Exit The Actress_ A Novel Part 22

"I mean, did you really think the king's messenger could show up here three or four times a week and Hart wouldn't wouldn't know?" know?"

October 19-Drury Lane (still raining) Everything is different, indeed. Tonight, Johnny, Aphra, Teddy, and I attended The Queen of Aragon The Queen of Aragon at the Duke's, and it was intolerable. I had expected stares, but I had not expected pointing and guffawing and loud laughing. "Well done, Nelly!" one particularly vocal member of the pit cheered. at the Duke's, and it was intolerable. I had expected stares, but I had not expected pointing and guffawing and loud laughing. "Well done, Nelly!" one particularly vocal member of the pit cheered.

"Does he mean-?" I turned to Rochester.

"No idea," he said, looking perplexed. Even he was startled by the crowd's reaction to me.

Finally, Teddy came back to our box, gasping and giggling with the truth. "It seems"-he struggled for breath-"it seems that you have been labelled a poisoner poisoner!"

"What!" Johnny and I cried in unison.

"Teddy, really," cautioned Aphra, looking around to make sure no one had heard him. "Lower your voice. You cannot say such things."

"They are saying it," he said, gesturing wildly towards the pit. " are saying it," he said, gesturing wildly towards the pit. "They are saying that you invited Moll Davis over for tea and fed her sweetmeats laced with jalap weed, provided by"-he swung around to point at Aphra-" are saying that you invited Moll Davis over for tea and fed her sweetmeats laced with jalap weed, provided by"-he swung around to point at Aphra-"you! Apparently you brought it back from Surinam," he added helpfully. He was doubled over, with tears of laughter coursing down his pretty face. "She could not leave the privy for ... for ... for three days, and thereby missed her a.s.signation with the king." Apparently you brought it back from Surinam," he added helpfully. He was doubled over, with tears of laughter coursing down his pretty face. "She could not leave the privy for ... for ... for three days, and thereby missed her a.s.signation with the king."

"They think I would do that?" I asked, too astonished to laugh.

"It does have a measure of wit attached to it," Johnny said, softly chuckling. "I wish we had had thought of it." thought of it."

"They are calling it 'l'affaire du jalap, 'l'affaire du jalap,' " Teddy exploded.

"Priceless," Johnny whispered, looking genuinely amused for the first time in months.

When We Enjoy Our Country Idyll

Friday, October 23, 1668-Little Saxham (late) What a few days. Honestly, these boys a few days. Honestly, these boys seem seem so harmless, but lately I wonder. I am writing this tucked into a window-seat, wrapped in a coverlet, with the castle finally asleep. so harmless, but lately I wonder. I am writing this tucked into a window-seat, wrapped in a coverlet, with the castle finally asleep.

What happened: Thursday Thursday We arrived in Little Saxham, close by Bury St. Edmunds, early on Thursday afternoon. Just to get away from London and the fomenting gossip it breeds (l'affaire du jalap was the last straw for me) for a few days and to enjoy the crisp, clear autumn air of the country. A small intimate party of close friends: Sedley, Johnny Rochester, Buckhurst, Buckingham (the Countess of Shrewsbury couldn't come-thank goodness; I find her grating), Peg and Rupert, Charles and me. Jemmy Monmouth and his wife (whom he dislikes) were to join us, but her hip is still bothering her after her fall last month. We planned a long afternoon walk over the hills, and tomorrow a visit to the ancient Cathedral of Bury St. Edmunds. was the last straw for me) for a few days and to enjoy the crisp, clear autumn air of the country. A small intimate party of close friends: Sedley, Johnny Rochester, Buckhurst, Buckingham (the Countess of Shrewsbury couldn't come-thank goodness; I find her grating), Peg and Rupert, Charles and me. Jemmy Monmouth and his wife (whom he dislikes) were to join us, but her hip is still bothering her after her fall last month. We planned a long afternoon walk over the hills, and tomorrow a visit to the ancient Cathedral of Bury St. Edmunds.

