The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose (11 page)

Walking back through the City to Nell’s lodgings, she was astounded at the amount of building going on everywhere for, after the Great Fire, shacks and tents had quickly been thrown up on the ash-and-rubble-strewn earth, then been replaced by makeshift taverns and foodshops to house and feed the incoming builders. Brick-built houses were swiftly replacing these now and Eliza could see for herself that the new lanes were wider than the old, so that the facing houses wouldn’t be able to catch fire from each other. They would be safer, too, now that they weren’t allowed to be built from wood and thatch.

Eliza lingered long at the market stalls and shops, marvelling at the number of them and the selection of goods on offer. One could, it seemed, buy anything one desired in London, and most shops held a large variety of the particular item they specialised in. One sold painted and enamelled bird cages, another perfumed gloves, yet others beautiful leather shoes, decorated candles, satin girdles, glass ornaments or pewter plates.

Eliza pressed herself first against one shop window, then the next, her mouth almost watering with desire
as she went across the lane from side to side, exclaiming and gasping by turn. So much to buy if you had the money. How different it was from Stoke Courcey where there had been just two shops: a butcher and a baker, and everything else had to be purchased from travelling peddlers or be sent away for.

It was nigh impossible to come away from these shops empty-handed so, after deliberating at length, Eliza bought a length of dark green velvet ribbon to decorate her white cap. She couldn’t help being pleased when the shopkeeper, measuring to determine the amount of ribbon needed to go around the brim of the cap and tie under her chin, remarked, winking, that the green would bring out the colour of her eyes and cause the lads to come a-running.

The following week the cap was trimmed with the ribbon and Eliza, again wearing her best flowered dress, was nervously standing in front of the stage at the King’s Theatre carrying a basket of oranges over her arm. Looking around at the glittering chandeliers, the gold plaster cupids decorating the walls, the colourful scenery and the rows of gilded seats ascending until the topmost ones became almost lost from view, she thought it all quite amazing. The good folk at home would be astonished if they could see it!

It was nearly one o’clock, and the theatre doors were about to open to let in the public, but all was not well. Nell had arrived at rehearsal two hours late that morning because she’d been out all night at a party, so her role as Sylvia – a faerie character required to dance and sing – had been taken by her rival, Mary
Davis, who apparently had danced it rather well and was now reluctant to relinquish the role. Eliza, at first surprised and fascinated by the shouting match which ensued between Mary and Nell, was then shocked to see them almost come to blows. There were greater things at stake here, she realised, for Mary had also been noticed by the king and, rumour had it, had already lain with him.

A break in proceedings had been called, food and ale sent out for, and both girls had gone into separate tiring rooms in the hope that they would calm down. Nell had used this time to speak to Mol Megs, in charge of the orange sellers, and asked that Eliza be allowed to take the position she, Nell, had recently vacated by becoming an actress.

Mol Megs, universally known as Orange Moll, had neither teeth nor much hair and was, at first sight, terrifying. She spoke kindly enough to Eliza, however, telling her that the oranges were to be sold for sixpence each and there was to be no haggling over the price. ‘An’ if you give a special smile to a gentleman and p’raps a kiss on the cheek, then you might find yourself earning extra,’ she added. Eliza nodded as she dropped Orange Moll a curtsy, privately thinking that she certainly didn’t intend to give any gentleman this encouragement.

Eliza had gone to join the line-up in front of the stage. There were six other orange girls – although not all of them sold oranges. One sold apples and lemons, and another sweetmeats: sugared almonds, marzipan shapes and frosted rose petals. All had very low gowns, Eliza noticed. One girl’s was cut so deep, in fact, that when she bent over both bosoms obligingly
appeared at the top of her dress. This, of course, didn’t go unseen by the boys lighting the candles on the chandeliers that hung across the stage or by the musicians, who kept throwing pennies at the girl and making sure that they landed on the floor.

As two o’clock approached, Eliza glanced up at the stage, wondering what was going to happen between Nell and Mary. They were both dressed in the sylph-like costume that the role demanded and, standing one each side of the stage, were studiously ignoring each other. The musicians were tuning up, the stage manager was wringing his hands and the musical director, a fop named Fortesque, seemed unable to make a decision about who should dance on this most important opening performance.

