate matter, Aunt. As my dear mother’s sister, it is possible that you know the identity of my real father. If so, I beg you to let me know his name, be he dead or alive, so that I may satisfy myself as to my rightful heredity. Without knowing this, I feel at a loss as to who I am
.

If you feel you can answer this question I would be grateful for your reply to the above address. I send my greetings to my uncle and my cousins and remain your affectionate niece
,

Eliza Rose

‘I’m sure she’ll tell you if she knows,’ Jemima said reassuringly. ‘Your own mother would wish you to know, surely – and your aunt is the closest you can get to her on this earth.’

Eliza nodded and sighed. ‘I hope you’re right.’

Jemima stood up. ‘I’ve a letter of my own to send to William,’ she said, ‘so I’ll take yours down to the agent with it.’ She yawned. ‘I need a walk, for I’m feeling very slothful and dull.’

She took up the hooded cloak she habitually wore when going out, and swung it around her. As she did so, Eliza’s eyes were on a level with her stomach, and what she saw surprised her very much. Gasping, she looked up at Jemima, but she was fastening the tie at her neck and didn’t see.

Eliza, embarrassed, looked away. She’d seen too many women with stomachs protruding like that not to know what it was. Of course, she thought,
that
was why Jemima had gone to change in private the previous evening, and why she usually kept her shape hidden under loose smocks. She was with child, and judging by the size of her, the pregnancy was considerably advanced.

‘Here she is … here she is!’ A murmur ran through the girls in the tiring room as, very late that afternoon, Nell came in. She was dressed in the same young gallant’s garb she’d worn the evening before, the only difference being that around her neck she was now wearing a gold chain upon which hung a man’s ring set with a massive ruby.

Against the dark velvet this ruby showed up very well, but in case anyone hadn’t noticed it, Nell began casually swinging it backwards and forwards on its chain.

She sat down in front of a make-up mirror and studied her reflection with interest. ‘Do I look different?’ she mused, moving a candle nearer to the glass. ‘Am I changed?’ Then, pretending not to notice all the curious and interested eyes upon her, she asked Eliza to send out for a pigeon pie and some cordial, saying she was fair famished.

Eliza gave a coin to Thomas, the boy who ran errands for them, then sat down beside Nell, looking at her expectantly. Jemima did likewise.

Nell looked around, waiting until the eye of everyone in the tiring room was cast in her direction. ‘Well, it is official,’ she said then. ‘I am now the king’s whore.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from those around her, and several girls looked over towards where Mary Davis was pretending to learn some lines from a play script.

Nell went on, ‘I say whore, for I won’t presume to say mistress after just one calling. However,’ she swung the ruby along the chain, ‘I think I may say that His Majesty was very pleased with my performance.’

There was a pause before Mary got to her feet and approached Nell. Eliza waited nervously, thinking she was going to unleash a torrent of fury on their heads, but she merely said, ‘Was that your first time at Whitehall, then, Mistress Gwyn?’

Nell nodded.

‘It’s very beautiful there, isn’t it?’ confirmed Mary. She patted her neckbone, as if to draw attention to the gold locket, and, smiling sweetly at Nell, drifted towards the door. ‘I am often there,’ she said before she went out.

Eliza longed to know more about Nell and the king. There was, though, much to ask, and she wouldn’t have known where to start or what words to use. It was just too delicate a matter. It did seem that Nell had achieved what she’d set out to do, however, and Eliza was happy for her. How Nell would manage to order things thereafter with regards to the queen, and Barbara Castlemaine and Mary Davis and whoever else the king might choose to sleep with, Eliza couldn’t begin to think. How difficult being someone’s mistress must be. And even worse to be just one of a number of mistresses.

But Eliza felt she couldn’t worry about Nell at the moment, for all her concern was centred on Jemima. She’d twice tried to say something to the girl about her condition, but each time Jemima had pretended not to know what she was talking about. Eliza deliberated whether to tell Nell or not, and couldn’t decide what to do for the best. It was Jemima’s secret, after all, and it was obvious that she didn’t want even Eliza to know. Perhaps she hoped to be on the high seas before she gave birth …