The Darling Strumpet (29 page)
Read The Darling Strumpet Online
Authors: Gillian Bagwell
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance, #General
Nell stared at Buckingham. “He remembered that?”
“He remembered it well. Said he knew you’d be a terror onstage when you got there. And that he envied Hart that it was he who was keeping you warm at night.”
“But why?” Nell asked.
“Why put you in his bed, you mean? I won’t pretend there’s not self-interest in it. Charles is led by his pintle, to a degree greater even than most men. It would be useful to me to have a friend with her hand firmly cupped around the royal whirligigs. Someone who can put in a gentle word when needed, when he’s drowsing off and in an indulgent mood after a good gallop. And from what I know of you and your talents, I think you’re just the wench that can do it. Don’t look surprised,” he added, catching Nell’s glance. “We have friends in common, you and I.”
Nell laughed. “But you make it sound so easy.”
Buckingham shrugged. “As Otway says, ‘Give but an Englishman his whore and ease, beef and a sea-coal fire, he’s yours forever.’”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
N
ELL’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF THE KING’S PRIVY CHAMBER WAS that it was like a chessboard filled with clocks. The floor was in squares of black and white marble, and a row of timepieces stood along the shining black mantel atop the enormous fireplace. Others dotted tables and shelves, and a tall case clock emitted a steady tock. The vast bed was surmounted by a canopy with great eagles above it, its curtains supported by cherubs that appeared to be in flight toward the elaborately painted ceiling high above. Paintings in heavy gold frames were mounted on the walls. The life-sized portraits of ladies and gentlemen in stiff finery seemed to Nell to look down on her as she passed.
ELL’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF THE KING’S PRIVY CHAMBER WAS that it was like a chessboard filled with clocks. The floor was in squares of black and white marble, and a row of timepieces stood along the shining black mantel atop the enormous fireplace. Others dotted tables and shelves, and a tall case clock emitted a steady tock. The vast bed was surmounted by a canopy with great eagles above it, its curtains supported by cherubs that appeared to be in flight toward the elaborately painted ceiling high above. Paintings in heavy gold frames were mounted on the walls. The life-sized portraits of ladies and gentlemen in stiff finery seemed to Nell to look down on her as she passed.
It took Nell a moment to spot the king. He was seated at a writing desk, his back to the door, evidently engrossed in whatever he was studying. Three spaniels lay curled near his feet, and they lifted their heads to regard the visitors.
“Your Majesty,” Buckingham began, but as he spoke, the tall clock began to tell the hour with a series of deep bongs. Another clock sounded, and then, as if they had been caught napping and were guiltily snapping to their work, the others chimed in one by one on their own notes and rhythms, creating a cacophonous jangle.
“George.” The king stood and came smiling toward them, embraced Buckingham, and turned to Nell as the last of the bells faded to silence, pulling her up from her curtsy.
“Mistress Nelly. May I call you Nelly? I always think of you like that, you know, and calling you anything else would seem amiss.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Nell dimpled at him, pleased beyond measure that he “always” thought of her in any way at all.
“I’ve just been looking at Wren’s plans for some of the new churches—come see.” The king led them toward the desk, where a large drawing was unfurled.
“St. Paul’s,” he said. “Is it not splendid?”
“Magnificent,” Buckingham agreed. “But what about some wine?”
Charles laughed. “Of course. Forgive me, Nelly, for being such a poor host. Faith, you grow more beautiful each time I see you.”
“If it be so, Your Majesty, then I hope that you shall see me frequently, so that both of us may benefit,” Nell laughed.
“And witty as well,” Charles said over Nell’s head to Buckingham. “Pretty, witty Nell.”
SAVE FOR THE SERVANT WHO BROUGHT IN THE FOOD AND POURED THE wine, and the dogs, the three of them were alone. Charles and Buckingham were in jovial spirits, and chaffed with each other like the brothers they almost were.
They lingered over wine and sweetmeats, but as the clocks set up their clamor on the hour of ten, Buckingham declared that it was time for him to be gone.
“And you, Nelly?” asked Charles. “Must you run away? Or will you stay to keep me company a little while yet?”
“Gladly, sir,” Nell said, “if it will give you pleasure.”
Buckingham’s footsteps faded, and Nell felt momentarily awkward— what should she do or say? But Charles poured more wine, silently raised his glass to her with a smile, and she felt at ease.
He pulled a morsel of meat from the pullet carcass on the table and held it out to one of his spaniels, who wolfed it down. Nell laughed as the dog licked its chops and cocked its head expectantly, clearly hoping for more. Charles gently pulled one of the dog’s ears and scratched it under the chin.
“I had one of these beasts with me in France,” he said. “Sometimes I thought he was my only true friend in the world.”
“I have never had a dog, Your Majesty, but have often wondered if I had a true friend. He must have been a comfort to you.”
Charles leaned forward and brushed a tendril of hair from Nell’s cheek, letting his hand trail down her face, her throat, her breast. Nell felt a twinge in her belly—the involuntary contraction of arousal. She had fully expected the king to bed her. She had not expected to desire him as intensely as she suddenly found she did.
He stood and drew her to her feet, took her head in his hands as he bent and kissed her deeply. Her arms went around him and her mouth welcomed his, her body responding with a wave of fire as his tongue caressed and probed. He moved his mouth to her throat, his mustache tickling as his lips moved down her skin. Nell gasped, and she arched to meet him as he reached within her stays, lifting one of her breasts free. His tongue flicked across her nipple as he suckled her and she felt she had never wanted anything more urgently in the world than she wanted him inside her.
