The Loves of Charles II (128 page)

“Have done,” said the King. “Leave the stage and you shall not want—nor shall he.”

“If I leave the stage I shall be obliged to see that this is a promise Your Majesty shall keep,” said Nell. “For myself I ask no pension; but for my child—who is known by the name of Charles, and none other—I would ask a good deal.”

“All that can be done for you and him shall be done,” promised the King.

He was visiting her more frequently now. Louise de Kéroualle was still holding him at bay. He thought a great deal of Louise; she seemed to him infinitely desirable, indeed the most desirable woman in his kingdom, but he was too lighthearted to sigh on that account. Louise would succumb eventually, he felt sure; in the meantime there was Moll—still charming enough to be worth a visit now and then; Barbara on whom he still called occasionally, if only that he might congratulate himself on having almost broken with her; and Nell, who could always be relied upon to amuse and come up with the unexpected. The others—the ladies who provided amusement for a night or so—there would always be. He was well supplied with women.

Charles realized Nell’s problems, and he had decided that it would be convenient if she lived even nearer to him at Whitehall.

He reminded her that he had given her the house in which she now lived.

“And that,” retorted Nell, “I do not accept, since I discover it to be leasehold. My services have always been free under the Crown. For that reason, nothing but freehold will satisfy me.”

“Nell,” said the King with a laugh, “you grow acquisitive.”

“I have a son to think for.”

“It has changed you—becoming a mother.”

“It changes all women.”

The King was sober temporarily. “You do well,” he said, “to consider the boy. You do well to remind me of your needs. Why, look you, Nell, it is a long step here from Whitehall.”

“But Your Majesty’s chief pleasure—save one—is sauntering, so I’ve heard.”

“There are occasions when I would wish to have you near me. And now that you have left the stage, I am going to make you a present of a fine house—freehold. The only freehold in the district on which I can lay my hands.”

“It is near Whitehall?”

“Nearer than this one, Nell. Indeed, it is nearer by a quarter of a mile. I do not think you will have reason to find this house unworthy of our son, Nell.”

“And it is freehold?” insisted Nell.

“I swear it shall be.”

Nell was climbing in the world now.

She had her residence in the beautiful wide street at that end which was the home of many of the aristocrats of the Court. Nell’s new house was three storys high, and its gardens extended to St. James’ Park, from which it was separated by a stone wall. At the end of Nell’s garden was a mound, and when she stood on this she could see over the wall and into the Park; she could call to the King as he sauntered there with his friends.

Now Nell was indeed treated with the “decencies of a royal mistress.” Her near neighbors were Barbara Castlemaine, the Countess of Shrewsbury, and Mary Knight who had once been one of the King’s favored mistresses. Lady Greene and Moll Davies were not far off.

There was a difference in the attitude of many people towards her now. She was Madam Gwyn more often than Mrs. Nelly; tradesmen were eager for her custom; she was treated with the utmost servility.

Nell of the old days would have ridiculed these sycophants; Nell the mother enjoyed their homage. She never forgot that the more honor paid to her the easier it would be for honors to find their way to that little boy, and she was determined to see him a Duke before she died.

There were some who often tried to remind her that she had been an orange-girl and an actress, bred in Cole-yard. Mary Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham’s sister, had refused to receive her and this, Nell was delighted to learn, had aroused the King’s deep displeasure. He had reminded the noble lady: “Those I lie with are fit company for the greatest ladies in the land.” And Mary Villiers had had to change her attitude.

The Arlingtons were cool. They were all for the promotion of Mademoiselle de Kéroualle; but she, it seemed, was chained to celibacy by her virtue. Let her remain thus, thought Nell, while the rest of us enjoy life and grow rich.

There was some rivalry with Moll Davies.

Nell could not endure Moll’s affected airs of refinement. She wondered that the King—a man of such wit—did not laugh them to scorn. He still visited Moll, and there were occasions when Nell, expecting him to call at the house or even vault the wall as he sometimes did, would see him passing on his way to visit Moll Davies.

Moll sometimes called on Nell after the King’s visit. She would sit in Nell’s apartment, displaying her £700 ring, and talking of the latest present the King had brought her.

“He even brings me sweetmeats such as I like. He says I am almost as great a glutton for them as the Princess Anne.”

One day, early that spring, Moll called at Nell’s house in a twitter of excitement expressly to tell her that the King had sent a message that he would be calling on her that night.

“It surprises me, Nelly,” she said, “that he should come so far.
You
are nearer now, are you not, and yet he comes to me! Can you understand it?”

“All men, even Kings, at times act crazily,” said Nell quickly.

She was anxious. Her son was without a name. She was not going to have him called Charlie Gwyn. He was growing. He needed a name. Many times she had suggested that some honor be given to the boy, but the King was always vague and evasive. He promised to do all that he could, but Charles’ promises were more readily given than fulfilled. He was fond of the boy; yet to have ennobled him would have caused much comment. Rochester was right about that. The affair of Sir John Coventry was still remembered, and there were times when the King was eager not to arouse too much criticism in his subjects.

“Let be, Nell,” he had said. “Let the matter rest awhile. I promise you the boy shall lack nothing.”

And tonight he would go to that scheming Moll Davies. It was not to be borne.

“I am a good hand at making sweetmeats,” Nell said to Moll.

