Exit The Actress_ A Novel Part 25

"It is not you," he murmured, gently stroking my hair. "He is a complicated king, and beyond that he is a complicated man."

"But I feel like the ground is always moving about beneath me," I said tearfully, stepping back to look up into his worried face.

"That is because it is moving. You inspire a man to be more than he is, Ellen. To reach and grow and thrive. A man cannot do that by standing still. I understand that now. Your love will not root in quiet ground." With that astonishing remark, he dropped his arms from my waist and strode away.

December 21-Theatre Royal Becka mentioned today (to Nan but deliberately in my hearing) that she had heard that the king just bought a coach and four for Lady Castlemaine-an early Christmas gift. The horses (dappled greys) are to be stabled at Whitehall, and the coach (j.a.panned black lacquer with lots of gold trim-gaudy) brought round to her special entrance when she has use of it. I held my tongue and did not tell her that the king had the special entrance constructed because the people so hate to see Barbara. I tell myself that the coach is most likely for the benefit of the children, of whom Charles is very fond. Outwardly, I just smiled politely. It would not do to gossip, no matter how much the ground moves.

December 23, 1668For Mrs. Ellen GwynNo. 9 Coal Yard Alley, Drury Lane, LondonDearest Ellen and Rose,Your great-aunt is failing. I apologise for my bluntness, but there is little time-it is her heart, and she will be taken from us soon. If you could spare the time, my dears, could you (and Nora, of course) come to Oxford? It would make Margaret so happy, and for myself, I have missed you both and would like nothing better than to see you. We understand, of course, if your busy lives do not permit such a journey.

All my love, Grandfather December 26, 1668-Farm Cottage, Oxford (snow) She did not go quietly, but rather like a general leaving the field of battle, issuing orders to the end: Rose should be pregnant; John should be promoted; I should be married and and pregnant pregnant and and promoted; Grandfather should stop eating green vegetables (terrible for the const.i.tution) and give up reading after dark; Mother should perk up and give up the drink (obviously); and Jezebel should promoted; Grandfather should stop eating green vegetables (terrible for the const.i.tution) and give up reading after dark; Mother should perk up and give up the drink (obviously); and Jezebel should not not be allowed to climb on the roof. I am sitting with Ruby (who is now permitted inside the house) in the tiny attic bedroom watching the snowfall, feeling somewhat dazed. be allowed to climb on the roof. I am sitting with Ruby (who is now permitted inside the house) in the tiny attic bedroom watching the snowfall, feeling somewhat dazed.

January 1, 1669-London (cold) I have returned as I am cast this week in Shirley's The Sisters. The Sisters. I will play the amusing Pulcheria opposite Hart's Prince Farnese. It is all wrong for me right now, and I must force an awkward gaiety I do not like. And then it is back to Dryden's I will play the amusing Pulcheria opposite Hart's Prince Farnese. It is all wrong for me right now, and I must force an awkward gaiety I do not like. And then it is back to Dryden's The Maiden Queen, The Maiden Queen, always a sure hit. It is good to be in the theatre and oddly comforting to play opposite Hart. He is frequently impatient with my lack of focus, and we certainly never mention his bizarre liaison with my lover's mistress, but his proximity is bolstering somehow. always a sure hit. It is good to be in the theatre and oddly comforting to play opposite Hart. He is frequently impatient with my lack of focus, and we certainly never mention his bizarre liaison with my lover's mistress, but his proximity is bolstering somehow.

Luckily, the crowded routine of rehearsal, memorisation, and performance does not leave much time for brooding. Ruby and Scandalous are sleeping in their basket, happy to be back in familiar surroundings. I left John, Rose, and Grandfather in Oxford to sort things out-the farm, the books, and the animals. Grandfather will stay on for a bit deciding what to do with Farm Cottage before joining us in town.

Note-Grandfather wants to bring Jezebel to town. No one in Oxford will buy her. No word from the king, but Becka reports that he has kept a merry court this Christmas. Also that he has given Castlemaine another gang of t.i.tles. She is now the d.u.c.h.ess of Cleveland, Countess of Southampton, and Baroness Nunsuch. Nunsuch is said to be the most beautiful house in England; no doubt she will ruin it. She cares only for status, nothing for beauty.

Friday, January 15, (still cold) "It was hilarious, my darlings; you should have seen it, so unflattering," said Teddy, settling Scandalous on his lap.

Scandalous is far more discerning (well, bad-tempered) than Ruby and will only acknowledge certain people. Teddy is his undoubted favourite.

"Hilarious that such ridiculous women take up so much of the king's time? Clarendon was right. He really is under the petticoat influence," Aphra said, pouring the coffee.

