Exit The Actress_ A Novel Part 1

Exit the actress.

by Priya Parmar.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY THE A ACTRESS.

MRS. N NELLY G GWYN.

upon her Farewell Performance THEATRE R ROYAL, D DRURY L LANE, LONDON.

Prompt Copy TAKEN BY S STAGE M MANAGER B BOOTH.

March 1, 1670 Mrs. Nelly Gwyn: (Whispering in the wing, hands folded, eyes closed.) Take a breath. Count three. Curtain up. Now. Now.

(Curtain rises. Enter the Actress stage left.) Mrs. Nelly Gwyn: Here I am. Back by request: for one night only, at Here I am. Back by request: for one night only, at his his behest. ( behest. (Deep court curtsey to KING CHARLES II, seated in the royal box.) What a lark and what a loss that such things are no longer fit for one such as me. How impossible is my unlikely luck: For here we are for one last night, to whirl like a dervish, and dance in delight, to look round and round at the faces bright, brightened still by candlelight. And then the curtain will fall and the thing will be done.

(Noisy sigh.) So if it be now: Good-bye to you and good-bye to me. To what we've loved and what we've been. To the villains punished and the good set free and love scenes played under the apple tree. There. Done it. (Skipping.) So off I go into the big blue swirl, to become a star, and to glitter far from home-but I will be your your star, marked with affection, stamped and sealed. From you and of you: polished up, and good as new-well better than new; I once was a merry but meanly fed scamp but now I eat for star, marked with affection, stamped and sealed. From you and of you: polished up, and good as new-well better than new; I once was a merry but meanly fed scamp but now I eat for two two. Oh, I had forgotten how free this is. It has been many months since.... well, you all know what I have been doing since. (Laughter.) And now I have a different life. I am to be an unmarried mother and devoted wife. So far a life well lived, I'd say. Turning left and left into unexpectedness I've flown through and through. Down the corridor, up the stair, over the road that leads nowhere, with candied daisies in my hair. And what did I find? A sugar-spun life of fruit and fancy shot straight through with gold. How extraordinary.

But at what cost? you ask. I'll show you. Here, over your shoulder: look closely. Look again: in the dark, there, do you see? The velvet, the hush, the eyes on me? Quiet. Back away. Disappear. It is a delicate alchemy balanced on a pin, gifted with luck, defined by illusion, brittle with fragility, but so beautiful.

Ah, you patrons and saints of the theatre.... in the world at the edge of the world, where the king comes down from his mountain top to love the orange girl. Where reason and right run rampant and no one ever grows old. Where women are pirates and princes and wildflowers grow in the soul. The magical door will close behind me and then? Who will I be? But oh, I can live without the talk! The scandal, the chatter, the news today, and who went rolling in the hay. The who did what to whom and why? And how and when and by and by-the time is gone-and it is not life after all, this talk talk.

Still-it is fun. They say: I am charming. They say: I am charmed. They who? Ah yes.... I know. Just remember: They They are very powerful. Keep on the right side of They. are very powerful. Keep on the right side of They.

I gamble at the golden table, where the air is thick with time and chance and each night hundreds of scarlet slippers wear through from dancing.

Will you you risk? Will risk? Will you you play? If you do, if you dare: wish and wish and should you win, when it is done, play? If you do, if you dare: wish and wish and should you win, when it is done, if if morning comes: sneak away, snap for luck, and bless the day. morning comes: sneak away, snap for luck, and bless the day.

Hurry home. Fast and faster. Pull your curtains. Bolt your door. Close your eyes and wish some more. Love your neighbour. Sweep your floor. Beware. Luck can turn in a mouse's breath; before you notice, it is gone. So wish and wish for all your life to be kissed by bounty and freed of strife, and always, always for you and yours, joy upon joy upon joy-after all, it is all there is.

And as for our ordinary days: they are quicked with silver, bright and brief-and if you are snug as a beetle and free as a leaf-then shout thanks to heaven and breathe relief, for: our happiness is sewn in delicate threads. Use a thimble and sew, sew, sew. sew, sew, sew.

But don't forget, love cannot protect the lover. It will bend but it will break. For it is not enough. Be careful what you choose.

Young girls ask how did you do it? Your cheeks are so pink? Your hair is so red red? True, you are a stage delight, your waist is slim, your tread is light-but is that all all? After all, you are so small small. You are so like us. So here. So wicked. And yet, he loves you so. Why?