After our walk we returned to our rooms to dress and then enjoyed a huge repast of fresh country bread, roast chicken, stewed carp, pike with quince cream, artichoke pie-a new vegetable from Italy-mallow salad, hard cheese, sack posset, cider, and canary wine. Followed by nursery treats like baked apricots, apple cake, and orange pudding with cream. Sack and cider make my head swim, so I kept to watered wine. After supper, Sedley, Buckingham, and Buckhurst announced that they wanted to experience the nocturnal delights of Bury St. Edmunds. It did not take much encouragement for Rupert and Charles to agree to join them. Johnny curiously chose to stay behind to "entertain the ladies," he said in a martyrish voice.

We three were sitting up by the fire chatting, drinking chocolate, and playing noisy round robin games of backgammon when Charles, Buckingham, and Rupert returned, gay but very drunk.

"Ah, the portrait of domestic bliss!" Rupert crowed, falling to all fours (heavily-he is not as agile as he once was) and burrowing his head into Peg's lap.

"No, no! I'm winning! Johnny's beat me three times. We can't stop now, when I'm winning!" It was true-Johnny never loses at backgammon.

"Hmm." Charles, likewise, buried his face in my neck. "Is it bedtime yet?" he growled.

"Seems to be Buckingham's bedtime," Rochester observed. Buckingham was already snoring in an armchair by the fire, his frilly court shoes kicked to one side. "Where are the others?"

"Naked," came Rupert's m.u.f.fled reply from Peg's skirts.

"Oh, naturally," said Rochester, as if this had been the answer he was expecting, continuing to methodically pick up the backgammon pieces, black, white, black, white.

"Naked?" I asked, attempting to prop up Charles's head. It resiliently returned to nestle into my neck. "Did you just say I asked, attempting to prop up Charles's head. It resiliently returned to nestle into my neck. "Did you just say naked naked?"

"Mm-hm." Rupert was falling asleep. "They thought the high street was just the place to be naked."

Peg rolled her eyes at this absurd response.

"We could think of better places to be naked, and so came home," Charles mumbled, his hands beginning to roam. could think of better places to be naked, and so came home," Charles mumbled, his hands beginning to roam.

"But you left left them? Drunk and naked in the high street? them? Drunk and naked in the high street? Alone? Alone?" I asked, concerned, struggling to still the king's relentless hands.

"Should we have left them a trail of bread-crumbs to find their way home?" asked the sleepy king. "How thoughtless of us. Bed," Charles mumbled insistently, pointing vaguely towards the ceiling.

Oh well, as they brew, let them bake-off to bed.

Sat.u.r.day I awoke early, to the distant sound of raised voices and banging upon the front door. I looked at the clock (Charles's favourite blue enamel travel clock that he keeps with him always), and it was not yet six. Charles was still soundly asleep beside me, his bed-clothes thrown off as usual. There was a light tap on our bedroom door, and I opened it to the solid bulk of Mrs. Walsh, the housekeeper, waiting without in an agitated state.

"I do not know how to tell you this, madam, indeed I really don't."

"Try, Mrs. Walsh. Try to tell me whatever it is that has you at our door at this hour," I said, struggling for patience.

"They arrested them, last night, for disgraceful behaviour, and kept them all night in the gaol, not that it won't do them good, mind you-"

"Wait, Mrs. Walsh, slowly, they have arrested who?"

"Lord Sedley and Lord Buckhurst, for doing indecent things in town. They say old Dr. Fanning got the shock of his life when they leapt out at him from behind a tree, naked as ... well, naked, naked, and he is a and he is a doctor doctor and used to seeing, you know ... and used to seeing, you know ... things things-"

"And now they are arrested and in gaol gaol?"

"Only place for them, if they insist on acting like that-"

I stopped listening. Mrs. Walsh seemed to have forgotten her timidity and was fully prepared to hold forth on the proper punishment for nudists. "Thank you, Mrs. Walsh," I said abruptly, cutting her off.

