The Darling Strumpet Part 30

"I've always loved this view. When I was a boy I liked to think that I was Robin Hood and the park was Sherwood Forest."

"And did you rob from the rich and give to the poor?"

"I tried. I took George's favorite ball and gave it to one of the stable boys, but George found me out and pummeled me." Nell laughed, imagining the youthful Buckingham administering a brotherly beating to the heir to the throne.

"I told him he'd be sorry when I was king," Charles said, "but that threat never seemed to have much effect on George."

APHRA VISITED NELL AT WINDSOR. SHE WAS POPULAR WITH CHARLIE and Jemmy, and after they had made their bows to her, they hovered impatiently on either side of her while Nell showed her the house. When the tour had stretched to ten minutes, Charlie could stand it no more.

"Come and see our ponies, I pray you!" he cried.

"Fie," Nell scolded him. "Let poor Mrs. Behn have some refreshment first."

"It's fine, Nell," Aphra laughed. "Come, boys, let us see these n.o.ble beasts of yours." The boys each took hold of one of her hands and tugged her out to the stables, chattering happily over each other, Nell following in their wake.

"Fine animals," Aphra p.r.o.nounced solemnly, "and I doubt not but what you are both very fine riders." The boys squirmed happily at the praise and raced off to find the groom while Nell and Aphra retired inside.

"It's a truly beautiful house, Nell," Aphra said, turning to admire the grand hall. "You well deserve such a place of peace and sanctuary."

"I need it, too," Nell said. "The world has had a sight more ups and downs this year than is comfortable. I'm so glad you're here. As much as I like men, I don't get enough of the company of women. I miss Betsy Knepp. She's left her husband and gone to Edinburgh, you know, with some of the other players."

They sat, turning their attention to the tea and cakes that Bridget had brought in.

"I've brought you a copy of The Feigned Courtesan," Aphra said. "Just printed. Would you like me to read you the dedication?"

"I am doubly honored," Nell said. "First that you think well enough of me to do me the kindness of dedicating the play to me, and second that you offer to read it to me in your own dear voice, so that I can hold the happy memory of it in my head."

The dedication was long, and by the time Aphra had finished reading, Nell was in tears.

"You are too kind, really, Aphra," she said. "I shall have to get it all by memory, so that when I am feeling lower than a pauper's grave I can remind myself that you have regard for me, if no one else does."

"Surely you don't doubt how many people love you?"

"I do," Nell said, looking down at her hands. "It's a fault, I know, but I do."

"Then remember just this much," Aphra said, " 'You never appear but you gladden the hearts of all that have the happy fortune to see you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole world in a good humor.' "

"Oh, Aphra," Nell said. "Truly more praise than I deserve."

Nell and Aphra looked up as Bridget bustled in, her face red.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Nelly, but Joe says there's a messenger at the door. From your mother's house, and asking to speak with you urgent."

NELL STARED AT THE LUMPEN Ma.s.s OF WET CLOTHES, THE STARK white face tinged with blue, the unblinking eyes filmed over with the glaze of death.

Alas, then she is drowned. The line from Hamlet floated into her mind, though there was nothing poetic about the sodden corpse on the table, the earthly remains of her mother, Eleanor Gwynn.

"She was drunk?" she asked, and the constable looked at his feet.

"So it would appear, madam. A bottle of brandy lay broken on the bank of the stream."

"And when did they find her?"

"About six of the morning, madam. She was last seen at supper, and it seems likely she slipped in the dark last night."

Nell thought of her mother, floundering in the black water, her tangled skirts weighing her down.

Her clothes spread wide, and mermaid-like a while they bore her up. . . .

Why did such poetry come to mind, Nell wondered in some back region of her brain. Had Ophelia looked even thus?

Her garments, heavy with their drink, pulled the poor wretch . . . to muddy death.

Nell turned to the man, who stood a few steps off, head bowed.

"See to having her made ready, please, and bring her to town." She handed him a purse and turned back to the sunlight.

ELEANOR'S BODY WAS LAID OUT IN HER BEDROOM AT THE HOUSE ON Pall Mall, and Nell and Rose sat up with her on the night before the funeral.

"I can scarce believe she's gone," Rose said again.

"Nor I," Nell agreed. "She looks so small, doesn't she?"

"Aye. It was all the battle in her made her seem so big to us, I reckon."

They sat in silence for a while in the flickering candlelight.

"I haven't cried," Nell said at length. "Does it make me wicked, do you think?"

"No. You took her in, Nell, which is more than she had a right to expect after how she treated you. It was more than I could have done."

"I couldn't not do it," Nell said. "She was my mam, for all the pain she gave me."

THE CIRc.u.mSTANCES OF ELEANOR'S DEATH HAD PROVIDED FODDER for the ballad makers, and Rose's husband Guy looked up from the broadsheet in his hands, his face grim.

"Are you sure you want me to read it?"

"Yes," said Nell. "We'll hear it soon enough, and I'd rather hear it from you."

"Very well." With a self-conscious cough, he read.

"Here lies the victim of a cruel fate

Whom too much element did ruinate.

