The Darling Strumpet

by Gillian Bagwell

  Dorset had taken possession of his new property the previous night after supper, after laying out a down payment of ten pounds. And in the morning, as his coach left Nell at the door of the Cock and Pie, Hart was heavy on her mind. Best to get it over with, she thought, and instead of going up to her room she went to find him.

  Hart was home and as soon as he opened the door, Nell knew that she was already too late. He looked weary, and his handsome face wore an ironic half smile as he waved her in and shut the door behind her.

  “I know, I’ve heard,” he said. “You’ve gotten a good price, I hope?”

  There was no use trying to put any kind of a false face on it.

  “A hundred pounds a year.”

  “Then you’ve done well for yourself. Much better than I could give you.”

  The blow hit Nell in the heart.

  “Don’t say that,” she pleaded. “You know that with you it was different.”

  Hart looked at her steadily. “Was it?”

  “Yes. I loved you. I love you still. But…” She trailed off.

  “I know,” he said. “You must look to your future.”

  They were both silent for a moment. Nell heard the cry of an oyster peddler outside on the street, and the briny smell of the barrels and heaviness of the barrow handles in her hands came vividly back.

  “Yes,” she said. “I must look to my future. We’re to go to Epsom in a few days, but I’ll see you-” She didn’t know when she would see him again, and her heart felt as though it were constricted in a wire cage. She went to him and tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her away.

  “Go now,” he said. “And I wish you luck.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE BED DOMINATED THE ROOM. IT STOOD LIKE ITS OWN LITTLE kingdom-high from the floor, with a little step stool to climb into its soft embrace. Huge posts rose at the corners, dark wood ornately carved with acorns and oak leaves, fading into the shadows of the canopy above. The heavy bed curtains were of damask, gold flowers woven into the deep red of the silk. Closed, they would make the bed a little room of its own, a private world of secrets and games. But now they were drawn back, held by heavy silken cords.

  Nell climbed onto the bed and bounced, sinking into the soft caress of the feather bed. There was a bank of pillows, plump with down. She laid her head against them and felt the exhalation of air.

  She looked around the room with satisfaction. Candles flickered on little tables at either side of the bed and from brackets in the walls. The warm and mysterious glow played over the Turkey carpet on the floor and the tapestry hangings on the walls, the corners and ceiling of the room receding into deep brown depths of shadow.

  A little off from the bed stood three chairs around a small round table, set with wine and goblets, bread, cheese, roasted chicken, strawberries, and grapes, the fruit spilling in artless profusion from a pewter bowl and onto the linen tablecloth.

  The window casements were open, and a whisper of warm breeze brought with it the smell of honeysuckle and the fields beyond. Crickets chirped in the distance and a bird called from a tree outside, the rustling branches reaching almost to the bright white moon that hung in the summer night, the diamond glimmer of stars scattering over the black velvet of the sky.

  The tension drained from Nell’s body. She wanted to lie there forever, she thought. But her bladder had been full for some time, and she longed to peel off her dusty clothes.

  She found the pot under the bed and made use of it, noting with relief that a steaming pitcher of water and basin stood on a side table. She unlaced her bodice and pulled it off, gratefully scratching her breasts as they were freed from the constriction of her stays. Her skirt, shoes, stockings, and shift followed. It felt blissful to sponge away the grit of the road. She rubbed herself dry with a linen towel, luxuriating in the feel of the air on her still-damp skin.

  The warm night outside called to her, and she went to the window. Then-voices. The door opened. There was no time to even move toward something with which to cover herself, and she simply stood there, naked, as Dorset and Sedley entered and stopped at the sight of her.

  “I was-dressing,” she said, and couldn’t help a giggle of amusement at her predicament. Sedley turned to leave, but Dorset stopped him.

  “No need to leave, Charlie. Nell don’t mind. Do you, Nell?”

  She took in their faces-Sedley slightly awkward, but interest growing in his face; Dorset, obviously enjoying himself. He wanted her to show herself, she saw. To let Sedley see his new toy. She felt a surge of power at their rapt attention and stood for a moment, bold and unashamed, and then crossed unhurriedly to the trunk where her clothes were, drew out a clean shift, and pulled it on before joining Dorset and Sedley at the table.

