The Darling Strumpet (28 page)

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Authors: Gillian Bagwell

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance, #General

BOOK: The Darling Strumpet
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“Come,” he said. “You can’t lie here forever. Time for you to get back onstage.”
“I can’t face it,” Nell said. “Everyone is laughing at me.”
“Not true,” Lacy said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “You know any one of the women in the company would have done the same in your shoes. If Dorset had made the same offer to Beck, she would have been out of the theater so fast she’d have left her petticoat standing.”
He held up a roll of papers. “A new part for you. Panthea in
A King and No King
. No time to waste—we’ll open at the end of September. I’ll help you learn it.”
“But that’s one of Hart’s plays!” Nell cried. “He won’t even look at me. How are we to play together?”
“You’ll have to face each other again sooner or later.”
“Will he forgive me?” Nell asked.
“Firstly, he’ll do what’s good for the company,” Lacy said. “And that means getting back onstage with you. And secondly, he loves you still. He’ll come around.”
 
 
 
LACY CAME TO SEE NELL DAILY, AND BY THE TIME OF THE FIRST rehearsal for
A King and No King
she was word perfect in her part. She was thankful that though she had several scenes with Hart, she was playing his sister and not his lover. She couldn’t bear the thought of playing one of the witty love scenes they had so enjoyed and seeing contempt and coolness in his eyes.
“Nelly! So good to see you!” Kate Corey bustled over.
“Thanks, Kate,” Nell said, hugging her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Come sit with me,” Kate said, leading Nell to the benches around the greenroom table. “You look as nervous as you did when you walked in for your first rehearsal of
Thomaso
—when was it? Three years and more ago.”
Nell felt comforted to be taken under Kate’s wing, and smiled blithely at each new arrival.
“Glad you’re back, love,” said old William Cartwright, lowering his bulk onto a bench across the table from her. “You’ll be good as Panthea.” He laid his sides before him, but Nell knew he didn’t need them—Lygones was a part he’d been playing since the theaters reopened, just as Kate had been playing Arane and Hart had been playing Arbaces.
Hart was the last of the cast to arrive.
Because he doesn’t want to see me, Nell thought. He can’t stand to be in the same room with me.
The rest of the actors all suddenly seemed to be busy looking at their scripts or anywhere but at Hart as he came to the table. Get it over with, Nell thought, and lifted her head. His eyes met hers, and she saw sadness, but no hatred.
“Nell.” He nodded and then looked around the table. “Right, everyone, let’s get to work.”
 
 
 
THOUGH THE PART OF PANTHEA HAD TOO MANY SERIOUS SCENES FOR Nell to truly enjoy, she was cheered by the smiling faces and applause that greeted her at the first performance. It felt wonderful to know that the audiences had missed her, and moreover, the company’s managers could not help but see that she had been missed. Maybe it wouldn’t be so long before she got her old parts back after all.
Sure enough, only a few days later, Michael Mohun approached her after a performance.
“We’ve got a couple of new parts for you, Nell. The king’s mistress in
The Black Prince
, and a new little comedy,
Flora’s Vagaries
. Better get someone to start working on your lines with you—you’ve got a lot of words.” He smiled over his shoulder as he walked away, and Nell realized how tense with anticipation and hope she had been since her return.
I’m back, she thought. They’ve taken me back.
Not only had she been taken back, but she seemed to have resumed her place at the top of the heap. She was once more playing with Hart, Kate Corey, and William Cartwright in
The Black Prince
, though she thought her part as the king’s mistress Alizia weepy and disliked the plodding rhymed couplets. Better, she had the title role in
Flora
, a part well suited to her comic talents. She and Betsy Knepp had several funny scenes. They enjoyed working together, and spending so much time in each other’s company on- and offstage, they became better friends.
One afternoon in October, Betsy arrived in the tiring room with Sam and Elizabeth Pepys and their maid in tow. Mrs. Pepys greeted Nell, then departed to do some shopping, leaving Sam to visit on his own.
“What’s the house like today?” Betsy asked when Lacy stopped by.
Lacy shook his head. “Less than two hundred. Everyone’s gone to the Duke’s to see
The Coffee House
.”
“Hell and the devil!” Nell exclaimed in irritation. “Nothing worse than trying to get a laugh when the pit’s so empty they’re rattling around like peas out there.”
Pepys chortled in amusement. “I vow I’ll laugh enough to make up for the lack of all the others, Nelly.”
“If you’re going to sit here, Sam, be a dear and run lines with me,” Betsy asked, handing him the sheaf of paper on which her part was written. “I didn’t get a chance this morning and my head is full of
The Traitor
.”
 
