NELL'S SEDAN CHAIR HALTED BEFORE THE PALACE DOORS. THE guards were the same, the great rambling pile of stone that was Whitehall was the same, the same birds landed on the same bare branches. Yet all had changed in the s.p.a.ce of a few days, and Nell felt that the light had gone out in the world as she made her way to the privy chamber.

The Duke of York, now King James, sat at his desk, heaps of paper before him, a pen in his hand. His eyes were tired as he looked up at Nell, as though he had not slept since Charles's death. Heavy lies the head that wears the crown, she thought. She dropped into a low curtsy, and he gave her his hand and guided her to a chair.

"With almost his last breath, Charles spoke of you," he said, a sad smile wreathing his lips. " 'Let not poor Nelly starve,' he said. He knew you truly cared for him. And so do I."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Nell said. "For knowing that to be true."

"It will take me some time to sort through all that must be dealt with," he said, waving a vague hand at the cluttered desk, the scrolls that tumbled onto the floor. "But," he said, and the word was freighted with portent, "you know that things cannot be as they have been."

Nell's heart raced and her stomach dropped. Here it was, the moment she had run from all her life. Abandoned, bereft, alone in a cold world. James saw the fear in her eyes and raised his hands, as though to tamp down her terror.

"I would not see you in hardship. I will send you five hundred pounds directly, to keep the wolf from the door. But I pray you spend it with care until I see what else may be done."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I thank you with all my heart."

CHARLES HAD BEEN DEAD FOR THREE MONTHS. SPRING WAS ALMOST come, and the days were growing longer. Nell sat with Groundes in his little office, forcing herself to listen to the numbers he recited. But all she knew was that he was telling her she needed money, money she did not have. She could sell some of her remaining silver plate. But the money would only go so far.

She thought of her pearls. They had cost Charles four thousand pounds. That amount of money would keep her household for months, yet her heart ached at parting from them. She could see his smile as he had given them to her, his pleasure at her cry of joy, the touch of his fingers as he fastened them around her neck. She stifled a sob before it erupted.

"I'll sell my pearls."

Groundes silently noted the pain.

"What of the other houses, madam? Are they yours to sell? To mortgage?"

"I don't know. Dorset and Buckingham and others have acted as my factors, and I don't know the true state of things."

"Something must be done, madam," Groundes said gently. "Perhaps it's time we found out where we stand? To write to the king and seek to find our feet at the bottom of the mire."

"READ THE LETTER OVER TO ME," NELL SAID, TWISTING HER HANDKERCHIEF in her hands. Groundes shuffled the pages, cleared his throat, and read.

" 'Sir, the honor Your Majesty has done me has given me great comfort, not by the present you sent me to relieve me out of the last extremity, but by the kind expressions from you of your kindness to me, which is above all things in this world, having, G.o.d knows, never loved your brother or yourself because you have it in your power to do me good, but as to your persons.

" 'Had he lived, he told me before he died that the world should see by what he did for me that he had both love and value for me. He was my friend, and allowed me to tell him all my griefs, and did like a friend advise me, and told me who was my friend and who was not.

" 'I beseech you not to do anything to the settling of my business til I speak with you. G.o.d make you as happy as my soul prays you may be, " 'Yours, Eleanor Gwynn.' "

THE TREES IN THE ROYAL PARK IN WINDSOR WERE IN FULL LEAF, b.u.t.tERFLIES and birds fluttering in the greenery under the summer sun. Nell was tired, as she always seemed to be these days, but the core of ice at her center had finally thawed, and she felt once more that she was among the living.

King James had affirmed that the Pall Mall house and Burford House were hers, should not be taken from her, and would pa.s.s to Charlie after she had gone. He had paid the mortgage on Bestwood Park and her other debts and settled on her an annual allowance of fifteen hundred pounds, to be paid to her for life. She would not starve. She would not live as grandly as she had, but in truth she had no wish to. Her pleasure came in quiet company-Rose and Guy and Lily, Charlie, Buckingham, Aphra.

