Someone nearby cried out, the crowd stirred and buzzed, and Nell saw that the king had appeared at one of the windows of the Banqueting House. Nick loosened his hold on her and turned to gawk. The light blazing behind the king created a golden aura around him. The bonfires illuminated his face and made the silver of his doublet shine. He raised a hand to salute the crowds below, and they roared their approval and welcome.
Then a woman appeared next to him, and Nell knew that this must be the famous Barbara Palmer. She was darkly beautiful, her hair dressed in elaborate curls, and she wore a low-cut gown of deep red that set off the pale lushness of her bosom. As she leaned close to the king, sparkles and flashes of light from the jewels at her ears and throat cut through the shadows.
Nell had never seen a woman so stunning. She looked carefully, memorizing every detail, and longed to be like her—gorgeously dressed, elegant, and at ease before the adoring crowds.
Barbara Palmer disappeared from view. The king gave a final wave to the crowds and followed her.
“Aye, just give me half an hour with her,” crowed Nick. “I reckon she’d be worth the price.”
“You’ll not earn the cost of her in your lifetime!” Davy gibed.
Nell felt a rush of envy. She didn’t want to lose the delicious new sensation of feeling admired and special.
“She may be beautiful,” she announced, tossing her tangled curls, “but she’s not the only one worth her price.”
This pronouncement produced a ripple of some indefinable undercurrent and an exchange of meaningful glances among the lads. Nick moved close to her, and she could not breathe for the nearness of him and his size. The firelight flickered orange on his face, and on the faces of the other lads, who stood flanking him and regarding her with new interest.
“Is that so?” Nick asked, taking a lazy drink. His eyes gleamed in the dark. “And just what might your price be?”
Nell’s stomach heaved with nervous excitement, but remembering Barbara Palmer’s easy confidence, she managed an inviting smile as she looked up at him. She thought of what Deb and Molly had said—was it only this morning?—about the riches to be made this night.
“Sixpence,” she said to him. And then, taking in the others with a flicker of her eyes, “Apiece.”
“Well, then. Time’s a-wasting,” said Nick, with a canine grin. He glanced toward the blackness of St. James’s Park, grabbed Nell by the wrist, and pulled her along, the other boys in tow.
The park was scattered with revelers, but there were secluded dens amidst the darkness of the spreading trees and tangled shrubbery, and in any case, no one was likely to ask questions, tonight of all nights. Nick drew Nell into a thicket of trees, and the others crowded in behind him.
This felt very different from the morning’s hasty coupling with the red-haired apprentice, and facing the four lads, panic rose in Nell’s throat. But there was nothing really to be afraid of, was there? A bit of mess and it would all be done. And she would be two shillings the richer. Best to get it over with. She turned to find the driest spot on which to lie, but before she could move farther, Nick shoved her down and onto her back, pulled her skirt up to her waist, and was on top of her.
He leaned on one forearm as he unbuttoned his breeches, his weight taking Nell’s breath away, then spit on his palm, guided himself between her legs and entered her hard. Her nether parts were tender, and his assault made her gasp in pain. She bit her lip and struggled not to whimper.
Nick lasted much longer than the young apprentice had, and finished with a low growl and a deep sustained thrust that made Nell cry out. He looked down at her for a moment, vulpine triumph in his eyes, then, grunting, heaved himself off her, put his cock back in his breeches, and buttoned his flies.
“Who’s next?” he asked. There was a moment of hesitation, and he turned in irritation to his mates. “What ails you? I said who’s next?”
Toby came forward. He was faster than Nick, and Nick having spent within her made his entry easier, but still it was painful. Nell turned her head so that she would not have to look him in the eyes. The other boys needed no urging now. Davy and Kit hovered on either side of her, watching, eager for their turns, and Davy knelt between Nell’s thighs as soon as Toby was done. He hooked his arms under her knees, and he looked down at her keenly as he moved inside her, snarling like an animal.
