The Loves of Charles II (106 page)

Henry Killigrew did not come to the cellar that night. Rose was always anxious when he did not come. Nell was anxious now. What if he never came again? What if he forgot all about Rose and her sister Nell? What if he did not realize how vitally important it was that Nell Gwyn should become one of Mary Meggs’ orange-girls?

Nell moved among the gentlemen with an abstracted look, but she was ever ready to elude their straying hands. She was sorry for poor Rose; for if her lover did not come, Rose would be forced to take another, provided he would pay the price her mother demanded.

Rose was no longer indifferent, because Rose was in love. It was as important now for Rose to elude those straying hands as it was for Nell to do so.

Nell felt sudden anger against a world which had nothing better than this to offer a girl, when others—such as those ladies in velvet and cloth of gold and silver—whom she had seen about the King on his triumphal entry into his Capital, had so much. But almost immediately she was resigned. Rose had her lover, and those ladies riding with the King had not seemed more radiant than Rose when she had been going to meet Henry Killigrew; and when she, Nell, was one of Mary Meggs’ orange-girls she would know greater happiness than any of those women could possibly know.

Now her eyes went to Rose. A fat man with grease on his clothes—doubtless a flesh-merchant from East Cheap—was beckoning to her, and Rose must perforce go and sit at his table.

Nell watched. She saw the big hands touching Rose, saw Rose recoiling with horror, her eyes piteously fixed on the door, waiting for the entry of her lover.

Nell heard her say: “No … No. It is not possible. I have a gentleman waiting for me.”

The flesh-merchant from East Cheap stood up and kicked the stool on which he had been sitting across the cellar. Others watched, eyes alert with interest. This was what they liked—a brawl in a bawdy-house when they could throw bottles at one another, wreck the place, and enjoy good sport.

Madam Gwyn had come from her corner like an angry spider. She raised her slurring gin-cracked voice. “What ails you, my fine gentleman? What do you find in my house not to your liking?”

“This slut!” shouted the flesh-merchant.

“Why, that’s Mrs. Rose … the prettiest of my girls … Now, Mrs.
Rose, what has gone wrong here? You drop a curtsy to the fine gentleman and tell him you await his pleasure.”

The flesh-merchant watched Rose and his little eyes were cruel.

“He’s planning to hurt her,” shouted Nell in panic.

Rose cried: “I cannot. I am ill. Let me go. There is a gentleman waiting for me.”

Rose’s mother took her by the arm and pushed her towards the flesh-merchant, who gripped her and held her to him for a few seconds; then he was roaring with rage, shouting at the top of his voice. “I see it now. She has my purse, the slut!”

He was holding a purse above his head. Rose had stepped back, staring at the purse with fascinated eyes.

“Where did you … find that?” she asked.

“Inside your bodice, girl. Where you put it.”

“’Tis a lie,” said Rose. “I never saw it before.”

He had caught at the drapery at Rose’s neck, cut low to show her pretty bosom. He tore the charming dress which was a present from her lover.

“Lying slut!” cried the merchant. “Thieving whore!” He appealed to others sitting at the tables. “Must we endure this treatment? ’Tis time we taught these bawds a lesson.”

He kicked the table; it was cheap and fragile, and it was smashed against the wall.

“I pray you, good sir,” soothed Madam Gwyn, “I pray you curb your anger against Mrs. Rose. Mrs. Rose is ready to make amends….”

“I never saw the purse,” cried Rose. “I did not take the purse.”

The merchant paused and ceremoniously opened the purse. “There’s ten shillings missing from it,” he said. “Come, give me what you’ve taken, slut.”

“I have not had your money,” protested Rose.

The man took her by the shoulders. “Give it me, you slut, or I’ll bring a charge against you.” His little pig’s eyes were glistening. His face, thought Nell, was like a boar’s head which had been pickled for several days. She hated him; if she had not grown accustomed to keeping herself under control in the cellar, she would have rushed at once to Rose’s defence. But she was afraid; for that which she saw in the man’s eyes was lust as well as the desire for revenge; and she was afraid of lust.

He had turned now to the company. He shouted: “Look to your own pockets. They lure you here; they drug their waters; how many of you have left this place poorer men than when you entered it? How many of you have paid too dear for what you’ve had? Come! Shall we allow these bawds to rob us?”

One of the men shouted: “What will you do, friend?”

“What will I do!” he screamed. He had caught Rose by the shoulder. “I’ll take this whore and make an example of her, that I will.”

Madam Gwyn was beside him, rubbing her fat hands together. “Mrs. Rose is my prettiest girl, sir. Mrs. Rose is longing for a chance to be kind to you.”

“I doubt it not!” roared the man. “But she comes to her senses too late. I came here for a good honest whore, not a jailbird.”

“I’m no jailbird!” cried Rose.

“Is that so, Miss?” snarled the man. “Then you soon will be. Come, my friends.”

And with that he dragged Rose to the door. The men who were sitting about the tables rose and formed a bodyguard about him. “Take the thief to jail!” they chanted. “That’s the way to treat a thief.”

Rose was pale with horror.

Everyone was leaving the cellar. They could visit a bawdy-house at any time; but it was not so often that they could see one of the patrons drag a girl to jail.

“I’ve been robbed here more than once, I swear it,” declared a little man.

“And I!” “And I!” the cry went up.

Nell moved then; she ran after the group who were pushing their way into the street. Already down in Cole-yard the flesh-merchant was calling out where he intended taking Rose, and crowds were gathering.

