The Darling Strumpet Part 36

CHARLIE CAME HOME FROM BELGRADE. HE COULD NOT STAY LONG, Nell knew, but it was enough to see him again, to hold him to her. She was amazed at the sight of him as he came into her bedroom. He was seventeen now, and in his absence he had suddenly become a man. Her heart ached with joy and pride and sadness all at once to see how much he looked like Charles. He leaned down to kiss her and pulled a chair close to the side of her bed. She ran a hand through his dark curls, stroked the fair cheeks, fresh-shaven smooth.

"My joy." She took his hand in hers. "If I have done one thing right in all of my life, it was to bear you. And if there is one thing that has made my stay upon this earth worth the living, it is to see you now, handsome and strong and smart and good, and with a fine life before you."

"Mother." His eyes were swimming with tears. "You'll get better, I know."

Nell smiled and shook her head. "I fear I won't, my love. But I don't mourn it. Of all those that have been dear to me, there are precious few left. The world's a different place now, without them, and with you gone so far away."

"I'll stay if you like, you know."

"No," she said. "You must go and live your life. I know you'll be thinking of me."

"Every day."

DR. TENISON'S VISITS WERE DAILY NOW, AND NELL LOOKED FORWARD to his presence as she had to no one's since Charles's death. She smiled at him over her cup of chocolate.

"I have been praying each day, as you told me," she said. "I felt at first as though I were speaking to empty air. I wondered why I bothered. My mind would not cease its jangling. And as Claudius said, 'Words without thoughts never to heaven go.' Then it came to me that I have been battling to understand. And perhaps I can never understand. But I can believe anyway. That's what you've been telling me, isn't it?"

Dr. Tenison nodded.

"And now," Nell continued, "all of a sudden, I feel that someone is listening."

"Tell me."

"It is the oddest thing, but yesterday when I closed my eyes and bent my head and began to try, there was the smallest breath of air, a tiny breeze that came in at the window. As if a presence had entered the room."

"Not odd at all."

"And I had a sudden sense of peace, that I was safe and loved and whole."

"And so you are," he said.

"And that I have no reason to fear, no matter what comes."

"Yes," said Dr. Tenison. "He will be with you, and keep you safe. Even in the valley of the shadow of death."

NELL HAD MADE HER WILL IN JULY, BUT AS THE DAYS SHORTENED INTO autumn, she called her secretary James Booth to her to make a codicil.

"I want to leave money in Dr. Tenison's hands, that he might give it to the poor of the parish of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. To those who have need of warm clothes to see them through the winter. And to free those who linger in prison for debt. And tell him that as he has shown me the path of such kindness and mercy, he should see that some of it goes to poor Papists of the parish."

Booth's pen scratched across the paper, and he looked up as he finished.

"Aught else, madam?"

"Yes." Nell hesitated. Her hope was great, but so was her fear. "When I am gone, ask my son to inquire of Dr. Tenison if he would stoop to give my funeral service. Tell him I know I have not deserved it, and will understand-none should blame him if he would not. But my soul should rest easier if he would do me that last kindness."

NELL COULD FEEL ROSE'S HAND HOLDING HERS, AND THE SMOOTHNESS of Rose's palm against her skin, the gentle grasp of the fingers, made her feel safe. She gave her sister's hand a squeeze. Rose moved her chair closer to Nell's bedside. She stroked Nell's forehead, and Nell opened her eyes to look into her sister's face.

Rose. She had been there always, as long as Nell could remember. Strong, warm, protective, loving. Eternal as the sun and moon.

Rose smiled, but her eyes were full of tears, and Nell wished that her pa.s.sing would not cause such pain.

"You are always such a comfort to me," she whispered. "When I was small. When I ran away and you took me in and sheltered me. When I was afraid of losing Charles. You have always been there, and you have always made things better. I wish I could have done the same."

"But, Nell, you have," Rose protested softly. "You have always taken care for me. Always helped me. Never forgot your sister. Not many would have done that."