The other boys laughed and called out their encouragement. Nell shut her eyes. Rocks and twigs pressed into her back, and the damp earth was soaking through her clothes. She didn’t feel elegant and enchanting, only uncomfortable and frightened. But it would soon be over. And the money would make it all worthwhile.
Kit nearly knocked Davy aside in his haste to get on top of Nell. She was so sore now that she could barely keep from crying, but managed not to let more than a stifled moan escape.
Finally, Kit finished, and sat back to fasten his breeches.
“Come on!” Nick ordered, yanking him to his feet.
“My money!” Nell cried, struggling to get up. “Two shillings.” Nick shoved her onto her back with a foot.
“Two hogs?” he sneered. “For that? We’ll not pay a farthing. You’re not only a whore, you’re a stupid whore, at that.”
Nell scrambled to her feet and caught at him. They couldn’t. After all she had suffered.
“You said—you agreed!” But Nick just flung her away, and she tripped sideways and fell to her knees as the boys ran, crashing away through the branches.
It was hopeless. She gulped, fighting back sobs. Every part of her ached; the insides of her bruised thighs were clammy; she was covered in mud. She tried to straighten her clothes, and cried out as she realized that her rosette was gone. In a panic, she looked and felt around her. And there it was. It must have come off when Nick first pushed her down and been crushed beneath her. It lay crumpled in the muck, its beautiful bright colors sodden gray.
The tears Nell had held back flowed now, and she wept, her body shaking, as she clutched the precious knot of ribbons in her hand. Nick was right. How stupid she had been, to think that she could ever be like the glorious Barbara Palmer. She was just a shabby little ragamuffin, fit for nothing better than selling oysters. Her dreams of freedom had been so much foolishness. She would have no choice but to go back to her mother, to endure the beating that she knew awaited her, and resume her life of drudgery.
When she had finally cried herself out, Nell pushed herself up, wincing in pain, and wiped her nose and eyes on her shift. Her fingers closed around the lump in the hem. Her remaining pennies were still there. One shred of consolation. But the money would not buy her lodging for the night, and she longed to lie herself down. She could go home. Or spend a second night on the street. Unless she could find Rose. That thought brought her to her feet. Rose would surely be at Madam Ross’s.
She emerged from the trees. There were still crowds gathered around the bonfires before the palace. She hurried toward Charing Cross, spurred on by hunger and weariness and the hope of comfort. Fires burned in the Strand and music drifted toward her on the warm evening breeze. She turned into the warren of narrow lanes that lay to the north of Covent Garden. She was near home now, and it felt odd to bypass the familiar close. But, resolutely, she made toward Lewkenor’s Lane.
“Nell!” Rose’s voice called her name. Nell rushed toward Rose and clung to her.
“I’ve been looking for you all the day,” Rose exclaimed, and then took in Nell’s state of dishevelment. “Wherever have you been?”
Nell’s tears burst forth again, and Rose guided her to a step, sat her down, and listened as the whole story came out in a rush. After she finished, Nell sat sobbing, overcome by humiliation and shame. Rose stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.
“Oh, Nelly,” she said. “I wish I had found you this morning. If I had only known what was in your mind. . . .” She shook her head, considering, then put a finger under Nell’s chin and tilted Nell’s face to hers. Nell looked into her si
ster’s eyes, and Rose’s voice was gentle.
“I cannot make the world a different place than it is. But I can tell you this: Get the money first. Always.”
CHAPTER TWO
MADAM ROSS PURSED HER ROUGED LIPS. NELL FIDGETED UNDER the examination and threw an anxious glance to Rose. The madam’s red hair, unblinking gaze, and the quick tilt of her head made Nell think of a russet hen. She supposed Madam Ross must be as old as her mother, maybe even older. But she was a very handsome woman, and elegant in the dark green gown which showed off her buxom figure.
“Hmph,” Madam Ross mused. “Good eyes, good skin. Hair not a bad color, but monstrous wild.” Nell reached a hand up to try to smooth her curls and suffered Madam Ross to take her by the shoulders and turn her about.