"But, what do you want me to tell them?"

"Them?"

"The constables downstairs."

"Ooh! Constables ... constables are here here! Thank you, Mrs. Walsh, just please tell them to wait, won't you, and perhaps give them some breakfast," I said, steering her along the pa.s.sage. "Some of your lovely macaroons and maybe eggs and sausages?" Thinking quickly, I decided that Charles was going to find out regardless, and most likely be furious, but it was better if he stepped in now now and got them out of gaol and then punished them privately rather than have everyone suffer the embarra.s.sment of the king's companions in prison. Hurrying back into the bedroom, I awoke the sleeping monarch. and got them out of gaol and then punished them privately rather than have everyone suffer the embarra.s.sment of the king's companions in prison. Hurrying back into the bedroom, I awoke the sleeping monarch.

"Your Majesty!" Constables Cole and Gunstun jumped up in unison from their cooked breakfasts to bow to the king. Not sure of how to do it, between them, they managed to knock over a chair and drop a b.u.t.ter dish. Charles just smiled and accepted their clumsy obeisance with his customary good humour.

"Now, constables, perhaps you would care to join me for my traditional morning const.i.tutional walk?"

"Walk?" they echoed their king, their mouths full of food. they echoed their king, their mouths full of food.

"Yes! Vigorous walking-good for the body and good for the spirit. I go at least five miles every morning, and then perhaps a swim? Nothing beats a swim to get the blood moving." The constables looked at each other in confusion. This This was the fabled lazy, debauched king? The same pleasure-ridden king who permitted his men to run about wholesome country towns naked? Without waiting for their reply, Charles headed out the garden doors, and the bewildered constables had no choice but to follow. was the fabled lazy, debauched king? The same pleasure-ridden king who permitted his men to run about wholesome country towns naked? Without waiting for their reply, Charles headed out the garden doors, and the bewildered constables had no choice but to follow.

I retrieved the b.u.t.ter dish and righted the chair. All would be well. He would see to it. I dreaded to think of what he would do to the boys in private, but Charles would not abandon them publicly. Johnny appeared at my side. Early for him-the ruckus must have woken him.

"He will forgive them," he said in answer to my thoughts. "He will forgive us anything. That is the trouble," he said, watching the unlikely trio make their way down the drive, the king striding ahead, boisterously pointing out various trees and plants of interest with his gold-tipped walking stick and the startled constables trailing in his wake.

Johnny was right. How well he knows the king. By the time Buckingham, Rupert, and Peg emerged, Sedley and Buckhurst were returned-Sedley with a black eye and Buckhurst limping-and their royal favour restored. They retold the story of their night in jail over luncheon-a lovely outdoor affair, served on long tables covered in cloud-white cloths with roast carp, fresh salad from the garden, and bowls of strawberries with thick country cream. I so much prefer simplicity to the rich court food.

They told of the Sunne Tavern and then the King's Head and Betsy the serving maid, who challenged them to run the length of the high street naked before she would kiss either of them. This same Betsy who disappeared once they began their drunken, naked serenade outside the tavern. Of the doctor, who shook his cane at them, the tavern keeper, who shooed them away-locking the tavern with their clothes inside-the seamstress, who offered from her window to sew them some clothes, and finally the watch, who chased them and arrested them.

"But they beat you?" I asked, eyeing their injuries.

They looked at each other furtively, as if deciding whether or not to be truthful.

"No," began Sedley awkwardly, "that was from..." He let his sentence trail off.

"We ran into some trouble with ... Betsy," finished Buckhurst.

"Betsy!" whooped Buckingham. "Don't tell me she did that!" he said, pointing at Sedley's black eye.

"The doctor is her uncle," Buckhurst said, rising to her defence. "And she is much stronger than she looks."

"Yes," agreed Sedley solemnly. "Betsy is burly."

