She was not poor, but she realized that, compared with the establishments of Barbara in her heyday and Louise at present, her home was a comparatively humble one. Nell had never learned thrift, and money slipped through her hands. She was over-generous and never refused loans or alms. She had eight servants to feed, as well as her mother, herself, and her two sons. Rose’s husband, Captain Cassels, had been killed while fighting with his regiment in Holland, and there was Rose to help along.
She had her own Sedan chair, and of course she must have her French coach; six horses were needed to draw it, and bills came in for oats and hay. She liked to have people around her and was a lavish hostess.
Nell’s mother needed medicines from the apothecaries for her constant complaints, and Nell was continually paying for ointments and cordials, plague-water and clysters. The children were in need of sugar candy, pectoral syrup, and plasters. Charles was a healthy little boy; James was almost as healthy; but they suffered from the usual childish ailments and Nell was determined that they were both going to live to hold as great titles as any held by Louise’s or Barbara’s brats.
Nell had always loved the theater; she attended frequently, and the King’s mistress must have one of the best seats. She was a gambler at heart and she enjoyed a flutter either on horses or gamecocks. Mr. Groundes, her steward, remonstrated with her but, as Nell said: “If I cannot pay for my fancies, then must the bills be passed on to Mr. Chaffinch.”
She enjoyed riding forth in her coach, stopping at the Exchange to examine the goods for sale, her footman following her ready to carry her purchases. She would only buy the best for Charles and James. “Dukes’ skins they were going to be from the start,” she would declare.
But as she entertained her friends and was jolted forth in her coach, she was a little sad. It was a long time since the King had visited her, and although when they met he was friendly and always had a smile and joke for Nelly, his nights were spent with the Frenchwoman. It was almost as though he, like Louise, looked on that mock marriage as a true one and felt the need to treat it as such.
Lord Rochester, returned to Court after one of his many exiles from it, shook his head sadly.
“’Tis a pity,” he said, “that His Majesty is so enamored of the Frenchwoman.”
“There are times when I think Charles bewitched,” said Nell crossly. “When the woman isn’t squinting she is weeping, and when she’s doing both she’s spying for France. What can he find so alluring in a weeping, squinting spy?”
“Novelty in the squint, mayhap, for though he has witnessed tears and spies in plenty, I have never before seen His Majesty enamored of a squint.”
When he wandered through the Palace of Whitehall he thought of Nell who so sadly missed the King, and paused outside the door of that chamber occupied by Louise to stick on it one of those couplets for which he was renowned.
“Within this place a bed’s appointed
For a French bitch and God’s anointed.”
Louise was furious, as she always was at any affront to her dignity, and as there was no doubt of the author of the couplet she demanded that Rochester be once more banished from Court.
The King agreed that the noble Lord took liberties, and that he should be dismissed. So Rochester’s efforts to attack Nell’s enemy gained her nothing and lost her the presence of one who—although in his scurrilous verses he did not spare her—she regarded as her friend.
Moll Davies now had a daughter, but the King’s visits to her were rarer than those he paid Nell.
Louise continued to hold the King’s attention. Louise was clever and she was cautious. She had made several attempts to turn the King from the suggested Dutch marriage, but she was quick to realize that it would have been unwise to be too insistent. Her strength lay in dignity; she must never rant as Barbara had; she must never be vulgar as Nell was. Moreover she had studied Queen Catherine, and from the appearance of the Queen she judged that she would not live long. If she could take the Queen’s place Louise need never fear Louis again. The crown of England was preferable even to a tabouret at the Court of Versailles.
Nell Gwyn irritated her, but she would not lower her dignity by showing jealousy of a girl who had sold oranges at the King’s Theater.
In spite of the shadow cast by the proposed Dutch marriage, Louise had never been feeling more sure of herself. Then, suddenly, a terrible misfortune befell her.
