"Oh."

"Hmm?" Charles had not seen it yet. Then he did.

"Ah."

There was another rustle as the queen stood. "I will not stay, for fear the pretty fool who owns that little slipper might take cold. I am glad you are well." The door closed, but Nell still waited.

"You can come out now, Nelly," Charles said.

"Shall I leave?" she asked, emerging.

"No, no," he said. "The damage is done. Poor soul, I try not to rub her nose in it. But it's sweet of you to ask."

AFTER THAT NIGHT, EVERYONE WAS MORE CAREFUL. THE QUEEN stayed away from the king's bedchamber. The king's attendants took care to ensure that no one entered unannounced, and Charles made sure they knew that this precaution applied to the Countess of Castlemaine. For it was no longer Barbara Palmer but Nell who was his frequent companion at night.

She grew accustomed to the morning ritual-the arrival of the king's breakfast, the barber's coming to shave him, the attendance of the groom and gentleman of the bedchamber to help him bathe and dress, and the appearance of various ministers to report about the matters requiring his attention.

After Buckingham and Lady Castlemaine brought down the hated Earl of Clarendon the previous summer, Buckingham had succeeded Clarendon as Charles's first minister, and he was almost always the first visitor of the day. Nell enjoyed listening to them confer as she ate breakfast in bed. It was fascinating, the variety of subjects in which Charles was interested and over which he had sway.

"Wren is making great progress on the plans for the new churches," Buckingham reported one morning, consulting his notes. "He proposes to begin with St. Bride's and St. Lawrence Jewry, and is ready to show you drawings when convenient."

"Excellent," Charles said, biting into a piece of bread.

"There is to be a committee meeting on Tangiers tomorrow, again. And the Duke of York has proposals for victualing the navy."

"G.o.d, yes, the ships must be provisioned, but must I hear the details of every cask of beef and barrel of ale that is put aboard?"

"Rochester had his clothes taken the other day while he was tiffing some Covent Garden nun," Buckingham smiled. "Perhaps news more to your liking?"

"More entertaining, at any rate," Charles said, wiping coffee from his mustache. "Did he get them back?"

"The clothes, yes," said Buckingham. "They were found stuffed into a mattress. His gold, however, was gone."

"Poor Johnny," Charles said. "Never learns, does he? What else?"

"Only the usual wranglings. My Lady Castlemaine-"

"Oh, spare me!" Charles cried.

But though Charles was spared the telling of Lady Castlemaine's complaint on that morning, it was played out very publicly, to the delight of the town, and Nell found herself on the battlefield.

After an absence of a few weeks from the stage, she was to speak the prologue and epilogue to Ben Jonson's Catiline His Conspiracy. On the afternoon of the first performance, she strode forward onto the ap.r.o.n of the stage. Her Amazon costume, a short feathered skirt and Roman sandals, with a diaphanous drapery that bared most of one breast and some of the other, was greeted with whoops. She raised her short sword in salute, and addressed the packed house.

"Since you expect a prologue, we submit!"

When she came to the end of her speech, she bowed, thus baring both b.r.e.a.s.t.s in their entirety, and made her exit to cheers. Lacy was in the wings, and she stood with him to watch the play. Kate Corey, in all her Roman finery as Semp.r.o.nia, sailed onto the stage. Her initial speech was getting laughs much bigger than usual, and Nell c.o.c.ked a curious ear.

"Why on earth is she lisping like that?" she whispered to Lacy. He listened, a quizzical expression on his face.

"By G.o.d," he gasped. "She's doing Lady Harvey."

"What?"

"Lady Elizabeth Harvey. Her husband's the amba.s.sador to Turkey. Her cousin's the Lord Chamberlain. That's her to the life."

The audience had obviously also recognized who Kate was personating, for they were roaring with laughter. Nell and Lacy watched in silence. Kate pursed her lips in a way that made Nell think of a thoughtful duck, and rolled her eyes dreadfully. She appeared to be enjoying her own performance immensely, and with every knowing cackle from the pit, her mannerisms became more p.r.o.nounced and her lisp more ridiculous.

"Hang virtue! Where there ith no blood t.i.th vithe,

And in him thauthineth!"

"WHAT A DEVIL IS SHE UP TO?" LACY ASKED. "SHE'S GETTING LAUGHS, so no harm, I suppose, but it's d.a.m.ned odd."

"A new attack on an old part?" Betsy Knepp asked when Kate came giggling into the tiring room.

"Just a little jest," Kate shrugged. "Lady Castlemaine has fallen out with Lady Harvey and paid me to lampoon her."

"You take your life into your hands, girl," Betsy said, shaking her head.

The response from the audience grew more uproarious in Kate's subsequent scenes, but the other shoe seemed to drop at the end of the climactic conspiracy scene just after she left the stage.

Young Theo Bird as Sanga turned to Nicholas Burt, as Cicero, and asked, " 'But what'll you do with Semp.r.o.nia?' "

Burt drew his breath to answer, but before he could speak, a lisping voice rang from the house, "Thend her to Conthtantinople!"