NELL WAS RELIEVED TO BE BACK ONSTAGE, EARNING HER OWN LIVING, once more part of the family of the playhouse. But she would not be truly back at home, truly comfortable, until she felt right again with Charles Hart. He had been cordial enough, but had not spoken to her alone, had not gone out with members of the company after shows when Nell went with them. She could hardly blame him, Nell thought. She had walked away from him and all that he had given her, and he could not know what a hole had been left in her heart at his loss.
She sought him out in the men’s tiring room after a performance of
A King and No King
. Only Lacy was with Hart, and he smiled at her and found reason to leave almost as soon as she had come in. Nell hadn’t known what she would say to Hart, how to approach him, but seeing him sitting there at the dressing table before the mirror, his makeup and brushes laid out before him just so, as she had seen him so many times when they were a couple, her fear left her.
“Will you take a walk with me?” she asked, and was relieved when he nodded.
It was near dark, and they kept to Drury Lane and the Strand, where lights shone from within taverns and coffeehouses and made the way easy.
“I’m sorry,” Nell said, wishing she dared to put her hand in his. “I never meant to hurt you. I was foolish to leave.”
Two stout chair men carrying a brightly painted sedan chair hustled past them, their breath huffing clouds in the chill air.
“Not foolish,” Hart said. “Yes, it hurt, but I’ve come to see that the picture I had, of us going on forever as we were, was not like to happen. You’re so young. You have so much life before you, so many opportunities that I can’t give you.”
“Can we try again?” Nell asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, and they walked in silence for a few moments. “I’ve heard it said that you can never step in the same river twice. And the current has carried each of us on from where we stood before. But we can care for each other, and find our way anew, if you’re willing.”
“Yes,” Nell said. “I’d like that.”
“We were at our best together onstage,” Hart said. “I’ve never felt like that with anyone, man, woman, or boy, in all the time I’ve been acting. I’ve missed it. Shall we try that, too? Maybe
All Mistaken
, and see how we do?”
“I’d like that, too,” Nell said. “Above all things.”
 
 
 
NINE TIMES OUT OF TEN BACKSTAGE VISITORS WERE GENTLEMEN. BUT it was a lady that Tom Killigrew ushered into the tiring room one evening in November. She was tall and dark haired, handsome and well dressed, but Nell could tell at a glance that she was no mere mistress nor yet a lady of the court. She carried herself with a sense of ease and confidence, Nell thought. Not a person who sought approval from anyone. Yet not vain or haughty.
“Nell,” Killigrew said, “allow me the honor of presenting my friend Mrs. Aphra Behn.”
“Mrs. Gwynn,” the lady said, and Nell felt that in her gaze was admiration, curiosity, humor. “What enjoyment you gave me with your charming performance. You will know how long I’ve been away from London when I tell you that I hadn’t had the privilege of seeing you onstage before today.” She laughed a throaty laugh that made Nell like her instantly. “But I certainly hope to make up for lost time.”
“With pleasure, Mrs. Behn,” Nell said. “I shall be happy to see you in the audience and would be honored if you would call on me at home sometime.”
“Then we shall make it so,” said Aphra, the deep violet of her eyes shining with warmth.
 
 
 
“SHE MEANS TO BE A PLAY WRIGHT!” NELL EXCLAIMED TO ROSE. THEY stood near the Maypole in the Strand, among a crowd who had gathered to watch two rope dancers performing.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing—a woman who writes. And Killigrew says he’s all for it and will help her as he can.”
One of the dancers, lithe and wiry, was making his way slow footfall by slow footfall across the slack rope that was strung between the maypole and a tree. Nell watched the play of the muscles of his bare calves and idly thought that his thighs and buttocks must be a marvel.
“And where has she been all this time,” Rose asked, “that she hasn’t seen you onstage?”
“That’s even more odd,” Nell said. “According to Killigrew, she’s been in Antwerp, spying for His Majesty.” The acrobat reached the far end of the rope, swung himself down in a flip, and took a graceful bow to the applause of the crowd.
“What was she like?” Rose asked.
“Sterling,” Nell answered. “She’s a lady. But feet on the ground and more pleasant and companionable to me than any other woman I’ve met. Excepting you, of course.”
“Of course,” Rose twinkled. “I’m glad for you, Nell. And I’ve some news. My Johnny has asked me to marry him.”
“Oh, Rose!” Nell cried. “That’s wonderful. He treats you so well, and your eyes shine with happiness when you’re with him. What did Mam say?”
Rose laughed. “She just shook her head, and snorted ‘Love and a cough can’t be hid.’ But I think she’s well pleased.”
 
 
 
A FEW WEEKS AFTER HER FIRST MEETING WITH APHRA BEHN, NELL arrived at the theater to find a message that the Duke of Buckingham would be pleased if she would join him for supper after the performance. From the stage, she could make out Buckingham in the pit, and she threw him a smile at the curtain call.
 
 
 
AT SUPPER, NELL WATCHED BUCKINGHAM OVER THE RIM OF HER wineglass. The fire glowed behind him, creating a golden halo around his fair wig. He was a handsome man, Nell thought. Not pretty, not in the least foppish, for all his elegance. No, he had a rugged maleness, a sense of coiled danger beneath the good manners. She was a little baffled by his conversation so far. If he wanted to bed her, he was taking his time about getting to the point.
“You’ve met the king,” he said.
“I have,” Nell agreed, puzzled.
“Could you like him?” The image of her first sight of the king flashed into her mind—astride his horse, standing in his stirrups to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, unabashedly grinning. And blowing her a kiss. She felt again those eyes on her and the breathless joy she had felt at that moment.
“How could I not?” she asked with a laugh. “He’s—the king.”
“Good. Listen to me now. The time is ripe to put a new mistress in his bed. Barbara’s angered him too often to be certain of keeping her place and her influence. Oh, to be sure, there’s never a shortage of willing females, and Old Rowley’s not one to let an opportunity for minge go by. But I don’t mean just for a night or two. I mean a woman who will appeal to his heart and mind as well as his prick. That takes spirit and charm and brains as well as looks and skill in bed.”
Nell’s head was spinning. A new mistress for the king? Could he really mean—
“He likes you,” Buckingham said simply. “Not only onstage. He told me he remembered the first time he ever spoke to you, over your basket of oranges. And he laughed out loud in recalling how he saw you riding pig-a-back on Charles Hart in Oxford.”

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