Nell first heard of it through Rochester. Back from exile in the country, where the King never allowed him to stay for long, he called on Nell and, settling himself in one of the elaborate chairs, stretched his legs and smiling at his toes, said: “Nell, His Majesty is sick.”
Nell stood up in alarm, but Rochester waved a white hand. “I pray you calm yourself. ’Tis naught but the pox. And he hath taken it lightly. ’Twas some slut brought to him by Chaffinch. The royal body will be submitted to the usual treatment. Rejoice in this, Nell. Out of evil cometh good. Charles has not visited you of late. Rejoice, I say. For although His Majesty hath taken the sickness but slightly, the French bitch hath it far worse. ’Twill be many months before she will share a bed with God’s anointed.”
Nell laughed aloud, suddenly remembering the jalap she had served to Moll Davies.
“You are sure of this?” she asked.
“I swear it. Our lady Duchess is in a fury. She strides up and down her apartment, wailing in her own language. Now is the time for the lucky Mrs. Nelly to leap into her shoes.”
“And Charles?”
“A week or two, the usual course of pills, and all will be well. He was born healthy and, no matter to what he subjects the royal person, it remains healthy. Nelly, the enemy is hors de combat. Forget it not! Prepare to reign supreme. I hear that Louis Quatorze has sent her a diamond and pearl necklace—just to keep her spirits up. I heard too that she is to travel to Bath and Tunbridge Wells in the hope of a speedy return to health. Be ready to welcome His Majesty back to good health, sweet Nell. And remember what I tell you. Administer to His Majesty’s comfort. Let him see that his merry Nell contributes more to his peace and enjoyment than Madame Squintabella. And then … only then … remind him of your brats.”
“I will remember to remind him,” said Nell grimly.
“Do not, dear Nelly, attempt to win the last battle first. ’Tis not the way to victory.”
Then began a joyous spring and summer for Nell. She plunged right into the gaiety of the Court. The King was well again—not so Louise; and her frequent visits to Bath and Tunbridge Wells did little to relieve her. Her only consolation was to put on the magnificent necklace sent her by Louis—a reminder that she must get well quickly for there was work for her to do. But Louise knew that, if she failed to hold Charles, Louis would have little use for her. And there was nothing she could do but follow her doctor’s advice and long to return to her place at Court.
The Court went to Windsor; and there was merry sport in the green fields. A mock battle was staged to represent the siege of Maestricht. Charles was particularly interested because that was the battle at which Monmouth had excelled.
He doted on that boy, thought Nell. ’Twas a pity he had not equal pleasure in little Charles and James Beauclerk. Not that he did not show the utmost affection towards them; not that it did not delight him to take the little fellows in his arms and lavish caresses on them.
Caresses! thought Nell bitterly. They won’t make their fortunes.
Her anger against Charles’ eldest son spurted out one day.
“Ha,” she cried, “here comes Prince Perkin, to show us all how to win battles.”
The color flamed in Monmouth’s face. “Who are you to speak thus to me?” he asked. “You forget I am the King’s son, whereas you … you belong to the gutter.”
“’Tis true,” said Nell cheerfully. “I and your mother are much of a piece—both whores and both come up from the gutter.”
Monmouth passed, cursing the low orange-girl whom his father was besotted enou
gh to honor.
But Nell was not really angry with Monmouth. She found she could not be. She saw in him a resemblance to her own little Charles. They’re halfbrothers, she thought. She could understand Monmouth’s ambitions. Had she not felt the same about her own boys?
Now she began to regard the handsome young man with a maternal eye. Strangely enough he found his arrogance quelled a little. Nell was low—none would deny that; but she was a born charmer; and to see those saucy eyes, momentarily sentimental and maternal as they rested upon him, could not but give the young Duke a feeling of pleasure.
He decided that, although she made the most outrageous comments and had no sense of the fitness of things, the little orange-girl was not without her attractions, and for the life of him he could not dislike her as he felt a young man in his position should.
