The Darling Strumpet

To be commenced in strands afar remote ….”

Nell was enthralled by the majestic words, and strove to understand them. To her relief the next scene was much easier to follow, and funny. Wat lumbered onto the stage, a huge tankard in his paw, stretched luxuriously, scratched his arse, and demanded of the fair-haired young actor who followed him, “‘Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?’”

“‘What a devil hast thou to do with the time of day?’” the youth cried. “‘Unless the blessed sun himself was a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of day!’”

Nell thought she had never seen anything so funny as the picture of virtuous outrage on Wat’s face.

“Look at him,” she chortled to Rose and Harry. “Like a great round baby caught with stolen sweetmeats.”

Her heart skipped a beat when Charles Hart strode onto the stage in the next scene, his dark eyes full of snapping fire, and she feared for his safety when he raged at the king, his deep voice seeming to shake the walls as he cried, “‘My liege, I did deny no prisoners!’”

When Harry Percy, in the person of Charles Hart, made ready to depart for the war and took tender leave of his wife, played by a young man, as true-to-the-life a woman as any that Nell had ever seen, she felt her own soul ache for his going.

When the rehearsal was done, Nell sat still for a few moments, not wanting to let go of what she had experienced. She felt drained and yet exhilarated, and as if she was changed in some way. In the course of the three hours she had felt herself consumed with the passions of the king, the prince, of Harry Percy and his wife, of fat Sir John Falstaff and all the rest, had felt as though she herself had lived through all their griefs, their rages, and their joys. She did not want to leave the charmed atmosphere of the playhouse. She lingered to watch as the actors gathered on the benches below, and was overjoyed when Wat Clun waved at her. Dragging Rose after her, she bounded down to where he stood and beamed up at him.

“Well, sweeting, and what did you think of your first play?” he asked.

“It was a wonder! You were so funny!”

Clun grinned.

“Come to see Beggars’ Bush tomorrow afternoon. It’ll be our last show at the Bull.”

“Truly?” Nell cried. “Can we, Rose?”

“Aye,” Rose nodded. “We’ll not miss such a kind offer.”

ON THE WAY HOME, NELL CAPERED BESIDE ROSE, HOPPING ON ONE leg in circles around her sister and then coming alongside.

“I thought the prince was wondrous,” she mused. “Why should his father be displeased with him?”

“Why, for his mad freaks and rogueries with ruffians and low company such as Falstaff and the others. Bowsing, stealing, wenching.”

“But once the old king was dead could not Hal do as he pleased?”

“I suppose he could.”

“And why was Harry Percy so angry?”

“Lord, I don’t know. I couldn’t follow it all, in truth.”

“And why—”

“’Fore God, Nell, you wear me out!” Rose cried in exasperation. “Save your questions for Harry or the actors.”

Nell did not understand how Rose could not share her burning curiosity to know everything about the play, the players, and the theatre. She held her tongue, but her mind seethed with questions. Though she didn’t have to work that night, she haunted the taproom, hoping that the actors might come in, and when Harry Killigrew strode in followed by two of the younger actors, she raced over to them.

“How can you remember all those words? What play did you play this afternoon? Where do the plays come from?”

Harry laughed. “You’d best sit down if you’ve got so many questions.” Nell plopped herself on a bench facing the fair-haired young actor who had played Prince Hal.

“How many plays are there?” she demanded.

“What, how many plays in the world?” he laughed. “That I cannot tell, but I can tell you what we’ve played over the past weeks, and what we’ll give again. The Traitor, Wit Without Money, The Silent Woman, Othello, Bartholomew Fair—”

“Where do they come from?” Nell interrupted. “And how can there be so many plays if there have been none for so long?”

“The two companies divided the plays from the old days,” said Harry. “And my father got the best of those, as he did with the actors.”

“Is it all lads and men?” Nell asked. “Are there no women players?”