'Tis something strange, but yet most wondrous true,

That what we live by, should our lives undo.

She that so oft had powerful waters tried,

At last with silence, in a fish pond died.

Fate was unjust, for had he proved but kind,

To make it brandy he had pleased her mind."

"OH, POOR MAM," ROSE SAID. "TO BE SO SORELY MOCKED WHEN SHE'S hardly cold."

"It's the way of the world," Nell said, squaring her shoulders. "I'm sure I'll not fare any better when I'm gone."

THE CHURCH OF ST. MARTIN-IN-THE-FIELDS WAS PACKED. ELEANOR Gwynn lay in her coffin, and the great and the good of London had come to see her off. Jemmy sat to Nell's left, his little face somber, and Rose and Guy beyond him. Charles sat on Nell's right, with Charlie beside him, proud in his new mourning clothes, a copy of his father's.

Nell, out of long habit, found herself counting the house, and reckoned it to be close on three hundred mourners. Buckingham, Dorset, Rochester, Sedley, George Etherege, Henry Savile, Fleetwood Sheppard-all the Wits were there, the Merry Gang sober at least in demeanor and dress. Court and theater were well represented, and the back of the church was filled with Nell's household, all in black, and with crowds of people who had known Eleanor, or perhaps had not known her and were come only to stare.

"It's the best I could do for you, Mam," Nell whispered. "Go to your rest now. G.o.d knows you deserve it."

AUGUST. WINDSOR WAS HOT, BUT IT WAS COOLER ON THE RIVERBANK where Nell walked hand in hand with Charles. She watched a line of ducks paddling on the smooth water, making their way to the shade beneath a spreading oak. Hard to believe it had been more than a year now since the first stirrings of the Popish Plot, a year of nightmare and strife. She glanced at Charles and was relieved to see him smile back at her as he drew her arm into the crook of his elbow. Finally the strains and tension of the past months seemed to be losing their grip upon him. As usual, he found release in activity, and already that day he had played tennis and then gone hawking, losing himself in the pa.s.sion of the moment, finding freedom in the country air, the wind and sun upon his face.

"Will you sup with me and the boys this evening?" she asked.

"Gladly. That will put a cap upon a fine day."

BUT AT NELL'S HOUSE THAT EVENING, THE DOOR OPENED TO REVEAL not Charles, but a grim-faced Buckingham.

"The king has fallen ill."

"Ill? Of what?" Nell cried.

"A fever. Quite suddenly come upon him and quite bad."

"I'll go to him at once." Nell started for the door.

"No. Best not. I'm sorry, Nell, but you can't help him and you wouldn't be admitted. Come, I'll sit with you."

Buckingham returned to the castle late in the evening, promising to return if the king's condition changed. Nell sat in her nightgown at her bedroom window, wondering how many lonely and terror-filled nights she had spent-there seemed to be so many. The bright moon in the warm sky brought her no comfort, and only telling herself that the lack of news meant nothing worse had happened kept her from wild panic.

IN THE MORNING, THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH ARRIVED, THE DUST OF the road upon him.

"Jemmy, thank G.o.d you've come," Nell said, clasping him to her. "How is he?"

"Very ill," he said.

"I wanted to go this morning but Buckingham sent word there was no change and I would still not be admitted." Her words broke off as her throat tightened with a sob.

"Come, sit," said Monmouth, taking her hand. "You'll be more comfortable."

"Yes, of course, you're right," Nell said. They went into the parlor and Nell sat, but Monmouth paced.

"Tell me," Nell said.

"He has a high fever and has been delirious at intervals. Bleeding and cataplasms have done little to bring him to himself. They've given him a sleeping draft so that he may rest." Bridget came in with food and drink, and Monmouth held his tongue until she left, then poured wine for Nell and himself.

"Nell, the Duke of York has been sent for from Scotland." His voice was even, but Nell felt a clutch of fear at the pit of her stomach. She pushed back her terror and willed herself to remain outwardly calm.

"They fear for his life then?"

"Aye. I wish I could tell you otherwise." He resumed his pacing and stared out the window. "I'm being watched, Nell. My enemies fear me. For they know the time may be near when the king will finally speak, might finally say . . ." He stopped and turned to her.

"Jemmy, how great a fool can you be?" Nell cried. "Charles will not make you his heir! You know he's signed a statement that he was never married to your mother. Every time those rumors have arisen he has denied them. Every time there is talk of procuring a divorce from the queen, he has put it down. The Duke of York will succeed him on the throne."

"So he has always said." Monmouth came to Nell's side, and she was frightened by the fervor burning in his eyes. "But it's only a sham. He loves me, and I am his firstborn. When he knows he's dying, then he will say what is in his heart-that I am to be king."

"For the love of Christ, keep your voice down," Nell hissed, clutching his arm. "It's treason you're speaking. If you are being watched, don't give them the misstep they're hoping for. I beg you, put this madness from your mind."

THE FOLLOWING DAY, NELL WAS ALLOWED TO SEE CHARLES. HE HAD come through the worst of his illness, and his life was no longer in danger, but as she sat at his bedside she was alarmed at how thin and weary looking he had become in only a few days.