“You are indeed fortunate to have that outward symbol of the King’s devotion. Do try another of these fondants.”
Moll tried another.
“How clever to be able to make such delicious things! I was never brought up to be so useful.”
“Nay,” said Nell with a high laugh. “You were brought up to wear a diamond ring and play high-class whore to a merry King.”
Nell went into peals of laughter which made Moll frown. Moll had never been sure of Nell since the impudent girl from Cole-yard had imitated her on the stage of the King’s Theater.
“I laugh too readily,” said Nell, subdued. “It was a habit I learned in the Cole-yard. I would I were a lady like yourself. Pray have another.”
“You are not eating any.”
“I ate my fill in my own house. These are a present for you. Ah, you are thinking, why should I bring you presents and what do I want in exchange? I see the thoughts in your eyes, Moll. ’Tis true. I do want something. I want to learn to be a lady such as you are.” Nell held out the box in which she had put the sweets, and Moll took yet another.
“You know well what flavors appeal to my palate,” said Moll.
“I’ll confess it,” said Nell. “I study you. I would ape you, you see. I would discover why it is His Majesty visits you when he might visit little Nell from the Cole-yard.”
“Nell, you are too low in your tastes. You laugh too much. You speak with the tongue of the streets. You do not try to be a lady.”
“’Tis true,” said Nell. “Pray have another.”
“I declare I grow greedy.”
“’Tis a pleasure to please you with my sweetmeats.”
Moll said: “You are good at heart, Nell. Listen to me. I will tell you how to speak more like a lady. I will show you how to walk as a lady walks, how to treat those who are your inferiors.”
“I pray you do,” said Nell.
And Moll showed her, eating the sweetmeats Nell had brought as she did so. When she had finished she had cleared the whole dish.
Nell rose to go. “You have preparations to make for His Majesty,” she said. “I must detain you no longer. Pray keep the dish. When you look at it you will think of me.”
Nell went out to her chair which was waiting for her.
“Hurry back,” she said to her professional carriers whom she hired by the week. “I have certain preparations to make.”
And when she reached her own house she went into the room where the baby was sleeping.
She picked him up and, kissing him fiercely, cried: “We must prepare for Papa. He will be coming here this night, I doubt not. And, who knows, when he is here I may be able to wheedle a nice little title from him for my Charley boy.”
Then she laid him gently in his cradle.
There was no time to lose. She called her cook and bade him prepare pies of meat and fowl, to set beef and mutton roasting.
“I have a fancy,” she said, “that His Majesty will be supping here this day.”
Then she put on a gown of green and gold lace with slippers of cloth of silver.
She was ready; she knew that the King would come. Moll Davies would be unable to entertain him that night, for the sweets with which she had supplied her unsuspecting rival had been filled with jalap made from the root of a Mexican plant.
Moll had taken a good dose. Nell had little doubt that ere this day was out the King and she would be laughing heartily over Moll’s predicament.
“It may be,” said Nell aloud, “that Mrs. Moll will realize this night that there is something to be learned from my Cole-yard ways.”
She was not disappointed. The King joined her for supper. He had discovered what had happened to Moll, and he had had a shrewd notion who had played the trick on her.
He could not contain his mirth as he and Nell sat over supper.
“You are the wildest creature I ever knew,” he told her.
And she saw that he liked well that wildness, and was beginning to feel that, whoever came into his life, he must keep Nelly there to make him laugh and forget his troubles.
It seemed to the King that, during that difficult year, Nell was his main refuge from his burdens. He was still pursuing Louise de Kéroualle who, although she was maid of honor to the Queen and had her apartments in Whitehall, still expressed her horror at the thought of becoming his mistress.
“How could that be?” she asked. “There is only one way in which Your Majesty could become my lover, and that way is closed. Your Majesty has a Queen.”
In vain did Charles point out the irksomeness of royal lives. Queens were not to be envied. Look at his own Queen Catherine. Did she seem to be a happy woman? Yet look at merry little Nell. Was there a happier soul in London?
Louise appeared to be puzzled. It was a trick of hers when she wished to appear vague.
“I must work harder at learning to understand the English,” she would say in her lisping voice which matched her baby face.
The King gave her more beautiful tapestries to hang in her apartments; he gave her jewels and some of his most treasured clocks. Still she could only shake her head, open her little eyes as wide as possible, and say: “If I were not the daughter of such a noble house, why then it would be easier for me to be as these others. Your Majesty, it would seem there is only one way open to me. I should go to a convent and there pass my days.”
Charles was torn between exasperation and desire. He could not endure his lack of success. It was Frances Stuart’s inaccessibility which had made her doubly attractive. Louise realized this, and played her waiting game.
It was many months since she had come to England. The King of France sent impatient messages. Daily the French ambassador warned her.
The Seigneur de Saint Evremond—who was a political exile from France and residing in England where, on account of his wit and literary qualities, Charles had granted him a pension—was eager to see his countrywoman an influence in the land of their adoption. He wrote to Louise—He had heard the rumor that she had declared her intention of entering a convent, so he wrote of the wretched life of nuns, shut off from the world’s pleasures, with nothing to sustain them but their religious devotions.
“A melancholy life this, dear sister, to be obliged for custom’s sake to mourn a sin one has not committed, at the very time one begins to have a desire to commit it.
“How happy is the woman who knows how to behave herself discreetly without checking her inclination! For, as ’tis scandalous to love beyond moderation, so ’tis a mortification for a woman to pass her life without one amour. Do not too severely reject temptations, which in this country offer themselves with more modesty than is required, even in a virgin, to hearken to them. Yield, therefore, to the sweets of temptation, instead of consulting your pride.”
Louise read the advice with her childish smile, and her shrewd brain worked fast. She would surrender at the right moment, and that moment would be one which would bring great profit to herself and to France.
The Duke of Monmouth, having been reprimanded by the King for the part he had played in the Coventry affair, was inclined to sulk.
“But, Father,” he said, “I sought but to defend your honor. Should a subject stand aside and see slights thrown at his King’s honor?”
“Mine has had so many aimed at it that it has developed an impenetrable shell, my son. In future, I pray you, leave its defense to me.”
“I like not to see your royalty besmirched.”
“Oh, Jemmy, ’tis so tarnished that a little more is scarce noticeable.”
“But that these oafs should dare condemn you …”
“Coventry’s no oaf. He’s a country gentleman.”
Monmouth laughed. “He’ll carry a mark on his face all the days of his life to remind him to mend his manners.”