Exit The Actress_ A Novel Part 5

Note-Spent two days' wages on a thick woolly blanket for Grandfather and new mittens for Mother. It is already winter.

October 27, 1663-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 This day's business was cancelled as His Royal Majesty is much distressed by the queen's health. We pray for Her Royal Majesty, Queen Catherine. May G.o.d have mercy upon her soul.

Nothing further to report.

Secretary of State Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington November 1-Drury Lane The queen will recover! Apparently her physician, Sir Francis Prujean, saved her with his miracle cordial. "Bet it is just wintergreen, feverfew, and betony, mixed with something sweet-and now he will make a fortune," Teddy said, reading the account in the Gazette Gazette.

Teddy was right. Already Dr. Prujean's magical cordial is sold everywhere at half a crown. It smells like wintergreen.

November 15-Theatre Royal (a grey day) Today, being the queen's birthday, Peg says the guns from the Tower will all go off. She also says wigs will become the fas.h.i.+on, what with the king and his greying curls and the queen and her shorn hair. I hope not, as I look terrible in wigs.

December 21, 1663Coal Yard Alley, Drury LaneDearest sister,I am so sorry to hear that you will not be joining us for our Christmas festivities. I understand your concern over Ellen's a.s.sociation with the theatre but must beg to disagree with you. Margaret, dear, you must know that she could not reduce our station further. We must rejoice in the life that she has found. Rose no longer resides with us here, and we rarely see Nora, so Ellen is my daily comfort. I wish you health and joy this Christmastide.

Your loving brother, Edward SOMERSET H HOUSE, LONDONTO OUR DAUGHTER, P PRINCESSE H HENRIETTE-ANNE, D d.u.c.h.eSSE D' O ORLeANS, THE M MADAME OF F FRANCEFROM H HER M MAJESTY Q QUEEN H HENRIETTA M MARIADECEMBER 23, 1663 23, 1663 Joyeux Noelle, ma fille!

The queen's recovery is miraculous, yet I cannot but worry that we may now have a queen who is too delicate to fulfil her duty. She just looks so very small and pale and, at the moment, bald. It is simply not becoming in a lady. I do hope that she confounds my fears and bears healthy children, for if she does not, sweet as she is, what use is she? We certainly know the problem does not lie with Charles-at least he has shown himself capable of this much.

I was greatly relieved when I was able to give your father the heirs he required-and so many heirs at that! Best to have several, I feel. A queen without children is like a beautiful dish that tastes terrible-pretty but pointless.

All love, Maman Queen Henrietta Maria

When Rose Is in Trouble

December 26, 1663-Theatre Royal (rain and hail!) Rose is in gaol! I heard it from Meg tonight. I was delivering trinkets from Lord Sedley (an orange for Kitty, a lemon for Becka, and a posy for Lizzie-naughty man) when Meg found me backstage. Breathless, she suggested I sit on a nearby bench, and then she delivered the news directly: Rose is accused of stealing from her customer at Madame Ross's and has been taken away by the bailiffs. Bailiffs! Impossible-Rose wouldn't-there is a great deal she would do, but not this. We do not know where she is held. I must go to Lewkenor Lane right away. It is sleeting, and Moll has insisted I take a hackney-on Mr. Killigrew's account, she rea.s.sured me. Bobby, the theatre's errand boy, has run to Covent Garden to fetch one. If only he would hurry!

How can Rose work for such a filthy-tempered person? Madame Ross was awful. A young, very very young girl in a low-cut white taffeta gown opened the door and showed me to a small parlour. Her curls were stiff with pomade, and her bodice was clearly stuffed. From another room I could hear men's voices and the high-tinkling crystal sounds of women and wine-gla.s.ses. Despite the situation, I was fascinated. The rooms were dimly lit, and the walls were hung with evocative paintings-this I had expected. The furniture was covered in crimson damask-this, too, was no surprise. But everywhere women wandered about in young girl in a low-cut white taffeta gown opened the door and showed me to a small parlour. Her curls were stiff with pomade, and her bodice was clearly stuffed. From another room I could hear men's voices and the high-tinkling crystal sounds of women and wine-gla.s.ses. Despite the situation, I was fascinated. The rooms were dimly lit, and the walls were hung with evocative paintings-this I had expected. The furniture was covered in crimson damask-this, too, was no surprise. But everywhere women wandered about in underclothes, underclothes, French underclothes! The most elaborate underclothes I have ever seen-trimmed with pale ribbons and lace and made from expensive French silk. Some wore a tight bodice and full petticoat but no gown or chemise, and others wore French French underclothes! The most elaborate underclothes I have ever seen-trimmed with pale ribbons and lace and made from expensive French silk. Some wore a tight bodice and full petticoat but no gown or chemise, and others wore French drawers drawers! I've heard of women wearing drawers but had never seen it. These fanciful creatures looked at my street clothes with something akin to contempt.