Later I asked Charles, just before he fell asleep, why he was not wroth with them. This was our private time at the end of the public day. Snug and safe, I could let my thoughts uncurl. The moonlight striped our silk coverlets as he held me close.

"They are wild boys," he said indulgently. "They are brilliant and extreme and cannot be held to codes of normal behaviour. And besides," he added thoughtfully, running his long fingers through my sea-horse curls, "I do not care enough to reform them."

That is him all over, I thought. Charles notices everything but will only exert effort if it interests him.

"Johnny, too?" I asked, sensing that Johnny was special.

"No, Johnny is different. I would move heaven and earth to reform Johnny," he answered quietly, looking at the moon.

Sunday, October 25-Windsor (rainy) Moved again again. After our unexpected Suffolk publicity we decided to remove to Windsor Castle for some peace. We arrived in time for chapel and all trooped in, still dressed in our travelling clothes-all except Johnny, who never attends church. Rupert and Peg had sent word ahead, and the castle was all in readiness for us-as ready as it can be in its current state of renovation. After a simple supper together we looked over the modifications to the ancient fortress.

"But it must be better, Rupert!" Charles thundered with excitement, racing about the crumbling building and gesticulating vigorously.

Building projects energise energise him, I remember the queen saying. Charles had returned from his Continental exile inspired by the luxury and efficiency of his cousin King Louis XIV's grand palaces. His designs for a Long Walk here at Windsor look much like the drawings of Louis's gardens at Versailles. I love to watch him whip himself into an architectural frenzy. His artless enthusiasm is infectious. him, I remember the queen saying. Charles had returned from his Continental exile inspired by the luxury and efficiency of his cousin King Louis XIV's grand palaces. His designs for a Long Walk here at Windsor look much like the drawings of Louis's gardens at Versailles. I love to watch him whip himself into an architectural frenzy. His artless enthusiasm is infectious.

"We must renovate, redecorate, improve, improve, improve! Things can always be better! More beautiful, more modern modern."

Charles is obsessed with modernising his residences, his cities-his country, for that matter. Rupert shot Peg a look as if to say, Modernity takes money, Modernity takes money, but held his tongue. but held his tongue.

Rupert showed Charles his experiments with mezzotinting, mezzotinting, his newest pa.s.sion, while Peg and I looked over fabric samples (bright Chinese silk and hand-blocked India chintz), the sketches of the delicate blue-and-white Chinese porcelain bowls (meant for the Yellow Salon), and the drawing of the great golden dinner service he planned to import from France. his newest pa.s.sion, while Peg and I looked over fabric samples (bright Chinese silk and hand-blocked India chintz), the sketches of the delicate blue-and-white Chinese porcelain bowls (meant for the Yellow Salon), and the drawing of the great golden dinner service he planned to import from France.

"All my residences must have proper place settings," Charles announced, looking over our shoulders at the drawings. "It is barbaric for more than one man to share a plate. And we must have courses after the French fashion; it is absurd to lay out all the food at once. It gets cold."

"Sixty guineas?" I asked, just making out the figures at the bottom of the sketch. "For one plate?" To me, it seemed a small fortune.

"Place setting, my dear," said Rupert kindly. It is very different.

"We must look like a court again," Charles went on, more to himself than to us. "My father's court had all this and more, until..."

I held my breath. I saw Peg grip Rupert's hand. Charles so rarely spoke of how his father lost everything-his plates, his country, his crown, his head.

"Sixty guineas?" Charles said, turning to me and reverting to his light jovial tone. "For you, my little lark, I could not have you eat off anything less." He swooped down to kiss me. Only I could feel that he was trembling.