(Quietly.) And the answer is always the same: I really do not know.

(Deep curtsey. Exit the Actress stage right.)

London Ellen

When We Live in No. 9 Coal Yard Alley, Drury Lane

May 1, 1662, one p.m. (May Day!) Isn't it pretty? I guess I should say "you" "you" rather than rather than "it." "it." Isn't that what one does in a journal, address it personally, like a friend, like a confidante? I am not sure of the etiquette, but I do know that Isn't that what one does in a journal, address it personally, like a friend, like a confidante? I am not sure of the etiquette, but I do know that "you" "you" sounds precious and forced and not for me. Grumble. I dusted and rinsed this old sea chest twice before setting this book down upon it to write, and I have sounds precious and forced and not for me. Grumble. I dusted and rinsed this old sea chest twice before setting this book down upon it to write, and I have still still managed to get grime on my sleeve. Rose will be cross. My sister, Rose, and I share this tiny back room above the kitchen, sparely furnished with only our narrow beds, a wobbly three-legged night table, and this damp sea chest pushed up to the draughty window. I only have a few minutes as I am waiting for Rose, who is dressing in front of the long mirror in Mother's room. Rose is managed to get grime on my sleeve. Rose will be cross. My sister, Rose, and I share this tiny back room above the kitchen, sparely furnished with only our narrow beds, a wobbly three-legged night table, and this damp sea chest pushed up to the draughty window. I only have a few minutes as I am waiting for Rose, who is dressing in front of the long mirror in Mother's room. Rose is often often in front of the mirror. Oh, another grumble, these are in front of the mirror. Oh, another grumble, these are not not very auspicious opening lines, nothing of the elegant, eloquent young woman I hope to be. Never mind, ink is precious, onward. very auspicious opening lines, nothing of the elegant, eloquent young woman I hope to be. Never mind, ink is precious, onward.

It is is pretty: b.u.t.ter yellow cover, thick creamy pages, bound with pale pink thread. It was really meant for my sister, as it is her birthday today. Rose is two years older than me and is turning fourteen and ought to be better behaved, frankly. pretty: b.u.t.ter yellow cover, thick creamy pages, bound with pale pink thread. It was really meant for my sister, as it is her birthday today. Rose is two years older than me and is turning fourteen and ought to be better behaved, frankly.

This morning: Rose's friend Duncan, the stationer's son, a tall, finely turned-out young man who looks so wrong in our cramped, damp house, was wrapping his birthday gift for Rose, this beautiful journal plus: two fluffy quills, a sleek little penknife, and a heavy crystal inkpot, all stuffed in a stiff pink silk writing box. Too much for one box-the lid wouldn't shut.

"So she can record her most private private thoughts and thoughts and deepest deepest desires", Duncan informed me loftily this morning, jamming the lid closed-it bulged but finally latched. We were seated on the worn rug in our tiny kitchen, working quickly to arrange Rose's gifts before she and Mother returned from church. I worried for Duncan's pale cream silk breeches on our gritty floor. I also worried that his gift would not be a success with Rose. desires", Duncan informed me loftily this morning, jamming the lid closed-it bulged but finally latched. We were seated on the worn rug in our tiny kitchen, working quickly to arrange Rose's gifts before she and Mother returned from church. I worried for Duncan's pale cream silk breeches on our gritty floor. I also worried that his gift would not be a success with Rose.

"Duncan?" I faltered. How to word this? Rose's deepest desire was for lady's gloves or enamel hair-combs or silk dancing slippers for her birthday-luxuries she would dearly love but cannot afford: pretty things. She has no interest in writing or reading or anything else much. If I were being unkind, I would say that Rose is only interested in beautifying Rose-but I am not that that mean. mean.

"Fetch over that pink ribbon, Ellen. The one edged in silver," he said without looking up from his task. I hurried to his hamper to find the right colour while he wrapped this lumpy gift in coloured paper-also pink-Rose likes pink. I handed him the ribbon, thinking that Rose will likely prefer the wrapping to the gift, and sat down again beside him. "A perfect perfect choice," he gushed, wrestling with the paper and getting the lace of his frilly cuff tangled in the ribbon. "It will choice," he gushed, wrestling with the paper and getting the lace of his frilly cuff tangled in the ribbon. "It will perfectly perfectly reflect my regard for her perfectly tender sensibilities." I bit my lip to keep from giggling. Duncan uses the word reflect my regard for her perfectly tender sensibilities." I bit my lip to keep from giggling. Duncan uses the word perfect perfect a lot. a lot.