We had gathered at Aphra's for an evening of cards and chat and were just waiting for Tom to make up the fourth. Teddy was regaling us with this afternoon's theatre antics. The mature (she must be at least fifty) actress Catherine Corey had stunned London audiences by ruthlessly imitating Lady Hervey, the queen's favourite lady-in-waiting. Lady Hervey, an easy target, has an unfortunate and unmistakeable lisp.

"And you really think Castlemaine put her up to it?" I asked Teddy.

"Well, old Catherine Corey is hardly likely to imitate the great Lady Hervey without encouragement. She hasn't the imagination," he said carelessly.

"Just because Lady Hervey carries influence with the queen?" Aphra asked.

"Everything to do with the queen infuriates Castlemaine," Teddy said mildly, "especially with the way Lady Hervey has been throwing her weight around lately: boasting that she has Secretary of State Arlington in her pocket, and telling all and sundry that to make way she had her own husband posted as amba.s.sador to Turkey. Castlemaine, sorry, Cleveland-still doesn't sound right-wouldn't like that: Arlington is her her stooge." stooge."

"Pocket." Aphra snorted. "Don't you mean bed?"

Just then Tom was shown in, fl.u.s.tered and pink from the cold.

"I'm sorry to be late, it has been bedlam, literally." Tom pulled off his mittens and set them on the hearth rail. "I have been listening to Lady Hervey rant for the last half hour and have been threatened with everything from bankruptcy to the clink, and I'm drenched."

I giggled. Lady Hervey has a tendency to spit as she speaks.

"That woman is awful," Tom said, unwinding his m.u.f.fler and gratefully accepting a cup of chocolate.

"She can't have Corey..." I began uncertainly. Catherine Corey is irritating, but she is gullible rather than malicious, and I would hate to see her fired or, worse, put in gaol.

"No, she can't. And she won't. She knows as well as I do who put old Corey up to it. Silly woman-what a way to boost a fading career."

"Which one? Corey or Castlemaine?"

"Well, both, actually."

January 16-Theatre Royal (The Maiden Queen) Chiffinch arrived at the theatre this morning. I have never seen him away from the court.

"Patience," he advised gruffly. "He will come round. He cannot face you until he is resolved in his own head about ... well, about ... his governmental worries."

I was amazed he revealed that much. Dear Chiffinch is fanatical is his loyalty to the king and famous for his discretion.

"Yes, I understand."

"You made him feel as though he was letting down the country with his indecision," he summarised briefly. "He thinks the world of your opinion, and cannot bear for you to see him in such a tangle. Now that you have spoken it out loud, it can no longer be ignored, and he cannot bear to see you until he acts."

"But I think the world of him. Surely he knows that?" I asked, alarmed. "I would gladly help him with any tangle, not judge him for it." I care nothing for his political face or pride. I just miss the man man-terribly.

"You really see him; him; that's the trouble. The others, they only see what they want him to do, how he can advance them, except the queen, of course. But then, she is quite close to being a saint, isn't she?" He cleared his throat, disconcerted by his own frankness. that's the trouble. The others, they only see what they want him to do, how he can advance them, except the queen, of course. But then, she is quite close to being a saint, isn't she?" He cleared his throat, disconcerted by his own frankness.

"Yes," I agreed. "She is. Patience, then."

"Watch, you'll see. He'll come round and pretend nothing was ever amiss between you. That's his way. Just go along with it. He can't bear confrontation, and no tears. He cannot manage tears."

I giggled. "How on earth has he managed with Barbara Castlemaine?"

"More and more he is managing without, I am quite pleased to say," Chiffinch said with satisfaction, giving me a wink. "But he does care greatly for the children. They are the real reason he keeps heaping t.i.tles on that woman. Now, this will all be cleared up soon, but Mrs. Chiffinch misses you and wonders if we could sneak you in for a quiet supper in the backstairs with us. Roast lamb and fresh salad-your favourites, I believe. The king is off to the Duke's and then to see Mrs. Davis tonight," he said candidly.

Appreciating his honesty, and missing Mrs. Chiffinch as well, I agreed.

"He has a chosen a beautiful site, by the way," he said, pulling on his hat.

"A site?"

"For the Royal Hospital Chelsea, a hospital for ex-servicemen." Oh, Charles.

Later Lovely dinner. I loitered in the courtyard watching the moon throw velvet shadows on the ramshackle palace. Hoped and hoped but didn't see him.

Note-Not managing that that well without. Castlemaine was just granted a lifetime pension of forty-seven hundred pounds a year from the Post Office revenues. And he no longer even shares her bed! Good G.o.d, what a sum. well without. Castlemaine was just granted a lifetime pension of forty-seven hundred pounds a year from the Post Office revenues. And he no longer even shares her bed! Good G.o.d, what a sum.