When I Begin to Understand the Court

Sunday, November 1, 1668-London, All Souls' Day (raining) Ugh! Back in bickering, wrangling London. I have come to crave country quiet, and my patience for the pettiness of Whitehall and all its slithering, shape-shifting intrigues wears thin. The walls, the chairs, the carpets all listen, and agendas abound. Everyone works for someone. Everyone has a price. Who will rise? Who will tumble down? No one falls without a push. I cannot bear such scrutiny. Buckingham and Castlemaine are mortal enemies, even though they are cousins, and even former lovers, some say-hard to picture. They were certainly childhood playmates, but nevertheless they would go to the death now. They grapple and snarl over the king's affection like wild dogs. Back in bickering, wrangling London. I have come to crave country quiet, and my patience for the pettiness of Whitehall and all its slithering, shape-shifting intrigues wears thin. The walls, the chairs, the carpets all listen, and agendas abound. Everyone works for someone. Everyone has a price. Who will rise? Who will tumble down? No one falls without a push. I cannot bear such scrutiny. Buckingham and Castlemaine are mortal enemies, even though they are cousins, and even former lovers, some say-hard to picture. They were certainly childhood playmates, but nevertheless they would go to the death now. They grapple and snarl over the king's affection like wild dogs.

This evening Tonight Charles offered me a suite of rooms inside the palace (not just a single sleeping chamber but a closet and sitting room as well-a coveted honour), but I do not want them. Charles just laughed at my eccentricity but did not question me as to why why I do not want them. He did not want to hear the answer and so did not probe further-always the smoothest road, how like him. I do not want them. He did not want to hear the answer and so did not probe further-always the smoothest road, how like him.

Thinking about it now, I do not know how I would have explained it. To take a room in the palace would be to overreach, and this is not a man to understand overreaching. In truth, I do not want to set myself against the good queen. I do not want to cause unnecessary hurt, and for myself, I need to be able to get away and be apart from this artificial place.

Mrs. Barbara Chiffinch, the queen's chief seamstress and wife of the increasingly friendly Mr. William Chiffinch (brisk but kind), always comes and helps me to bathe and dress (in the King's Closet) and then, if the weather is unfit for walking, finds me a hackney-less conspicuous than the royal coach-to take me back to Drury Lane. The king does not understand my reluctance to hang about this viper's nest of a court, but Mrs. Chiffinch does. She bustles me out quickly and efficiently.

"You'll get used to it, dear.

They all do. Give it time," she always says. They all. They all. That is just the trouble: That is just the trouble: they all. they all. Ruby and the puppy, on the other hand, are quite at home in the palace. They settle down on the large cushions by the fire with four or five of Charles's many spaniels and are disgruntled when they get uprooted in the morning. Ruby and the puppy, on the other hand, are quite at home in the palace. They settle down on the large cushions by the fire with four or five of Charles's many spaniels and are disgruntled when they get uprooted in the morning.

This morning I hurried through the Stone Gallery and met Rose at the King Street Gate, taking care to stay in the shadows as this gate is too near Castlemaine's apartments for my comfort. I can see her conspicuously white cambric undergarments fluttering away at her window. Why bright white underclothes displayed in public denotes breeding, I'll never understand; it would seem to me to indicate the reverse. On her bloated allowance Castlemaine can afford to order some for wearing and some for hanging, ridiculous woman.

My encounters with Castlemaine are now cutting and brief. She takes great pains to point out any outward signs of my low breeding: my loud laugh, my tendency to run, my love for the guitar (a base instrument), even my Protestantism-she being recently baptised a Catholic (no coincidence that this is the unofficial religion of the half-French royal family). Last week when I dashed into the Banqueting Hall without waiting for Watkins, the footman, to open the door (he is nearly blind and takes an age, but he served the old king and is therefore guaranteed a place for life), she made sure that all and sundry heard of my rough-hewn behaviour. What she did not know was that I had to be at the theatre at two; it was after one, and I could not find Ruby. d.a.m.n her refinement. If my dog is lost, I will b.l.o.o.d.y well go running after her. Castlemaine's own ill.u.s.trious pedigree does not help her on the road to good manners, I have noticed-nor does her new religion. The king just finds it annoying. He finds most things about her annoying-or so he tells me-except her children. For them, he has endless patience and affection. I can understand it. They exhibit none of their mother's imperious behaviour and seem sweetly tempered. Mighty Castlemaine's power is said to be on the wane, and the court can smell blood. There is much talk of who the father of this child might be, and King King Charles is not on the list of likely candidates-Charles Charles is not on the list of likely candidates-Charles Hart Hart unfortunately unfortunately is, is, as is, remarkably, Jacob Hall, the rope-dancer; Wycherly, the playwright; and, most likely of all, Henry Jermyn, the Earl of St. Albans. as is, remarkably, Jacob Hall, the rope-dancer; Wycherly, the playwright; and, most likely of all, Henry Jermyn, the Earl of St. Albans.

