by Mary Hooper
‘I’m trying to say that William, the man you think of as your husband –’
‘The man I think of!’ Jemima said. ‘How dare you say such a thing? He’s truly my husband and you were there to sign as witness to it.’
Eliza took a deep breath. ‘The thing is,’ she began, taking her hand again and squeezing it, ‘Nell told me – and it was William himself who told her – that the marriage ceremony you went through was a sham. The minister who married you was but a false one.’
Jemima stared at her, but her expression showed little acknowledgement that she’d understood.
‘William went through the ceremony to try and persuade your father that he was in earnest, so your family would give up the fight for you. The reverend gentleman being false, however, the marriage vows you took have no veracity. They are meaningless. And then William found out that your father had virtually disinherited you,’ Eliza went on gently, ‘and so all his efforts had been for nothing.’ Jemima did not react to any of this and it seemed to Eliza that she’d almost gone into a trance. ‘I’m sure he cared for you once, very deeply,’ she went on, ‘but he and those gentlemen who surround the king have a certain attitude towards women. They live for pleasure and to satisfy their needs and nothing else.’
‘No!’ Jemima said in a high, frightened voice. ‘William is not like that.’
Eliza knew that William was very much like that, but thought it best not to insist upon it. ‘All is not lost, Jemima,’ she said gently. ‘You must think to your child, now. Think of what is best for him. Perhaps … perhaps you could take him home to your family.’
‘My father would kill me!’ Jemima said. She stood up abruptly, pulling her hand away from Eliza’s. ‘Besides, you’re wrong. William will come for me. He’s promised to do so.’
‘But, Jemima –’
‘And then we’ll collect our child and go to the Americas together and live out the rest of our days! He promised me this and he won’t let me down. No one could be so cruel!’ Saying this she ran to the door of the tiring room and looked down the passage, as if she was expecting him to appear at any moment.
‘Jemima, please –’
‘If all you have to tell me are lies about William then I don’t wish to speak to you!’
‘Let us speak of other things, then.’
‘I don’t wish to speak to you at all!’ Jemima’s pallid face became so rigid and threatening that Eliza immediately took two steps backwards.
Perhaps Nell would know what to do, she thought. Perhaps Nell could persuade William to speak to Jemima – or at least urge him to acknowledge his son and pay for his future upkeep. It was, Eliza thought, a wretched and pitiful affair, with a girl driven half-mad and an unwanted child who might end up in the workhouse. Oh, pray God that such a thing should never happen to her!
Eliza sought Nell’s advice, and she managed to speak to William the following evening. He, though, as expected, showed a complete lack of concern for both Jemima and young William. Ascertaining Jemima’s real name and address from him, however, Nell gave these to Eliza who sent out for parchment and ink and, after several trial attempts, eventually wrote the following:
From the King’s Theatre, Drury Lane.
To Sir Horace and Lady Rotherfield,
My first wish is to apologise for my writing skill. Your daughter, who has been my dear friend these past months, has done much to improve my abilities, but I fear these are still somewhat lacking.
However, I will come to the point. Your daughter, called Jemima by us, has been estranged from you for some time and was, I fear, seduced by a man who, although gentle-born, was no gentleman. He wickedly deceived Jemima and even went through a form of marriage ceremony with her, to which I was witness.
Over three weeks ago, Jemima gave birth to a child, a healthy boy whom she named William. He is living with a wet nurse at some distance, which means that Jemima has little contact with him. She has also been completely abandoned by the man she thought loved her, for the marriage ceremony was just a fake.
Sir and madam, Jemima does not know that I am appealing to you, but I beg you, if you can find it in your heart to forgive her, then take her back into your family. I fear for her very much if you do not, for she has neither the means nor the ability to survive in London, being a gentle creature who may be usurped by others. She is very frail in body and spirit and needs the stability of your household about her and, because she has been extremely ill-used, a mother’s tender care.