"When are they due back?" he asked, looking up at the tidy oak and bra.s.s clock Mother is so proud of. Ten to eleven.

"Soon. Father Pelham gives short sermons on sunny days."

"Lilacs or roses?" He held up generous bunches of both-good grief he came prepared.

"Lilacs." Rose detests roses-too predictable.

Two p.m. (stuffed after eating two custard tarts and still waiting for Rose to finish dressing) Anyway, unsurprisingly, she did not not like it, and did not take particular pains to hide it from Duncan-so rude! His face crumpled with distress when he realised his mistake. She did, however, like the new hat I gave her-grey felt wool with a wide green ribbon-the sharp, new pair of sewing scissors sent from Grandfather and Great-Aunt Margaret in Oxford, and the cake of orange blossom soap from Mother. "To get rid of the fishy smell," I chimed in thoughtlessly, trying to enliven the gloomy air. Rose sniffed, tossed her head, and ignored me. She doesn't like people to know that we are oyster girls and wishes I wouldn't refer to it aloud, certainly not in front of Duncan, who works in his father's stationery shop and smells of paper. "But people will like it, and did not take particular pains to hide it from Duncan-so rude! His face crumpled with distress when he realised his mistake. She did, however, like the new hat I gave her-grey felt wool with a wide green ribbon-the sharp, new pair of sewing scissors sent from Grandfather and Great-Aunt Margaret in Oxford, and the cake of orange blossom soap from Mother. "To get rid of the fishy smell," I chimed in thoughtlessly, trying to enliven the gloomy air. Rose sniffed, tossed her head, and ignored me. She doesn't like people to know that we are oyster girls and wishes I wouldn't refer to it aloud, certainly not in front of Duncan, who works in his father's stationery shop and smells of paper. "But people will know know when they buy oysters from us," I am forever pointing out. A fact she chooses not to recognise-Rose does not like to be bothered with facts. when they buy oysters from us," I am forever pointing out. A fact she chooses not to recognise-Rose does not like to be bothered with facts.

Rose just popped her head in, having changed her thick bronze hair from the simple, and I thought elegant, twist at the back to the more fas.h.i.+onable clumps of heavy dangling curls on each side of her head-perhaps fas.h.i.+onable but certainly not not an improvement, they look like bunches of grapes. an improvement, they look like bunches of grapes. Heigh-ho Heigh-ho. She scowled when she saw my sleeve. Now Rose is ready, but Duncan, who is in the kitchen eating crusted bread with b.u.t.ter and jam and getting crumbs on his velvet coat, is not.

Half past one a.m. (writing by candlelight) So many people: jostling and hot and very smelly. People should wash more. Still, it was a magic day, and the freshly ribboned maypole in front of Somerset House was enormous enormous. By next week, it will be a soggy grey mess, but no matter. It took us ages to pick our way through the crowded streets down to the Strand, and along the way I spoke to strangers, something Rose wishes I would not not do, sang a May Day song with Mr. Lake, the cheesemonger, and ate sugared almond comfits until I felt ill. Too ill even to eat a slice of Rose's frosted sugar-cake (more pink), another gift from Duncan, who danced the noisy country reels over and over again with Rose. He is forgiven for the journal and has slavishly promised to make it up to her-revolting. do, sang a May Day song with Mr. Lake, the cheesemonger, and ate sugared almond comfits until I felt ill. Too ill even to eat a slice of Rose's frosted sugar-cake (more pink), another gift from Duncan, who danced the noisy country reels over and over again with Rose. He is forgiven for the journal and has slavishly promised to make it up to her-revolting.

Mother chose not to come, no surprise. She received her weekly wages yesterday, and I'd bet she has already spent them on drink. Remember, Ellen: patience and kindness, patience and kindness.

Note-Must stop. Mother will be angry if she catches me wasting candles.