Rose was waiting for me, and we made our way across Pall Mall to the stationers and then on to St. Olave's in Hart Street. We chatted of this and that: she has begun work in Hatton Garden, at the King's Theatre Nursery for apprentice actors and actresses.

"John does not approve, but it is lovely to spend the day with the children, helping them learn their lines, to stage fight, to make up, to dance-all of it."

Hart kindly arranged this place for Rose, and she is clearly enjoying it. His affection for my family has never wavered.

"John has agreed that I stay on, until, of course, we have some children of our own," Rose chattered on.

This steady life of house and husband and the prospect of children clearly suits her. I squeezed her hand in sisterly affection.

"I am happy you are settled," I said firmly, thinking of my own far-less-ordered life.

"You will be, too," she said gently. "I am sure everything feels strange now, but it will settle, Ellen," she said confidently, guessing my fears.

We arrived at the solid squat building and made our way into the dimness. It was curiously comforting to kneel there, in the small stone church, to hear the familiar words and just feel the ordinariness of it all. I peeked at the people around me: bakers, clerks, grocers, and their wives and children-n.o.body of particular note. n.o.body of interest, of merit, of quality, quality, I could hear Castlemaine saying in my head. How untrue, I thought. These people have great merit. They are what are good and real and grounded about this country. They certainly lead better lives than the loose, rambunctious court. I could hear Castlemaine saying in my head. How untrue, I thought. These people have great merit. They are what are good and real and grounded about this country. They certainly lead better lives than the loose, rambunctious court.

"Ellen!" Rose hissed beside me. Rose hissed beside me.Dutifully, I lowered my head and, closing my eyes, enjoyed the ordinariness.

Note-Since our return to London I still have not seen her. her. The queen. At the end of the service, when we were asked to pray for the safety of the royal family, I squeezed my eyes shut and said a fervent prayer for the queen: that she might bear healthy children, that she might find happiness. I am too selfish a woman to pray that her husband might truly be faithful to her. Above all, I prayed that she might forgive me. Perhaps no one has told her? Perhaps she does not yet know of my betrayal. If only it could remain so. The queen. At the end of the service, when we were asked to pray for the safety of the royal family, I squeezed my eyes shut and said a fervent prayer for the queen: that she might bear healthy children, that she might find happiness. I am too selfish a woman to pray that her husband might truly be faithful to her. Above all, I prayed that she might forgive me. Perhaps no one has told her? Perhaps she does not yet know of my betrayal. If only it could remain so.

November 4, later-Whitehall This afternoon the clouds broke briefly, and Charles and I seized the moment to go walking in the Privy Gardens. The great chestnut trees were bathed in weak November sunshine, and the damp air had the fresh feeling of renewal after days of rain. Crunching along the gravel pathways, we came upon Arlington and Buckingham seated on a secluded bench tucked into a corner of the high box hedge. I felt Charles tense beside me, his body tightening like a drawn bow.

"Plotting?" Charles said easily, his expression belying none of his unease. Arlington and Buckingham's obsession with earl of Clarendon's unlikely return to power irritates Charles-the poor old man has been dishonoured, dismissed, and driven out of the country: What more can Buckingham want?