  The food was good, and they ate ravenously, tired and hungry after the long trip from London. The wine went down smoothly, dulling the aches of traveling, and Nell’s mind was pleasantly blurred. She felt free and light in nothing but her shift, and the men were at their ease, too, in shirtsleeves. The meal refreshed all of their spirits, and as the drink flowed, Dorset and Sedley became voluble, debating the relative merits of Epsom and Tunbridge Wells as places of entertainment and retreat.

  Nell listened to them with amusement. She had nothing to contribute to the argument, having never been anywhere but London and Oxford, but she enjoyed their sallies of wit, so she climbed into the big bed and drifted off to delicious sleep.

  TWO HORSES STOOD SADDLED AND WAITING OUTSIDE THE HOUSE BY the time Nell and the Charlies had dressed and gone downstairs in the morning. A groom hoisted Nell up behind Dorset on a dappled gray stallion while Sedley climbed into the saddle of his roan-colored mount.

  The town was not large, and soon the road was flanked by green fields dotted with sheep and cattle. Suddenly Sedley spurred his horse into a gallop, and Dorset followed, so that they were flying along, dust rising in their wake. Nell clung to Dorset, finding the speed exhilarating, and laughed with him as they shot past Sedley. With a whoop, Sedley took the lead again, and the race was on.

  The horses turned into open country, heading for a dark line of trees that marked the sloping banks of a stream. The Charlies slowed their pace and rode to the water’s edge to let the horses drink before following the creek’s flow downstream. Shortly, they came to a place where the water formed a clear pool, flanked on either side by velvet grass starred with clover and shaded by the overhanging branches of willows.

  They dismounted and tethered the horses to a fallen log, and Sedley tossed a rug onto the grass beside the river.

  “A perfect place for bathing,” he said with satisfaction, and began to undress. Dorset was halfway out of his clothes, too. The crystal water looked appealing, and soon Nell waded to where the Charlies were already splashing. Dorset watched her appreciatively.

  “Does she not look like a water nymph of some kind, Little Sid?”

  “She does,” Sedley agreed. “Waiting to catch unwary travelers and lure them to a watery death while they gaze in stupefaction at her beauty.”

  Nell giggled and splashed water at Sedley, and soon they were all three sending arcs of water at each other and into the air.

  Eventually they emerged, and Nell squeezed the water out of her hair before flopping onto the rug to dry herself in the sun. Dorset, still naked, was unpacking food and drink from his saddlebags, and she watched the play of his muscles under the smooth white skin. The daily riding, tennis, and fencing made him taut and lean, despite the nightly drinking, and with his wet golden hair hanging onto his shoulders Nell thought he looked like some kind of woodland creature himself. She glanced at Sedley, who was toweling himself off with his shirt, and he grinned at her, his hazel eyes flashing. He looked even more like some mischievous mythical being. A faun, perhaps, like those she had seen painted on theater scenery.

  The meal and wine went down well. Nell listened to a bird calling in a nearby tree. When it ceased its song, the only sounds were the gentle
whisper of the breeze in the treetops and a honeybee buzzing in the clover. Otherwise, silence. Nell had never heard such quiet before. London was a constant din-the rattle and creaking of traffic, the cackle of poultry and sharp squealing of pigs, dogs barking, the raucous shouts of tradesmen, children crying. But here, on this sun-dappled bank, was blissful silence, and Nell realized that such peace was another privilege that came with money. She wished Rose could be there to share it. She had never been separated from her sister for so long, and missed her intensely.

  Nell finished eating and lay on her side, her hair curling softly in the breeze. Her eyes met Dorset’s, and he beckoned her. From the look in his eye she knew what would follow, and she hesitated for a moment, but she was alone in this Eden with the Charlies, so she went to Dorset and did not protest when he pulled her down beside him. He cupped one of her breasts, running his thumb over her stiffening nipple as he slipped a hand between her thighs. She was conscious of Sedley watching, close enough to touch her, close enough to hear the tiny moan that escaped her as Dorset caressed her.

