‘What is your name?’
‘Nell Gwyn.’ The heart-shaped face was impish, the eyes sparkling and merry, the mouth controlled by smiles and laughter.
‘I’m Miss Pallister. How old are you?’
‘Ten. Eleven on the second day of next February.’
Julia thought her small for her age, but there was the knowingness of the street urchin about her that belied her being any younger. ‘Where do you live, Nell?’
‘With my ma, who pulls pints at the tavern in Russell Street, and my sister, Rose.’
‘But what is your address?’
‘Coal Yard Alley off Drury Lane.’
‘That’s near here. Would your mother be at home now?’
‘I expect so.’ The little bare feet were dancing on the spot as if of their own volition. ‘She’s on evening work and don’t go no sooner than she has to.’
‘I’d like to call on her. Show me the way, Nell.’
She took the grubby hand of the child who skipped along beside her. In a way Nell reminded her of herself at that age when it had been more natural to dance and run and leap than to walk normally. Nell chattered all the way.
‘My pa was a captain in the King’s army. Then when the war ended he and Ma lived in Hereford where he became a brewer. That’s where Rose and me were born. When old wart-faced Oliver Cromwell died, my pa thought the King would come back the same day and celebrated a mite too soon. He was clapped into prison and there he died. Poor Pa.’ She heaved a big sigh and let go of Julia’s hand to mimic the expression and stately tread of those who carried a black plume at the head of a funeral cortege. It was a cameo performance done as a mark of respect and within seconds she was her merry self again while Julia still had eyebrows raised at the perfect little enactment.
‘Is that when you came back to London, Nell?’
The red curls nodded vigorously. ‘Ma was born in the same house where we are now. She was glad to get back and Rose and me like London better than anywhere else.’
‘Except for one special place in Sussex that is my home, I would agree with you, Nell. London is a wonderfully exciting place.’
The name of Coal Yard Alley was well suited to the filthy, narrow place flanked by ugly timber-framed tenements. Nell released Julia’s hand and jumped down some stone steps to a door at cellar level and opened it to bawl to her mother that there was a lady visitor. Julia, whose hems were heel-high, gathered up her skirts to avoid contact with the dirty stone steps as she followed the child into the house.
The room in which she found herself neither looked nor smelt at all clean. It was crowded with furniture, including some finely carved pieces which spoke of more prosperous days in Hereford. There was a half-emptied bottle of strong spirit on the table and a used glass. Beyond an archway there came the sound of footsteps hastening down some creaking stairs.
‘There’s a lady in here, Ma!’ Nell called. ‘Her name is Miss Pallister!’
Mrs Gwyn appeared, looking flustered. She was plump with high colour in her cheeks, her hair a darker red than her daughter’s and some remnants of an earlier prettiness in her round face. The sight of Julia, well dressed in travelling attire, made her mouth drop open, but she recovered herself immediately.
‘Pray sit down, Miss Pallister.’ She had an excessively genteel manner of speaking. Nell sprang forward to wipe the dust off a chair with a swirl of her ragged petticoat and then stood back for the visitor to take it.
‘Thank you, Nell,’ Julia said smiling.
Mrs Gwyn had just spotted the bottle on the table and she made an involuntary flutter with her hands as if she would have liked to hide it away somehow. ‘To what do I owe this honour, Miss — was it Pallister that Nell said?’
Julia then explained the way in which she was trying to draw the attention of London to her ribbons and asked if Nell could join her retinue. ‘I thought she would complete the little procession with her dancing feet.’
A greedy look came into the woman’s eyes. ‘What would you pay?’
When Julia said what it would be. Nell, who had perched herself on a chair and was swinging her legs, uttered an exclamation. ‘Cor! A bob a day for being dressed up like a lady. I only get that for a week’s work at Mrs Ross’s place.’
‘Be quiet, Nell,’ Mrs Gwyn admonished testily.
Julia was surprised. ‘I didn’t realize that Nell was already employed.’