The very air in Windsor still seemed to hold Charles's presence, and she felt at peace there. She walked alone under the green canopy of the great oaks, Tutty racing ahead and then dashing back to hurry Nell along, his little laughing face looking up before he darted off again. The church bells rang noon. Buckingham would arrive soon. She must remember to have a fire lit in his room. No matter the warmth of the weather, he had always a chill in his bones.

Nell heard voices and looked back toward the house. It was Buckingham, wig awry, waving off a servant and making his way toward her. He moved heavily and his face was not lit in greeting but dark with worry. Not more bad news, Nell thought. Who else is there to go?

"It's Monmouth," he panted, as he reached her. Monmouth was in France. France, as Jemmy had been....

"Dead?" she cried.

"No, worse." He ran a hand over his brow as though he could wipe away the lines there. "He landed with an army, headed for London to kill the king and take the throne."

"Dear G.o.d, no."

"The king's forces met him at Sedgemoor. Of course he was defeated, and taken, and now sits in the Tower. He begged the king for mercy, swore he would become a Papist, but the king's hands are tied. He cannot pardon such treason. It will mean Monmouth's death."

"The poor pretty fool." Tears ran down Nell's cheeks. "Why, why, why?"

"Because," Buckingham sighed, "he has lived ever as if the world were made only for him."

THE DAY OF EXECUTION CAME SWIFTLY. THE BALLAD SELLERS HAWKED new-minted broadsheets, Monmouth's likeness in blocky black wood-cuts printed at the head of mournful verses. Nell thought back to that first awful day of executions after Charles's return, the jostling crowds around the scaffold, their noses keen for the scent of blood. Though Monmouth had been convicted of treason, King James in his mercy had ordered that he should be spared the horrors of a common traitor's death, and instead would lose his head at the stroke of an axe. But it would be on Tower Hill, where a crowd could gather to see him die.

Dr. Tenison had gone to see Monmouth at the Tower that morning and would attend him on the scaffold. Nell could imagine his deep calm voice, giving what comfort he could. If Monmouth believed in a G.o.d and forgiveness, surely he would die in as much peace as he could, with Dr. Tenison at his side.

A bell tolled in the distance, and Nell knew that the hour of death had come. She tried to pray for Monmouth, but nothing came. No words that could convey her thoughts, no sense of a G.o.d who was listening. She sat and waited, each moment an eternity, and finally heard Dr. Tenison's voice at the door and then his footsteps on the stair.

Nell stood in shock at the sight of him as he entered the room. His white stockings were splashed with bright blood, his eyes stark with horror. Nell stared. She had never seen him less than self-possessed.

"Forgive me, the state I'm in-the-the blood. I wanted to come before anyone else should bear the news." He came to her silently and knelt before her, taking her hand in his, and Nell stared at him, uncomprehending.

"The news? Is he not dead, then?"

"Yes, he is dead." Dr. Tenison bowed his head, and Nell saw that he was shaking with sobs. "The headsman did not know his business, or I know not what." He faltered, and Nell's stomach turned over.

"What? I pray you, tell me, what?"

"Oh, Nell. It took five strokes of the axe, and still he was not-the work was not complete. The headsman finished him with a knife. G.o.d help us all, what butchery was there."

Nell thought of Monmouth's beautiful face, his bright curls matted in blood, his soft mouth contorted in a wordless shriek, and she found it was her own voice that was screaming as she fainted.