“A pickpocket whore!” Nell heard the words. “Caught stealing money.”

“’Tis a lie. ’Tis a lie!” cried Nell.

Nobody looked at her. She fought her way to Rose. Poor Rose, bedraggled and weeping so bitterly, her pretty gown ruined, her pretty lips begging, pleading, swearing that she was innocent.

Nell caught at the flesh-merchant’s arm. “Let her go. Let my sister go!”

He saw her, and as she clung to his arm he raised it and swung her off her feet.

“It’s the imp who serves strong waters. I’ll warrant she’s as quick with her fingers as the other. We’ll take her along with us, eh, my friends?”

“Aye, take her along. Take the whole lot along. Have them searched, and have them hanged by the neck, as all thieves should be.”

Nell caught one glimpse of Rose’s anguished face. Nell’s own was distorted with rage. She dug her teeth into the flesh-merchant’s hand, gave him a kick on the shin, and so startled him that, letting out a cry of pain, he relaxed his hold on her.

She screamed: “Run, Rose. Run!” as she herself darted through the crowd. But Rose could not so easily make her escape; the crowd saw to that;
and in a few seconds the flesh-merchant had regained his hold upon her, and the shouting crowd carried Rose Gwyn to Newgate.

Nell had never known such fear as now was hers. Rose was in jail. She was a thief, the flesh-merchant had declared; he had discovered his purse on her, and ten shillings were missing from it. There were even men to come forward and say they had seen Rose take the purse.

Rose had a fine dress, it was remarked. By what means had she, a poor girl in a low bawdy-house, come by such a garment? She had stolen the money to pay for it, of course.

Those who were found guilty of theft suffered the extreme penalty.

Nell walked the streets in her misery, not knowing which way to turn for comfort. Her mother drank more and more gin, and sat weeping through the day and night, for few people came to the cellar during those days. The rumor had spread that if you went into Mother Gwyn’s house you might lose your purse. There had been many lost purses, and now Mother Gwyn as a result was going to lose her daughter.

Rose … in prison. It was terrible to think of her there—Rose who such a short while ago had been so happy with her lover, the man who thought so highly of her that he had promised to make her sister one of Orange Moll Meggs’ girls.

There was only one person who could offer Nell comfort, and that was her cousin Will. They sat on the cobbles in the yard and talked of Rose.

“There’s nothing can be done,” said Will. “They’ve declared her a thief, and they’ll hang her by the neck.”

“Not Rose!” cried Nell, with the tears running down her face. “Not my sister Rose!”

“They don’t care whose sister she is, Nelly. They only care that they hang her.”

“Rose never stole anything.”

Will nodded. “It matters not whether she stole or not, Nelly. They say she stole, and they’ll hang her for that.”

“They shall not,” cried Nell. “They
shall
not.”

“But how will you stop them?”

“I know not.” Nell covered her face with her hands and burst into loud sobs. “If I were older and wiser I would know. There is a way, Will. There must be a way.”

“If Mr. Killigrew had been there it would not have happened,” said Will.

“If he had been there, he could have stopped it. Will, mayhap he could stop it now.”

“How so?” said Will.

“We must find him. We must tell him what happened. Will, where can we find him?”

“He is Groom of the Bedchamber to the Duke.”

“I will go to the Duke.”

“Nay, Nelly. You could not do that. The Duke would never see
you!”

“I would
make
him see me …
make
him listen.”

“You would never reach him.” Will scratched his head. Nell watched him eagerly. “I saw him last night,” added Will.

“You saw him? The Duke?”

“Nay, Henry Killigrew.”

“Did you tell him about Rose?”

“I
tell
him? Nay
, I did not. I was holding a torch for a gentleman close by Lady Bennet’s, and he came out. He was as close to me as you are now.”

“Oh, Will, you should have told him. You should have asked his help.”

“He has not been to Cole-yard since, has he, Nelly? He’s forgotten Rose.”

“I’ll not believe it,” declared Nell passionately.

“Rose used to say you only believed what you wanted to.”

“I like believing what I want to. Then I can make it happen mayhap. Does he go often to Lady Bennet’s?”

“I heard it said that he is mighty interested in one of the girls there.”

“That cannot be. He is interested in Rose.”

“Such as he can be interested in many at a time.”

“Then I will go to Lady Bennet’s, and I will see him and tell him he must save Rose.”

Will shook his head.

Nell was the wildest thing he had ever seen. He never knew what she would do next. There was one thing he did know: it was folly to dissuade her once she had set her mind on something.

So the small raggedly clad girl waited in the shadows of Lady Bennet’s house. None of the gentlemen passing in and out gave her a second glance. She looked much younger than her thirteen years.

She knew that she would find Henry Killigrew there. She must find him there, and she must find him quickly, for Rose was in acute danger. If she could not find him at Lady Bennet’s, then she would at Damaris Page’s. She could be sure that it would be possible to find such a profligate as Rose’s Henry undoubtedly was, at one of the notorious brothels in London.

Nell felt that she had grown up in these last days of her grief. She was
no longer a child but a woman of understanding. Nothing she discovered of Henry Killigrew would surprise her as much as the fact that he had ever come to Cole-yard.

And it was outside Lady Bennet’s that she came face-to-face with him. She ran to him, fell on her knees before him, and took his hand in hers. There was another gentleman with him who raised his eyebrows and looked askance at his companion.

“What means this, Henry?” he asked. “Who is the infant?”