The Loves of Charles II (10 page)

There she waited, and she had not long to wait. She stood, tense and breathless. He called her name softly. Then she felt his arms seize her; she was lifted up, violently kissed and quickly laid down among the bracken. She was aware of the urgency of the moment. There was no time for delay; he sensed that, even as she did; and it was she, he reminded himself, who had led the way to the copse.

Her first erotic adventure was all she needed to tell her for what she had been longing. It was not marriage; it was love, physical love, this sort of love—desire which came suddenly and must be swiftly satisfied. Lucy was perfectly contented lying there among the bracken. She was not frightened, though she was but fourteen; she knew that she had been born for this. She had been scolded for carelessness, laziness and stupidity; but in love she could attain perfection. Ignorant in many ways she might be, but now she needed no instruction. Entirely sensual, she was the perfect lover.

The young Cavalier looked at her wonderingly as she lay back in the bracken, her eyes wide and starry, her lips parted. It was he who had to remind her that they might be missed. For Lucy there was only the moment; consequences could not touch her in this mood of ecstasy.

“Which is your room?” he asked.

She told him.

“Tonight, when all is quiet, I will come to you.”

She nodded. But the night was a long way off. She put her arms about his neck and pulled him down to her again.

The dusk had turned to darkness but they were unaware of it. They would have remained unaware had not the shouts and screams from the Castle become so insistent.

He started up and sniffed the air. He coughed, for the smoke had drifted into the copse.

“God’s Body!” cried Lucy’s lover. “They’re here! Cromwell’s men are at the Castle!”

Lucy looked at him, but even so she was only vaguely conscious of what he had said; she was dazed, lost in a maze of emotions. She had ceased to be a child; only that morning she had been ignorant and innocent, and in that state, dissatisfied; now she was fulfilled; now she knew herself.

He gripped her arm and drew her with him deeper into the copse.

“Don’t you understand?” he said. “Cromwell’s men are here. They are burning the Castle!”

That was the beginning of a new life for Lucy. Roch Castle was burned down that night, Lucy had lost her home and her family; and she had nothing but her personal attractions.

There was only one course open to her and her lover—they must try to escape from Pembrokeshire. All that night they walked, and before dawn Lucy had led her lover to the house of a neighbor and friend to her family who lent them horses. The next day they began their journey towards London where, said her lover, Lucy could set up house for him, and he would visit her when his duties permitted him to do so.

Sometimes they slept under hedges, sometimes in friendly cottages, occasionally in big houses, the owners of which were faithful to the Royalist cause.

Lucy was a constant surprise to her lover; when he had first seen her he had planned a quick seduction before he passed on; now he found that it was Lucy who was in control of their relationship, Lucy whose big brown eyes rested ardently on other men, Lucy who would have smiled and bidden him a friendly farewell if he had suggested a parting. In vain did he tell her that she was a natural harlot. Lucy did not care. Lucy knew what she wanted, and it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she would never be obliged to go short of lovers.

Lucy was the perfect mistress of a fleeting passion, for her own passions were fleeting. She did not ask for gold or jewels but the slaking of her desire. This quality, added to voluptuous beauty, made her doubly desirable.

They came to London, and London enchanted Lucy. Her lover set her up in lodgings not far from Tower Hill, and she prided herself on being faithful to him when he could come to her. There were times, of course, when he could not visit her, but Lucy was never lonely, never long without a gallant.

London was a merry town at that time, for Puritanism had not yet cast its ugly pall over the city. The people were noisy; brawls were frequent; and opportunity for indulging in pageantry was eagerly seized upon. No one was safe after dark; but by day the streets were crowded. Fiddlers seemed always at hand to play a merry jig for any who cared to dance; ballad-sellers sang samples of their wares in high trebles and deep basses; carriages jingled through the narrow cobbled streets; London was everything but dull. The brothels were flourishing, and girls, scantily clad, painted and patched, talked to each other from the gables of opposite houses which almost met over the narrow streets; nor were these disorderly houses confined to Bankside and Southwark; they were appearing all over London from Turnbull Street at Smithfield to Ratcliff Highway and Catherine Street near the Strand—and, of course, they abounded in Drury Lane.

The most important highway of the city was Paul’s Walk—the center aisle of the old cathedral. This was not so much a part of a church as a promenade and market. All kinds of people gathered there—merchants to sell their wares, prostitutes to offer theirs. The pillars were used to denote the centers for certain trades. If a man wanted a letter-writer he was to be found by the first pillar; horses would be sold at the second pillar; the money-lenders were farther along; and next to them was the marriage-broker, and after that the obliging gentleman who could arrange for a man to spend a night—or an hour—with one of the women he controlled; mercers showed their materials; and those who had something to sell announced the fact by sticking notices on the pillars.

Nor was Paul’s Walk the only place where it was possible to mingle with the London world. There was the Royal Exchange and the New Exchange; and in each of these were the galleries where shopkeepers set up their stalls, where pretty young women not only sold trifles but made appointments with the dandies who strolled through the galleries. There were young men in velvet coats carrying swords with jeweled hilts; they wore gold buttons on their coats, brilliant feathers in their wide-brimmed beaver hats; their breeches were trimmed with fine point lace and held in at the knees with ribbons, and their hair was beautifully dressed and hanging in ringlets over their shoulders—the delight of the girls and the envy of every apprentice. The theaters had closed at the beginning of the war, but the London to which Lucy came was a very merry place.