May 15, 1662 (chilly and wet) Grandfather, very distinguished, not looking nearly as old as I thought he would (he was after all too old to fight for the old king), and nothing of the dour disapproving figure I had feared-surprising, after all he is a man of the church and aren't they required required to be dour and disapproving?-has come down from Oxford, bringing with him his ancient, wheezing pug, Jeffrey. "He snuffles as he shuffles," Rose giggled. We have not seen Grandfather since our fortunes turned to ill and we left Oxford-and I was too small at only six years to have much memory of him. Rose says she can remember tugging his beard and watching him play cards and drink cider with Father. I cannot remember Father (who Mother calls "poor Thomas of blessed memory") at all. to be dour and disapproving?-has come down from Oxford, bringing with him his ancient, wheezing pug, Jeffrey. "He snuffles as he shuffles," Rose giggled. We have not seen Grandfather since our fortunes turned to ill and we left Oxford-and I was too small at only six years to have much memory of him. Rose says she can remember tugging his beard and watching him play cards and drink cider with Father. I cannot remember Father (who Mother calls "poor Thomas of blessed memory") at all.

Grandfather has come, he says, to guide our educations but has brought a long list of instructions from his sister, the ferocious Great-Aunt Margaret, concerning "our health and well-being," he said vaguely. I worry about that list. Unfortunately, he has already disagreed with Mother on a number of subjects, including our hygiene, dress, and vocabulary.

"You see!" Mother shrilled. "I knew you were only coming here to criticise. You have never approved of me. You think I could have done something more for him! You think I could have found someone to help poor Thomas, but I tell you once I saw that leg, I knew..."

"But, Nora," he said calmly. "Surely Thomas's pension will ensure more than this?" He gestured to our dreary sitting room. "After all, he died in the war, and isn't his widow ent.i.tled to the maximum amount? Yet his daughters..." Rose and I, sitting on the stair, held our breath.

"Yes?" challenged Mother. Oh dear, Oh dear, we knew that tone of voice. Do not push her further, or we will not have peace in the house for a week. we knew that tone of voice. Do not push her further, or we will not have peace in the house for a week.

"They are running about London like street urchins!" Grandfather reasoned. "Why, Ellen told me that she has been wearing the same dress for a month month! And Rose can hardly spell her name! And they both smell of fis.h.!.+" Rose flinched and instinctively sniffed her fingers.

"Oysters. Not fish."

"Is there a difference? Is one more desirable than the other?"

Mother then launched into her familiar long litany of domestic woes.

"How am I to: clean them, clothe them, feed them, house them, and and educate them?" she wailed. "On what? With what? There is no one to help me, now that my Thomas is gone." educate them?" she wailed. "On what? With what? There is no one to help me, now that my Thomas is gone."

With that she sank to her knees and began to sob noisily, pulling her voluminous handkerchief from her roomy bosom. Rose and I exchanged glances. "That's done it." "That's done it." Once she starts, it is difficult for her to stop. Grandfather tried tactfully to suggest that she spend less on Once she starts, it is difficult for her to stop. Grandfather tried tactfully to suggest that she spend less on refreshment refreshment (too obvious) and more on books, outer clothes, underclothes, soap, and new boots, but Mother only sobbed louder and refused to listen. She will remain like this for days. (too obvious) and more on books, outer clothes, underclothes, soap, and new boots, but Mother only sobbed louder and refused to listen. She will remain like this for days.

This morning, Mother had still still not come out of her room; Grandfather stomped off to the Exchange himself and returned with three books (used); a block of lemon castle-soap; cloth for: new chemises, summer and winter drawers, and woollen skirts for us; and a new cambric handkerchief for Mother. He laid it outside her door as a peace offering. not come out of her room; Grandfather stomped off to the Exchange himself and returned with three books (used); a block of lemon castle-soap; cloth for: new chemises, summer and winter drawers, and woollen skirts for us; and a new cambric handkerchief for Mother. He laid it outside her door as a peace offering.

Friday, May 16, 1662-Drury Lane (still raining) Too wet to sell oysters. Instead, Rose went with Mother to the tavern, and I stayed at home and concentrated on my lessons-my often neglected lessons, as Mother is only really interested in teaching us to sing and play the violin. Today: reading, French, history, and mathematics with Grandfather-whom Mother is finally finally speaking to. The handkerchief helped. Rose told me that Grandfather had to p.a.w.n his father's gold timepiece in order to buy clothes for us. She told Mother, but Mother replied that it was only right that he shoulder some of the family expenses and we were all doing our best and so why shouldn't he? Rose held her tongue and did not tell her that spending nearly all Father's pension on drink really wasn't her speaking to. The handkerchief helped. Rose told me that Grandfather had to p.a.w.n his father's gold timepiece in order to buy clothes for us. She told Mother, but Mother replied that it was only right that he shoulder some of the family expenses and we were all doing our best and so why shouldn't he? Rose held her tongue and did not tell her that spending nearly all Father's pension on drink really wasn't her best. best.