It was Lady Castlemaine who had shouted out the answer. She stood in her box, triumphant, as the auditorium dissolved into pandemonium-howls of laughter, raucous shouts approving and disapproving the improvisation, the pounding of walking sticks, nuts and apple cores sailing through the air.

The final act was interrupted repeatedly by cheers, catcalls, and further remonstrances from the audience, but the extent of the reaction to the performance did not become clear until the following day.

"Kate Corey has been arrested for her little mockery yesterday," Michael Mohun fumed to the a.s.sembled company. "Lady Harvey went crying to her cousin the Earl of Manchester, and he went straight to the king. So now we shall have to put on something else tomorrow, unless we can get this sorted out by then."

"But why did Lady Castlemaine want to mock Lady Harvey, anyway?" Nell whispered to Betsy. Betsy raised her eyebrows significantly.

"A lovers' quarrel, so I hear. Apparently Castlemaine took comfort in Lady Harvey's arms when the king was in a rage over her going to bed to Ralph Montagu."

"And why Constantinople?" Nell pressed.

"Why, because both ladies got the king to send their husbands far away, so they could do as they pleased. But their intrigue soured, as these things do. I fear me Kate has got herself in deeper than she knew."

NELL SPENT THAT NIGHT WITH CHARLES. SHE DID NOT DARE RAISE the subject of the arrest of her fellow player, but it lay heavy on her mind. It was Charles who mentioned the play, saying that he would be at the next day's performance.

"But I thought-" Nell stopped. This could be dangerous territory.

"No, no, it's all settled. It's a command performance, in fact, and I'm looking forward to it immensely."

It seemed that Charles was not the only one eagerly antic.i.p.ating the afternoon's entertainment. The theater doors opened at noon to a mob of patrons, and when Nell made her entrance for the prologue, she had rarely seen the theater as crowded. The seats in the pit were full, and men stood shoulder to shoulder in the aisles. The upper galleries seethed with bodies. She curtsied to Charles in the royal box, with Barbara Palmer preening at his side, and waited for the hubbub to subside before she spoke her prologue. When she had finished her speech and made her exit, she found the entire cast watching from the wings.

"I've heard murmurs that Lady Harvey has got people in the house today to cause trouble," Lacy said. "Have a care."

Kate Corey appeared none the worse for her time in jail. She made her entrance to loud cheers, and if anything, her mimicry of Lady Harvey was even more p.r.o.nounced than in the first performance.

"'There are three compet.i.torth,'" she lisped broadly. "'Caiuth Antoniuth, Publiuth Galba . . .'"

The audience howled in glee as she continued the list of Romans with their "S"-laden names.

" 'Luthiuth Cathiuth Longinuth, Quintuth Cornifithius, Caiuth Lithiniuth' "-Kate paused masterfully before finishing-" 'and that talker, Thithero.' "

The level of excitement and tension in the house mounted as the play progressed to the scene into which Barbara had thrown her verbal gauntlet during the previous day's performance. Kate fought the rising tide of voices, almost shouting to make herself heard above a chorus of hisses, but she carried gamely on.

She swept offstage at the conclusion of her scene, leaving Nicholas Burt and Theo Bird. They seemed to visibly brace themselves as they came to the infamous line.

" 'But what'll you do with Semp.r.o.nia?'" A fusillade of oranges pelted the stage, hitting the actors, smashing against the scenery, rolling back down to the audience. Theo ducked an orange and tried again to speak, but jeering shouts and stamping rose to such a level that he and the other actors gave up, held their places in silence until they could make themselves heard, and then simply got through to the end as quickly as they could.

"Don't go out," Hart said, as Nell stood ready to make her entrance for the epilogue. "Let's just end it."

In the tiring room afterward, Kate looked shaken but defiant.

"It was worth it," she claimed, stripping off her gown. "Lady Castlemaine was so happy about yesterday that she got the king to let me out and spent all the morning with me coaching me to better mock Lady Harvey. And paid me twice what she had before, knowing that we should have a bigger audience for the jest today."

"Lady Castlemaine's still got quite a hold on the royal cods, apparently," Beck Marshall said, with a sidelong glance at Nell, "despite rumors to the contrary."

BUT BARBARA'S HOLD WAS WEAKENING. CHARLES MADE NO SECRET OF his exasperation with her, and during his breakfast briefings, he vented his growing exasperation with her political machinations, extravagant spending, constant requests for money, and endless parade of lovers.

"I've had enough," Charles announced to Nell soon after the New Year. " 'Madam,' I told her, 'All that I ask of you for your own sake is, live so for the future as to make the least noise you can, and I care not who you love.' "

"What did she say?" Nell asked.

"She threw a clock at me. But she'll be out of the palace within a fortnight. Don't worry for her," he said, seeing the look on Nell's face. "She and the children are well provided for. And while I'm thinking of it, Buckingham tells me there's a pretty little house available at Lincoln's Inn Fields."