Please forgive my boldness in writing to you. I can assure you that I do so only with Jemima’s best interests at heart, and remain, dear sir and madam, your faithful servant,
Eliza Rose
Eliza read through her letter once more and then sealed it using Nell’s new brass seal and a stick of red wax. A mother’s tender care, she thought to herself … and tears of self-pity came into her eyes. She reproved herself, however, hurriedly threw a cloak around her shoulders and made her way towards the post agent without more ado. The sooner Jemima’s family received the letter, the better.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘The king won’t come to the theatre to rehearse,’ Nell said to Eliza. ‘We must go there instead and put him through his lines.’
‘Go to the palace to rehearse?’ Eliza asked in awe.
‘Of course!’ Nell replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
They were in Nell’s little dressing room where she’d just had some costume fittings for the new play. Because, naturally, her size was going to increase due to her pregnancy, the wardrobe mistress had designed her outfits with a series of ingenious tucks and seams which could be let out. Now Nell slipped her arms into a white satin robe with ruffles down the front, wrapped it around herself and tied the belt.
Outside, a handbell rang six times. ‘Six of the clock and a fire in Eastcheap!’ a bellman cried, and both girls went silent for a moment, listening for more news, for everyone remained anxious about fire. ‘But flames all contained!’ he went on, and they both relaxed a little.
‘Could … could Jemima come once to the palace with us, do you think?’ Eliza asked.
Nell sighed.
‘I know,’ Eliza said. ‘I know she’s –’
‘Tiresome! And miserable and slovenly. I’m sure she doesn’t wash from one week to the next.’ Nell patted her own immaculate ringlets. ‘Why, her hair looks like a squirrel’s lair.’
‘But she suffers from a melancholy and so has no interest in herself,’ Eliza said. ‘’Tis not her fault. It sometimes happens to a woman after she’s been brought to bed. And she has been so let down.’
‘She is such dismal company, though. The king loves me for my wit and my gaiety, Eliza! I couldn’t think of inflicting such a sad creature on him.’
Eliza shrugged. ‘I was just trying to think of something that might cheer her. Some excursion to give her more to think on.’
‘She certainly needs it,’ Nell said, ‘for she’s so thin and pale she puts one in mind of a spirit creature.’
‘I almost fear for her sanity,’ Eliza said. ‘I wrote to her father and mother five days ago. Surely they must have had the letter by now?’
‘Had the letter and torn it up, I shouldn’t wonder – for didn’t she say that her father was an ogre? But I have just thought of the very thing! Why don’t you take her out to Barnes to see little William?’
‘Oh, could we?’ said Eliza, delighted.
‘You may take the carriage and ride there and back in style. Surely that will improve her spirits.’
The excursion was planned for the end of the week, although Eliza, thinking about it later, had her doubts that even that would work: Jemima had been so dreadfully miserable lately that even talking about the baby brought on more tears. What else could they do for her, though?
The following day Nell and Eliza had an appointment at the palace in order to acquaint the king with his new role in The Prince and the Courtesan. As few people as possible were going to
be let into the secret beforehand, for the king wanted to invite the queen and the court to the theatre and only reveal at the final curtain who was playing the role of Brown Bear.
‘The king thinks it the most excellent charade ever devised,’ Nell said. ‘Everyone will be thrilled when they discover it’s he.’
Eliza wore an old outfit of Nell’s for the occasion of the visit: a gown of heavy scarlet brocade with a very full skirt and tiny glass buttons all down the bodice. Being taller than Nell, she’d attached a border of dark blue to the skirt hem in order to lengthen it and, her hair having now grown to below ear-length, Nell lent her some pretty red-enamelled hair combs to wear in it.
The new house being just a short distance from Whitehall, Nell said it was hardly worth getting the carriage out and they would go on foot. On leaving the house she regretted this, however, for the moment they closed the front door they were besieged by a great number of street vendors – news of Nell’s new fortune and address having moved through London’s underclass very quickly.