“Up ’til now,” Harry said, “it’s always been boys acting the women’s parts. But that’s soon to change. His Majesty saw women on the stage in Frankfurt and thought it a charming innovation.”

“Mr. Killigrew says he’s going to try putting a woman on the stage in a few weeks,” the youngest of the lads said. “My dad says it will cause rioting in the streets, either from outrage or from lust.”

Nell joined in the laughter, but was intrigued.

“Who are they, these women? Where do they come from?”

“Oh, they’re pretty, likely-looking wenches my father has found somewhere,” Harry shrugged. “Girls with a quick wit who are like to be able to learn their words.”

“Not married. And orphans, likely,” said the fair-haired actor. “For who would want their wife or daughter on the stage?”

“Sir William Davenant at the Duke’s Company has a couple of girls about your age in his care,” Harry said. “Betty Barry and Moll Davis. Perhaps he’ll make something of them.”

“But that’s all to come,” said the fair-haired lad. “Mr. Killigrew will not risk putting women on just yet. Certainly not when we play at court in a fortnight’s time.”

“Is there a playhouse there?” Nell asked.

“There is,” Harry answered. “The Cockpit. It’s fallen into a sad state. But it’ll soon be right again, eh, Marmaduke?”

“With not a penny spared,” the fair-haired young man agreed. “My brother’s a plasterer and he says there’s night work as well as daytime labour. The king’s in a tear to get the job finished, and when it’s done, it’ll be mighty fine.”

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, NELL AND ROSE MADE THEIR WAY UP ST. JOHN Street to where the Red Bull stood near Clerkenwell Green. There was already a crowd at the door to the playhouse, and Nell was seized with fear that there would be no room for them. But when Rose told their names to the man with the box for the money, he nodded and waved them in with a smile.

The square yard was open to the winter sky, with enclosed galleries along three sides and a stage across the fourth. Despite the chill breeze, the benches in the galleries were quite full, and even the ground before the stage was crowded with men, women, and children, all eating, drinking, talking, and laughing. In the middle of this seething crowd, Nell could not even see the stage. Rose grasped her hand and they worked their way forward. The stage stood some five feet high from the ground, so that those standing at the back of the pit could see as well as those at the front, but its height meant that Nell had to look almost straight up to see it.

The play began and Nell was pleased to see Wat Clun, Charles Hart, and other actors from the previous day’s rehearsal. The story rocked merrily along—everyone, it seemed, was in disguise, and at the end of the play all were revealed as their true selves. Charles Hart turned out to be a nobleman, and not only was he reunited with the girl he had been forced to forsake, but she proved to be the daughter of a duke, so all ended happily, if improbably.

Dusk was coming on when the play finished, with rain clouds lowering overhead, and Nell was shivering despite the heavy cloak she clasped around herself and tired from standing for two hours. Yet she didn’t want to go. The play had transported her, made her forget about Madam Ross’s place. She had been in two playhouses now, and different though they were, they had both seemed to hold magic within them, to make her thrill with an excitement she had felt only once before—while watching the king’s return to London.

THE OLDER ACTORS DID NOT RETURN TO MADAM ROSS’S IN THE weeks after the King’s Company moved to the Vere Street theater, but Harry and the younger actors were frequent visitors. When Harry went upstairs it was with Rose, and, as Jane had said, Tom Killigrew had retained her services for his lads. Nell was happy that matters had fallen out so. She desperately wanted to be thought well of by her new acquaintances, and though they must know she was part of Madam Ross’s covey, she felt on more solid ground with them than she would have if she had to take them to her bed. When they came in of an evening, she always wanted to hear the particulars of the day’s performance and begged them for news of the doings at the playhouse.

“Well,” said Marmaduke Watson one night in early December, “Sir William Davenant has been training his women players, we hear, though they’ll not be fit to send onstage for some time.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “We’ll beat him in that race, for we’re putting a woman on the stage in a few days’ time.”

“Who?” Nell asked. “What will she play?”