"I wish I could do more," Nell said. "Not leave you alone."

"You do not leave me alone," Rose said. "You are always in my heart. You will be always in my heart. Every day you will be with me."

She brought Nell's hand to her lips and kissed it. Nell closed her eyes. She was so tired. The draft that Dr. Harrell had given her had eased the pain, and she felt somehow as if she had no body, as if her mind floated above the bed, and only her hand in Rose's anch.o.r.ed her to the world. She could hear her own breath, was aware that it was ragged and slowing. But it caused her no distress. All was well. Rose was there, and now she felt little Jemmy's hand slip into hers. Could that be? He'd been gone so long. He spoke. What a joy to hear his sweet voice. She could not quite make out what he was saying, but she could feel the warmth of his love and his welcome. Charles was there beside him now, and his voice, too, was drawing her to him. And she knew the others were there behind him-Charles Hart, Buckingham, Rochester, Monmouth, John Lacy, Wat Clun, Michael Mohun, old Tom Killigrew, her mother and her father, and so many others. They had not gone after all. Nell smiled and sighed.

Rose heard the long exhalation and waited, counting. But no inhalation followed, and the small hand she held was still. She raised it to her cheek, taking a last caress. Nell's eyes were closed, her face finally free from pain, at peace. A tendril of russet hair strayed over her forehead, and for the last time, Rose gently brushed it away.

ROSE HAD SAT SOME TIME WITH NELL, AND DR. HARRELL HAD COME back, to p.r.o.nounce what anyone could see-that Nell was dead. And now Meg and Bridget were was.h.i.+ng her and laying her out in the soft candlelight.

One of Nell's hands was at her side, closed around something. Bridget uncurled the fingers. In the palm of the hand lay a small knot of ribbons, its blue and gold streamers flattened and faded.

"What's that?" asked Meg.

Bridget shook her head. "Some penny fairing, it looks like. Who knows? We'll leave it with her. It must have meant something to her. Mayhap it will give her comfort on her path."

OUTSIDE, THE WORD SPREAD THROUGH THE WAITING CROWD IN A rush of whispers and gasps. Nell was gone.

A tiny red-haired girl among the press of people listened in wonder at the sighs and sobs around her and tugged at her mother's hand.

"Who was she, Mam? Was she a princess?"

"No, poppet, she was one of us."

The little girl looked upward and watched in awe as a lone firework burst in the night sky, a shower of bright sparks exploding in a corona and then fading gently into the blanket of stars.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

There are so many people to thank for their help on Nell's long journey to print. . .

My editor, Kate Seaver, for her enthusiasm and making it happen.

My wonderful agent, Kevan Lyon, who has shepherded me and the book along since before I had a complete first draft.

Elise Cap.r.o.n, the first agent to read part of the ma.n.u.script, who liked it, wanted to see more of it, liked that, and pa.s.sed me on to Kevan Lyon. My foreign rights agent, Taryn f.a.gerness, for making sure that Nell would be published in Britain and Turkey! (So far. . .) The members of my writing groups, Emily Heebner, Willow Healey, Elizabeth Thurber, Gil Roscoe, Bill Treziak, Carolyn Howard-Johnson, and Uriah Carr, whose thoughtful feedback helped shape Nell's story into something far better than it would have been without their suggestions.

Kerry Madden, whose belief in the book encouraged me to keep writing and whose teaching helped me be a better writer.

The members of Kerry Madden's cla.s.ses at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena, the first people who heard any of the ma.n.u.script, who loved Nell and gave me valuable suggestions about telling her story.

My many good friends in London, who gave me friends.h.i.+p and hospitality, believed in Nell and in me, and accompanied me on research jaunts. Some of the highlights: Alice Northgreaves wandered around Windsor with me, provided general enthusiasm and many helpful suggestions and ideas, and also read the ma.n.u.script with an eye for Americanisms and anything that would strike a British reader wrong.