Just then, the girthsome Madam Ross, fully dressed in heavy black brocade, barrelled into the room. "Out, out!" She shooed the girls like pigeons. "You're Rose's sister? The orange girl?"

I nodded.

"Nothing to talk about. Either she pays back the money or goes with the bailiffs. Get out."

I must have looked startled for she leaned close to me and laughed a horrid, grinding laugh. "Now you come and see me, do you? You were too good to speak to me before, and you think I will help you now? Get out out."

I was confused. "Before?"

"Ha! Ask your sister." She snorted.

"But-"

"Open you ears, girl! Get out! Get out!" she shrieked.

"But my sister-"

"Yes, your sister. He says one thing, and she says another. He's a bit of a rascal, and she is Nora's daughter-lay even odds, but he's the customer, so...? I need my money." She shrugged, as if this sentence was conclusive.

"But Rose...?"

But she had already barrelled out again.

The girl with the stuffed bodice returned to show me out. Walking swiftly down the long hallway, she hissed out of the side of her painted mouth, "She didn't do it. He drank too much and couldn't pay his bill and tried to pin it on her. Eight guineas."

"Eight?" Rose could never raise such a sum. "Where..."

"No idea where they took her. They wouldn't say."

"Thank you," I said as the door shut firmly behind me.

I am pacing in the wings: ten steps from the curtain to the door. Ten steps there and ten steps back. I am waiting for the performance to end so I can speak to Hart. He will know what is to be done. His loamy voice drifts from the stage and winds around and around me like a net: catching and calming.

Later-eight o'clock As soon as he took his final curtain call, I came forward, my words tumbling out in a heap.

"Ellen, Ellen, Ellen, slow down, let me understand, your sister Rose is slow down, let me understand, your sister Rose is where?" where?"

"Oh, Hart, I don't know know where! I have asked at Lewkenor Lane, and no one knows. She has been accused of stealing money-a lot of money-by a man at Madame Ross's, where she ... works." Defiant, I kept my eyes upon him. where! I have asked at Lewkenor Lane, and no one knows. She has been accused of stealing money-a lot of money-by a man at Madame Ross's, where she ... works." Defiant, I kept my eyes upon him.

"I see, and her. ... client client has accused her of theft? And the bailiffs have removed her. Is that right?" asked Hart unflinchingly. has accused her of theft? And the bailiffs have removed her. Is that right?" asked Hart unflinchingly.

"Yes," I breathed, eased by his forthrightness. "But it isn't true. She wouldn't do that," I quickly added.

"No, of course she wouldn't. All right, Tom is out of London until Twelfth Night. I I can approach the king, or even Lacy could-" Hart considered aloud. can approach the king, or even Lacy could-" Hart considered aloud.

"No, Harry Killigrew! It should be Harry!" I interrupted impulsively. "Harry goes to Madame Ross's, and they are ... friends," I finished awkwardly.

"Harry," Hart said, turning over the thought. "Yes, Harry, Harry, he is now a Groom of the Bedchamber, is he not? he is now a Groom of the Bedchamber, is he not? Close to the king. Close to the king. And he is fond of your sister, you say, and the boy has a good heart." Grabbing quill and ink, he bent over the props table and scratched out a brief note. He shoved it into my hand. "Go, Ellen. Here is the address," he said. Fis.h.i.+ng into his pockets, he pulled out some coins. "And here is fare for a hackney. Fetch Harry here. I will write the letter for him to take to the king. And he is fond of your sister, you say, and the boy has a good heart." Grabbing quill and ink, he bent over the props table and scratched out a brief note. He shoved it into my hand. "Go, Ellen. Here is the address," he said. Fis.h.i.+ng into his pockets, he pulled out some coins. "And here is fare for a hackney. Fetch Harry here. I will write the letter for him to take to the king. Go!" Go!" s.n.a.t.c.hing the coins, I hurried out the stage door. s.n.a.t.c.hing the coins, I hurried out the stage door.

Even later-ten o'clock (back at the theatre) "No! No! Hart, we must must accede that she is a prost.i.tute. The king accede that she is a prost.i.tute. The king likes likes prost.i.tutes. It is no dishonour," Harry argued. prost.i.tutes. It is no dishonour," Harry argued.

"But it will imply guilt. A prost.i.tute is more likely to steal than an ordinary girl," Hart countered.

"Please, it is getting late. Rose is in gaol. We must get this to the king tonight," tonight," I urged them. I urged them.

"Ellen, if we are honest in this letter, your sister will be branded a wh.o.r.e to the king. Can you live with that?" Hart asked bluntly.

"Oh." I shrugged. "My sister is is a wh.o.r.e. What does it matter how it looks? May as well tell the truth." a wh.o.r.e. What does it matter how it looks? May as well tell the truth."

