The Darling Strumpet

Wat Clun threw up his hands and rolled his eyes heavenwards.

“Now there you have me, lad. I told Charlie not to be such a stick-in-the-mud, and to shepherd the old men here on this our night of triumph. But will he now? That is the question!”

“And here’s me all this time thinking the question was ‘To be or not to be’!”

The voice boomed from the door, and Wat surged to his feet, roaring with laughter.

“Charlie! My own true heart! You’ve come after all!”

The dark-haired newcomer enveloped Wat in a bear hug and kissed him loudly on both cheeks.

“Aye, I’ve come, and the other old men with me!”

Hart was indeed accompanied by several men who were noticeably greyer than the lads at the table, but there was nothing old about him, Nell thought. He was about thirty, tall and well built, and the grace and energy with which he moved made her think of the rope dancer she had seen at Bartholomew Fair. His dark eyes shone with happiness as he returned cries of greeting from all sides.

“Who’s that?” Nell whispered to Rose and Jane.

“Charles Hart,” Rose answered. “He’s Mr. Killigrew’s leading actor. Mighty fine, isn’t he?”

“Fine as a fivepence,” Nell agreed.

Tables, stools, and benches were shuffled until all the actors were seated. Nell noticed that the younger men made way for the older, their deference tinged with admiration and affection. Wat Clun turned to Hart.

“Now then, Charlie, what do you say?”

“We’ve made a good start on it,” Hart said. “And I raise my cup to each of you. To John Lacy and to Michael Mohun. Whose light shone through the long dark days. And without whom we’d not be here tonight.” The men on either side of Hart acknowledged the murmurs of agreement from their fellows.

Big John Lacy, sitting to Hart’s left, surveyed the faces around him. “Back onstage again. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day. Here’s to you, my old dear friend, and the lord of the dance, Charles Hart! And to His Majesty. God save the king!”

“God save the king!” The room echoed with the cry. Nell gazed at the solemn faces of the older actors around the table. For the first time she felt ashamed of her whoredom, and she wanted desperately not to have to relate to the players as a whore. She felt sure that they embodied some mystery and wisdom, and she wanted only to be in their company and listen to them. She glanced around the room and was relieved that Madam Ross was nowhere to be seen and that Jack was engaged in a game of dice at a corner table and was paying her no mind.

Soon the spirit of the gathering lightened as the talk turned to the afternoon’s performance.

“A good house, and a merry, especially considering the weather,” Lacy said.

“True enough,” Hart agreed. “But then, considering how long some of them had been waiting to discover how it came out, perhaps they didn’t mind braving the cold.”

Nell was puzzled by the laughter at this remark.

“Why were they waiting?” she ventured to ask. She felt self-conscious when all eyes turned to her, but Lacy answered her cheerfully.

“The theatres were outlawed under Old Nol, thou knowest that? Well, during that time, some of the old actors twice put up this same play at the Red Bull, and were twice stopped and arrested.”

“But now,” Nell ventured, “now you can play again?”

“Yes, thanks be to God and to Charles Stuart,” Wat nodded. “And after eighteen long years, here we sit before you, the King’s Company, in business once again.”

Nell was chagrined that she had missed an event of such momentousness as the actors’ triumphant return to the stage. Jimmy Cade and a few of his friends came in the door, and he caught her eye. She was usually happy to see him, but she lingered at the actors’ table for a few minutes.

“This play you played today,” she queried, “will you give it again?”

“We will,” Hart said. “But we’ve other fare for the next few days.”

“And then”—Lacy grinned—“on Thursday, we move to better quarters, indoors, and give the first part of King Henry the Fourth.”

“I wish I could see it.” Nell looked up at him, hope shining in her eyes.

“And so you can,” Lacy said. “Even better, come to our rehearsal tomorrow. Then you can say you saw it before any in London.”

Nell gave him a happy grin and danced off to find Jimmy Cade. By the time she returned downstairs, most of the actors had left. She longed to hear more about the theatre and couldn’t wait until she could follow up on Lacy’s invitation.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE NEXT MORNING, NELL WOKE TO FIND THAT THE INSIDES OF HER thighs were streaked with blood, and she threw a fervent thank-you heavenward upon discovering that Rose had also started her monthly courses, and so they would both be excused from work and free to watch the King’s Men rehearse.

Shortly before ten o’clock, they arrived at what had formerly been Gibbons’s Tennis Court in Vere Street, only a few minutes’ walk from Lewkenor’s Lane. Nell had heard that the place, just off the southwestern corner of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, had been for some time a resort of the gentry and nobility, offering not only tennis and bowls but the highest quality victuals and drink, sheltered gardens, and a large coach house.

Nell looked around excitedly as Harry welcomed them into the new playhouse. The high-ceilinged room was flooded with sunlight from the rows of windows at the backs of the galleries that lined the two long walls of the building. Knots of men and boys huddled and bustled in preparation for the morning’s work, and with a thrill Nell recognised many of the actors she’d seen the previous evening.

“It will be the finest theatre that London has seen,” Harry said. “Much better than the Red Bull.”

“Why?” Nell asked.

“It’s a proper building, not just a yard open to the wind and rain. Less than fifty feet from the stage to the back of the house, so the actors will not have to shout to make themselves heard. It’ll be more like playing at court in the old days.”

“Very fine,” Rose agreed.

“You’re looking fine yourself this morning,” Harry said with a wink. “Come, let’s have a closer look.” He pulled her into the shadows under the gallery at the back of the theatre, and Nell took the opportunity to wander closer to the stage, where Wat Clun was in conference with one of the younger actors. He grinned as Nell approached.

“Well, I see you’ve come to join us. What do you think of the place?”

“It’s grand,” Nell beamed. A raised stage at one end of the room sloped down a little from the darkly panelled back wall with its two doors, to within a few feet of the first row of green-upholstered benches. Candles in many-armed brackets were mounted along the galleries at the sides of the stage, reminding Nell of the light that had blazed forth from the Banqueting House on the night of the king’s return.

“Come,” Harry called. “It’s about time.” A handful of people were seated on the benches in the pit before the stage, but Harry led Nell and Rose up narrow steps to the upper gallery at the back of the theater.

“Boxes for gentlemen,” he said. “Much more comfortable than below.”

“To your beginners, please.” Nell looked down to where a man with a sheaf of papers before him on a table was calling to the actors. They disappeared through the doors at the back of the stage, and silence fell. Harry pulled Rose onto his lap and she giggled. Nell wondered how they could think of anything else when the play was about to begin.

A group of actors swept onto the stage with an air of regal gravity. They seemed to be wearing their own clothes, but had bits and pieces of what Nell thought must be their costumes. A grey-haired actor that she recognised from the previous night wore a heavy robe of red velvet and a crown, so he must be the king. Some of the others wore capes or had swords hanging at their sides.

The king glanced around at the men surrounding him, and spoke.

“So shaken as we are, so wan with care,

Find we a time for frighted peace to pant

And breathe short-winded accents of new broils