Виктория Холт - Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord

Here was Nell’s first glimpse at the high life of the Court. And, in addition to watching at close quarters the highest in the land, she could practice her repartee on the gay young men in the pit. All those with a strain of puritanism, left over from the fifties, stayed away from the theater which, they declared, was nothing more than a meeting place for courtesans and those who sought them; and indeed the noblemen in the pit and the boxes, and women from the Court together with the prostitutes, made up the greater part of the audience. The women wore vizard masks (which were supposed to hide their blushes when the dialogue on the stage was too outspoken) and the lowest aped the highest; they chatted with each other, noisily sucked China oranges, threw the peel at each other and the players, showered abuse on the actors and actresses if they did not like the way the play was going, fought one another, and added to the general clamor. Courtiers, and apprentices aping courtiers, made assignations with the vizard masks. The side boxes, which cost four shillings, were filled with ladies and gentlemen of the Court and were only slightly raised above the pit, where the price of a seat was two shillings and sixpence. In the middle gallery where a seat cost a modest eighteen pence sat the quieter folk who wished to hear the play; and in the shilling gallery were the poorest section of the audience, and here coachmen and footmen, whose masters and mistresses were in the theater, were allowed to enter without charge towards the end of the play.

Each day Nell found full of incident. Never could one guess what would happen next at the playhouse, what great scandal would be talked of, or what great personage would quarrel with another during the course of the performance.

She could listen to the loud and often lewd conversation between courtiers in their boxes and vizard masks in the pit, conversation in which the rest of the audience would often join as they combed their hair or drank noisily from the bottles they brought in with them; some stood on the benches and jeered at the players, quarreled with the sentiments of the play, or even climbed onto the stage and attempted to fight an actor for his dastardly conduct in the play or mayhap on account of some real grievance.

It was all clamor, and color, and Nell loved it. Nor was this the sum of her excitement; for her, by no means least of the theater’s attractions was the play itself.

And when the handsomest actor of them all, who was considered by many to be the company’s leading man, played his parts he could often quiet the noisiest of the audience. He would strut the stage, not as himself, handsome Charles Hart, but as the character he played; and if that character were a king it would seem that Charles Hart was as much a king as that other Charles who sat in his box, alert and appreciative of one who aped his royalty with such success.

Nell thought Charles Hart godlike as he came from the back stage and stepped onto the apron stage, and by his magnetic presence demanded attention. She would stand very still watching him, forgetting her load of oranges, not caring if Orange Moll should see her staring at the stage instead of doing all in her power to persuade someone in the audience to buy a fine China orange. Nell had spoken to the great man once or twice. He had bought an orange from her. He had noted her dainty looks with appreciation, for Charles Hart was appreciative of beauty. He had never yet been made aware of the agility of Nell’s tongue, for she had been reduced to unaccustomed silence in the presence of the great man. Yet he must have known that she had a ready gift of repartee since no orange-girl could have survived long without it.

This day he was playing the part of Michael Perez in Rule a Wife and Have a Wife , and many from the Court had come to see him. Nell was in a daze of admiration as she went into the tiring room to see if she could sell an orange or two to the actresses.

Several gallants were already there, for they were admitted to the tiring room on payment of an extra half-crown, and there it was possible for them to have intimate conversation with the actresses, perhaps make love to them there or make assignations for such lovemaking in more private places.

Nell was greatly attracted by the tiring room; she had heard that actresses were paid as much as twenty to fifty shillings a week—a fabulous sum to a poor orange-girl; they looked quite splendid off the stage as well as on it, for they had beautiful clothes which were given by courtiers—and even the King himself—for use in their plays. The gentlemen fawned on them, pressed gifts on them, implored them to accept their invitations; and the actresses gave answers as pert as any they used to their stage lovers.

“A China orange, Mrs. Corey?” cooed Nell. “So soothing, so cooling to the throat.”

“Not for me, wench. Go along to Mrs. Marshall. Mayhap she’ll get one of her gentlemen friends to buy her a China orange.”

“I doubt she’ll get much more from him!” cried Mary Knepp.

And Mrs. Uphill and Mrs. Hughes went into peals of laughter at Mrs. Marshall’s expense.

“Here, wench,” called Mrs. Eastland, “run out and buy me a green riband. There’ll be a groat or two for your pains when you return.”

This was typical of life in the green tiring room. Nell ran errands, augmenting her small income, and very soon took to wondering what Peg Hughes and Mary Knepp had that she lacked.

It was when she had returned with the riband and was making her way backstage, where Mary Meggs kept her wares under the stairs, that she came face-to-face with the great Charles Hart himself.

She curtsied and said: “A merry good day to Mr. Perez.”

He paused and, leaning towards her, said: “Why, ’tis little Nell the orange-girl. And you liked Michael Perez, eh?”

“So much, sir,” said Nell, “that I had forgot till this moment that he was an even greater gentleman—Mr. Charles Hart.”

Charles Hart was not indifferent to flattery. He knew that he—with perhaps Michael Mohun as his only rival—was the best player among the King’s Servants. All the same, praise from any quarter was acceptable, even from a little orange-girl, and he had noticed before that this orange-girl was uncommonly pretty.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. “Why,” he said, “you’re pretty enough to grace a stage yourself.”

“One day I shall,” said Nell; and in that moment she knew she would. Why should she not give as good an account of herself as any of the screaming wenches in the green room?

“Oh,” he said, “so the girl hath ambition!”

“I want to play on the stage,” she said.

He looked at her again. Her eyes were brilliant with excitement. There was a vitality which was rare. God’s Body! he thought. This child has quality. He said: “Come with me, girl.”

Nell hesitated. She had had similar invitations before this. Charles Hart saw her hesitation and laughed. “Nay,” he said, “have no fear. I do not force little girls.” He drew himself up to his full height and spoke the words as though he were delivering them to an audience. “There has never been any need for me to force any. They come … they come with the utmost willingness.”

His fluency fascinated her. He spoke to her—Nell—as though she were one of those gorgeous creatures on the stage. He made her feel important, dramatic, already an actress, playing her part with him.

She said: “Willingly will I listen to what you have to say to me, sir.”

“Then follow me.”

He turned and led the way through a narrow passage to a very small compartment in which were hanging the clothes which he wore for his parts.

He turned to her then, ponderously. “Your name, wench?” he asked.