The Perfect Royal Mistress (5 page)

“Thank you, Mrs. Meggs!” Nell was beaming.

“Eh, don’t be too quick to thank me. ’Tis a chance only, Nell. If ye don’t sell the fruit, I’ll toss ye out as quick as ye were ushered in, understand?”

“I’ll not let you down. I might not even ’ave enough fruit for all I mean to sell!”

The doors to the King’s Theater were drawn back at noon, as they were every day, and the crowd that had gathered scrambled for a place on the backless pit benches. Orange peels from the day before were scattered over the seats, covered in green felt, and strewn into the aisles. Foul-smelling men and women surged forward like a great tidal wave and, for a moment, Nell could not quite catch her breath. For the first time, she was in the very midst of all the glorious pushing and struggling for place. The theater was more magnificent inside than her mind had ever conjured, with its three-tiered interior, a middle gallery, and, above it, private boxes gilded and draped with velvet. Crowning it all, to let in light, was a glass cupola above the great apron stage protruding into the audience framed with heavy draperies and painted pictorial scenery behind.

I am ’ere among them all! I am actually inside the King’s Theater!
It was a heartbeat after the thought, a moment only, when two men wearing lace sleeves and long silk coats, one of eggshell blue, the other an opalescent ivory, clearly the fops about whom she had heard so much, bumped into her. “Watch yourself, girl!” one of them said tautly. He was gaunt faced, his lips were red and wet, and Nell could see pale powder and a small black patch on his cheek. Just as she moved to apologize, she felt the power of another man’s hand on her back.

“Two oranges, love, and be quick about it!”

She quickly plucked two of the prettiest pieces of fruit, then looked down into the face of a stout little man with protruding teeth and deep pox scars. In spite of how repugnant he was, Nell gave him her sweetest smile. “Best I ’ave, sir!”

He leaned nearer, his breath smelling of gin, as he handed her the coins to pay for it. “I’ll wager those are nowhere near the best that a pretty thing like you has on offer!” His voice was lecherous, and she felt her stomach constrict as his hand, tight on her back, plummeted to the rise of her buttocks.

“True enough! But they
are
the best I’ll be sellin’ to anyone ’ere!” she declared. Her charmingly wicked laugh made him smile and the little man was disarmed.

He reached into his pocket for extra coins to tip her. “I see that is indeed my loss.”

“Now, if all of my customers are as generous as you, sir, I fancy I’ll be a duchess before I’m a right proper lady!”

A woman called out then, breaking the moment. “Here girl! Your sweetmeats. Let me see what you have. The offerings from the girl over there were paltry.”

Nell fished inside the basket and pulled out one of the small pastries filled with honey and nuts. She handed it to the woman as the din of laughter and yelling around her reached a crescendo. And the play, she knew, would not begin for another hour.

“This looks quite dreadful!” the woman sniffed. “How long ago was this made, girl?”

“I ain’t certain, ma’am. I’ll warrant you, it tastes delicious, though!”

“And I am going to trust an opinion from the likes of
you
?”

“Pomegranate then, perhaps?” Nell held it up. “Ripe and lovely as they come, these are.”

“Better,” the woman declared, handing sixpence to Nell. There was no tip included.

“
I
shall take the sweetmeats.”

The declaration had come from a young man standing behind the woman in the still-growing crush of bodies. He was handsome, Nell saw, with wavy auburn hair and kind, blue eyes. He moved forward, coins in hand. “And I
would
absolutely trust the opinion of this lovely girl, Lady Russell.”

“Bah! That is
only
because you are a lecherous young jackdaw!”

“Lady Russell,” he smiled, showing mock indignation, and with it, surprisingly boyish charm. “I really would have expected better from you.”

“And
I
would have expected precisely the same as what I saw from
you,
Lord Buckhurst!” she declared, turning on her heel as others clambered forward.

As Lord Buckhurst handed her the money for the sweetmeats, along with an astoundingly generous tip, Nell felt herself being pushed and prodded, but she managed to keep her smile, and her attention, on him. “I thank you indeed, sir.”

“Ah, if only they were pearls instead of coins, I would cast them willingly before you,” he sighed with enough overaffected drama that Nell could not quell a loud burst of laughter that erupted in a very unladylike fashion. “And when you say that sort of thing to proper ladies, does it actually work?”

“Nearly always,” he laughed charmingly.

“’Ow fortunate for me that I’m not the least bit proper!”

A more sincere smile crossed his face. She saw that he was surprised by her clever tongue. “If you are here tomorrow, I shall be delighted to buy your sweetmeats once again.”

“’Twill be my pleasure to serve your pleasure, sir,” she flirted openly.

Her attention was quickly drawn to another customer, but her thoughts eddied a moment longer on Lord Buckhurst. The power she had felt in that brief interlude was a heady sensation.

Nell began to work the pit with ease after that, smiling and laughing as openly as she did at the Cock & Pye. Drawn by her infectious laugh and her raw beauty, men flocked to her, and Nell reveled in the attention. “Give us an orange, love!” called a stout man with black button eyes. “And there shall be ten pence more in it if you will add a kiss!”

“For six pence more I’d kiss the orange but not you!” she chuckled. To her surprise, with a wide happy smile, he added the ten pence, pinched her cheek, and was gone.

It would be easier than she thought to charm her way to a good meal for Rose and herself, she realized even before the next man pushed his way forward. Proper food, at last!

“Two oranges! I shall take two!”

“’Old your ’orses!” she called back through the din, reaching into her basket as she leveled her eyes, and her smile, directly upon him.

“I would hold anything belonging to you!”

“You’d best settle for the oranges, sir!”

“Today, perhaps! But I will be back for whatever you have on offer tomorrow!”