“The beginnings of a nice little bosom,” Madam Ross commented. “And I make no doubt you’ll fill out more, like your sister. Yes, not bad at all. Lift your skirts.” Nell hesitantly pulled her skirt and shift to her knees.
“Higher, girl,” said Madam Ross, twitching Nell’s skirts to waist height. “Hmph. Very lovely little legs you have. And bit of feathering to the cuckoo’s nest, I see. Do you have your courses yet?”
“Aye,” Nell stammered. “Just.”
“Well, Rose can teach you what to do to keep yourself from getting with child.” She stepped back and regarded Nell for another moment, then nodded.
“Aye. You’ll do well. Some of them like the look of a game pullet who’s still but a child. We can sell you as a virgin for this day or two. And even without that, you’re a pretty impish little thing.” She smiled at Nell and then turned to Rose.
“She can lie in the room next to yours. Get her things today. We’re like to continue busy and we can use all hands.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Rose said, and Nell echoed her, “Aye, thank you very kindly, ma’am.”
Madam Ross nodded her acknowledgment. “Rose, make sure she has a bath. And help her to do something about that hair.”
She sailed out the door in a rustle of skirts, and Nell and Rose were left alone in Rose’s tiny room. Nell studied Rose, wishing as she frequently did that her own hair would fall in the smooth chestnut waves her sister had. Rose’s blue eyes were intent on her with an expression Nell couldn’t read, the color standing out on her high cheekbones.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rose asked. “’Tis not . . . all ease. You could go back home.”
“No.” Nell shook her head. “I’ll never go back. Besides, you know Mam would have me working the same way afore long. I must earn my keep in some way. I had rather be with you.”
“Very well.” Rose gave Nell a squeeze and a smile. “At least I can keep an eye on you here.”
THAT AFTERNOON, NELL AND ROSE WENT TO FETCH NELL’S FEW belongings from the Golden Fleece. Their mother, Eleanor, was behind the bar and scowled as they entered.
“I was wondering when you’d come creeping back. High time, too. There’s work to be done.” She turned back to the keg she had been tapping.
Nell’s heart pounded with fear, but knowing that Rose stood beside her, she found the courage to answer.
“I’m not coming back.”
Eleanor whirled to face her.
“What prating nonsense is that? Where else would you go?”
“With me,” Rose spoke up.
Eleanor shot from behind the bar with such violence that she sent a stool clattering to the floor, drawing the attention of the few tipplers who sat in a gloomy corner.
“With you? You talk hog-high. Are you so grand now that you’ve money to spare on the lazy little wretch?”
Rage overcame Nell’s fear.
“Lazy? You’ve worked me day and night since I could scarce walk. I don’t need you. I can get my own living!”
Eleanor’s face flushed and she lunged for Nell, but Rose stepped between them.
“We’ve come to get Nell’s things,” Rose said, toe to toe with their mother. “Madam Ross has taken her on. Stand aside.”
Eleanor stood her ground for a moment, eyes blazing. But Rose did not back down, and all the patrons of the tavern were watching now. With a snort of disgust, Eleanor moved away, and Nell followed Rose behind the bar to the stairs.
In the mousehole of a room she had shared with her mother for as long as she could recall, Nell gathered the few items of clothes she was not already wearing—her spare shift, a pair of woolen stockings, a ragged cloak and cap for winter. Her only other possessions were the precious shard of mirror wrapped in a bit of sacking, and a small doll, its body of stuffed cloth and its face a painted walnut. Nell had had the doll all her life, and Eleanor had told Nell that her father had made it for her. It was the only relic she had of his existence, the only evidence that he had once lived, and had loved her.
Eleanor looked up as Nell and Rose descended the stairs.
“You’re an ungrateful little fool. And that Ross woman is an even greater fool if she thinks any man will pay to bed the likes of you.” The words hit Nell like a slap across the face, but Rose put a steadying hand on her shoulder and guided her past their mother.
“Good-bye, Mam,” Rose said.