LONDON GAZETTE.

Sunday, May 17, 1662 Most Deservedly Called London's Best and Brilliant Broadsheet The Social Notebook Volume 22 Ambrose Pink's social observations du jour Darlings, When I heard I became positively a-flutter, a-float, a-fizz with delight. Grands Dieux, les possibilites les Grands Dieux, les possibilites les gowns, gowns, les chapeaux, les les chapeaux, les boot buckles, boot buckles, le scandale! le scandale! A royal wedding in London, at last, tra la la! A royal wedding in London, at last, tra la la!

And then I received the news-mon Dieu the news: the news: At Lady Jemima's Tuesday evening salon-she played the virginals divinely by the by, and wicked Sir Charlie Sedley sang his own racy compositions-Lord Montagu mentioned having to take his fleet to collect the royal bride and then stay for the wedding, to be held in.... Portsmouth. Portsmouth? Portsmouth, you say? Imagine Bonnie Charlie choosing provincial Portsmouth over chicest London? Quelle horreur! Quelle horreur! For shame, my darlings. I suppose poor old London will have to hear all the news by second-hand. For shame, my darlings. I suppose poor old London will have to hear all the news by second-hand. Dommage, Dommage, we shall have to pack our finest frippery away for another time. A royal christening, perhaps? we shall have to pack our finest frippery away for another time. A royal christening, perhaps?

a bientot, dearests, dearests, Ever your eyes and ears, An inconsolable, Ambrose Pink, Esq.

May 20, 1662-Official Notations for Privy Council Meeting on This Day to Be Entered into the Log-book Notations taken by Secretary of State Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington Today: A review of monies allotted for the renovation of Hampton Court Palace, where our new Queen Catherine of Braganza and King Charles II will spend their honeymoon. New matched daises have been built and upholstered measuring 16 feet by 10 feet. The carving about the queen's bed has been mended and regilded, although another bal.u.s.trade will have to be brought from Greenwich later in the summer, requiring auxiliary funds. The Office of the Works will submit the proper applications. Beyond that, all is in readiness for the queen's arrival on the 29th. The contingency funds have already been allotted for household items, and further funds are needed as: the palace kitchens have requested extra sugar, flour, wine, and marzipan for the king's birthday celebration. The head valet has requested forty-seven more pots of boot-blacking, and the housekeeper requires twenty-two additional bath-tubs.

Nothing further to report.

Secretary of State Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington May 22, 1662-Drury Lane (late-but everyone about on the streets) The streets are alight with bonfires. We have a new queen! Princess Catherine of Braganza, the Portuguese Infanta, now Queen Catherine of England. What What a mouthful, and a Catholic to boot. They say the queen's damask rose gown was trimmed with blue love knots, which she cut off and gave to everyone-a Portuguese custom, as I understand it, but ruinous for the dress-poor dress. They also say the new queen asks for a mouthful, and a Catholic to boot. They say the queen's damask rose gown was trimmed with blue love knots, which she cut off and gave to everyone-a Portuguese custom, as I understand it, but ruinous for the dress-poor dress. They also say the new queen asks for tea tea instead of coffee or ale. Mother says that foreigners can always be relied upon to do foreign things. instead of coffee or ale. Mother says that foreigners can always be relied upon to do foreign things.

Rose heard that she is small, but has huge, stiff hair-also a Portuguese custom? Best to discontinue it now, now, I would think; the English style is more unaffected and less lacquered. Rose also told me tonight that the famously overbearing Lady Barbara Castlemaine, the king's I would think; the English style is more unaffected and less lacquered. Rose also told me tonight that the famously overbearing Lady Barbara Castlemaine, the king's companion companion ( (lover is such an overblown windswept sort of word-and I certainly doubt that Castlemaine is such an overblown windswept sort of word-and I certainly doubt that Castlemaine loves loves our king), refused to light a fire by her door. How small of her; she cannot hope to outflank the queen, his our king), refused to light a fire by her door. How small of her; she cannot hope to outflank the queen, his wife. wife. She must give way. She must give way.