LONDON WAS LONELY. CHARLES HAD BEEN GONE FOR TWO YEARS, and every street and park, every room in Nell's house echoed with the voices of those no longer living, taunted her with memories of happy times now gone. The April sky was bleak, holding out little promise yet of spring. Rain beat upon the windows and wind rattled the shutters. So empty, Nell thought, looking from her bedchamber window out over the barren branches of the trees below. And so cold. Will I never feel warm again? She longed suddenly for company. How few of her loved ones remained. Charlie was in Belgrade, newly installed as colonel in a regiment of horse in the Imperial Army of Holy Roman Emperor Leopold. Buckingham was off hunting somewhere in the Yorkshire countryside, and she had thought he would have been back by now, but had heard no news. Maybe Rose would come, she thought, and then felt pathetic and foolish. She could not always run to Rose when she was feeling alone. She shook herself. What could she do to pa.s.s the evening? Invite some other friends for cards or supper? But who? Somehow the thought of dressing herself for company, of putting on makeup and fixing her hair, seemed more than she could face. She longed for old and comfortable friends, with whom she didn't have to pretend or make an effort.

A knock and voices at the door below. A twinge of hope. Perhaps someone had come to visit, maybe Rose or Aphra.

But it was Buckingham's page who appeared with Groundes, with that look of fear and loss that Nell knew too well, had seen too many times.

"George." His name caught in her throat. "He's . . ." She could say no more.

"Dead, Mrs. Nelly. My master's dead. Caught cold hunting and was out of his head with fever by the night."

"Where? Who was with him?"

"In an inn in Helmsley, a mean place not fit for his lordship. They was kind, did what they could. But-I'm sorry, madam."

"George." The word was a whisper this time. Nell found herself reaching out her hands, grasping for support, grasping for someone or something that wasn't there, falling, falling, as grayness flooded her mind.

NELL OPENED HER EYES. SHE WAS IN HER BED, BUT DID NOT RECALL how she had come to be there. It was dark. Dr. Lower stood over her, and Rose and Bridget were behind him. Nell tried to sit up and found that she could not. Something felt amiss, in a way she could not quite discern.

"Don't try to stir, pet." Rose was at her side then, her hand cool on Nell's forehead.

"Whaah? Whuh?" Nell tried to form words but they came out wrong.

"You've had an apoplexy, Mrs. Nell." Dr. Lower's voice was steady and calm.

"Baah." Nell tried again. What an odd sensation. The words seemed to be right there in her head but somehow her tongue could not find them.

"Best just to rest for now," Rose said.

Rest. Nell shut her eyes. Yes. That was all she could manage, anyway.

Over the next days, Nell drifted in and out of a haze. So tired. She was so tired. Her face and body felt heavy, and movement seemed impossible. Whenever she opened her eyes someone sat nearby-Rose or Bridget or Meg. Dr. Lower came and went, and then Dr. Lister and Dr. Harrell and Dr. Lefebure. The entire court staff of physicians, Nell thought. The flock who had attended on Charles over his last days. All that effort, all that pain he had suffered at their hands, and to what effect? He had gone just the same.

Finally, the fog seemed to clear from Nell's head. Rose helped her to sit, propping her against a bank of pillow, pulling the covers up to her chest, adjusting the woolen nightcap that swaddled her head. The sky outside the window was streaked with pink. It was evening, it seemed. Or perhaps it was dawn. Hard to tell. But it didn't seem to matter. Nell struggled to speak and somehow the words came, slurred but clear enough for Rose to understand.

"What's amiss with me?"

"The pox, most like." Rose looked down at Nell's hand, which she held in hers and stroked. "It's a long while coming on sometimes, you know. But eventually. . . and then the shock over poor Buckingham."

DR. LOWER CAME TO NELL EVERY DAY. SHE BEGGED HIM NOT TO BLEED her, not to torment her with plasters and clysters and poultices and cupping.

"If that's the price of recovering, I'd rather not," she said, managing a smile.

"Very well." He shook his head. "You shall have your way for now. But if we see no improvement in you. . ."

"Why, I'm better already." Nell smiled at him. "You see how I can sit and speak? Here, sit with me, and I'll tell you a story about the Weeping Willow and how she grew." Dr. Lower laughed despite himself and sat beside the bed.