Each day she would wander out into the street, would stroll through the Royal Exchange, buy herself a fan or a ribbon, give her peculiarly inviting smile to the ogling men, and if her lover were away, she would agree that the one she fancied most should come to her lodging.

She found a little maid—Ann Hill—who thought her wonderful and declared she would die rather than leave her service—as she probably would of starvation, being ill favored. Lucy was glad to take her in and, in her lazy way, was kind to her.

Lucy would have been content to go on in her pleasant way, but the war brought changes. Each year there was a difference in the London scene. There were more soldiers in the town, and now they were not swaggering Cavaliers; they burned beautiful buildings and praised God as they did so. Beauty had no place in the good life, they believed; they used the churches as sleeping quarters; they took possession of St. Paul’s; they stabled their horses in the Cathedral and cut down the beams for firewood; they played ninepins in the aisles and shouted to each other throughout the night. Very few Cavaliers flaunted through the streets now. The King’s cause was a lost one, said the people. Noll Cromwell was in command.

Lucy’s lover had appeared at her lodgings in a great hurry; he had stayed there for several days and nights, for he dared not face the streets. London was less merry; people were subdued and no longer openly expressed an opinion unless it was favorable to Cromwell.

Lucy went out to buy food during those days, and she was watched, she knew, by a man who always seemed to be lounging in the gallery of the Royal Exchange. For several days she had seen that that man’s eyes were on her. She was not sure how, but she knew him to be a Cavalier. His hair was cropped and his clothes were somber; yet there was that in his face which told her he was no Roundhead.

She liked his appearance; she more than liked it. She thought about him a good deal; if she had not already been harboring one man at her lodgings she would have invited him there.

Then one day he followed her. Lucy was not frightened so to be followed; she was only exhilarated. She understood the meaning of his glances. He wanted only one thing from her; and she believed she would be very willing to grant that; so what had she to fear?

He caught up with her in a deserted alley whither she had led him. He plucked her sleeve and, as she turned, he released it and bowed as only a Cavalier would bow.

“You would have speech with me?”

“You are Mistress Lucy Water?”

“That’s true enough.”

“You are the most beautiful woman in London.”

Lucy smiled complacently. He kept his eyes on her face.

“I wish to know you,” he said, “very well.”

“You know my name,” she answered. “Should I know yours?”

“I will tell you … in time.”

“And now what would you have of me?”

“You have a lodging near here?”

She nodded.

“And you share it with … a friend?”

Her eyes flashed. “A very good friend.”

He caught her arm; his touch pleased her because it excited her. “I know him,” he said. “He served with me. Take me to him. I must have speech with him. Please believe me. There must be no delay.”

To Lucy this was a new method of approach and she enjoyed novelty. “Come this way,” she said.

When she brought the stranger to her lodgings her lover was overawed. There was no doubt that the man had spoken the truth.

“Let us talk,” said the newcomer. “There is little time.”

“Sit down, sir,” said Lucy’s lover. “Lucy, bring a stool.”

Lucy obeyed; she sat at the table watching them, her plump hands supporting her chin, her dreamy eyes on the newcomer. He would be an exciting lover, she was telling herself. He
will
be an exciting lover! She knew that whatever he was implying, that was what he wished to be ere long; and that was what had brought him to their lodging.

He flicked his fingers. “Your life won’t be worth that, if you’re caught here, my dear fellow.”

“No, sir, ’tis true.”

“I am leaving this day … for The Hague.”

“To join the Prince, sir?”

“Aye! To join the Prince. You would do well to make good your escape while there is yet time.”

“But to journey to The Hague … I have not the means.”

“Can you obtain two good horses?”

“I could … if I had the money, sir.”

“Then get them. Make for Harwich. The coast is quiet there … and I will tell you how you can find a boat to carry you across.”

“But, my lord …”

“You have but to tell the Prince that I have sent you, and you will be well received; you will be given a place in the Army there. Here is money.” He turned to look at Lucy. “We shall meet in The Hague. If you bring Mistress Lucy Water to me safely there, you will not regret it.”

“I will do as you say, sir. You will take a little wine?”

“I have no time. I have certain things that must be done before I leave
for The Hague. Wait till dusk, then go. Mistress Water will crop your hair. Don’t venture out with your lovelocks flowing. Mistress Water …” He stood up and Lucy stood up with him; he gripped her arms and looked into her face. “You and I will meet ere long. I eagerly await our next encounter.”

He was gone and the two looked at each other in amazement.

“Why, my pretty Lucy,” said her lover, “you have got yourself one of the quality this time. Do you know who that was? It was Algernon Sydney, son of the great Earl of Leicester. Get ready, girl. Don’t waste time. We’ll be out of this place as soon as night falls. We’re going to Court … the Prince’s Court. We’re going to leave the sinking ship, my pretty. Come! Cut my hair. He’s right, you know. You’ve got to make me into one of those ugly Roundhead fellows, and I’m to deliver you to your new protector, Lucy; and when I do my reward will be great.”

But his smile was rueful while he jingled the gold in his silken purse.