"But on rainy days only, you must be sure to wear it on rainy days-not the pastel gowns you are always dragging through the mud, Ellen. Grey is lovely in the rain."

This wasn't going to work.

Later-Three p.m. (over warm chocolate and toast) "Rose! I had thought this would be welcome news-a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, of course, but welcome!"

"It is happy! I am happy!" Her brown eyes grew bright with tears.

"You don't look look happy." I was watching her pace about the room-window to chaise, chaise to window. happy." I was watching her pace about the room-window to chaise, chaise to window.

"I just wish ... Oh, Ellen." She dropped heavily onto the tufted armchair and began picking at the fraying fabric-the dogs are destroying that chair. "I worry that I won't ever, can't ever..." Her words dissolved into sobs.

"Of course you can, Rose; it just takes time," I said, sounding trite. I felt selfish; I'd had no idea she wanted a child so badly.

"You don't understand, Ellen ... the things we did to get rid of them. We couldn't, we just couldn't couldn't have them." have them."

I looked at her, horrified. "You mean you ... on purpose? How?"

She took a deep steadying breath. "Lots of ways: herbs, emetics, purgatives, if you caught it early enough ... and if you didn't, then you just ... well, you just had had to. Everyone did it. So many times. And now, when I want one so much, I can't." to. Everyone did it. So many times. And now, when I want one so much, I can't."

"Rose, you will," I said, kneeling beside her and trying to sound confident. I brushed her loose curls off her face.

"No, I won't. I can't. And it is right. A punishment," she said dully, blowing her nose.

"No, you can't be punished for something you did when you were little more than a child yourself." I was surprised at the conviction in my voice-inwardly, I grieved for her and was hurt that she had not told told me. me.

"Yes, you can," she said flatly. "You can always be punished." There was no doubt in her voice, only regret.

Later Charles came for supper, and it was a forced, awkward affair. I did not bring it up. He did not bring it up. He returned to sleep in the castle. London tomorrow.

To Lord John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, Le Marais, ParisFrom Mrs. Ellen Gwyn, Newman's Row, LondonDearest Johnny,Please do not take it amiss that I write so seldom. You are ever in my thoughts and are missed, by me, by the king, by everyone. Charles loves you-you must know that-but is saddened by your wildness. You are exiled out of exasperation and not anger. He does not understand the blackness at the bottom of you. Nor do I. All I can do is love you with all the light I possess. I hope you are well, my dearest. Your lovely wife has not been to town, but I have heard from Savile that she is well at Adderbury. I am glad of it. We are all waiting for you to come home.Dearest, what do I do? The king bids me to leave the stage, and I do not know how. It is not that the stage is my heart, for he is my heart, but the stage is my courage. I do not know how to enter the world as myself without it. He loves me, and I fear I am impossibly ordinary without the magic that happens in the dark of that great room. It will be my undoing, and he cannot and will not understand it. I fear I am impossibly ordinary without the magic that happens in the dark of that great room. It will be my undoing, and he cannot and will not understand it.

I am ever and ever your, Ellen October 31, 1669-Newman's Row (All Hallows Eve) Ghosts are abroad tonight as the legends go. I feel I am becoming one of them. After a blazing row I have yielded to the king's wishes and have accepted no roles this season-a truce, for now. I am writing this in the little curved window-seat in my bedroom. The fire has died down and the house is asleep, but I cannot stop running over and over tonight's exchange with the king.

"I will not have it!" Charles roared, knocking a small blue vase off the mantel. It rolled on the carpet, scattering the spaniels, but did not break. He did not notice, and I did not move to pick it up. This was truly the first time I had ever seen him lose his temper. "I would sooner shut down the theatre, both theatres, all theatres!" He struggled for patience and took a long breath. When he spoke, his voice had a cool sharpness, like a winter blade. "I gave the theatre patents, and I can revoke them just as easily," he menaced. I found his quiet malice more devastating than his hot rage.