Donna Stevens also read the ma.n.u.script; made use of her contacts at The Tower to find out where Buckingham would have been held; took me to a luncheon given by the Wors.h.i.+pful Company of Gunmakers, where I really did feel like Nell Gwynn at Whitehall; and who has offered unflagging willingness to portray the third harlot on the left if Nell makes it to the screen.

Alison Guppy drove me to Epsom, where we had a delightful day, including an enormous lunch at the King's Head, where Samuel Pepys stayed in the summer of 1667, when Nell was cavorting next door with Dorset and Sedley.

Laura Manning believed from the beginning, and frequently asked me "How's the book coming?" when almost no one knew I had started writing it. She and David Lyon rescued me when I had lost my wallet in London, took me to see the dinosaurs at Crystal Palace Park, and found a fax machine on a Bank Holiday evening.

Tim Ross read parts of an early draft and educated and entertained me with his lexicon of twentieth and twenty-first-century London slang.

Clare Vicary and Alex Laing spent a memorable Bonfire Night with me on Blackheath and on the long tramp into Lewisham to get the bus to Brockley.

Buck Herron fed me many delicious meals and emotional sustenance.

Laura Tarantino spent a wonderful afternoon with me at Ham House. Fortunately, we didn't know about the ghosts until later.

Jackie Rowe explored Oxford with me, and she and Laura Hewer took me out for a wonderful day at Audley End and Saffron Walden.

The habitues (and sons of habitues) of the Lord Nelson Pub and Ferry House Pub on the Isle of Dogs and the many other Londoners who lent their faces and voices to characters in Nell's London.

The Reverend Canon Martin A. Seeley, Princ.i.p.al, Westcott House, Cam-bridge, who provided patient, thoughtful, and invaluable guidance about Dr. Thomas Tenison's spiritual counseling of Nell, introduced me to the vicar of St.-Martin-in-the-Fields, unwittingly served as my model for Dr. Tenison, and gave spiritual care and friends.h.i.+p to my mother and truly heroic support to my family and me in many ways during my mother's long illness.

The Reverend Nicholas Holtam, Vicar of St.-Martin-in-the-Fields, who also gave me very helpful comments about Dr. Thomas Tenison's ministering to Nell, provided information about Nell's grave, and introduced me to Malcolm Johnson's book St. Martin-in-the-Fields and Edward Carpenter's Thomas Tenison, Archbishop of Canterbury: His Life and Times.

The Venerable Dr. William Jacob, Archdeacon of Charing Cross, who provided me with information about Nell's grave.

Malcolm Johnson, for his very informative book St. Martin-in-the-Fields and for information about Nell's grave.

My father, who introduced me to Nell many years ago, gave me occasional financial help as I was slaving over a hot computer, and provided suggestions about ballad-singers and music.

My sister Rachel Hope Crossman, who provided expert knowledge on pregnancy, childbirth, and babies.

My sister Jennifer Juliet Walker, who designed my gorgeous website.

The very helpful members of the staff at the Theatre Archives of the Victoria and Albert Museum, the British Library, the William Clark Davis Library, the Los Angeles Public Library's Central Library, and the Dabney Library at Caltech.

Anne Melo and the staff at the Pasadena Public Library, for their help with my many Interlibrary Loan requests.

Alison Weir, who told me about the existence of Interlibrary Loans.

Hilary Davidson at the Museum of London, for allowing me to view so many beautiful pieces of clothing from Nell's period.

The lovely lady at the National Portrait Gallery in London who in November 1991 took my mother and me down to the bas.e.m.e.nt and pulled out Nell's portrait for us to see.

Diana Gabaldon, for being an inspiration and for her lovely review quote.

C.C. Humphreys, actor and author of the Jack Absolute series, for his superb review quote, as well as for the first one, which was as pithy and piquant as it was unprintable.

Leslie Carroll, author of Royal Affairs and other wonderful books, for her enthusiastic review quote.

Stephen Jeffreys, whose brilliant play The Libertine introduced me to the Earl of Rochester. Samuel Pepys, whose diary recorded for posterity many scenes of Nell's life on and off stage and left such a vivid picture of her times.