‘She only dances in her spare time,’ her mother replied, ‘but her job has adjustable hours and I’m sure Mrs Ross would have no objection to releasing her whenever you are in London.’
‘Mrs Ross keeps a whorehouse,’ Nell piped up. ‘I don’t have nothing to do with what goes on upstairs. I serve watered wine to the girls and strong liquor to the gentlemen, who have to pay the same high price for both drinks. When there’s a bit of strong liquor left in the bottles I pour it all into another that I bring home to Ma.’
Mrs Gwyn’s fingers twitched as if she yearned to slap Nell into silence and she managed a ghastly smile. ‘It’s very hard for a widow left almost penniless to find honest work for her daughters these days, but, as you heard, Rose and Nell are simply waiting at the tables.’
‘I’m aiming to open a ribbon-making and embroidery workshop in London,’ Julia said, thinking that the sooner Nell was out of Mrs Ross’s establishment the better it would be for the child, ‘I could offer both your daughters work there.’ Again Nell spoke up irrepressibly. ‘Ma gets commission on the country girls she sends to Mrs Ross when they come asking at the Russell Street tavern for work, always telling them that her own daughters are employed there, and so we’ve got to stay. In any case, Rose and me don’t know one end of a needle from another, but I do want to be your carrying maid.’
It was settled. At her mother’s nod of the head, Nell made a pot of hot chocolate and brought it from the kitchen with three pretty cups taken specially from a shelf and which, although chipped and cracked, again hinted at a better life known in Captain Gwyn’s lifetime. Mrs Gwyn poured the chocolate. She had become more relaxed now she knew that Julia, for all she was a lady, was in trade, no matter how elegant her ribbon wares.
‘You mentioned having a ribbon-making workshop. Where did you plan on opening it?’ she asked.
‘I’ve had no real chance to look at much property yet,’ Julia replied. ‘What I have seen hasn’t proved suitable.’
‘I know of some premises to rent in Carter Lane. An old seamstress who used to sew for me has just given them up. If you stepped in quick you might get the place at the same rent.’
‘That sounds interesting. I’ve been told that once I have premises I’ll only have to put up a notice offering work and I’ll get all the embroiderers and weavers that I’ll need.’
‘That’s right. Many needlewomen doing fancy work have been on hard times throughout the Commonwealth years and you’ll get the pick of the best workers if you don’t delay. Would you like me to take you to that workshop in Carter Lane?’
‘I’d appreciate that very much.’
Mrs Gwyn, excited by the prospect of an outing, put on her hat and gloves, sent Nell off to Mrs Ross’s establishment and then she and Julia rode in a hackney coach to Carter Lane. It was near St Paul’s and was not a lane such as Julia knew from home, for over a century or two it had become a busy street, lined with shops and workshops. Mrs Gwyn collected a key from the hosier next door to the old seamstress’s former domain and she and Julia entered the premises. It had been left rubbish-littered, with cobwebs that would have been there in Cromwell’s time shadowing the ceiling corners and hanging from the old beams, but there was an upper floor with some solid tables of smooth planks on which fabrics would have been cut and with windows on three sides that would give plenty of light once the broken panes were replaced.
‘This would suit me if the rent is right,’ Julia said when she had inspected everywhere. The fact that she was shortly to marry a rich man did not come into it, because this was entirely her pr
oject. In any case she would never have allowed Adam to contribute to ease the amount she felt she owed her brother. This she had already made clear to him and he had agreed to place no hindrance in her way.
The landlord’s address was on a label attached to the key and Julia found him a few streets away. He was a wine cooper and there was a rich and heady aroma of wines when he showed her through to his office. When she pointed out that the roof of the property in Carter Lane needed repair and the stairs were unsafe, he agreed to put everything right by the end of the month when her tenancy would start. He saw in her appearance and her elegant home address a new and potentially profitable customer, especially as she spoke of being married in the early autumn and then living in London herself. For that reason he did not put the rent up, but let her have it at what it was before, knowing he could always raise it later once she was established there and would not want to move.