I believed him and shuddered to think of my friends disbanded and Tom ruined. I shifted Ruby onto my lap in the yellow silk armchair. Think! Think! No. There was no recourse, and I must accept, but try as I might I could not make my lips form the words. No sound came, and so I closed my mouth like a goldfish.

"Ellen, don't you see," he said, kneeling in front of me on the thick carpet. "If anything happened to you ... last time you survived, but this time, what if..."

"How did you know?" I asked, astonished. "How did you even know there was a last time?" Only a handful of people ever knew there was a baby. Teddy, Tom, Mother, Rose, Hugh, Cook...

"Barbara."

"Barbara!" I had not expected that answer. I slowly puzzled it together: Hart Hart must have told Barbara Castlemaine, and Barbara told the king-it was just the kind of juicy unfortunate sort of story she would be eager to pa.s.s on. But Hart ... How could he? How could he discuss something so private and so painful with that horrible woman? must have told Barbara Castlemaine, and Barbara told the king-it was just the kind of juicy unfortunate sort of story she would be eager to pa.s.s on. But Hart ... How could he? How could he discuss something so private and so painful with that horrible woman?

"She told me out of concern," he said solicitously, guessing my thoughts.

I rolled my eyes. Barbara Castlemaine only concerned herself with one person. Why? Why would she tell him? She said it to keep him out of my bed! I turned quickly to face Charles, still kneeling on the rug. "Did she she suggest we sleep apart until after the baby is born?" suggest we sleep apart until after the baby is born?"

"Well, no, yes ... in a way, but not a suggestion, really, more of a caution. She has, after all, had five children."

"And did you stay away from her bed during all those pregnancies?"

"No, naturally not, but then she was saying how delicate you are, and then she told me about your baby-your baby baptised Elizabeth."

I drew my breath in sharply, stunned that Hart would share such a detail, and squeezed my eyes shut against the answering bright white pain. Charles took my hands gently, as if they were as fragile as robin's eggs.

"Barbara told me that you nearly died when you lost that baby," he said simply. "That was enough for me ... nothing would make me risk you. It matters not at all what else she said."

"Oh, Charles," It was not our child he worried for-his concern was for me me. I immediately softened towards him. "I wouldn't do anything to endanger myself or the baby. It was a carriage accident. It could happen to anyone."

"I couldn't bear it, Ellen," he whispered, holding me tightly. "Please, for me. I just couldn't bear it."

"I won't," I promised. "Not while I am carrying our child, I won't."

November 1, 1669-All Souls' Day I lit a candle, as I do every year, for my dead: Father, Great-Aunt Margaret, Theo, lost baby Elizabeth...

Monday-Theatre Royal, London I have become an unpleasant person. Tom and Teddy are disappointed, and I find I cannot discuss my distress with them. I roam reasonlessly about the theatre. I feel without anchor or purpose. I feel jealousy born of idleness and am snapping at everyone. I harbour undeserved and unbridled anger for Hart, who is currently enjoying a short country holiday.

All I have is Charles and our baby, who does not even exist yet. I am riddled with envy for his wife, his children, his ministers ... He is to be my whole life, but I am only to be a small part of his. I rage at the unfairness. I feel diminished, less, as if I am dissolving a little more each day. "Go back," my heart whispers. But I promised.

Barbara is gone; Moll is vanquished; I suppose I am now maitresse en t.i.tre, maitresse en t.i.tre, but no one refers to me as such. As always, I remain Ellen. But I am less Ellen than I ever was before. but no one refers to me as such. As always, I remain Ellen. But I am less Ellen than I ever was before.

November 22, 1669-Newman's Row (early frosty morning) Charles went off to St. James's Park for his morning const.i.tutional, and I was left amongst the familiar debris: coffee cups, news sheets, dog bones, a forgotten tennis racquet, a book by Thucydides left face-down with the spine broken, papers and more papers, and half dismantled clocks. I must remember to tell Mrs. Lark not to disturb the pieces of this particular clock, or Charles will be cross-he has been working on it for two days.