Meanwhile Nell was back in high favor. Now Charles was wondering why he had neglected her so long. It was pleasant to escape from Louise’s culture and enjoy a romp with Nell. Nell was so natural; moreover she learned quickly. She was already developing a taste for the kind of music which pleased the King.
It never failed to amuse him to see her in her apartments, the grand lady Madam Eleanor Gwyn. It grieved him that he could as yet do nothing for the boys, but he promised himself he would as soon as he felt it was safe to do so.
The King, recovered from his illness, was in good spirits. He recalled Rochester, for, although he could not entirely like the fellow, he knew of none who could write such witty verses and make him laugh so heartily—even though it was often at the King’s expense.
The Court was merry. Charles refused to be worried by affairs of state. Louise was in retirement and, as there was no need to stand on dignity, there was much merrymaking during these months with Nell reigning supreme as the Queen of the Court, determined to enjoy every moment before that time when Louise must inevitably come forward and send her back a pace or two.
One day, when the King rose, it was to find one of Rochester’s verses stuck on his door.
The courtiers gathered about him to read it.
Charles read aloud:
“Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King
Whose word no man relies on.
He never said a foolish thing
And never did a wise one.”
There was an expectant hush when the King finished reading. A man must indeed have a lively sense of humor to be able to laugh at what he knew to be so true of himself.
There was Rochester in the background, debonair and reckless, not caring if the verses earned him another banishment from the Court he loved to grace. How could he, his expression demanded, refrain from writing such neat and witty verses when they occurred to him and happened to be so true?
The King laughed suddenly and loudly.
“Why, my friends,” he said to the company, “‘tis true, what he says, but the matter is easily accounted for—my discourse is my own, my actions are my Ministry’s.”
Indeed it was a very merry Court during those months.
Nell gave a musical party in her finely furnished house; it was looking particularly grand, for if the King could not give her the titles she craved for her sons, he tried hard to make up for that with his gifts.
Nell, looking round the room, could hardly believe that this was now her home. It was not easy to conjure up the memory of that hovel in the Cole-yard now. Yet when she went up to that room where her mother would now be sleeping, the gin bottle not far out of reach, it was not so difficult.
But what a sight this was, with the candlelight gleaming on the rich dress of ladies and Court gallants! Nell glanced at her own skirts covered in silver and gold lace, at the jewels glittering on her fingers.
She, little Nell Gwyn of the Cole-yard, was giving a party at which the principal guests were the King and his brother, the Duke of York.
This was a particularly happy evening for Nell, because during it she would have a chance to do a good turn to a poor player from the theater. He had a beautiful voice, this young Bowman, and she wanted the King to hear it and compliment him, for the King’s compliments would mean that London playgoers would crowd into the theater to hear the man; and it was a mighty pleasant thing, thought Nell, having had one’s feet set on the road to good fortune to do all in one’s power to lead others that way.
She watched the King’s expression as he listened to the singing. She sidled up to him.
“A good performer, Nell,” he said.
“I am delighted so to please Your Majesty,” she told him. “I wish to bring the singer to you that you may thank him personally. It will mean much to the boy.”
“Do so, Nell, if it be your wish,” said Charles and, as he watched her small figure whisk away, he thought affectionately that it was like Nell, in the midst of her extravagant splendor, to think of those less fortunate. He was happy with Nell. If she did not continuously plague him about those boys of hers he would know complete peace with her. But she was right, of course, to do what she could for their sons. He would not have her neglectful of their welfare. And one day she should be rewarded. As soon as it was possible he would give young Charles all that he had given Barbara’s and Louise’s.
Nell was approaching with young Bowman, who nervously stood before the King.
“I thank you heartily for your music,” said Charles warmly. He would not deny Nell the appreciation which she wanted. That cost nothing, and he wanted her to know that, were he in a position to do so, he would grant all her requests. “I thank you heartily again and again.”
Nell was at his side. “Sir,” she said, “to show you do not speak like a courtier, could you not make the performers a worthy present?”