By the time her wedding day drew near she had fifteen experienced ribbon embroiderers and five weavers at her London workshop and planned to take on more hands in the country as well as the city to meet an increasing demand.
Shopkeepers already came out into the street to bow her into their shops when she came with her deliveries, knowing that customers would follow her inside out of curiosity or because they had already heard of the Pallister ribbons. Gentlemen doffed their hats to Julia in the street when she passed with her retinue, which had been made more eye-catching since Nell now preceded her dressed in a replica of whatever gown and hat she was wearing that day.
Nell loved these days of delivery. Julia had introduced her to a new existence of being clean with spotless petticoats and lovely gowns to wear. Sometimes she just had to break into a little dance with the small gilded box that was hers to carry. The boy in the gilded turban who paraded ahead of her had sulked at first when she took attention away from him, but she never liked to have enemies and pointed out that Miss Pallister was the one everybody really noticed. Then she had consoled him with the gift of a toffee apple to eat when the day was done. After that there was no rivalry between them and she bought him and herself a toffee apple whenever her mother gave her back a halfpenny to spend after pocketing all else that she had earned.
Although Julia’s days in London, usually a week at a time, were spent in deliveries or at her workshop where she had a competent woman-embroiderer in charge, her evenings and her Sundays, unless she happened to be travelling to or from London, were reserved for Adam. He showed her over Westminster Hall and St Stephen’s Chapel where the Commons sat. They went down the river to Greenwich and upstream to Hampton Court where during the day they watched a tennis match being played by courtiers where once Henry VIII had wielded a racquet.
At the Tower she saw the steps by Traitors’ Gate where Elizabeth, only a young princess then, had been landed by boat and where she had crouched weeping for hours, refusing to move and believing erroneously that her half-sister, Queen Mary, had the executioner waiting with his axe for her. Yet there were those in the Tower, somewhere out of sight as Julia and Adam strolled with other visitors in the grounds, who were awaiting trial and possible execution. These were the regicides, only a few having managed to escape arrest. The bodies of Oliver Cromwell and two other prominent Parliamentarians had been disinterred from Westminster Abbey and hung gruesomely in a cage on the Tyburn tree to stay there until they rotted away.
This was the only dark spot in a London that continued to be possessed by gaiety. Foreigners were swarming into the city for the entertainments and jollity, and when a cynic remarked that there was a greater variety of clap in London than anywhere else in Europe nobody listened and the brothels continued to rake in money. Innumerable taverns had been renamed the Black Boy after the King’s long-held nickname, or else the choice was for the Royal Oak or the Oak Apple to commemorate his escape after the Battle of Worcester, and all did a roaring trade. There was drunkenness in the streets such as had never been seen during the Commonwealth when flogging was a deterrent, at least to reeling about in public if not within the privacy of the home. It was the same with bull-baiting and cock-fighting, which had been carried on secretly in spite of Cromwell’s ban. Since these were now permitted openly again, Adam made sure that Julia never glimpsed the arenas, for she had an unfashionable respect for animals and could not have tolerated such sport.
She was fascinated by the theatre and he took her to dramas and comedies. They would have supper afterwards where there was a hospitable atmosphere and he knew the food and wine would be good. If they walked back a shortish distance to the Heathcock a link-boy showed them the way through the unlit streets or ran ahead of the horses if they rode by coach. These bobbing golden lights were a feature of the London scene and took on a new dimension when the link-boys escorted folk in ferry-boats to the other side of the river, filling the Thames with reflected, shining spangles.
Once on her own Julia went to Gresham College, knowing that Christopher would be lecturing there that day. She sat for a little while on a seat within the gates, refusing to admit to herself that she hoped he might glimpse her from a window and come hurrying out of the building to her in his smiling, eager way. Lots of people came and went without giving her a glance. After a time she left again and sought refuge in a small, deserted courtyard. There she leaned her forearm against the trunk of a tree, rested her brow on the back of her wrist and wept desolately. It was a private moment, known only to herself, and she knew such tears were useless since nothing could bring Christopher back to her.
