The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose (18 page)

Quickly ascertaining that Valentine Howard wasn’t amongst the young men surrounding William – for much as she wanted to help Jemima, she didn’t intend to be embarrassed in front of him – she went over and, curtsying low, asked if she might speak with Mr Wilkes for a moment in private.

‘Not another of your girls, William!’ the cry went up from his cronies. ‘I swear you have already laid a dozen wenches this year!’

Eliza gave the group what she hoped was a cold look and one of them said, ‘Ah, no! ’Tis the pretty songstress from Foxhall,’ which rather made her want to smile.

William stepped away from the group. ‘What is it?’ he asked irritably.

‘Sire,’ Eliza began somewhat nervously, ‘I’m maid to Nell Gwyn and friend to Jemima – as we call her.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes? And so?’

‘Excuse me for being so bold as to approach you, but Jemima is pining and also … also …’ she reddened and couldn’t bring herself to say the words that Nell would have uttered without a qualm, ‘… she seems to be soon … soon … that is, she is not quite herself at present.’

Wilkes puffed out his cheeks, rolled his eyes. ‘That’s too bad.’

‘Sire!’ Eliza said, shocked at his seeming callousness.

‘’Tis not at all what I wanted. It has all gone wrong!’ he said, making a drunken, throwaway gesture with his arms.

Eliza felt a great desire to kick him. ‘It has all gone wrong for Jemima, too, then,’ she said, suddenly emboldened, ‘and her misfortune is much the greater, for you may go on just as you please, but she has to bear an added burden.’

Wilkes looked at her again and then gazed into the distance, appearing to be considering, in an ale-sodden way, what was to be done. ‘Oh, I suppose I shall think of something,’ he said eventually.

‘May I tell her that?’

‘If you wish.’ He gave her a half-nod, turning again to his cronies, and Eliza made her way back to the theatre. At least, she thought, she could tell Jemima that she’d seen him, and give her his message, such as it was.

The following day a sealed document was delivered at the theatre for Jemima. She tore open the parchment
and read down the lines quickly, then flushed pink, swayed and staggered backwards.

‘What is it?’ Eliza asked anxiously, putting a chair in position for her to sit on. ‘Not bad news?’

‘No, not bad news,’ Jemima said, sitting down heavily. ‘Most excellent news.’

She passed Eliza the letter. It read:

I’ve secured the cleric and he is willing to marry us this evening at nine. The utmost secrecy must surround this matter and I ask you to tell no one and to arrive alone, apart from one maidservant. I shall send my carriage at eight-thirty and remain, my dear,
Your William

‘There!’ Jemima said. ‘Darling William. I knew he wouldn’t let me down.’

‘No. No, indeed,’ Eliza stammered, rather taken aback at this seeming display of chivalry on his part. He really did mean to marry her, then.

Jemima grasped her arm. ‘You’ll come with me, won’t you? You’ll come with me as my maid?’

Eliza nodded. ‘If you wish, of course I will. But what will you wear for your wedding?’ She looked Jemima over doubtfully as she asked, for she’d been appearing in the same drudge-grey gown and oversmock for some days now and she suspected it was the only outfit she could get into.

Jemima sighed. ‘I’d thought to have a lovely dress for my wedding, and a bouquet of flowers and bride-maids in attendance – but no matter, as long as darling William has arranged this, I’ll be content.’

‘But your
gown
. Does … does nothing else fit you?’

Jemima looked down at herself. ‘I’ve rather increased my size, have I not?’ She smiled brightly. ‘But no matter. I shall find something to wear in the costume department. You can help me look.’

At eight-thirty that evening they were both ready and waiting. Eliza was wearing her best gown and a hooded cloak, and the bride was wearing a dark blue silk dress that was much too big in every place except around her midriff. She had a circlet of the customary myrtle and rosemary around her head and carried a bunch of yellow roses, as well as yellow silk garters to hold up the stockings, tied in bows above her knees as was the custom.