From outside the theatre there came shouts and noises from people hammering on the doors.

‘It’s well past one o’clock!’ came the nervous cry from the stage manager. ‘We must open the doors or have them broken in.’

Nell and Mary each gave an uncaring shrug.

‘Ladies … ladies …’ said Fortesque, flapping his hands. ‘The public are about to be admitted and this matter must be decided between you without more ado!’

‘Mistress Gwyn cannot care for the play or she wouldn’t miss rehearsals the way she has,’ Mary said disdainfully. She was a tall girl, no older than Nell, with a froth of fair hair which had been fashioned into tiny ringlets. ‘And besides, Mr Fortesque, you said this morning that I was more suited to the role.’

‘That’s treason, Fortesque!’ Nell said, looking daggers at him. ‘You said you wrote the role with me in mind!’

‘I didn’t actually say –’ Fortesque began nervously.

‘And besides, the king is coming specifically to see me dance!’ Nell added.

‘He said the same to me,’ said Mary. She fingered a gold chain around her neck. ‘And has already given me this as a token of his great esteem.’

Nell gave a short scream. ‘What lies! You got that from a peddler and ’tas already turned your neck black!’ She approached Mary, arms outstretched, but whether to strangle her rival or view the love token Eliza couldn’t determine. At that moment there was a banging and a crashing as the doors of the theatre finally gave way and a score of apprentice boys ran in, shouting and whooping to each other. They were followed, at a more sedate pace, by a body of well-dressed merchants, some businessmen, a party of sailors and an assorted crowd of London’s high- and low-born. Several daringly dressed women with patches on their faces, holding masks on sticks, made their way into the pit area beside the stage and, even from some distance away, Eliza could smell their sweet, cloying perfume.

The orange girls began to wander around the theatre calling, ‘Fine, sweet oranges! Who’ll buy my oranges?’ and Eliza followed their lead. She wasn’t comfortable doing this, for she knew with what disdain everyone viewed orange girls, but she decided that she would treat it just as an acting job. Those on stage would play their parts and she would play an orange girl, just as she’d played a mermaid.

‘Fine sweet oranges! Sixpence, my oranges!’ she cried, turning it into a refrain, even though she feared little could be heard above the continual noise of the
crowd and the tuning-up of instruments.

A group of gallants swaggered in and were cat-called by the apprentices and addressed in effusive, honeyed terms by the masked women who, Eliza now realised, must be prostitutes. As the gallants circled the theatre, speaking to whoever they chose and once or twice kissing the hand of an attractive woman, Eliza looked at them more closely and all at once caught her breath as she recognised Henry Monteagle and Valentine Howard.

Monteagle would recognise her, she thought in a sudden panic. He’d recognise her as the mermaid and Valentine Howard would further remember her as a beggar in prison, and then she’d be made a laughing stock in front of all the crowd, dragged through the streets in chains and returned to Clink.

With a hand that was shaking slightly she adjusted her cap so that it sat a little further over her face and pulled at the wig so that some auburn curls showed. Then she tried to avoid the parts of the theatre which they were in.

‘Come buy my oranges!’ she called, a slight nervous quaver to her voice. ‘Juicy, fine oranges …’

Fifteen or so minutes later most of the gallants, having tired of their socialising, had climbed up on to the stage where a special section had been boxed off for them by means of a low wooden partition. Having settled themselves, they removed their swords, flicked back their capes and began smoking, drinking and calling to their friends in the audience.

There came a shout from one of them to Nelly, still poised prettily at the side of the stage. ‘Mistress
Gwyn! You look very fine this afternoon.’

Nell glanced at the man who’d spoken. ‘My Lord!’ she said, and Eliza knew she was pleased to have been addressed before Mary was. ‘May I return the compliment and say you look most handsome in your magenta waistcoat?’ And she dropped a mock curtsy, sinking very low.

‘Come and join us!’ one of them called to Nell. ‘There’ll be more fun to be had with us than play-acting on stage today!’

‘And the king won’t be in – he’s to Windsor for the races,’ said the first.

Nell hardly paused. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘He told me so earlier. And I don’t care to dance without him here to watch me, so I shall ask Mistress Davis to entertain you. She can dance for us on those sturdy legs of hers!’