He placed her on the bed, lifting her skirts as his knees coaxed her legs apart. He thrust against her, and through his breeches she felt the hardness of him—and his size. Rochester’s witticism that “his scepter and his prick are of a length” flashed into her mind.
He knelt upright to remove his waistcoat and open his breeches. He shuddered as Nell grasped his cock with firm but delicate fingers. She looked up at him as she extended her tongue to delicately caress him—soft, so soft, warm, teasing—just enough to set him on fire for more. She paused, reaching down to lift her breasts toward him. Seizing her with both hands, he plunged himself into the valley of her cleavage, so that the length of him slid between her breasts as she sucked.
His breeches were hindering her from giving him all the pleasure she knew she could and she worked them down and slid one hand between his thighs so she could caress his bollocks and move a butterfly-light finger over the cleft of his arse. She grasped him tightly now, sliding her hand over the silky skin, her fingers meeting her lips as her mouth settled into a steady and insistent rhythm.
He pushed her onto her back and straddled her, thrusting deep into her throat, filling her, possessing her utterly. Nell breathed on his out-strokes and opened her gullet to receive him as he spent.
He collapsed beside her on the bed, and she rolled to her side to look at him, trailing a finger down the dark line of hair on his belly. What fantasy this seemed, and yet it was true. It was the king’s bed in which she lay, and his mettle that tasted yet in her throat. The king—and yet a man like any other.
Charles looked at her and laughed softly, caressing her hair.
“I must thank George when next I see him.”
She laughed, too, and gently touched his now-soft cock. “And I as well.”
“You’ve not had much yet to thank him for,” he said. “But wait but a bit. The lad will be back, and able to last longer the second time.”
LONG AFTER CHARLES HAD FALLEN ASLEEP, NELL LAY AWAKE. SHE was tired, but her mind would not be still. She was kept awake by the snuffling and restless movement of the spaniels that sprawled on the floor near the bed. And every time she was near to drifting off, the clocks would fall to striking the hour, each in its own time. But at last she slept, curled in the secure warmth of the royal bed.
Charles sent for Nell twice more in quick succession, and she began to feel at home as old William Chiffinch, the keeper of the privy closet, lantern in hand, ushered her up the shadowy staircase to the king’s bedchamber and later helped her into the waiting boat in the gray light of dawn. Each time he sent her homeward with a gift of money, offered matter-of-factly as His Majesty’s thanks for her company. Nell was well pleased, but Buckingham wanted more.
“A night here and there keeps you in the place of a common drab. He likes you, I know, and God knows he’s crowing about your talents. We must strike while the iron is hot. Ask him for five hundred pounds a year.”
So Nell did. But like a horse brought to the edge of a river to board a ferry, the king balked.
“This is Buckingham at work, I can smell it,” he said. “You can tell George from me that I’ll manage my own affairs.”
“He’ll come around,” Buckingham said. “He’s stubborn as a mule when he thinks a thing is not his own idea. You should see him with his mother. Wait a bit and he’ll change his tune.”
But weeks passed, and no summons came. The old year went and the new arrived. Nell played in
The Maid’s Tragedy
, hating its grandiose turgidity. And worried. Once more she had seemed on the brink of something wonderful. And once more her dreams had receded even as she tried to touch them. Backstage, she fretted to Betsy.
The Maid’s Tragedy
, hating its grandiose turgidity. And worried. Once more she had seemed on the brink of something wonderful. And once more her dreams had receded even as she tried to touch them. Backstage, she fretted to Betsy.
“I’ve heard nothing even from Buckingham. Perhaps he’s forgotten me, too.”
“He has more on his mind than you just now, Nell,” Betsy said. “Or have you not heard about Lord Shrewsbury?”
“Of course,” Nell said. “That was weeks ago.” There couldn’t be anyone in London who had not heard that Lord Shrewsbury, the husband of Buckingham’s mistress, had challenged him. They had met, with two seconds each, and fought three on a side at Barn Elms. One of Buckingham’s seconds was killed outright, and Buckingham had run Shrewsbury through the breast. But he was recovering, and the king had pardoned everyone involved.
“Shrewsbury died yesterday,” Betsy said. “That changes everything. Buckingham’s in no position to help you now.”
NELL SOUGHT TO LOSE HERSELF IN WORK AND WAS PLEASED TO PLAY once more in
The English Monsieur
. It was like old times, working opposite Hart again. He seemed to have forgiven her for Dorset, and they played to packed houses that braved a bitter cold snap to see them.
The English Monsieur
. It was like old times, working opposite Hart again. He seemed to have forgiven her for Dorset, and they played to packed houses that braved a bitter cold snap to see them.
Sam Pepys came backstage one day, no wife in sight, and he responded readily when Nell artlessly asked him what was the news at court.
“There was a rare scene a couple of evenings ago,” he laughed. “Some of the players from the Duke’s gave a show at the palace. The high point of the evening was Moll Davis’s dance. You’ve seen it?”
“No,” said Nell, forcing a smile, “do tell.”
“It’ll get a man’s attention, I’ll just say that. And it got the king’s. Of course you know he’s been bedding her?”
Nell’s stomach heaved, and she managed a nod.
“Well, Moll was wiggling and flinging away, those bold eyes of hers right on the king’s, with the queen to one side of him and Lady Castlemaine on the other, the queen near tears and Barbara breathing fire. Comes the end of the dance, and Moll curtsies low before the king, looking up at him, and he looking down at her as though he would devour her. And just as he starts to clap, the queen springs to her feet and stalks for the door. And damn me if Castlemaine don’t rise with icy majesty and sweep out after her, leaving the room agog.”
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