Nell hadn’t appeared in the theatre all that day. If she had, Eliza would have sought her advice about the marriage, despite William’s plea to keep things secret. She had odd misgivings about it, for it all seemed much too rushed. She didn’t dare say anything about this to Jemima, however, for the girl was half-hysterical with a combination of happiness and terror – concerned that her father would find out at the last moment, or her brother would rush in and challenge William to a duel. Only once during the day had Eliza gently referred to her condition, asking her if she knew when a certain happy day might occur, but her question had been met by a wide-eyed stare and a shrug. ‘My life will consist entirely of happy days once I’m married!’ she’d said, and Eliza couldn’t decide if she genuinely didn’t know she was with child, or was just being awkward.

William Wilkes’s carriage and four was waiting
outside the theatre at the appointed time, the painted coat of arms on its doors deliberately obscured by large banners hanging from its windows. Eliza helped Jemima in, and then asked the coachman if he was taking them to Mr Wilkes’s house. He didn’t reply, however, and Eliza climbed in after her and spent the journey holding on tightly to Jemima’s hands, for the girl was seemingly scared out of all speech.

After driving for fifteen minutes there came a ‘Whoa!’ from the coachman as he reined in the horses and, as the coach came to a standstill, Eliza peered out. She had no idea where they were, for it was pitch black and there wasn’t even a link-boy around to illuminate the scene. Her heart began to pound, for she feared they were about to be kidnapped. She’d heard that there were lawless parts of London ruled entirely by the underworld, where girls were taken away for years at a time and used for the pleasure of rich madmen. Was
this
what William Wilkes intended for them?

A torch appeared by the carriage window but it was impossible to see who was carrying it. As the door was opened Eliza and Jemima clung together, with Jemima making little mewing noises of distress. These only stopped when they heard William Wilkes’s voice, its tone rather bored, say, ‘Come, my dear. Are you prepared?’

The carriage steps were lowered and, after some moments spent composing herself, Jemima was helped down. Eliza, noticing that William had a small group of friends standing in the darkness behind him, followed nervously, wondering who they were. She saw Monmouth, the king’s good-looking son, then
with a shudder noticed Henry Monteagle and the Earl of Rochester. The one she really sought wasn’t there, and she didn’t know whether to be pleased at this or not.

Eliza lowered her eyes and pulled the hood of her cloak further over her face, praying that Henry Monteagle wouldn’t recognise her and that the ceremony would be quick so that she could get away. She’d attended weddings in Stoke Courcey where the fiddler had played merry tunes as the bride and groom arrived and the guests called their good wishes, but here there was no fiddler and Wilkes’s friends didn’t seem inclined to call anything at all, merely stood around talking amongst themselves.

Eliza couldn’t think where they were. They’d not come to Wilkes’s house, that much was certain, for she knew he lodged at a fine dwelling at the river end of Whitehall, and
this
was a dank and shabby area, with a laystall of filth to one side of the street and a pile of rotting market garbage on the other. There was no church visible either, so it didn’t seem as if the wedding would be a church one.

‘Where are we?’ she asked the nearest youth, for Jemima was all of a dither and didn’t seem about to ask anyone anything.

‘Fleet,’ he answered. ‘We’re outside Fleet Prison.’

‘No!’ Eliza cried in alarm.

He laughed. ‘Don’t mind the name, mistress. The Fleet is the place for secret marriages, haven’t you heard?’

Eliza shook her head.

‘Oh, many a fine couple have been married in Fleet!’

‘Many a fine couple – and now we two,’ William said with a coarse laugh, and with Jemima clinging to him, he pushed open a stout oak door and the wedding party went in.

‘But it was the strangest wedding I’ve ever heard of, for no one made merry or seemed happy or even
smiled
,’ Eliza reported to Nell the following morning. ‘And I felt desperately sorry for Jemima, because she looked for some signs of love from William, but none were forthcoming. And no one threw petals or took off her yellow garters and tossed them or had any sort of fun.’

‘And what of the reverend gentleman? The one who took the service?’ Nell asked.

‘He didn’t look like someone who was in holy orders, for I’m sure he was drunk. And his robes were smeared and nasty and he seemed to forget what he was saying halfway through.’

Nell nodded. ‘’Twas all a play, I’m sure of it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if a girl won’t suffer to be bedded without a wedding, or if she’s someone with a lot of money on her head, often the man will take her off to Fleet Prison and undergo the ceremony there. ’Tis happening more and more.’

Eliza looked at her, worried. ‘Isn’t it a lawful marriage, then?’

‘It all depends if the reverend gent is genuine.’