SUMMER CAME. NELL FELT JUST STRONG ENOUGH TO VENTURE TO HER bedroom window. Her garden was in bloom, the trees spreading their green canopies, and in St. James's Park beyond, she could see courtiers, the breeze catching their gaily colored silks so that they seemed like sails.

"What a glorious day," she said, turning to Rose. "I'm so glad to be alive." And suddenly something was wrong, and blackness filled her head.

WHEN NELL AWOKE, THE SUN HAD GONE. SHE TRIED TO SIT AND found herself squirming helplessly like a caterpillar. Something was horribly amiss. Rose was at her side instantly, and Nell could see the truth in her face.

"I'm dying?"

Rose hesitated.

"Yes?" Nell prompted.

"Yes."

The world seemed to have contracted to this room, the small s.p.a.ce between the walls. Nothing lay beyond it, or nothing of substance.

"Don't leave me?"

"Never," said Rose. "Never."

"I HAVE LIVED A WICKED LIFE. AND FOR THIS, G.o.d HAS PUNISHED me. He took my little Jemmy, made him suffer for my sins, and now he has stricken me down." Nell heard her words hang in the air. The speaking of them had been hard, but once they were out, she felt a weight lifted from her, the weight of the secret fear that had been crushing her heart. She lifted her eyes and met the soft slate gray of Dr. Tenison's gaze.

"How have you been wicked?" His voice was gentle, almost curious.

"Why, I have been wh.o.r.e to the king and born him two b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. And wh.o.r.e to many men before that."

"Yes."

Outside the bedroom window, Nell could hear the rumble of a wagon's wheels in the street and the driver shouting at some obstruction in his way.

"Tell me," Dr. Tenison asked, "would you have married the king had you been able?"

"Of course," Nell said.

"And were you true to him?"

"I was."

"And did you bear him malice in your heart?"

"I would like to have killed him on a few occasions," Nell admitted, and was relieved to see Dr. Tenison's smile.

"I think I should have trouble finding a wife who could not say the same of her husband."

"And he had a wife," Nell said. "The queen."

"That is true. And your relations with him were grievous sin. But you have shown that you have a Christian heart, by many deeds in the time that I have known you. And I have no doubt that there were many more in your life before that. You have shown charity for the poor, the sick, those who could not of their own accord make their lives better or more comfortable. And I know that you have done it out of concern for them, admonishing me frequently that no one should know the source of their help."

"I felt embarra.s.sed," Nell said. "Lest any should think I was playing the grand lady."

"But it shows that your actions were pure of pride and vainglory. You have been a true and loving friend. To Monmouth, to the poor Earl of Rochester, to many others. You have loved your boys with an unstinting heart."

"But Jemmy. . ." The tears came hot now in Nell's eyes and ran down her cheeks. Tutty came snuffling up to her, his wet nose nudging her hand, his limpid eyes gazing up at her in concern, and she stroked his head, pulling the silky ears gently.

"Jemmy's death was not because of anything you did. I am sure of that," Dr. Tenison said. "I know you would gladly have laid down your life if it would have spared his."

"But how could G.o.d have let such a thing happen?" Nell said. "My poor little boy, gentle and good, and dying alone so far from home, when I had sent him off like that."

"I don't know. We cannot know. We can only seek to find some good in whatever may befall."

"What good could there be in the death of a blameless child?" Nell demanded, sobs shaking her. "Tell me that."

"It has brought you to think about your life, and the life to come," Dr. Tenison said. "That you may repent your sins, and be forgiven, and find peace through G.o.d's infinite goodness and mercy."

"And how am I to repent?" Nell thought he might as well have bade her walk upon the moon.

"If you allow me, I will help you find your way."

Nell wanted peace, ached for relief. But it seemed impossible. She shook her head, doubt and shame taking hold of her once more.

"I fear G.o.d will shut his ears to me."

"Speak to Him even if you doubt, and He will listen."