Eliza heard this speech with some admiration. Nell had not only inferred that she was privy to the king’s movements, but also that she was responsible for deciding who would dance. Smiling at the gallants now, and lifting her dress to show her small feet and trim ankles, Nell stepped across the stage to join them.

The performance began at half past two, although Eliza didn’t discern much difference in the audience’s behaviour either before or after curtain-up. They still talked, laughed, shouted and flirted – once there was even a stand-up fight. The orange girls carried on circling around – occasionally being shouted at for standing between the audience and the action – and their goods were either eaten and the peel tossed on to the stage, or thrown whole to attract the attention of someone in another part of the auditorium.

Nell stayed with the gallants, drinking and laughing, and studiously turned her back and affected complete disinterest when Mary Davis was doing her final solo.

By the end of the performance Eliza had sold all her oranges and was just reflecting, relieved, that her disguise had worked, when suddenly someone jumped down from the stage and made straight for her.

‘I see a new orange girl!’ Henry Monteagle said, his voice slurred with drink. ‘I’ve found a new girl and would have a kiss!’

Eliza, shocked and alarmed, didn’t know whether to run for it or stand her ground. She saw Nell stand up swiftly. ‘Oh, someone do get Henry back before he paws that girl to the ground and gets himself banned,’ she called.

Another youth jumped down and pushed through the crowd after Henry, catching him just as he reached Eliza.

‘A lovely new miss with auburn hair!’ Henry said, standing foursquare in front of Eliza with a ridiculous smile on his face, swaying backwards and forwards. ‘A del … delishous … new miss.’

‘Henry!’ It was Valentine Howard who’d come after his friend. ‘There’s a gaming table at the Two Magpies and the carriage is outside. Come on!’

Henry, ignoring him, put an arm around Eliza. ‘First I must have a kish … a kish from this lovely new orange girl.’

Eliza froze as his fleshy lips moved closer. And then he suddenly halted.

‘But are you really new, my pretty?’ he asked drunkenly. ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’

‘No, indeed, sire,’ Eliza said, deliberately thickening her accent. ‘I arrived from Somersetshire on the coach only two days ago.’

‘Let’s away, Henry!’ Valentine Howard said, pulling at his arm.

‘But Val, don’t we know this girl?’ Henry began, lifting up Eliza’s chin.

‘How could you, you blaggard?’ came the reply. ‘She’s just told you she’s off the coach from Somerset,’ and he gave Henry Monteagle a friendly shove to send him on his way back to the others.

As Monteagle lurched off, Eliza managed to murmur her thanks to Valentine, turning away from him slightly and lowering her eyes.

‘It was nothing,’ he said.

‘But meant much to me,’ Eliza said, her voice shaky.

With a finger he lifted her chin, making her look into his eyes.

‘You’re welcome to call on me at any time,’ he said, ‘for Valentine Howard will always help a mermaid.’

Chapter Eleven

‘But what if Henry Monteagle comes to the theatre again?’ Eliza asked Nell as they left Nell’s lodgings and began to push their way through the market crowds.

‘
What if?
’ Nell asked with a smile. ‘Oh, he’ll come to the theatre again for certain, for now the king comes everyone wants to be there.’ She was in a good mood that morning, for she’d had a message from the king to say he was sorry that he’d missed her performance and would make arrangements to see her as soon as he arrived back in London.

‘And suppose Monteagle suddenly remembers where he first saw me …’

‘He won’t!’ Nell said dismissively. ‘For his brain is already half-turned into brandy. He may recall that he saw you somewhere, but he won’t remember where. Besides,’ she said, looking at Eliza in mock innocence, ‘you have Val Howard on your side now, have you not?’

Eliza began to blush.

‘Sir Valentine Howard. There’s a noble name,’ Nell teased.

‘Yes, he seems … seems a fine youth,’ Eliza stammered. She waited until she felt her blush had
subsided. ‘I expect he is betrothed?’ she asked, for she knew that the nobility often had their marriages arranged while the potential bride and groom were still in their cradles.

‘I should think so,’ Nell said. ‘I’ll wager that when his studies are over he’ll be married to some ugly foreign bride to secure his overseas investments. Or he’ll try his luck with some old dowager who’ll leave him all her money.’ She glanced at Eliza, amused. ‘But you don’t think of
marriage
, surely?’