Jane Smedley, who serves in the Rose Tavern with Mother and is always in a foul temper, said that I am to stay away tonight as I am twelve and no longer a child but not ready ready yet, ready for yet, ready for what what she did not explain. Rose is clearly she did not explain. Rose is clearly ready ready at fourteen and has gone to help Mother. Irritating, as she will only spend the extra money she earns on hair ribbons- at fourteen and has gone to help Mother. Irritating, as she will only spend the extra money she earns on hair ribbons-pink hair ribbons that I can never wear, as my hair is impossibly red. hair ribbons that I can never wear, as my hair is impossibly red.

All the bells in town are ringing, and the city looks all lit up-the smell of burning almost covers the hot, rank London smells, so much worse in summer. With a bonfire before every door it is a wonder the night did not end disastrously.

Note-Rose just got in and was a bit clumsy on the stairs. As well her hair was all disordered-very unlike her. Could she be drunk drunk? How extraordinary. Mother is still not home.

July 1, 1662 (hot!) Rose and I slipped away to wade in the river after dinner. We left our shoes on the bank and, holding up our skirts, stood on the slimy stones and let the cool, muddy current rush around our ankles. Enjoying the falling light of the warm dusk and in the mood for mischief, I grabbed Rose's hands and began to swing us about the shallow water through an unsteady gigue, gigue, splas.h.i.+ng and singing l.u.s.tily as I went. Rose shrieked in soaked dismay but soon caught my mood and joined me in her sweet soprano. splas.h.i.+ng and singing l.u.s.tily as I went. Rose shrieked in soaked dismay but soon caught my mood and joined me in her sweet soprano.

Rose insisted we wash with lots of hot water when we got home; we both smelled like river rats.

July 12, 1662-Drury Lane Rose slept through work again again today. She has been helping Mother and Jane Smedley serve ale in the tavern for the past few weeks and has been arriving home later and later in the evenings. Last night she did not get in until after three a.m. Once in our room she refuses to light a candle for fear of waking me and washes and undresses in the dark. Worried that she might lose her position, I told Mr. Morton that she was ill and that I was to take her share. Luckily, Mr. Bens from the Hare and Glove needed a double order of oysters; otherwise, I would not have been able to sell them all. today. She has been helping Mother and Jane Smedley serve ale in the tavern for the past few weeks and has been arriving home later and later in the evenings. Last night she did not get in until after three a.m. Once in our room she refuses to light a candle for fear of waking me and washes and undresses in the dark. Worried that she might lose her position, I told Mr. Morton that she was ill and that I was to take her share. Luckily, Mr. Bens from the Hare and Glove needed a double order of oysters; otherwise, I would not have been able to sell them all.

Walking home at nearly seven, I thought I saw Rose (pink hair ribbons) far ahead of me in Long Acre Street. She was speaking to a man I did not recognise. And she scolds me me for speaking to strangers! for speaking to strangers!

Two a.m.

Sleepy-Rose is still not home. I did not not leave a candle lit for her tonight. Let her undress in the dark, for all I care. leave a candle lit for her tonight. Let her undress in the dark, for all I care.

VERSAILLES, FRANCECOURT OF K KING L LOUIS XIV XIVTO MY BELOVED BROTHER, K KING C CHARLES II II OF OF E ENGLANDFROM P PRINCESSE H HENRIETTE-ANNE, d.u.c.h.eSSE D' O ORLeANS, THE M MADAME OF F FRANCESAMEDI, 21 J JUILLET 1662Charles, I am so pleased! I was hoping you would choose from the royal house of Portugal instead of a cold Protestant princess from the north. From all I hear Queen Catherine is a quiet, gentle soul with an angelic face and regal bearing. And she is of the Catholic faith, which pleases our mam and, naturellement, naturellement, pleases me also. pleases me also.

But let us not speak of things that divide us. How are your many adorable children? Is Jemmy's horsemans.h.i.+p improving? Mam writes that you are considering a dukedom for him. He would enjoy that honour-he enjoys any honour.

Mam also writes of the extensive and ongoing building and redecorating at her palace, Somerset House-the woodwork alone, mon Dieu, mon Dieu, so lavish, I tremble at the cost. I know she has a tendency to find fault (the dust, the noise, the fabrics, the colours, the weather) and seems difficult to please-but you do please her in this, even if she cannot bring herself to say so. so lavish, I tremble at the cost. I know she has a tendency to find fault (the dust, the noise, the fabrics, the colours, the weather) and seems difficult to please-but you do please her in this, even if she cannot bring herself to say so.