  Dorset guided her so that she knelt between his legs and she took him in her mouth. His smooth skin tasted pleasantly of the cool river water, and the curly hair she caressed with one hand was still damp. She knew that Sedley, behind her, had a clear and inviting view of her rump.

  “Go ahead, Sid,” Dorset said, in a low voice. “Touch her.”

  A mild protest formed at the back of Nell’s mind, but was overridden by the wave of desire that overcame her. She felt Sedley’s hand slide over her buttocks, then into the cleft between her legs, his strokes matching the movements of her head. Nell found that she liked surrendering herself to the two men. And although it was a surrender, there was power in it, too, for both of them were in her spell.

  Sedley was working magic with his hands, simultaneously penetrating her and caressing her most tender part, and she exploded in a climax just as Dorset spent. He stroked her hair, turned her toward Sedley, and sat back to watch as she took Sedley in her mouth. After, the men dropped off to sleep, but Nell immersed herself once more in the cool green of the pool before lying down in the sun.

  THAT EVENING, AFTER ANOTHER SUPPER IN THE BEDCHAMBER, THE three of them, well lubricated by wine, repaired to the big bed, and this time Dorset and Sedley enjoyed Nell at the same time, one in her belly and one in her mouth. They woke about the middle of the night and sported again, then slept until late morning, Nell nestled companionably between them.

  THREE OR FOUR WEEKS INTO THEIR STAY IN EPSOM, NELL AND THE Charlies received a visit from Sam Pepys, who was staying next door at the King’s Head with his wife.

  “The greatest news,” Pepys said, “is that a peace has been reached with the Dutch.” Nell thought with a pang that that meant the theaters were likely to open again soon.

  “The worser news,” Pepys reported, “is that my Lord Buckingham is in great peril. He’s been accused of having the king’s horoscope cast.”

  “Why, what’s the harm in a horoscope?” Nell asked.

  “It could be construed as predicting or wishing for the king’s death,” Sedley explained.

  “And it’s a capital offense,” Dorset said.

  “Aye,” said Pepys. “His Majesty has not only turned him out of the Privy Council and his place as groom of the bedchamber, but Buckingham is sent to the Tower.”

  “A gentleman of three inns,” Sedley commented, and then, seeing Nell’s blank look, “In jail, indicted, and in danger of being hanged.”

  “But surely the king cannot think Buckingham wishes him dead?” Nell cried.

  “Likely not,” Pepys said. “Buckingham turned himself in, though not until he’d stopped to sup with Rochester and other friends at the Sun, making a triumphant appearance on the balcony and waving to the cheering crowds below. Just like a celebrated highwayman on his way to Tyburn. And my Lady Castlemaine is working to have him freed. He’s her cousin, you know.”

  “Yes, and it’s to her advantage to have him at liberty,” Dorset said, “as they’ve long been plotting the downfall of Clarendon.”

  “Who?” Nell asked.

  “Edward Hyde, the Earl of Clarendon,” Sedley said. “He’s been the king’s closest adviser since he was in exile. He and Buckingham hate each other like poison.”

  “With Clarendon out,” Dorset said, “there would be no limit to Buckingham’s power.”

  THE NEXT DAY A MESSENGER CAME FROM KILLIGREW, AND DORSET read the note aloud to Nell. The theaters were to be opened again. Nell must return to London or return her parts to the playhouse. Somehow, she had not anticipated such an explicit moment of reckoning. She had thought that perhaps she and Dorset would have returned to London by the time the summons came, and that she could return to the stage and continue as his mistress. Or-what? That he would be content to drop his plans and take her back to town? She had not thought it through clearly. And now Dorset was watching her, and the messenger stood waiting for her answer. And she knew she must choose.

  “You had not considered returning to town soon, had you, Charlie?” she ventured. He shook his head. She imagined the company reassembling without her, and her parts being handed out to others. Her prized parts, which she had worked so hard to get, and which had brought her such joy. But if she left Dorset to go back to London, she would lose the security his money would bring her. He might keep her for years. Who knew when the theaters could be closed again or for how long?