"All right, Harry, sign it. Let us all to Whitehall," Hart conceded.

"Together?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Of course together, you mouse," Hart chided affectionately. "You don't think I'd leave you now, do you?"

Later, two a.m. (Whitehall Palace-The Matted Gallery) My head is heavy on Hart's shoulder. Harry has been gone for hours. How long have we been sitting on this bench? If I just close my eyes for a few minutes- Four o'clock in the morning-The Matted Gallery "Hart, what have we here, sleeping Ariadne Ariadne?" an amused voice asked.

"Your Majesty," Hart stuttered, leaping to his feet and executing a perfect bow. Sleepy and bewildered, I remained on my bench, squinting up at the exceedingly tall figure in front of me. He was slimly built but had a coiled restiveness about him, like a spring waiting to stretch. A mixed crowd of grim-faced councillors, foppishly dressed young men, and women in carnival-coloured gowns stood about him, and a great puddle of spaniels nosed about his feet. He was the fixed centre of the melee-the substance anchoring the chaos. Nothing about him was quite right: his face was too long, his eyes too deeply set, his lids too heavy, his moustache too lank and his mouth too wide, yet he fit together perfectly. And he was the king: a king waiting to speak to me.

"Majesty? Majesty! Are you ... are you him?" I asked sleepily, shaking myself awake.

The king threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, I am he, and it is customary to curtsey when you meet me," he teased.

"I, oh ... oh, pardon me," I said, flummoxed, leaping up to copy Hart's bow exactly.

The king whooped with laughter. "Is that how ladies curtsey these days?"

Indignant and impatient, I forgot myself. "My sister is in prison this night. I do not worry about a proper curtsey!" I heard Hart's sharp intake of breath beside me. The ladies stopped nattering, and the fops stood aghast. "I, oh, Your Majesty, forgive me!"

The king's eyes crinkled merrily as he composed his mobile face into a serious countenance. "No, no, you are quite right. There are prost.i.tutes in prison this night. This is no time to stand upon ceremony. Mistress ... Gwyn, is it?"

"Ellen," I said miserably. "Please, please, don't hold my rudeness against my sister." This was a disaster. One of the spaniels promptly sat upon my foot, rooting me to the spot.

"Ellen, do you suppose I am the sort of king who would?" he asked, gently lifting my chin with his long, cool fingers until I looked up into his intelligent face.

"No ... no, I do not think you would. Please, help her," I said softly.

"I have already sent Harry and John Browne to secure her release from Newgate, but now that I have met you, you, I will also send the royal berline to fetch her home. All charges against her will be dropped." He waved his hand, sending servants flying to follow his commands. I will also send the royal berline to fetch her home. All charges against her will be dropped." He waved his hand, sending servants flying to follow his commands.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I whispered, and sank into a deep and correct curtsey.

He chuckled, and bent low to whisper into my ear, "I preferred your first attempt. G.o.d give you good night, little Ellen."

"And to you as well, Your Majesty."

I watched him as he moved down the stone-vaulted gallery. The air felt so quiet once he had gone.

When I Enjoy Modest Success

Sunday, January 3, 1664 Morning service at St. Martin in the Fields with Grandfather and then home. Music sounds so beautiful ringing through that lovely old building. Rose is too anxious after her recent trouble trouble to risk church. She is justified-everyone knows what happened. Madame Ross kept her on, but appearances mean everything to Rose. A thieving wh.o.r.e is worse than an ordinary wh.o.r.e. Mother spoke truly when she pointed out that she could hardly be more thoroughly pardoned than by the king himself, yet the whole event greatly pains Rose. This morning I saw Jane Smedley, who commented on Rose's recent to risk church. She is justified-everyone knows what happened. Madame Ross kept her on, but appearances mean everything to Rose. A thieving wh.o.r.e is worse than an ordinary wh.o.r.e. Mother spoke truly when she pointed out that she could hardly be more thoroughly pardoned than by the king himself, yet the whole event greatly pains Rose. This morning I saw Jane Smedley, who commented on Rose's recent royal favour, royal favour, as she phrased it with a smirk. I do wish Mother wouldn't tell people. Rose won't speak of it to anyone-including me. as she phrased it with a smirk. I do wish Mother wouldn't tell people. Rose won't speak of it to anyone-including me.

I have told no one of my conversation with the king. The conversation I hear over and over as I fall asleep.

Later-in our room "Rose," I began awkwardly as she dried her hair with a bath sheet. "Madam Ross said something strange that night."

"Mmm?" Rose shook out her heavy hair and, sitting on her bed, began to pull her white comb through the tendrils in long strokes.

"She said I had refused to speak to her before? before? Rose? Rose? Rose?" Rose?"

Rose didn't seem to hear me.

