“I would,” she cried. “I would.”
“The will is not enough, my child. You would be obliged to learn to read.”
“Then I would learn to read.”
He came to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “And what would you say if I told you that I might have room for a small-part player in the company?”
Nell dropped on her knees, took his hand, and kissed it.
He looked at her curly head with pleasure. “’Od’s Fish!” he said, using the King’s oath, for he played the part of kings now and then and had come to believe that in the world of the theater he was one, “You’re a pretty child, Mrs. Nelly.”
And when she rose he lifted her in his arms and held her so that her animated face was on a level with his.
“And as light as a feather,” he said. “Are you as wayward?”
Then he kissed her lips; and Nell understood what he would require in payment for all that he was about to do for her.
Nell knew that she would not consider anything he demanded as payment. She had already learned to adore him from the pit; she was ready to continue in that adoration from a more intimate position. She laughed, signifying her pleasure, and he was satisfied.
“Come,” he said, “I will go with you to Mary Meggs, for it may be she will by now be too ready to scold you, and it is my wish that you should not be scolded.”
When Mary Meggs caught sight of Nell she screamed at her: “So there you are, you jade! What have you been at? I’ve been waiting here for you this last quarter-hour. Let me tell you that if you behave thus you will not long remain one of Orange Moll’s young women.”
Charles drew himself up to his full height. Nell found herself laughing, as she was to laugh so often in times to come at this actor’s dignity. In everything he did it was as though he played a part.
“Save your breath, woman,” he cried in that voice of thunder with which he had so often silenced a recalcitrant audience. “Save your breath. Mrs. Nelly here shall certainly not remain one of your orange-girls. She ceased to do so some little time ago. Nelly the orange-girl is now Nelly the King’s Servant.”
Then he strode off and left them. Nell set down her basket and danced a jig before the astonished woman’s eyes. Orange Moll—none too pleased at the prospect of losing one of her best girls—shook her head and her finger at the dancing figure.
“Dance, Nelly, dance!” she said. “Mr. Charles Hart don’t make actresses of all his women—and he don’t keep them long either. Mayhap you’ll be wanting your basket back when the great Charles Hart grows Nelly-sick.”
But Nell continued to dance.
Now Nell was indeed an actress. She quickly left her mother’s house in Cole-yard and most joyfully set up in lodgings of her own; she took a small house next to the Cock and Pye Tavern in Drury Lane opposite Wych Street. Here she was only a step or two away from the theater, which was convenient indeed, for the life of an actress was a more strenuous one than that of an orange-girl. Charles Hart was teaching her to read; William Lacy was teaching her to dance; and both, with Michael Mohun, were teaching her to act. Mornings were spent in rehearsing, and the afternoons in acting plays which started at three o’clock and went on until five or later. Most of Nell’s evenings were spent with the great Charles Hart who, delighted with his protégée, initiated her into the art of making love, when he was not teaching her to read.
Rose was delighted with her sister’s success and she became a frequent visitor at the lodgings in Drury Lane. Nell would have liked to ask her to come and live with her; but Nell’s small wages just kept herself—and as an actress it was necessary for her to spend a great deal of her income on fine clothes. Moreover Rose had her own life to lead and often a devoted lover would take her away from her mother’s house for a while.
Harry Killigrew was one of these, as was Mr. Browne; and in the company of these gentlemen Rose met others of their rank. She was as eager to avoid flesh-merchants from East Cheap as she ever was, and continuously grateful to Nell who, she declared, had saved her from a felon’s death.
Nell played her parts in the theater—small ones as yet, for she had her apprenticeship to live through. Charles Hart proved to be a devoted lover, for Nell was an undemanding mistress, never a complaining one; her spirits were invariably high; and she quickly learned to share Charles Hart’s passion for the stage.
There were times when he forgot to act before her and would talk of his aspirations and his jealousies, and beg her to tell him without reserve whether she believed Michael Mohun or Edward Kynaston to be greater actors than he was. He often talked of Thomas Betterton, one of that rival group of players who called themselves The Duke’s Men, and who performed in the Duke’s Theater. It was said that Betterton, more than any man living, could hold an audience. “Better than Hart?” demanded Charles Hart. “I want the truth from you, Nell.”
Then Nell would soothe him and say that Betterton was a strolling player compared with the great Charles Hart; and Charles would say that it was meet and fitting that he, Hart, should be the greatest actor London had ever known, because his grandmother was a sister of the dramatist, Will Shakespeare—a man who loved the theater and whose plays were often acted by the companies, and which, some declared, had never yet been bettered, surpassing even those of Ben Jonson or Beaumont and Fletcher.
Sometimes he would tell her how he had been brought up at Black-friars and, with Clun, one of the other members of the company, had, as a boy, acted women’s parts. He would strut about the apartment playing the Duchess in Shirley’s tragedy The Cardinal, and Nell would clap her hands and assure him that he was the veriest Duchess she had ever seen.
He liked to pour his reminiscences of the past into Nell’s sympathetic ears. And Nell, who loved him, listened and applauded, for she thought him the most wonderful person she had ever known, godlike in his ability to raise the orange-girl to the green room, a tender yet passionate lover to introduce her into a milieu where, she was aware, she would wish to play a leading part.
She allowed him to tell his stories again and again; she would demand to hear them. “Tell me of the time you were carried off and imprisoned by Roundhead soldiers—taken while you were actually playing, and in your costume, too!”
So he would throw back his head and adjust his magnificent voice to the drama or comedy of the occasion. “I was playing Otto in The Bloody Brother…. A fine play. I’ll swear Beaumont and Fletcher never wrote a better….”
Then he would forget the story of the capture and play Otto for her; he would even take the part of Rollo, the Bloody Brother himself, and it was all vastly entertaining, as was life.
And in the boxes at the theater there appeared at this time the loveliest woman Nell had ever seen: Mrs. Frances Stuart, maid of honor to the Queen. The King gazed at her during the whole of the play so that his attention strayed from Charles Hart, Michael Mohun, and Edward Kynaston; and, what was more remarkable, neither tall and handsome Ann Marshall, nor any of the actresses could hold his gaze. The King saw no one but Mrs. Stuart, sitting there so childishly pretty with her fair hair, great blue eyes, and Roman nose, so that my lady Castlemaine was in such a high temper that she shouted insults to the actors and actresses—and even spoke churlishly to the King himself, to his great displeasure.
It all seemed remote to Nell; she had her own life to lead; and if it was less grand than those of these Court folk in their dazzling jewels and sumptuous garments, it was lively, colorful, and completely satisfying to Nell; for one of her great gifts was to be able to enjoy contentment with her lot.