“Assuredly yes,” said the King, and felt in his pockets. He grimaced. He was without money. He called to his brother.
“James, I beg of you reward these good musicians in my name.”
James discovered that he, too, had left his purse in his apartments.
“I have nothing here, Sir,” he said, “naught but a guinea or two.”
Nell stood, arms akimbo, looking from the King to the Duke.
“Od’s Fish!” she cried. “What company have I got into?”
There was laughter all round; and none laughed more heartily than the King.
Nell was happy, delighting in her fine apartments, the favor she enjoyed with the King, and the love she bore him.
All the same she did not forget to make sure that the musicians were adequately rewarded.
It was a successful evening among many.
Thus it was while Louise nursed herself back to health.
Louise was recovered, and now the King was dividing his time between her and Nell. Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, although no longer in favor with the King, continued to fight for the rights of those children whom she declared were as much his as her own. Louise felt that by some divine right her own son should have the precedence over Barbara’s. The King was pestered first by one, then by the other. Barbara’s sons were to be the Dukes of Grafton and Southampton; Louise’s was to have the title of Duke of Richmond, which was vacant on the death of Frances Stuart’s husband. But Charles must arrange that the patents be passed all at the same time, to avoid jealousy.
Still there were no titles for Charles and James Beauclerk. Nell was unable to conceal her chagrin. She could not refrain from insulting Louise on every possible occasion. “If she is a person of such rank, related to all the nobility of France,” she demanded, “why does she play the whore? I’m a doxy by profession, and I do not pretend to be anything else. I am constant to the King, and I know that he will not continue to pass over my boys.”
But Louise had now managed to win Danby to her side, and Danby’s position was high in the country. Charles could not ignore him because his wizardry in matters of finance had made such marked improvements in Charles’ affairs. Nell knew that she owed her own and her sons’ lack of honors to the Danby-Portsmouth league, and she was also wise
enough to know that while Danby remained in power she would find it very difficult to get the recognition she so eagerly desired.
Danby was fast building up the Court party of which he was the head. He wanted to revive the Divine Right of Kings and the absolutism of the monarchy as in the days of Charles I. In opposition, the Country party, led by Shaftesbury with Buckingham as his lieutenant, aimed to support the Parliament. Danby’s party called Shaftesbury’s party Whigs, which was a term hitherto only applied to Scottish robbers who raided the border and stole their neighbors’ goods under a cloak of hypocrisy. Shaftesbury retaliated by dubbing Danby’s party Tories, a term used in Ireland for those who were superstitious, bloodthirsty, ignorant, and not to be trusted.
The King watched the rivalry with seeming indifference, but he was alert. He recognized the skill of Shaftesbury—the cleverest and most formidable member of the Opposition party. Charles and his brother James had nicknamed him “Little Sincerity.” He was a small man who suffered much from ill health at this time; he had changed sides many times during the course of the last few years. When the civil war had started he had been cautious and retiring, waiting to see which side could serve him best. When it seemed the Royalists were winning he hastily joined them, and then was forced to desert to the other side with the greatest speed. He became a Field Marshal in Cromwell’s armies; but while he kept close to Cromwell he took the precaution to marry a woman who was of a Royalist family. She died early, which was to the good, for Cromwell then became Lord Protector and the lady’s background might have been an encumbrance to an ambitious man. Afterwards he married an heiress. He was clever enough to join none of the Royalist risings, but he was one of the first to present himself at Charles’ exiled Court to welcome him back to England. He took a great part in the downfall of Clarendon, who held a post which he coveted. When the Great Seal was his, he was quick to see that the Opposition was likely to be very powerful; he had no wish to commit himself too hurriedly to support that which might prove to be a lost cause. But he was forced at this time to waver no longer. His way was clear. He must make Parliament supreme, for he clearly saw that his destiny lay therein. If Parliament were supreme, then Shaftesbury should be its head.
Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord Page 24