I took myself downstairs so that the chambermaids could tidy up and roamed from room to room. The building work is nearly finished, and I could hear the carpenters, Mr. Lark, and Grandfather up on the second floor discussing plumbing for the new water closet. The broad books of fabric samples and paint colours and furniture designs were all lying out on the dining room table, where we left them last night. So far we have decided on periwinkle blue, pale gold, and creams for the formal drawing room-but have yet to order the furniture-and luscious reds for Charles's closet, for which we have ordered two deep armchairs, a bookshelf, a writing table, and a chaise longue. I am too superst.i.tious to design the nursery yet, and Charles agrees.

I was too agitated to think about furniture and wandered out onto the front steps-yes, scandalous: a pregnant, unmarried actress and chief mistress of the King of England lounging about her front stoop in her dressing-gown. I squinted into the morning sunshine and saw Aphra come hurrying down the street. I raised my hand in greeting. She would not be shocked by such immodesty.

"You'll freeze!" she scolded. "Inside, inside!" she said, herding me back into the house.

The dogs heard sounds of intruders and began to bark, setting off Molly, who is nearly full grown and makes a sort of nasally croaking squawk. I led Aphra though the noisy animals into my small downstairs sitting room (one of the few furnished rooms on the ground floor). I rang the bell for coffee and victuals, as Aphra shed her light coat and pulled off her stylish black hat.

"Like it? Madame Sophie. Lady Herbert sent it back, and so she sold it to me for half off."

I giggled at my friend's ever-unabashed economising.

"My dear, I hope I don't offend, but you look dreadful. Sort of grey and unloved. Is something the matter?"

Trust Aphra to recognise a sickness of soul rather than body.

"Is it the king?"

I shook my head no.

"Your mother?"

My wild drunken mother perversely appealed to Aphra's sense of female independence. Again, I shook my head. "I'm just not myself. I've been foul to everyone. I have agreed to give up the stage, and it grieves me in a way that I do not understand."

"Why should you not understand it?" she said briskly. "Of course you are grieved. You carved out a shiny sliver of life for yourself-just you-and now you must give it up and become someone else." She shrugged dismissively. "Your sparkle came from your secret, Ellen. When we are young, very young, if we are lucky, we believe that we are guaranteed a special place in the world, all our own. It is only when we find out that there is no such place unless we scratch it out with our own hands that our lights begin to dim."

"My secret?" I asked, not following.

"You were yourself by your own right. However much it may have looked like you were in someone's possession. That was your great secret. That is why you sparkled beyond all others. You were free."

After Aphra had gone I mulled over what she had said. It is a grief, I thought. A grief for having lost something I did not care to lose. He prefers me not to act ... but must I give up my theatre altogether? The performance is but a small part. I quickly wrote a note to Tom.

November 26, 1669-Newman's Row, London (sunny after days of rain) "Wrap up, Ellen; it is chilly," Grandfather said, standing at the door of the church. In fact, it was not cold but a balmy autumn day, warmed with remembered summer. Dutifully, I pulled my green m.u.f.fler around me.

"You do realise that I have six months to go?" I teased affectionately. Grandfather is also terrified I will miscarry again and run into danger.

"And step carefully here," he said, leading me over a shallow puddle. Grandfather loves me with a steady discipline that underpins all he does.

I rolled my eyes. Am I to be treated like spun marzipan until May? Yes, Yes, his look tells me. his look tells me.

When we returned home, I tore open Tom's note, waiting in the silver dish: To Mrs. Ellen GwynNewman's Row, LondonMy dear Ellen,Of course! I should welcome your insight into all facets of our theatre. Shall we begin today? Twelfth Night Twelfth Night is proving a bear, and I would love your a.s.sistance. Let me know what time is convenient, and I will come with the set designer and stage is proving a bear, and I would love your a.s.sistance. Let me know what time is convenient, and I will come with the set designer and stage manager if I may. I will send the script over to you directly. My groom is waiting for your reply. manager if I may. I will send the script over to you directly. My groom is waiting for your reply.