Adam taught her to play pell-mell and they competed against each other with mallets, wooden balls and hoops among other players in St James’s Park. Bowls was another game in which she matched, somewhat inadequately, her skill against his, for he had an eye like a needle and could direct a bowl unerringly. They went riding together and once, when on foot, resting their horses, they saw the King on his daily morning ride in the park. His eyes and his smile were on Julia when he acknowledged from the saddle her deep curtsy and Adam’s bow.
Throughout the times they spent together Julia and Adam discussed many matters, argued over more, laughed, quarrelled and kissed. If Sarah had not been in the room adjoining her bedchamber, always with the door ajar, Julia knew he would never have left her on its threshold, night after night with his eyes saying many things before once again he went clattering away downstairs. Once, as he was leaving, she crossed the landing to look over the banisters at him. He must have heard her hastening footsteps, because he paused on the way down and looked up at her, his dark eyes narrowed and he grinned slowly.
‘Just wait, my lovely lady,’ he said between a threat and a promise.
She chuckled softly and threw him a tantalizing kiss from her fingertips before darting back into the safety of her room in case he should come chasing after her. When she had closed the door she leaned back against it, smiling to herself. At least with Adam nothing was ever dull or boring. How he would be as a lover and husband was beyond her experience to imagine, but she did not think she would be disappointed.
15
Sophie gave birth to a healthy boy. He had been baptized Jean-Robert after his French and English grandfathers and was four weeks old by the time the news reached Sotherleigh.
‘An heir for Sotherleigh,’ Julia exclaimed jubilantly to Adam and Mary, who were both with her when Michael’s letter arrived. ‘There must be a glass of wine for us and all the staff, both indoors and out!’
Adam did not spoil the moment for her with a reminder that the child was also heir to the Brissard silk business, but as he raised his glass with everyone else, he wondered which country Jean-Robert would come to think of as his homeland. He hoped the child would grow to honour both lands equally, for there had been and still were too many divisions keeping people apart in the world. He had this in mind when he discovered from the completed list of acceptances from the invited wedding guests that the Steyning branch of Julia’s family had not been included.
‘I did
n’t want them to come,’ she explained. ‘They were so miserly with their offers of help when Mama turned to them in her time of need.’
‘Didn’t you say they had sons and daughters around your age and mine? Are those of our generation to be left out through the selfishness of the parents?’
‘But they’ll all come if they’re invited,’ she protested. ‘It’s always those who are asked out of a sense of duty who never refuse and turn up.’
‘Then ask them all! Young and old! The time for rifts is over.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she acquiesced on a reluctant sigh.
The last-minute invitations were sent and were accepted by return. It then meant that since there were so many coming from Steyning every guest room in Sotherleigh would be full, for it was accepted generally that priority was always given to relatives even if it meant that close friends had to stay elsewhere. Accommodation had already been bespoken at hostelries in Chichester, for the Hall was to be full of Adam’s relatives and more rooms now had to be reserved. Fortunately Mr and Mrs Hannington offered to accommodate William and Susan as well as Christopher and Faith.
As the wedding day drew near all the rooms were made ready at Sotherleigh. Special attention was given to the master bedchamber in the east wing, for it was here that Michael would sleep for the first time as Master of Sotherleigh. Julia could guess what it would mean to him to be coming home again, even though it was to be for no more than ten days this time. Mary, full of her own loving thoughts about him, made sure that the best Pallister linen was on his bed. The narrow strips of linen that made up sheets and pillow cases always had their seams covered by embroidery to give the effect of lace, but for him she selected those worked in black, red and gold silks, which looked magnificent. It was also she who made sure the day-covers for the pillows were the most sumptuous at Sotherleigh; with the coverlet of her choice, they reflected in a floral pattern worked in gold and silver the ornate Elizabethan bed-hangings that again gave such splendour to the room.
Circle of Pearls Page 47