January 17-Theatre Royal Old Catherine Corey is in the clink! Lady Hervey got the Lord Chamberlain, her cousin, to lock her up. What an absurdly silly woman to allow herself to be used thus. Castlemaine is cruel to use such a p.a.w.n to provoke the queen's favourite. Not that I care for Lady Hervey; I cannot bear her insincere, simpering manner when she is with the queen. But she is the queen's chief lady, and that should mark her out for special respect. Corey is just a fool. It is Castlemaine who has shown herself to be a stooping, conniving harpy-but I suppose I knew that. How can Charles not stop this nonsense!

Undated "She's out," said Teddy, sitting down heavily on the stage. "But that silly woman is going to do it again, all at Castlemaine's goading."

We were rehearsing Lacy's new dance steps before the performance this afternoon. Lacy is hoping to lighten up the leaden feeling of Horace Horace with dancing between the acts. Doesn't quite go together, if you ask me. with dancing between the acts. Doesn't quite go together, if you ask me.

"Again? How can Catherine Corey do it again?" How can Catherine Corey do it again?"

Teddy just shrugged his slim shoulders. "She is a relentless old goat." Teddy loves animal metaphors.

"That woman is an idiot," I muttered, closing my eyes to rest between run-throughs.

"Once more, everyone! Ellen, Teddy, up you get! Hart, would you please switch partners with Nick? Thank you," Lacy called out, thumping his marker on the stage. "Remember it is a four four-count rhythm! Not three and a half, Lizzie. Begin! And one, two..."

Note-She did it. Castlemaine really is a witch, and Catherine Corey a fool for being taken in. The house was in an uproar. Tom and Hart are pleased; ticket sales are booming. Against everyone's hopes, the king did not come to witness this debacle. Why would he? I am not surprised. Not surprised, but disappointed all the same. I am fractured by fear. What if he never returns to me?

January 23-Rose's House, c.o.c.kspur Lane Breakfast this morning with Rose and Mother. Mother was oddly silent throughout the meal. Rose cleared away the dishes and brought out her new sketches to show me. We were looking over her designs for a new winter coat.

"If I nip the waist in just here," she pointed, "and then flare it out like a bell-"

"They say it is because you asked it of him," Mother said suddenly. Rose and I looked at each other in confusion. It was half-past eight in the morning -had she begun drinking already?

"Is it true? The new hospital for the wounded soldiers. Did he do that for you?" She looked at me through clear, lucid eyes.

"Yes," I said with fierce pride. "Yes, he did that for me."

"Good," my mother said, and smiled a rare, youthful smile.

When I Buy a Home

January 27, 1669-London (no rehearsal today) I've done it! I've found a house!

The adventure: Tom and Teddy arrived at Drury Lane early yesterday morning (before eight) and demanded that I get dressed and join them. A country outing, they said. A cure for melancholy, they said.

"In January?" I asked, dubious.

"It will invigorate us," Teddy declared with conviction. Invigorate me, me, he meant. He had accused me yesterday of behaving like a soggy duck. "Wet hen," I corrected him. he meant. He had accused me yesterday of behaving like a soggy duck. "Wet hen," I corrected him.

"But soggy duck is so much more appropriate. You have not acquired the wisdom to be a hen."

"Ugh!" Despite Chiffinch's encouragement, the ongoing silence has left me restless and edgy.

"It is freezing," I grumbled, feeling frumpy.

"Don't worry, we have blankets and warming bricks in the coach," Tom whispered under his breath. He himself was bundled up into a strange woolly, oblong shape.

Reluctantly, I obliged. Dressed in a simple wool gown, thick cape, and my old boots-well, if one is going to the country-with Ruby and Scandalous in tow, we set out.

After stopping at the Cardinal's Cap to pick up a hamper of apples, bread, hard cheese, cold chicken, and small beer, we made our way up White Cross Street and left the city behind for the wintry fields beyond.

Tom's coach, a snug compact vehicle, manoeuvred easily over the rougher roads. We munched our breakfast and chatted of this and that: the upcoming season, the appalling state of the stock costumes, and whether or not the king will donate new ones (he donated a splendid pair of split rhine-graves for me to dance in, but I do not want to wear them until he is in the audience-they fly up and show my legs beautifully), Tom's improvements to the musicians gallery (much better, they no longer sound as if they are at the bottom of a well), the terrible traffic around Covent Garden, and Moll's new baby, Mary Tudor.

"Yes, last week on Suffolk Street. A hard birth, apparently."

