“Even the king has been,” added Marmaduke.
“But why?” Nell asked.
“Because he’s built a much grander theater,” Marmaduke said. “It’s got painted scenery that moves, and machines—angels and gods coming down from the heavens and so on. Pageantry. Singing.”
“Don’t forget Hester Davenport,” Theo said.
“Who’s she?” Nell asked.
“One of Davenant’s actresses,” Harry said. “Toothsome. Bonnie and buxom. She’s taken the fancy of everyone from the tom turd men to the Earl of Oxford.”
“And there are two parts to the poxed thing,” Marmaduke lamented. “So everyone has to go twice.”
“The Siege of Rhodes,” Harry snorted. “More like the siege of Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”
“But things are bound to get better,” said Nell. “People tire of a new thing soon enough, is what Rose always says.”
“Not this,” said Harry. “We’ll have to keep up with the Duke’s Company or we’re sunk.”
Not long after, Nell heard from the lads that Tom Killigrew had leased a plot of land off Drury Lane and would build a fine new theatre that would accommodate the new fashion for moving scenery and machinery and would outshine Davenant’s playhouse in style and grandeur. It was to be called the Theatre Royal.
SOON AFTER NELL LEARNED OF KILLIGREW’S PLANS FOR A NEW theatre, Harry became a page of honour to the king, as his father had been to the previous King Charles, and took up residence at Whitehall. He still came to see Rose, but not as frequently. Marmaduke Watson, Ned Kynaston, and the other younger actors of the King’s Company continued to drink in the taproom, but when Jack was around, Nell avoided their company. She still ached with shame at their having witnessed Jack’s humiliation of her, and wanted to be sure she gave him no reason to repeat the performance.
She longed to take part in the players’ banter and jokes, but disciplined herself instead to cultivate regular customers and keep them happy. The more of them she had, the less she would be available for just any brute who might come in the door. One of her favorites was a young man by the name of Robbie Duncan, who seemed to seek her out for her company as much as for pleasure in bed. He worked with his brothers in their father’s cloth exporting business, and on only his third visit he had brought her a length of soft brown wool that would serve to make a new cloak for the winter. And Jimmy Cade visited her frequently, always tipping her a few coins.
WHEN HARRY KILLIGREW DID VISIT LEWKENOR’S LANE, HE BROUGHT word of each story and scandal at Whitehall. In Nell’s second autumn at Madam Ross’s, London buzzed with the news that King Charles had ennobled Roger Palmer, the husband of his mistress, bestowing on him the titles of Baron Limerick and Earl of Castlemaine—with the shocking provision that the titles were to pass only to any children born by Barbara Palmer.
“In other words,” Harry explained, “the king is granting titles to any bastards he should father on Mistress Palmer, and Roger Palmer is to stand by without complaint.”
THE FOLLOWING SPRING, NELL SAW PEOPLE PUSHING CLOSE TO THE ballad singer near the Maypole in the Strand, shoving to buy his broadsheets.
“What’s the news?” she asked a tired-looking woman with a small child in tow.
“The king is to marry! A princess from Portugal.”
Catherine of Braganza arrived in May, and Nell and Rose listened as Harry related the latest news from court.
“Barbara Palmer is seven months gone with child, and she’ll not be budged from Hampton Court, queen or no queen, and has even been made a lady of the queen’s bedchamber. I’m glad I won’t be in the king’s shoes when those two ladies meet.”
In August, Nell joined the throngs watching the water pageant in honour of the royal marriage. Standing on a barrel, she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the new queen and wondered what she must think about sharing her residence with the king’s mistress and children.
The taproom was busy that night, and the patrons were more drunk and disorderly than usual. Jack broke up a fight, cudgelling the instigator into bloody insensibility before throwing him into the street. The tables were packed with drinkers and the girls didn’t even bother to leave their rooms when they had done with one man, but took the next from the lines outside their doors.
It was well into the wee hours when the last man left Nell’s room and no other appeared. She was exhausted, but put her head out the door of her room to be sure that no one was waiting. Jack was coming down the hallway, steady on his feet despite the half-empty bottle in his hand. His face was flushed and his eyes glinted dangerously as he bore down on Nell.
She ducked backwards but he blocked the door as she tried to close it. She retreated as he entered the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He reached her in two strides and pulled her by her hair onto her knees in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed. He took a long pull from his bottle, set it on the floor, unbuttoned his breeches, and shoved himself into her mouth.
He smelled of piss and sweat and brandy, and Nell gagged as his flesh hit the back of her throat. She struggled against him, but he yanked her head up and down, his cock choking her. She pushed at him, desperate to draw a breath, but his iron grip would not release. She felt that she would faint or die unless she could free herself. Without thinking, she clamped her teeth down.
Jack gave a roar of rage and pain and let go of her. She scrabbled away from him, but he lifted her by her hair and smashed her across the face so hard she went sprawling face-first onto the bed, and he was on her before she could move, kneeing her legs apart. Nell heard him spit, and screamed as he forced himself into her arse. A filthy hand smelling of brandy was clamped over her mouth, stifling her cries. Another hand clutched her throat, fingers digging into her flesh.
It seemed to go on forever. Nell had never felt such searing pain. She sobbed into Jack’s hand, her tears running down to mingle with snot as he slammed into her. At last he spent, giving a final deep thrust that Nell thought would split her. He left without a word, and Nell lay shivering and whimpering. After a time she crept into Rose’s room, and Rose started awake at the sound of Nell’s sobbing.
“Lord, what’s happened?”
“Jack,” Nell whispered. “He came for me and I didn’t mean to, but I bit him. So he hurt me.”
“He hit you?” Rose pulled Nell into her arms.
“More than that. He—” Nell couldn’t make herself say the words, but Rose understood her gesture.
“Let me see, honey.” Rose gently examined Nell. “You’re not bleeding, that’s a mercy. Here, this will help.” Tears streaked Rose’s face as she applied salve to Nell’s battered flesh.
“Oh, Nell,” she whispered, “truly I don’t know what to do. It will do you no good to speak to the missus. And if you try to say him nay, it will only make him more determined to have what he wants. Let me see can I think of something.”
THE NEXT DAY WHEN NELL WENT INTO THE TAPROOM, JACK RAKED her with a look of triumph that made her sick to her stomach. She was powerless to stop him, and he knew it. That night he again forced his way into her room and brutalised her, enjoying her fear and pain.
Over the next weeks Nell avoided being on her own and tried not to cross Jack’s path, but there were times when he appeared seemingly from thin air, and she had nowhere to run.
WITH THE CELEBRATIONS OF THE KING’S BIRTHDAY ON THE TWENTY-NINTH of May, Nell was amazed to realise that it had been two years since she had run away and embarked on her new life. She had gained freedom from her mother,