Is it true that Lady Castlemaine is expecting again? While I cannot pretend to an affection I do not feel for her, I do welcome her children, as they bring joy and delight to you. Just be sure, my dearest, that it is you who gives shape to their unformed souls and not their mother, as she is of inferior sensibilities.

How is our darling brother James? Does he still grieve terribly for our blessed Henry? I do. I do every day, as I know Mam does, too. You must believe that she only did what she thought was best at the time, and as you know, once her mind is decided, her resolve is absolute and she is not plagued by doubt. Such determination would be a gift indeed if only her decisions were more thoughtfully considered. I hope that James has resigned himself to his marriage. Anne is a plain but intelligent girl, however unsuitable for our house. I pray for him. I pray for you and think of you every day.

I am ever your, Minette Note -I wish I could accept your invitation to visit England, but it really wouldn't be prudent for me to disobey my husband just now, as his temperament is growing increasingly erratic and unpredictable. As well there is so much to see to with all this building going on. Louis's plans for Versailles are truly extraordinary-there shall be nothing left of this charming little hunting lodge. Could you have your new queen's portrait painted for me instead? -I wish I could accept your invitation to visit England, but it really wouldn't be prudent for me to disobey my husband just now, as his temperament is growing increasingly erratic and unpredictable. As well there is so much to see to with all this building going on. Louis's plans for Versailles are truly extraordinary-there shall be nothing left of this charming little hunting lodge. Could you have your new queen's portrait painted for me instead? Une autre note Une autre note -I heard that you wrote your love letters to Catherine in -I heard that you wrote your love letters to Catherine in Spanish Spanish ? Your Spanish is terrible, can this be true? And that when you had no immediate response from Catherine, you wrote to her ? Your Spanish is terrible, can this be true? And that when you had no immediate response from Catherine, you wrote to her mother mother as well? Oh la la! as well? Oh la la!

July 21, 1662-Official Notations for Privy Council Meeting on This Day to Be Entered into the Log-book Notations taken by Mr. Henry Bennet Evening session: News arrived by courier from Hampton Court: Item: James Duke of York arrived in time to welcome his brother the king and his new queen as they entered the palace grounds. Unfortunately, the Duke of York's luggage train was delayed on the road and will not arrive until tomorrow.

Item: The Portuguese queen's retinue was much larger than expected, and the Office of the Works has allotted no rooms for their use. They must seek lodging in Kingston and are displeased.

Item: One of His Majesty's pastry cooks was run over by a furniture wagon this afternoon. They were understaffed tonight in the great kitchens.

Nothing further to report.

Sir Henry Bennet Wednesday, five p.m. (still very hot!) The house was too warm for lessons, so Grandfather agreed to a walk instead, on the condition that we conjugate French verbs as we go.

"Regular verbs," I specified. "Too hot for irregular verbs."

"Very well," he agreed. "To love: first person, present tense."

"J'aime," I answered confidently. "Did you hear about the mess at Hampton Court yesterday? Everyone was talking about it today. People run over, carts gone missing-chaos." I answered confidently. "Did you hear about the mess at Hampton Court yesterday? Everyone was talking about it today. People run over, carts gone missing-chaos."

"You love: familiar, past tense," he prompted, refusing to be diverted by gossip.

"Tu aimas.... She must be very brave, to sail to a new country, knowing no one, and then to marry an utter stranger?" I said thoughtfully.

"Third person singular, future tense. Queen Catherine? I am sure she is very happy. After all, he is the king." Grandfather shrugged, as if a sovereign is guaranteed love and devotion.

"Elle aimera. That doesn't mean she will love love him," I said. "I wouldn't do it. I will not marry where there is no love-not even a king." him," I said. "I wouldn't do it. I will not marry where there is no love-not even a king."

Grandfather gave me a worried look. My romantic notions concern him, I know. Most girls hope to marry a man with a stable income rather than a man to love. Ever patient, he forbore to criticise and we moved on to the verb "to play."

When I Discover the Truth

Thursday, July 21, 1662-Drury Lane I am shaking with shock and rage. There has been a tremendous row. I should insist and argue and rant, but I find I am too stunned even to weep.