‘What d’ye lack, ladies? What d’ye lack?’ came from all round them, and then Eliza heard the shouted merits of merchandise of every description: shellfish, poultry, hot eels, rat poison, ballad sheets, flowers, pickled whelks, shirt buttons and matches. The delights of these goods being loudly and continuously shouted contributed to so great a hubbub that both girls had to put their hands over their ears. Their way to the palace now being seriously impeded, Nell finally turned on the crowd and, putting her hands on her hips, gave vent to such foul language that it stopped the sellers in their tracks. Then, her lips twitching with the effort not to laugh, she took a handful of coins out of her pocket and threw them into the air.
As the crowd scrambled for the money, she took Eliza’s hand and together they ran across the cobbles for the safety of the palace.
‘Next time,’ she shouted to Eliza, ‘we’ll take the carriage!’
They were admitted into Whitehall Palace by an aide. As they were led along a seemingly endless corridor and travelled up and down stairs, Eliza’s eyes, as before, were everywhere: marvelling at the rooms, admiring the furnishings and flowers, seeing how the servants worked, observing the clothes of anyone they saw and continually gasping with amazement at the sheer scale of the place.
Eventually they were shown by an equerry into a salon where the king and queen were seated, the queen surrounded by her ladies and the king by his brown and white spaniels. It looked, Eliza thought, almost like a normal domestic scene – but one vastly scaled up and situated in a palace instead of a cottage.
Nell and Eliza sat down with others already seated on benches waiting to see either His or Her Majesty. There was a milliner, Eliza noted – or at least a woman carrying several hats – and what could have been a seamstress and a haberdasher waiting for the queen, and several dark-suited men of business to see the king. One of these came up to Nell and kissed her hand effusively several times; Nell told Eliza it was Mr Samuel Pepys from the Admiralty, who was famous for having been first to inform the king of the Great Fire.
The girls waited their turn, Eliza thinking it all so fascinating that she wouldn’t have minded sitting there all day. At one point, the queen, her visitors having spoken and departed, rose to look out of the window to the garden beyond. As she got to her feet her six waiting women, as one, also rose to look out of the same window. When she sat down again and, drawing out her embroidery frame, began to sew, they did likewise. Her every glance was noted by them, her every whim satisfied and, watching her leading such a charmed life, Eliza began to see how a queen might be reluctant to relinquish her position.
At last, the others having departed, it was Nell’s turn to be presented. Smiling broadly, the king indicated that Nell should approach and kiss his hand.
‘Well, have you brought my outfit, Nelly?’ Eliza heard him ask.
Nell shook her head. ‘No, sire. You must be measured and have some fittings first.’
‘And will I look very fearsome when I’m costumed?’
‘You will look very fearsome and be very hot, for the material is thick wool and all over ragged, like the coat of a real …’ her voice dropped to a whisper, ‘… brown bear!’
They conversed some more, but Eliza kept her head low, knowing it was not decorous to look the king in the eye before she’d been acknowledged by him. His attention was exclusively centred on Nell, however, and it wasn’t until the three of them, together with the dogs, moved into a small and lavishly furnished privy chamber to go over the play script that the king addressed Eliza. She’d been hoping that he might have remembered exactly who she was and mention the promised singing lessons, but although he was polite and charming he didn’t give any indication of ever having seen her before. He spent some time reading the script, and gave some pages to a clerk so that his own speeches could be copied for him, but to Eliza’s embarrassment a lot of the time there was spent in play, with the king tickling Nell or pretending to listen to the baby by putting his ear to her belly. There were several times during this tomfoolery when Eliza could hardly believe what she was hearing: Nell calling the King of England her naughty boy, her Charlie, and the king speaking to his ‘pretty little Nelly’ in a soft and silly voice.