"I hadn't heard," I said, staring down at my hands. "Has he..."

"Acknowledged her? Yes, I suppose so, although the child's surname is to be Tudor rather than Fitzroy or even Stuart. Strange," Tom mused.

"He visited Moll during her sitting up," Teddy clarified. "And has already arranged for an annuity for her and the baby. That is enough acknowledgment right there. Brought tons of flowers-pink tulips-which apparently caused her to sneeze violently for several minutes. Looked at the baby but did not pick her up. Kissed Moll on the cheek, not not the lips," he said pointedly to me. "Stayed exactly ten minutes, and then left for a walk through St. James's Park, apparently intending to feed the ducks." Teddy slumped against the seat, exhausted by his laundry list of royal doings. the lips," he said pointedly to me. "Stayed exactly ten minutes, and then left for a walk through St. James's Park, apparently intending to feed the ducks." Teddy slumped against the seat, exhausted by his laundry list of royal doings.

"You seem very, ah, well informed," said Tom, regarding him with surprise.

"Speak to the dress-makers; they are always well informed." Now I I looked at him surprised. Poor Teddy-since being forced into male roles, he has had less use for his beloved dress-makers. looked at him surprised. Poor Teddy-since being forced into male roles, he has had less use for his beloved dress-makers.

Answering my unspoken question, he said defensively, "They still make my nightgowns. Better needle work than a shirt-maker, and cheaper, too."

Tom whooped with laughter, but I held my tongue and looked at my quirky friend fondly.

"Anyway, Winifred Gosnell stood in for Moll in Tempest Tempest. It was terrible; her voice is too squeaky."

"But then she is so so much lighter on her feet than Moll," Tom said mischievously. "Moll is much lighter on her feet than Moll," Tom said mischievously. "Moll is not not light on her feet." light on her feet."

"Where are we headed?" I asked, trying to force thoughts of Moll and her new baby from my head.

"Wherever the day takes us," Teddy sang out, enthusiastically bouncing Scandalous on his knee. Poor Scandalous. He did not look as if he was enjoying it.

"I think we just pa.s.sed the village of King's Cross." Tom had put on his spectacles and was peering out the window. "And this is the village of Bagnigge Wells. G.o.d, what a name." He was struggling to make out the faded signpost. "Oh, I remember, I think there was talk of a spa here-good water apparently, but now that Epsom and Tunbridge have become so popular, I don't know."

It was a pretty town, on the banks of the Fleet River, with a small, neat square and evenly cobbled streets (rare).

"Shall we stop?" I knew Tom's joints suffer after too long in a coach, and I was sure Ruby could use a trip to the great outdoors. "What did you say the name was?"

"Bagnigge Wells. It's a bit pokey."

"Terrible name," Teddy muttered, lifting Ruby down from the coach. We set off to find refreshment and a warm fire.

Later, comfortably seated in a clean if spa.r.s.ely furnished inn on the north side of Wells Square, and revived by bowls of warm chocolate with foamy cream and a dish of b.u.t.tery French macaroons, they arrived at their subject.

"We love you, Ellen," Tom opened, squeezing my hands, "and we cannot bear to see you suffer so..."

"Publicly?" Teddy offered, reaching for another macaroon (his third).

"Consistently," Tom finished. "This affair with ... him. him. What can it lead to? Other than material goods, which you do not seem to garner like his previous ladies, although I can't think why not," Tom puzzled, anxiously folding and refolding his serviette. What can it lead to? Other than material goods, which you do not seem to garner like his previous ladies, although I can't think why not," Tom puzzled, anxiously folding and refolding his serviette.

"I do not ask for them, and when he hints, I do not jump for them." It was impossible to explain, I thought, blowing out my cheeks in exasperation. "I do not want to grab and grasp and squirrel away all I can. It is what everyone expects of me, being-"

"From your particular background," Tom cut in smoothly.

"And you mean to confound them?" Teddy asked. "Ellen, what exactly exactly have you turned down?" have you turned down?"

"Everything! A house, a coach, a sedan chair, jewels, horses, hats, sculpture, painting, palace rooms, shoes, servants-" The looks on their faces made me stop. "I do allow him to buy me dresses, lots lots of dresses, and I am of dresses, and I am seriously seriously considering shoes," I offered lamely. considering shoes," I offered lamely.

"But why why?" Tom exploded. He was forever worrying about my lack of a husband, lack of a coach, lack of a house house. Lack of, lack of, lack of.

"It suits me. I do not want what he can give me. I want him him."

"But a house house..." Tom shook his head.

"And hats! My G.o.d, the hats," Teddy mourned. Teddy loves hats.