Wednesday, January 6, 1664-Twelfth Day (The Usurper) Lacy brought me a tightly wound winter posy, and Hart brought me a new green silk hair ribbon.

"Ah! Our protegee! Just to stretch your theatre wings, mind you," Lacy cautioned cheerily, holding the ribbon up to my skin. "Perfect for your complexion, my dear."

"No reason to be nervous; save that for your real real debut!" Hart said, gently tugging on my long curls. debut!" Hart said, gently tugging on my long curls.

"One for luck!" said Nick, firmly smacking my bottom.

"You'll wrinkle me before I ever get out there," I grumbled, smoothing my new skirts.

All this fuss just for me to stand at the back in the ballroom scene and deliver one line-it seemed excessive, but left me fizzing with excitement.

The flickering candles blur the faces of the audience. A wink from Teddy, who squeezes my hand behind my back. I swish my hips and say clearly, "My lady, there is a gentleman to see you without!"

And it is over.

"Brava!" said Teddy. said Teddy.

"Well done!" said Nick.

"Magnifique!" said Lacy. said Lacy.

"My clever mouse," said Hart, dropping a quick kiss on my nose.

To: Mr. Thomas Killigrew From: Mr. Charles Hart Concerning Mistress Ellen Gwyn's Progress as an Actress Dear Tom, She stands out. No question. Small and bold and neat as you like. With her fiery hair and pert little figure, she will make a brilliant foil to the current rash of dark, sloe-eyed favourites. She is fearless and quick, and she will thrive in this realm. We mustn't waste her on nonsense roles. She must star, but it must be the right part. Best to keep her under my tutelage whilst we consider. Lacy agrees with me in this.

All best wishes, Hart January 8, 1664 Theatre Royal, Drury Lane Hart, Yes, I saw the performance as well. I left soon after Ellen's scene. I agree that she deserves a proper debut. I will advise you as to my thoughts on her career at a later date. At present I am content for her to remain under your guidance, but really, Hart, she is quite young and, I find, quite singular. I do expect you to behave with some discretion and great care.

Yours, etc....

Tom Sunday January 10, 1664-Lord's Day Last night Hart took me to see Henry VIII Henry VIII at the Opera. (The play that at the Opera. (The play that everyone everyone has been talking about.) All the talk is true, Betterton has been talking about.) All the talk is true, Betterton was was ferociously regal as the king, and the procession with all the faces pressed against the windows and on the balconies ferociously regal as the king, and the procession with all the faces pressed against the windows and on the balconies was was magnificent. During the interval a startlingly attractive man introduced to me as Johnny joined us in our box (I found out later from Teddy that this is the magnificent. During the interval a startlingly attractive man introduced to me as Johnny joined us in our box (I found out later from Teddy that this is the infamous infamous Lord Johnny Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester). What I noticed most was his absolute equanimity of countenance. Whether dealing out his obviously scathing wit or delivering the most splendid compliment, his features remain uninvolved, as if he really cannot be bothered to muster expression. Lord Johnny Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester). What I noticed most was his absolute equanimity of countenance. Whether dealing out his obviously scathing wit or delivering the most splendid compliment, his features remain uninvolved, as if he really cannot be bothered to muster expression.

"Watch out, he has made lechery his profession," Teddy said seriously. "Well, lechery and drink, I suppose." I could tell from his tone that he both liked and admired him.

I found Johnny serious and cynical by turns. His biting humour unsettles Hart but amuses me. He reminds me of a bored, restless dog who may bite, just for the fun of it.

Afterwards, we piled into carriages and went on to supper at Chatelin's in Covent Garden with the actors of that house. Hart was much engaged with the serious Sir Will Davenant (who wears an inky black kerchief to cover the hole where his nose should be-gruesome). I try my best not to stare but find it difficult. Everyone was talking about the rising price of lace, tea (the curious new courtly drink), Davenant's new Tempest Tempest (written in collaboration with Dryden), and war with Holland. (written in collaboration with Dryden), and war with Holland.

"The Dutch Dutch? Aren't they our ally?" I quickly whispered to Hart, and was silenced by a small downturn of his mouth. Wasn't Princess Mary of Orange the king's sister? Now that she is dead they are our enemy? How disloyal, I thought silently. I was too afraid of looking ill informed to question further, and the conversation just moved on around me.

"Their pride is insufferable!" Hart proclaimed with feeling, banging his wine-gla.s.s down on the table.

Seeing my evident confusion, Johnny Rochester leaned in to explain. "They are perceived to be a threat to us," he whispered under his breath, rolling his eyes to let me know that he considered them nothing of the sort.

"A threat to us how? By prospering away in Holland, planting tulips and..."

"Making cheese? Yes. Really by being smart and rich and unenc.u.mbered by self-doubt," Johnny said quietly, taking a long swallow of a smelly something I could not identify. "They do not need a war to a.s.sert their place in Europe."