Affectionately your, Tom Thank G.o.d. Tom sent over several scripts for me to read through. I am rescued. He is coming over later with Mr. Fuller and Mr. Booth. I have also asked Rose to come to discuss set, costumes, and casting for Twelfth Night Twelfth Night. The familiar rhythm of rehearsal and performance will steady and soothe me. I am at home in the midst of that chaos. I feel the brilliance of activity coming on.

Later They just left after a heated discussion and a lovely supper of roasted meats and fresh salad. Becka is to play Maria, and Nan is to play Viola. Lizzie will take Olivia, and in a fit of malice, I suggested Hart play Malvolio, complete with yellow hose. I feel appeased, as it is a part he loathes. I am renewed and painted in bright colours once more.

To Mrs. Eleanor Gwyn, Newman's Row, LondonFrom Lord John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, in ParisDecember 10, 1669Ellen,Accede to his wishes until after the baby and then return. It would be somewhat disastrous if you were to insist on the stage and then have a mishap. Undoing the king's child is not like undoing a private citizen, to put it crudely. Be sure to come back, Ellen. You are all my firelight, my dear, and I would be in darkness without you.Paris is dull, and I am dull with it. I miss myself dreadfully, how selfish. Tell Rose I shall bring her back lovely French fabric, and I won a pair of very pretty shoes of Babs Chatillon the other day-they shall go to Teddy. Savile has asked for the most outrageously expensive snuff, and I shall lie and tell him I could not find it anywhere. Etheredge is being pompous and has requested books. You will get the prize, my darling-as ever, my whole heart.

Johnny Rochester Sat.u.r.day, December 15-Newman's Row It happened. It was bound to. Hart could not go on skulking about the theatre indefinitely, and I? I needed to know why. This afternoon: After dropping off a pile of costumes in the dress-maker's room (it was particularly galling to hand over my costumes, and the roles they accompanied, to the Marshall sisters) I heard Hart humming in his private tiring room. He only hums when he is alone. Without hesitating, I pushed open the slim wooden door to find him halfway through his afternoon shave.

"Ellen!" He quickly wiped the comically foamy shaving cream from his chin with a worn blue cloth.

Having impulsively rushed into this confrontation, I found I was unsure of what I wanted to say. No. I balled my fists in renewed purpose. "Why?" I demanded in a low wolfish growl. Was that really my voice? "Why tell her?" I knew he would understand me. I braced myself for his inevitable rage and useless explanations and then, hating myself for it, I suddenly began to weep, the tears coursing down my face like a soft spring rain.

"Ellen," he said quietly, "I should not have told her. Castlemaine is not a woman to understand such a thing, and I regret it. Forgive me."

Caught off guard, I reached out for a nearby chair to steady myself. Instantly, he was at my side, gently helping me to sit down, pressing a clean handkerchief into my wet palm. "I hadn't thought you would be sorry," I said, bewildered and stating the obvious.

"Yes." He laughed, still holding my hand. "Yes, I can see that."

"Why, Hart?" I asked earnestly. I was determined to know. "Something so private, so personal? Why tell her my secret?" And then I heard it: my my secret, not secret, not our our secret. My daughter, to be named Rose. His daughter, Elizabeth, for his mother. Our daughter. When had she become mine? secret. My daughter, to be named Rose. His daughter, Elizabeth, for his mother. Our daughter. When had she become mine?

"Because I cannot forget her," he said, looking away, his voice catching, tearing. "As I cannot forget you."

Without a word I kissed his hand, still closed around mine, and rose to go. He roughly stood and returned to the washstand. He did not turn as the door closed. I know we will never speak of it again. It is all I can do for him.

Monday, December 20-Theatre Royal Sitting in on Twelfth Night Twelfth Night rehearsals. Hart pa.s.sed me in the wings without a word. rehearsals. Hart pa.s.sed me in the wings without a word.