Even at sixpence an orange, half the cost of a seat in the pit, it was not long before Nell sold almost every one. As the performance drew nearer, she held an orange back, hiding it within the folds of her skirt, so that she might have reason to stay inside and glimpse a bit of the play. She wanted to ensure an explanation should she be asked why she had not left along with the other orange girls.

Selling outside the theater, she had only been able to hear the laughter of the audience and the faint strains of the musicians. Now she greedily drank in all of the atmosphere, the sense of anticipation that was growing in the crowd, until candles were snuffed by young men who worked for the theater company and a young actress came from the wings and onto the stage. In the role of a maidservant dressed as a man, she stood in the center of the boards that jutted out into the musicians, and began the opening monologue.

“Now good people, listen well, I know in your hearts you hate serious plays, as I hate serious parts, but if you sit now calmly you shall see before you not drama but a world of fops and tarts!”

The audience responded by erupting in laughter. Standing back near the entrance doors, Nell listened intensely to the dialogue. The audience responded with great fits of laughter as the girl was joined by two men in guard’s costumes. Nell studied each of the actors and made note of the voices they used, how they projected their lines, and used them for what they desired from the audience. As each actor spoke, Nell found herself standing in the anonymous darkness and shadows, mimicking their upper-class accents. Men’s lines, women’s. It did not matter. She quietly repeated them all. As the actors moved across the stage, her lips mirrored what they said. She studied each sound and inflection. On the way home, her body tingled with fatigue and her mind hummed with all that had happened. She had sold the contents of two baskets, and earned five shillings in tips for herself. It had taken an extra hour, and half the tips, but she was returning home with a new dress for Rose. Like her own, the dress was used, bought through a woman whom Mary Meggs knew, the wife of a prosperous tailor whose wealth exceeded her good sense, shown by discarding perfectly suitable dresses after a few wearings. Nell could not imagine the luxury of discarding anything. The dress was the color of dried rose petals, and Nell knew it was meant for her sister.

Nell was so full of excitement she was not prepared for the sight of her sister huddled against the bed, a bruise swelling on her cheek, and her top lip cut. But she knew what had happened.

“She took it,” Rose said, weeping. “All of it.”

Nell sank onto the sagging mattress that dominated the tiny room.

“Forgive me, Nelly.”

Music and laughter from the tavern below came through the floor and swelled up around them. “I should never’ve left it ’ere with you, Rose. Ma can smell money, I swear it.” Nell put an arm around her sister, feeling suddenly like the older of the two. She drew out her tip money. Watching the open shock on her sister’s face made her smile. “I suppose we shall simply be forced to use this instead.”

“Oh, Nelly, you didn’t sell yourself for me—”

“Not a chance in the world! I’m far too smart for that!”

Rose touched the coins. “You ain’t stealin’ it then, are you?”

“I’m now a proper orange girl
inside
the King’s Theater.” She was preening, sitting up a little straighter. “In a month’s time, I’ll be the best bloody orange seller Moll has ever employed, I’ll warrant ye! Most of this is tips. As long as we give ’er the profit, the tips are ours to keep, whatever we’re clever enough to earn.”

“Knowin’ you, Nelly Gwynne, that could end up bein’ a small fortune indeed!”

Nell stroked the side of her sister’s face, and Rose grimaced a little when she touched the bruise there. “You’ve always believed in me, Rose, always loved me, and
always
taken care of me. Now its my turn. Oh, and I nearly forgot!” she said, lunging for the dress lying in a fabric pool near the door. Rose gasped when she realized what it was, then her eyes filled with tears.

“’Tis the color of roses,” Nell said proudly. “Just like your name.”

“You shouldn’t ’ave spent your money on me.”

“
Our money.
And I cannot think of anythin’, or anyone, better to spend it on.”

Women swirled past her, cloaked in dark velvet to conceal their identities, and vizards to hide their well-known faces so that they could do as they pleased. Dandies were in their lace and jewelry in a select area of the pit called Fops Corner. They preened and strutted up and down the narrow, overpacked isles, crushing orange peels under their elegant shoe heels, holding snuffboxes and pomanders stuffed with fragrant cloves. The aroma of cooked food mingled with perfume, with the rank stench of body odor, and from those who had relieved themselves in the corners. Nell gripped the basket of fruit with determination, and smiled broadly. She loved it all. Just then, an excited call came from beyond the doors.

“The king comes! The king! The king is coming to see the play!”

All around her, patrons began making way for the great royal party that approached. Nell’s heart rocked in her chest. She might actually catch a glimpse of the king!

The swell of the crowd pushed her back as His Majesty’s party drew nearer, but Nell resisted, remaining close enough to the front of the crowd to see fine quilted silk coats, jewels, heeled shoes, and plumed hats approach her. Women in bright scarlet, emerald, and sapphire, all of them laughing and glittering like jewels in the sunlight; most prominent among them was a striking golden-haired woman. She breezed past Nell in a swirl of champagne-colored velvet, bell sleeves edged with fur and studded with tiny pearls. Her rosewater perfume held the air for an instant and then, as she did, faded into a rumble of excited chatter and gossip.

The woman was his mistress, without a doubt.

She was grand and breathtaking.

And then, finally, Nell caught a glimpse of him in a coat of lavish emerald brocade and wearing a shining onyx-colored periwig. He was surrounded by others, but he was taller and more magnificent. Yet there was something more; he looked, in that brief instant as he passed her,
familiar. Impossible,
she thought as the royal party rounded the corner and began their ascent of the staircase that led to the king’s box. She had never been closer to Whitehall Palace than Charing Cross.

After they had gone, the crowd dispersed, returning to their places in the pit. The spectacular moment vanished. But throughout the play, Nell could not stop herself from gazing up at the royal box from the dark of the alcove shadows, hiding her beneath the gallery. How could the king of England seem familiar?