She enjoyed riding forth in her coach, stopping at the Exchange to examine the goods for sale, her footman following her ready to carry her purchases. She would only buy the best for Charles and James. “Dukes’ skins they were going to be from the start,” she would declare.
But as she entertained her friends and was jolted forth in her coach, she was a little sad. It was a long time since the King had visited her, and although when they met he was friendly and always had a smile and joke for Nelly, his nights were spent with the Frenchwoman. It was almost as though he, like Louise, looked on that mock marriage as a true one and felt the need to treat it as such.
Lord Rochester, returned to Court after one of his many exiles from it, shook his head sadly.
“’Tis a pity,” he said, “that His Majesty is so enamored of the Frenchwoman.”
“There are times when I think Charles bewitched,” said Nell crossly. “When the woman isn’t squinting she is weeping, and when she’s doing both she’s spying for France. What can he find so alluring in a weeping, squinting spy?”
“Novelty in the squint, mayhap, for though he has witnessed tears and spies in plenty, I have never before seen His Majesty enamored of a squint.”
When he wandered through the Palace of Whitehall he thought of Nell who so sadly missed the King, and paused outside the door of that chamber occupied by Louise to stick on it one of those couplets for which he was renowned.
“Within this place a bed’s appointed
For a French bitch and God’s anointed.”
Louise was furious, as she always was at any affront to her dignity, and as there was no doubt of the author of the couplet she demanded that Rochester be once more banished from Court.
The King agreed that the noble Lord took liberties, and that he should be dismissed. So Rochester’s efforts to attack Nell’s enemy gained her nothing and lost her the presence of one who—although in his scurrilous verses he did not spare her—she regarded as her friend.
Moll Davies now had a daughter, but the King’s visits to her were rarer than those he paid Nell.
Louise continued to hold the King’s attention. Louise was clever and she was cautious. She had made several attempts to turn the King from the suggested Dutch marriage, but she was quick to realize that it would have been unwise to be too insistent. Her strength lay in dignity; she must never rant as Barbara had; she must never be vulgar as Nell was. Moreover she had studied Queen Catherine, and from the appearance of the Queen she judged that she would not live long. If she could take the Queen’s place Louise need never fear Louis again. The crown of England was preferable even to a tabouret at the Court of Versailles.
Nell Gwyn irritated her, but she would not lower her dignity by showing jealousy of a girl who had sold oranges at the King’s Theater.
In spite of the shadow cast by the proposed Dutch marriage, Louise had never been feeling more sure of herself. Then, suddenly, a terrible misfortune befell her.
Nell first heard of it through Rochester. Back from exile in the country, where the King never allowed him to stay for long, he called on Nell and, settling himself in one of the elaborate chairs, stretched his legs and smiling at his toes, said: “Nell, His Majesty is sick.”
Nell stood up in alarm, but Rochester waved a white hand. “I pray you calm yourself. ’Tis naught but the pox. And he hath taken it lightly. ’Twas some slut brought to him by Chaffinch. The royal body will be submitted to the usual treatment. Rejoice in this, Nell. Out of evil cometh good. Charles has not visited you of late. Rejoice, I say. For although His Majesty hath taken the sickness but slightly, the French bitch hath it far worse. ’Twill be many months before she will share a bed with God’s anointed.”
Nell laughed aloud, suddenly remembering the jalap she had served to Moll Davies.
“You are sure of this?” she asked.
“I swear it. Our lady Duchess is in a fury. She strides up and down her apartment, wailing in her own language. Now is the time for the lucky Mrs. Nelly to leap into her shoes.”
“And Charles?”
“A week or two, the usual course of pills, and all will be well. He was born healthy and, no matter to what he subjects the royal person, it remains healthy. Nelly, the enemy is hors de combat. Forget it not! Prepare to reign supreme. I hear that Louis Quatorze has sent her a diamond and pearl necklace—just to keep her spirits up. I heard too that she is to travel to Bath and Tunbridge Wells in the hope of a speedy return to health. Be ready to welcome His Majesty back to good health, sweet Nell. And remember what I tell you. Administer to His Majesty’s comfort. Let him see that his merry Nell contributes more to his peace and enjoyment than Madame Squintabella. And then … only then … remind him of your brats.”
“I will remember to remind him,” said Nell grimly.
“Do not, dear Nelly, attempt to win the last battle first. ’Tis not the way to victory.”
Then began a joyous spring and summer for Nell. She plunged right into the gaiety of the Court. The King was well again—not so Louise; and her frequent visits to Bath and Tunbridge Wells did little to relieve her. Her only consolation was to put on the magnificent necklace sent her by Louis—a reminder that she must get well quickly for there was work for her to do. But Louise knew that, if she failed to hold Charles, Louis would have little use for her. And there was nothing she could do but follow her doctor’s advice and long to return to her place at Court.
The Court went to Windsor; and there was merry sport in the green fields. A mock battle was staged to represent the siege of Maestricht. Charles was particularly interested because that was the battle at which Monmouth had excelled.
He doted on that boy, thought Nell. ’Twas a pity he had not equal pleasure in little Charles and James Beauclerk. Not that he did not show the utmost affection towards them; not that it did not delight him to take the little fellows in his arms and lavish caresses on them.
Caresses! thought Nell bitterly. They won’t make their fortunes.
Her anger against Charles’ eldest son spurted out one day.
“Ha,” she cried, “here comes Prince Perkin, to show us all how to win battles.”
The color flamed in Monmouth’s face. “Who are you to speak thus to me?” he asked. “You forget I am the King’s son, whereas you … you belong to the gutter.”
“’Tis true,” said Nell cheerfully. “I and your mother are much of a piece—both whores and both come up from the gutter.”
Monmouth passed, cursing the low orange-girl whom his father was besotted enough to honor.
But Nell was not really angry with Monmouth. She found she could not be. She saw in him a resemblance to her own little Charles. They’re halfbrothers, she thought. She could understand Monmouth’s ambitions. Had she not felt the same about her own boys?
Now she began to regard the handsome young man with a maternal eye. Strangely enough he found his arrogance quelled a little. Nell was low—none would deny that; but she was a born charmer; and to see those saucy eyes, momentarily sentimental and maternal as they rested upon him, could not but give the young Duke a feeling of pleasure.
He decided that, although she made the most outrageous comments and had no sense of the fitness of things, the little orange-girl was not without her attractions, and for the life of him he could not dislike her as he felt a young man in his position should.
Meanwhile Nell was back in high favor. Now Charles was wondering why he had neglected her so long. It was pleasant to escape from Louise’s culture and enjoy a romp with Nell. Nell was so natural; moreover she learned quickly. She was already developing a taste for the kind of music which pleased the King.