ROSE OPENED THE DOOR INTO WHAT WOULD BE NELL’S HOME AND place of work. The room was tiny, scarce big enough for a bed, a chair, and a stand that held a basin and bowl for washing and a towel. There were three hooks on one wall, for hanging clothes, and a battered wooden box in which Nell could keep her belongings. Rough-cast walls rose to the dingy ceiling. Wide oak planks formed the floor, the grooves between them packed with ancient dust, the path from the door to the bed worn smooth from the passage of countless feet. A tallow candle stood in a bracket on the wall, but it was not lit, as the room’s best feature, the southward-facing window overlooking Lewkenor’s Lane, let in the noontime sun.
It was the most space that Nell had ever had to herself and she surveyed the little room with a sense of proprietorial delight. But the sudden change in her life was unsettling. She didn’t want Rose to leave her, and turned to her sister.
“What must I do now?”
“We’ll find you some better duds, and then you can sleep a bit before evening. ’Tis like to be busy tonight.”
“How will I know what to do?” Nell asked.
“Just chat as you’re used to at the Fleece. Not everyone in the taproom is there to dance Moll Pratley’s jig. If they want to go upstairs, they’ll pay Madam direct. She’ll tell you who to take next. Or Jack will.”
“Who’s Jack?”
“Madam’s man, who serves as bullyboy. Best to keep on his good side. He’ll have his way with one of the wenches once in a while, but if you’re lucky he’ll leave you be.”
“How much do we get paid?”
“The house takes two shillings. We get sixpence. But regulars are more like to be generous and give you extra coin, or bring you fal-lals of some sort.”
“Like what?
“Oh, garters, ribbons, maybe a fan or the like.”
Nell was pleased at the thought of owning such fine things and determined that she would get herself some regular customers as soon as ever she could.
“There’s more you need to know,” Rose continued. “You don’t want to get with child. You can’t work once you’re far along, and you’re like to get flung out before then anyway.”
Nell had not thought about pregnancy, and wondered what other unexpected hazards lay ahead.
“Come,” Rose said. “I’ll show you what to do.”
In Rose’s own little chamber, she produced a small lemon and a knife. She cut the lemon in two, squashed one half against a protruding knob in the bottom of a small wooden dish, and held up the resulting hollow little cup of rind and juiceless pulp.
“You put this up you, and set it so that it covers the entry to your womb.”
Nell goggled at her. “How will I know where it is?”
“Lie on your bed or squat down and put your finger up inside you. You’ll feel what I
mean. A man’s seed is what gets you with child, do you see, when it gets into your belly. This helps keep it out. A little sponge soaked in vinegar will work, too. And after a man spends inside you, get up as soon as you can, use the chamber pot, and squeeze the stuff out. And wash between men.” She hesitated, and her fair face flushed pink as she spoke.
“Since your mind is made up, I’d best tell you some other things. Some men will prefer your mouth to your belly. It can be bad but at least it will not get you with child. When you think a cull is about to come off, get his yard as far back in your mouth as possible so you need not taste his spendings. Or have the necessary ready to hand so you can spit it out.”
Nell glanced at the chamber pot beneath the bed. It seemed that implement was quite an important tool of her new trade.
“What else?”
“Some will want to take you up the arse. It can hurt but you get accustomed. I’ll give you some salve. If you put a bit onto him or yourself it will make the business easier no matter where he takes you.”
“Even in the mouth?”
“No, of course not.” Rose spoke brusquely, dismayed at the depth of Nell’s innocence, and then continued more gently. “That’s different. The only difficulty there is breathing if he pushes in deep. You’ll learn.”
In the alehouse and around the bawds from her earliest days, Nell had heard of these practices, but she had never given them any particular thought. Faced now with such stark descriptions of what she would shortly be called upon to do, she quailed a little. But surely, whatever came would be easier than her previous work? No hauling sacks of charred scraps of wood and ash, no pushing the unwieldy barrow of oysters, its rough wooden handles making her hands blister and callous, the weight of the load through the long day wearing her out until all she could do was drop to sleep, exhausted. Surely this would be better.
The Darling Strumpet: A Novel of Nell Gwynn, Who Captured the Heart of England and King Charles II Page 3