All the wonderful bloggers and reviewers for their help in getting the word out about The Darling Strumpet, including Sarah Johnson of Reading the Past, Amy Phillips Bruno of Pa.s.sages to the Past, Margaret Bates of Historical Tapestry, Anita Davidson of Hoydens and Firebrands, Marie Burton of Historical Fiction Connection, Carlyn Beccia of The Raucous Royals, and Miss Moppet of The Misadventures of Moppet.

Jim Piddock, whose performance in the one-man show "The Boy's Own Story" in San Francisco in 1982 inspired me to begin researching Nell with the thought of putting her life on stage.

Weston DeWalt, who gave me early advice and encouragement.

The late Leonard Michaels, whose cla.s.s at U.C. Berkeley long ago gave me the confidence that I could write, which stuck with me for the many years when I wasn't writing.

Jane Merrow, an early acting heroine of mine, who made my month with her great compliment, "I am a born Londoner and you brought old London completely to life."

David Paul Needles, who has been there when I really needed him so many times. Khin-Kyaw Maung, a life-saving friend for many years.

Sarah Ban Breathnach and Melody Beattie, whose writing helps me every day.

All the authors whose books have given me so much joy.

And finally, much love and grat.i.tude to my three fairy G.o.dmothers: Katherine, who took me in from the cold and helped me get my feet under me; Dilys, who rescued me when I had lost my way and led me onto the right path; and Mari, who guided me to the top of the mountain until I could see the sun rising ahead.

NOTES ON FACTS, TRUTH, AND ARTISTIC LICENSE.

Nell has been in my mind and heart for a long time, and I've tried to tell the story of her life as fully and as truthfully as possible. When I knew the facts, I used them. When I didn't, I surmised what was likely. Occasionally, I invented, based on what seemed possible and in keeping with Nell's life and times.

Almost all of the major characters and many of the minor ones were real people in Nell's world. d.i.c.ky One-Shank is my creation, but there were sailors who worked as stagehands, and Nell surely knew some of them. Jack and everything to do with him are my invention. He began as a fairly minor character, but kept shoving his way onstage, and the members of my writing group thought he was such a great villain that they urged me to make him a bigger part of the story and not let him drift away once Nell left Madam Ross's.

Readers with detailed knowledge of the period may notice that I have given Charles Sackville his earldom and other t.i.tles a few years early. When Nell first knew him, he was Lord Buckhurst, but my writing group found they got confused between Buckhurst and Buckingham, so Buckhurst became Dorset.

I moved up Moll Davis's pregnancy by about a year so it came at the same time as Louise's and Barbara's, but those two ladies actually did give birth within two weeks of each other.

Dr. Tenison did give Nell's funeral sermon, as she had hoped, and saw to it that she was buried in the vicar's vault at St.-Martin-in-the-Fields. The crypt now houses a nice cafe, and when I went looking for Nell's grave some years ago, I was told that it might be under the ovens. According to several sources, many graves were obliterated when the church was rebuilt in the 1720s. Vicar Holtam of SMTF told me that Nell's burial was "so recent and significant" that she might have been reburied, though no one now knows where. I'm sure Nell would be pleased to know the good vicar considers her significant. But wherever her bones may lie, she lives in beloved memory.

With young Nell in the forefront of my mind, I was particularly moved when I read about a book called Half the Sky and the authors' efforts to effect real change in the lives of young girls forced into prost.i.tution.

I visited their website, and hope you'll take a look. . .

http://www.halftheskymovement.org.

"Half the Sky lays out an agenda for the world's women and three major abuses: s.e.x trafficking and forced prost.i.tution; gender-based violence including honor killings and ma.s.s rape; maternal mortality, which needlessly claims one woman a minute. We know there are many worthy causes competing for attention in the world. We focus on this one because this kind of oppression feels transcendent-and so does the opportunity. Outsiders can truly make a difference."

end.