"For Barbara?" Nell asked.

"Barbara?" said Charles. "No, she has houses enough. For you, Nelly, for you."

Nell could scarcely draw breath to thank him she was so stunned, so she kissed him instead.

"Quite fashionable that area's become," Charles said. "And it's close by the theater but near enough to here that we can see each other easily."

SOON AFTER THAT PROMISE, NELL SAT HAPPILY IN AN UPPER BOX AT the King's Playhouse with Peg Hughes, who had joined the company that season. She was Sedley's mistress, which had made Nell initially leery of her, but she liked Peg's straightforward humor and even enjoyed watching her onstage. Today they were watching the new tragicomedy The Island Princess, and Nell was in great spirits. She had just moved into her house in Newman's Row and could hardly believe that she was living in such grandeur.

"It's got two whole stories," she told Peg. "Parlor, dining room, kitchen, bedchambers, garden at the back. Only steps from Lincoln's Inn Fields!"

"And servants?"

"A cookmaid, a maid of all work, and a porter," Nell said. "Think of that! You'll have to come and visit."

"I wish Charlie would take a house for me," Peg said. "He keeps saying he hasn't the money. I like him, but I can only wait so long." Her dark curls bounced as she giggled, and Nell thought she was a pretty wench indeed, and Charlie Sedley had better look sharp if he wasn't to lose her.

"Look," Nell said. "There's Moll Davis down there. She's looking a bit fat, don't you think?"

"If you ask me, there's always a bit of the piglet about her," Peg said, and they both broke into laughter.

"Why, Mrs. Nelly!" The voice came from the next box, and Nell saw that Sam Pepys was there with his wife.

"Good afternoon, Sam. A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Pepys. You know Margaret Hughes?"

"Yes, indeed," Pepys smiled. "It would be hard to forget such a charming face as hers is. Of course," he hastened to add, "not quite so charming a face as that of Mrs. Pepys, if you'll forgive me, Mrs. Peg."

A couple of weeks later Peg came to call, and Nell showed her around the house.

"I can scarce believe it," she said. "All my life I've lived in wretched little dog holes. And now so much room, just for me." She guided Peg to a window on the upper story that looked out over Lincoln's Inn Fields.

"That's the Duke of Buckingham's house, and the Earl of Sandwich lives there, the Earl of Bristol there, and the Countess of Sunderland there. It's a bit noisy at night, is the only trouble. Whetstone Park is just there, you see, and of an evening the street is full of bingo boys drinking and roaring."

"Did you hear about Ned Kynaston?" Peg asked, as they sat down to chocolate and cakes.

"No, what?" Nell asked in alarm at the worried look in Peg's eyes.

"He was set upon and beaten last night by two or three bravos and was hurt so bad he had to keep his bed today. Will Beeston had to go on in his part with book in hand."

"Who would have reason to hurt poor Ned?" Nell asked. Peg looked down at her lap, tears welling in her eyes.

"They're saying it was Sedley did it, because Ned mocked him in his playing of The Heiress, but I'll not believe it."

Nell wondered. Sedley was certainly a wild one, but would he go so far as that? She thought of poor Kate Corey spending a night locked up for her mockery of Lady Harvey and Lacy jailed for The Change of Crowns. The highborn might enjoy the playhouse and its pleasures, but there was no question that they thought actors were creatures far below them, to be taught a lesson if they got above their place.

NELL WAS GOING TO CELEBRATE HER NINETEENTH BIRTHDAY BY HAVING Charles to supper at her new house. She surveyed the table, its pewter dishes gleaming in the firelight, and breathed in the scent of pigeon pie and lamb with onions. It was perfect.

Charles arrived by sedan chair, anonymous and unnoticed in the wintry dark.

"Your birthday gift, sweetheart." He brought a squirming something from beneath his cloak. A little black spaniel puppy, its laughing eyes looking up at Nell as she took him into her arms.

"His name is Tutty."

"What a little heartbreaker!" she cried. "I'll cherish his company when I can't have yours."

NELL WATCHED HAPPILY AS CHARLES ATE. IT WAS WONDERFUL TO SIT with him in her home, truly alone for the first time. She smiled, thinking about the night before them. With the security of her own house, she had decided she would no longer use the little lemon rind cups or sponges soaked in vinegar that had prevented unwanted conception, and she hoped that tonight Charles would give her the start of a baby.

After supper, she led him to the bedroom. Her maid, Bridget, had folded the linens into chests and scattered them with dried lavender, and the bedding gave off a pungent, honeylike smell. Taking Charles into her bed like this, with only one candle burning in the small chamber and the sounds of the street outside, was so different from spending the night in the palace, knowing that attendants lay in the next room and would burst in at dawn. It felt like he was truly her lover. And it was so much more peaceful without those infernal clocks and dogs, Nell thought, drifting off to sleep curled against her king.