“I was never taught to perform such menial tasks,” said Moll.

“I used to make them to sell in the market,” Nell told her. “Sweetmeats!” she cried in a raucous cockney voice. “Good ladies, buy my sweetmeats!”

Moll shuddered. She looked about her at the beautifully furnished apartment and wondered how such a creature as Nell had ever managed to obtain it.

Nell pretended not to see Moll’s disgust. “I shall bring you some sweetmeats,” said Nell. “My next batch shall be made especially for you.”

Moll rose to go; she had preparations to make, she reiterated, for the reception of the King that night.

When she had gone, Nell picked up the baby.

A fine healthy boy; she kissed him fondly.

She was ready to fight all the duchesses in the land for his sake.

Now she went to her kitchen and, rolling up the fine sleeves of her gown, made sweetmeats; and as soon as they were ready she set out with them for Moll Davies’ house.

Moll was surprised to see her so soon.

“I made these for you,” said Nell; “and I thought I would bring them to you while they were fresh.”

“They look good indeed,” said Moll.

“Try one,” suggested Nell.

Moll did so, flourishing her diamond under Nell’s eye. Nell’s gaze dwelt on it enviously, so it seemed to Moll.

“It’s beautiful,” said Nell simply.

“It is indeed! Every time it catches my eye it reminds me of His Majesty’s devotion.”

“You are indeed fortunate to have that outward symbol of the King’s devotion. Do try another of these fondants.”

Moll tried another.

“How clever to be able to make such delicious things! I was never brought up to be so useful.”

“Nay,” said Nell with a high laugh. “You were brought up to wear a diamond ring and play high-class whore to a merry King.”

Nell went into peals of laughter which made Moll frown. Moll had never been sure of Nell since the impudent girl from Cole-yard had imitated her on the stage of the King’s Theater.

“I laugh too readily,” said Nell, subdued. “It was a habit I learned in the Cole-yard. I would I were a lady like yourself. Pray have another.”

“You are not eating any.”

“I ate my fill in my own house. These are a present for you. Ah, you are thinking, why should I bring you presents and what do I want in exchange? I see the thoughts in your eyes, Moll. ’Tis true. I do want something. I want to learn to be a lady such as you are.” Nell held out the box in which she had put the sweets, and Moll took yet another.

“You know well what flavors appeal to my palate,” said Moll.

“I’ll confess it,” said Nell. “I study you. I would ape you, you see. I would discover why it is His Majesty visits you when he might visit little Nell from the Cole-yard.”

“Nell, you are too low in your tastes. You laugh too much. You speak with the tongue of the streets. You do not try to be a lady.”

“’Tis true,” said Nell. “Pray have another.”

“I declare I grow greedy.”

“’Tis a pleasure to please you with my sweetmeats.”

Moll said: “You are good at heart, Nell. Listen to me. I will tell you how to speak more like a lady. I will show you how to walk as a lady walks, how to treat those who are your inferiors.”

“I pray you do,” said Nell.

And Moll showed her, eating the sweetmeats Nell had brought as she did so. When she had finished she had cleared the whole dish.

Nell rose to go. “You have preparations to make for His Majesty,” she said. “I must detain you no longer. Pray keep the dish. When you look at it you will think of me.”

Nell went out to her chair which was waiting for her.

“Hurry back,” she said to her professional carriers whom she hired by the week. “I have certain preparations to make.”

And when she reached her own house she went into the room where the baby was sleeping.

She picked him up and, kissing him fiercely, cried: “We must prepare for Papa. He will be coming here this night, I doubt not. And, who knows, when he is here I may be able to wheedle a nice little title from him for my Charley boy.”

Then she laid him gently in his cradle.

There was no time to lose. She called her cook and bade him prepare pies of meat and fowl, to set beef and mutton roasting.

“I have a fancy,” she said, “that His Majesty will be supping here this day.”

Then she put on a gown of green and gold lace with slippers of cloth of silver.

She was ready; she knew that the King would come. Moll Davies
would be unable to entertain him that night, for the sweets with which she had supplied her unsuspecting rival had been filled with jalap made from the root of a Mexican plant.

Moll had taken a good dose. Nell had little doubt that ere this day was out the King and she would be laughing heartily over Moll’s predicament.

“It may be,” said Nell aloud, “that Mrs. Moll will realize this night that there is something to be learned from my Cole-yard ways.”

She was not disappointed. The King joined her for supper. He had discovered what had happened to Moll, and he had had a shrewd notion who had played the trick on her.

He could not contain his mirth as he and Nell sat over supper.

“You are the wildest creature I ever knew,” he told her.

And she saw that he liked well that wildness, and was beginning to feel that, whoever came into his life, he must keep Nelly there to make him laugh and forget his troubles.

It seemed to the King that, during that difficult year, Nell was his main refuge from his burdens. He was still pursuing Louise de Kéroualle who, although she was maid of honor to the Queen and had her apartments in Whitehall, still expressed her horror at the thought of becoming his mistress.

“How could that be?” she asked. “There is only one way in which Your Majesty could become my lover, and that way is closed. Your Majesty has a Queen.”

In vain did Charles point out the irksomeness of royal lives. Queens were not to be envied. Look at his own Queen Catherine. Did she seem to be a happy woman? Yet look at merry little Nell. Was there a happier soul in London?