‘But …’ Eliza thought about it, confused. ‘Has William done it to give his child a name?’

‘I doubt that! He’s done it to put her family off the scent. He’ll send word that they’re married in the
hopes that they’ll give up the hunt for them, then he can play the fop and live off her money for the rest of his life.’

Eliza sighed. ‘Poor Jemima.’

The two were silent for a while. ‘But did she not have any bride-feast afterwards?’ Nell asked.

‘Not a thing. They went straight off to a tavern to stay the night, but she’ll be back later this morning, for he told her that it still wasn’t safe for them to be seen together.’

Nell swore under her breath. ‘I’ve a mind to tell the king of his behaviour,’ she said, then added after a moment, ‘but of course that won’t do a bit of good, for the king is in every way just as wayward.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘He’s the
king
, though. He’s allowed to do as he pleases.’

‘Is there nothing we can do to help Jemima?’ Eliza asked.

Nell shook her head. ‘Only give her a bride-feast when she returns,’ and she sent to a tavern for a pastry case to be baked and the dish filled with live singing birds. On Jemima’s return to the theatre and the pie being cut, these fluttered out and flew all round the room, eventually disappearing out of the topmost windows. Jemima laughed and seemed charmed by this, but Eliza could see the sadness in her eyes and knew that she must be deeply unhappy.

Chapter Seventeen

As Nell took her final curtsy on the opening night of
Secret Love
, the theatre erupted. Flowers were thrown on to the stage, gallants jumped up and down on seats, apprentices roared, prostitutes waved their masks in the air and the whole building shook with bellowing cheers and cries of ‘Bravo!’

Eliza, from her place with the other orange sellers in the pits, glanced up at the stage and tried to catch Nell’s eye to smile at her, but Nell had eyes for only one place: the king’s private box. And the king’s private box was empty.

Later, in her dressing room, Nell angrily tore off the fancy costume she was wearing and kicked it to one side. She’d received Aphra Behn graciously enough, had tolerated a collection of ardent lords, ladies and playgoers anxious to offer their congratulations on her performance, but was now venting her fury on her costume and anyone around her.

As a dresser scuttled to retrieve the items before hastily leaving the room, Nell said peevishly, ‘He didn’t come! The king didn’t come. I gave my all and he didn’t see it!’

‘Maybe … some affairs of state,’ Eliza said uncertainly, holding out an Indian-style loose garment
for Nell to put on.

‘Affairs of state!’ Nell punched her arms into the baggy sleeves. ‘They’ve never stopped him before. Affairs of the bedroom, maybe.’ Nell’s delicate face grew red with fury. ‘I’ve heard the queen has a new lady-in-waiting! She’s a Frenchwoman and
supposedly
most devastatingly beautiful.’ She kicked off a shoe and sent it flying across the room. ‘He’s after laying her, I’m sure of it! He probably has one hand under her petticoats even as we speak!’

Eliza didn’t know what to say to this. Indeed, she thought, Jemima had had the right idea for – after ascertaining that darling William wasn’t present in the audience – she’d gone home. Eliza began to wish that she’d done the same.

There was a gentle tap on the door and Nell screamed at whoever it was to go away, then sat down in front of her make-up mirror and scowled at herself. Eliza, quietly brushing Nell’s red leather shoes, didn’t hear any retreating footsteps so looked out of the door a moment later to see the little black-skinned messenger boy in the corridor. He carried a cushion on which rested a letter.

‘I’ve a message for Nelly Gwyn,’ he said in a timid voice. ‘But someone shouted at me to go away and now I don’t know what to do.’

Eliza opened the door wider. ‘It’s all right,’ she reassured the child. ‘You can give it to Nelly yourself. She won’t shout at you.’

He tiptoed in and Nell, seeing him and seeing, also, the king’s seal on the back of the folded parchment, let out a scream of joy. She snatched up the letter.

‘Quickly,’ she said, thrusting it at Eliza. ‘Read it and
tell me what he says!’

Eliza dutifully read out:

My dear Nelly
,

Our compliments on the beauty and success that we are certain you brought to the role of Sophia today
.

We, being overrun with foreign ambassadors, must provide them with entertainment, therefore the queen is holding a musical event this evening and we would be glad of your presence from nine o’clock
.