When these interruptions to the reading happened Eliza would busy herself talking to the puppies, or walk around the room and pretend interest in one of the many clocks which were all ticking and chiming in different tones and at different times. She often felt herself going pink with embarrassment, however, and it came as a considerable relief when the king and Nell, after sharing several intimate kisses, said they would retire to another chamber and Eliza was free to go.
Eliza curtsied her way out of the room and, so anxious to be away that she did not wait for an equerry to escort her, found herself she knew not where. She walked for what seemed like a mile along one corridor and down a staircase at the end, but this led to a blank wall. Retracing her steps, she came back to where she thought she’d started from, but found herself in a completely different part of the palace. There were no servants around to ask directions from and, although several well-dressed people passed, Eliza feared to approach them in case they were of the nobility and she made some ghastly mistake in addressing them.
Up and down stairs she went, along corridors and back again, eventually becoming desperate and almost tearful. How embarrassing, she thought, how shameful, to be discovered there in the morning still wandering about. Resolving then to go down to the kitchens, locate the servants’ quarters and ask them the way, Eliza came towards a double door with a small curtained-off staircase beside it. Her hand was on the curtain to pull it to one side when the double doors suddenly opened and a gaming scene was presented to her: a smoky room, two round tables and several elegantly dressed men and women sitting with neat piles of money in front of them.
Eliza, startled, pulled aside the curtain and began to go down the staircase as quickly as she could, but a person who’d come out of the room gave a shout, then ran down several steps and caught hold of her arm. She turned in alarm to see who it was – and stared straight into the leering face of Henry Monteagle.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Hold!’ Henry Monteagle came closer so that he was breathing into her face. ‘Where are you going, my pretty one?’ He gave a sudden, harsh laugh. ‘Or more to the point, where have you been?’
Eliza did not reply, for her heart had started to hammer with fright and she needed to calm herself before she spoke.
‘Answer me! You’ve been bedroom-visiting, I’ll be bound. Have you been attending on the Duke of Monmouth, perhaps?’
‘I have not,’ Eliza replied after a moment, in as haughty a voice as she could muster.
‘Then why are you wandering around here? You’ve had an assignation with someone, haven’t you?’
He was, Eliza thought, such an objectionable oaf that she saw no reason to explain her movements. She tried to prise his fingers from her arm.
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br /> ‘Where I’ve been is nothing to do with you, sire,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Kindly let me go.’
He gave a drunken oath. ‘You’re mighty high for a street wench! Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?’
‘I am not, sire.’
‘I’ve seen you before, though.’ Monteagle screwed up his face, trying to remember. ‘In some bawdy house or other, I’ll be bound. Or … or at the theatre.’ He looked at her through narrowed eyes, swaying slightly on his feet. ‘Yes, you’re an orange girl, aren’t you?’
Eliza didn’t reply.
‘Nothing but a pox-ridden orange girl tricked up to look half-decent!’
She flushed at the distaste in his voice. ‘Then please don’t detain me, sire, for fear I should contaminate you in some way.’
Monteagle, looking astonished at the boldness of this reply, took her other wrist and pulled her close. ‘How dare you speak to me that way, when I’m a nobleman and you’re nothing but a whore. Repeat after me, I am a whore.’
Eliza’s throat closed up with terror.
‘Say it!’ he urged drunkenly and, holding both of Eliza’s wrists in one hand, he reached to his belt for a small knife. He began cutting off the little glass buttons on her bodice one by one. ‘I am a whore. Say it! And then I’ll give you some whore’s work to do.’
Eliza struggled, but his grip was strong and his knee was pushing hard against her thigh. She tried to scream, but so terrified was she that the noise came out as little more than a high-pitched sigh.
‘Tell me …’ he urged as another button fell to the staircase.
‘But I’m not,’ she croaked. ‘Oh, please don’t … please don’t …’
As the fifth button fell to the floor, Eliza found her voice from somewhere and, gathering her breath, let out a scream. As this echoed around the bare stairwell, Monteagle lifted the knife to her neck.