  She climbed the stairs to the bedroom and retrieved the precious bundle of her parts. Florimel, Mirida, Celia, Cydaria, and the rest. They were all here. She held on to the packet for a moment before handing it over to the messenger.

  IN THE FOLLOWING WEEKS, NELL TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT THE playhouse, and there was much to distract her. Epsom was crowded with London holidaymakers. Between them, Dorset and Sedley knew almost everyone, and evenings were filled with suppers, cards, music, talking, and drinking. Dorset and Sedley were both prodigious drinkers, and Nell found that in their company she was drinking more than she ever had in her life; she frequently rose with the ill effects of the previous night or did not rise at all, but slept until late, only to begin it all again.

  ONE WARM AUGUST NIGHT, ANOTHER FAMILIAR FACE APPEARED-Rochester. Dorset and Sedley welcomed him like a long-lost brother, and they chewed over the latest news from court.

  “Yes, of course Buckingham’s freed,” Rochester said. “Though he cannot seem to go a day without some new scrape. Harry Killigrew picked a fight with him at the Duke’s Theatre, whither Buckingham had repaired with both wife and mistress. It ended with Buckingham giving Killigrew a kicking and taking away his sword, and Killigrew running like a dog. The king declares he’ll clap him in the Tower if he’s found.”

  “That Harry’s become nothing but a roaring damme boy,” Dorset sneered.

  “Then the playhouses are open again?” Nell asked. She wondered with a stab to her heart whether her shows were soon to be presented and who had been given her parts.

  “Yes, both houses are open again for the first time in some month or six weeks,” Rochester said. “Though most no one is in town. And here’s more news,” he grinned. “Lady Castlemaine is with child again. By Henry Jermyn, they say.”

  “Jermyn!” cried Sedley. “The ugliest man in London.”

  “But with a prick like a cudgel, the rumor goes,” Rochester smiled. “The king swore the brat could not be his, as he’d not lain with Barbara these six months and more, and that set her in a rage. ‘God damn me, but you shall own it!’ she shrieked, for all the court to hear. But the king will none, and Jermyn’s hightailed it for some safer country.”

  “And if His Majesty’s not making feet for children’s stockings with Barbara, where is he planting the royal scepter?” Dorset mused.

  “Twixt the nimble legs of Moll Davis,” said Rochester. “You know the king’s taken the queen to Tunbridge Wells in hopes the waters will help her conceive, and of course to refute the usual rumors of
divorce. And both the King’s and Duke’s players are there to add to the sport.”

  As the evening wore on, the party moved from the dining room to the more comfortable confines of the bedroom. Rochester and Sedley lounged in chairs near the table, and Dorset propped himself against the pillows on the bed, with Nell at his side. He had given no indication that he knew of her past relations with Rochester, and Nell was grateful that Rochester had said nothing to give them away. It was unusually restrained behavior for him, she thought.

  Suddenly she realized that Dorset was speaking of her. “The best,” he repeated to Rochester. “And obedient, with it.” Nell didn’t like the note of triumph and challenge in his voice. She knew Rochester too well.

  “Indeed?” Rochester said, raising his eyebrows. Nell’s heart sank. Nothing good could come of this discussion. “‘The best’ is quite a claim, Charlie. Perhaps you’d let me judge for myself?”

  Dorset held Rochester’s gaze for some seconds without responding.

  “No,” he said at length, smiling complacently. “I don’t think so.”

  Nell inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. But then Dorset spoke again.

  “But I’ve no objection to letting you watch.”

  Rochester smiled back at him, a wicked glint in his green eyes.

  “I’d relish that, Charlie,” he said, taking a swallow of his wine.

  “Nell.” Dorset didn’t even look at her. Eyes still meeting Rochester’s, he simply beckoned her to him as he sat up on the edge of the bed. Nell felt that she would be wading into a disaster, but to refuse him seemed the worse option.