December 26, 1669-Newman's Row (snow!) We celebrated our Christmas tonight as Charles had to spend yesterday divided between Christmas festivities with his children (Chiffinch says he bought each of his daughters a compa.s.s and his sons new saddles) and the official court Christmas feast with his queen. Tonight is just for us. Mrs. Lark made her b.u.t.tery yellow cakes with sugared lemon icing, while Mr. Lark and Grandfather decorated the banisters with lengths of evergreen. Rose and I hung a ball of mistletoe in my bedroom doorway-we can no longer close the door, but no matter. After supper and hot mulled wine we curled up on the sofa by the fire and opened our presents. Charles handed me a slim gilt-edged printed card wrapped in a golden ribbon:

A FAREWELL P PERFORMANCE.

BY M MRS. ELLEN G GWYN.

A performance sponsored by the King of England I turned to Charles. "Sponsored?"

"Yes, costumes, sets, and a lovely party afterwards at Chatelin's."

"Charles!"

"I could not think of any gift that would please you more. It will be a lovely good-bye, my dear."

"Good-bye for now," I added.

January 15, 1670-Newman's Row Charles told me this evening that the queen is planning to attend my performance. He was clearly surprised and pleased by this news. I am delighted but not surprised. She is a woman with a rare capacity to forgive, and I am honoured.

When I Make My Last Entrance

LONDON GAZETTE.

Sunday, February 13, 1670 Most Deservedly Called London's Best and Brilliant Broadsheet The Social Notebook Volume 400 Ambrose Pink's social observations du jour Darlings, By order of His Majesty, our dearest divine Nelly will return to us for one bright night. What he hath plucked he hath returned for one glittering evening. Cherish it, my petals! They will say in years to come: "I was there at that beautiful moment when a beautiful girl left her beautiful stage."

And in addition, you will be treated to the creamiest de la creme: de la creme: Dryden will write, Lacy will dance, Ned will sing, and Dryden will write, Lacy will dance, Ned will sing, and naturellement, le roi naturellement, le roi will watch! And then, poof! Our darling girl will be gone, and she will be missed, for she has been most loved, and may I say, it is never been more deservedly so. will watch! And then, poof! Our darling girl will be gone, and she will be missed, for she has been most loved, and may I say, it is never been more deservedly so.

a bientot!

Ever your eyes and ears, Your bated and breathy, Ambrose Pink, Esq.

February 14-St. Valentine's Day, Will's Coffee-house "You must know him, Ellen," Teddy said from behind his news sheet. I could hear him chewing his toasted gingerbread.

"Or her," Peg said, b.u.t.tering her toast.

She is in town for my farewell performance-farewell ... until after the baby performance-I keep stipulating. No one believes me, and everyone is sure I will fall so in love with my baby that I will give up all thoughts of the theatre. "Look how you are with your goose," Teddy keeps saying, as if that explains everything.

"Sounds like a man's writing to me," Teddy said, not bothering to offer any proof whatsoever.

"But...," Peg interrupted.

"Peg, how many women do you know named 'Ambrose,'" Tom asked witheringly, not looking up from his sketches. He is finding it impossible to fit all of the distinguished guests attending this gala into appropriately distinguished boxes.

"It is not her real real name, naturally," Peg said, dropping crumbs on her silk dress. "The language is too ... I don't know ... name, naturally," Peg said, dropping crumbs on her silk dress. "The language is too ... I don't know ... floral floral to be a to be a real real man." man."

"Men can be floral, floral," Teddy insisted. "I can be a veritable bouquet. In any case, it was a lovely thing for him him to write-whoever to write-whoever he he may be," Teddy said sincerely. We looked at him in surprise. He is usually vitriolic about Pink's column. I wonder... may be," Teddy said sincerely. We looked at him in surprise. He is usually vitriolic about Pink's column. I wonder...

"But he called you 'Ned.' You hate being called 'Ned,'" Peg said.

"Well, obviously I hated that part." Teddy grimaced. "Ellen? Is the king your valentine?" he asked, changing the subject.