Gillian Bagwell - The Darling Strumpet

“Here,” Rose said, handing her shoes and stockings, “stampers and vampers.” Nell had only worn heavy gray woolen stockings, in the winter, and these were much finer, and a creamy white. The shoes were a revelation, too. Made of brown leather, they had a little heel that pitched her weight forward. She giggled as she took a tentative step. Walking in these would take some getting used to, especially as they were a bit too big for her, and Rose had stuffed the toes with rags.

Rose combed and parted Nell’s hair as gently as she could, though her natural thicket of curls, not improved by having been slept on wet, was in a tangle. Then she scooped something sweet-smelling from a small pot and smoothed it into Nell’s hair. Nell sat breathless as Rose formed ringlets on either side of her head and a fringe of tiny curls on her forehead. Rose viewed her creation.

“Would you like to see?”

Nell skipped along behind Rose to the little room where the chest of clothes was kept and approached the full-length mirror.

It seemed that it was the face of a stranger staring out at Nell. Her hair, usually matted and its color dulled by dirt to an indifferent reddish brown, had altered into a glowing copper, with a shine and smoothness to the curls that danced around her head. Her skin had lost its grayish pallor, and her lips and cheeks glowed with a rosy flush. Her dark eyebrows and eyelashes stood out in contrast to the clean whiteness of her skin, and her hazel eyes sparkled.

The dress had transformed her into a young woman. The tightly laced body bared her shoulders, emphasized her bosom, and made her slender waist even smaller. The sleeves ended just below her elbows with a frill of lace, and the skirt fell in graceful folds. The blue of the fabric, like the depths of the ocean on a cloudy day, set off her coloring to perfection. Nell turned to Rose, no words coming to express her astonishment and gratitude.

Rose smiled. “Aye, you’ll do.”

Nell turned sharply at the sound of tapping footsteps. Madam Ross swept in, clad for the evening in a gown that alternated stripes of gleaming black and a color like molten honey, which made Nell think of a tortoiseshell cat.

“Very fetching,” Madam Ross said. “Indeed, much better than I would have thought, given what a wretched little thing she appeared this morning.”

Nell smiled shyly up at Madam Ross.

“Have you eaten, child?”

“Oh, yes, thankee, ma’am.”

“And your sister has told you what you must and must not do? Good. Then we shall very shortly set you loose upon the unsuspecting town.”

She gave a little chuckle and went, her heels clicking on the planks of the floor.

Nell turned to Rose. “What did that mean?”

“I think it means, little sister, that Madam Ross thinks the gents will like you.”

THE AFTERNOON WAS LENGTHENING INTO A WARM SUMMERLIKE EVENING as Nell followed Rose downstairs and into the large taproom for her first night of her new work. She felt self-conscious and apprehensive. Her initial foray with the red-headed boy had been impulsive, fueled by hunger and desperation. With Nick and the others, any wariness she might have had was overcome by drink, and in the end she had had no choice. But this felt different. She was very sore from the previous night and wished that she could turn and run. But where was there to go?

The tables were crowded with men, and most of the girls were already present. As Nell watched their darting movements, the swirl and flounce of their brightly colored finery, and listened to their high-pitched raillery and chatter, they reminded her of the exotic songbirds she had seen for sale on the streets. And despite her new apparel, she felt like a small brown wren among them.

Rose went to a prosperous-looking man who called to her, and Nell was left on her own. She wanted to hang back unnoticed. Having spent so much of her childhood in similar surroundings, she drifted to where she felt most at home-near to the bar. The barman, of middle years and with a face as English and unexceptional as a crab apple, had a row of slipware mugs half filled and was topping off another. He looked friendly, Nell thought, as she peered at him, her head barely clearing the top of the bar.

“Do you want me to take these over?” she asked.

The barman gave her a lopsided grin.

“Aye, that’d be a right help,” he nodded. “And who might you be?”

“Nell. I’m Rose’s sister. I’m working here now.”

“Well, Mistress Nell,” he said, “I’m Ned. And since you ask, you can take these to those lads, and bring back the dead men.” He nodded toward four young army officers at a table in a corner and the litter of empty vessels before them. Nell expertly grasped the handles of four full mugs and made her way across the room. One of the lads was just reaching the end of a story and the group broke into laughter as she set the mugs on the table.

“You’re new,” one of them commented as he took up his drink. Four sets of eyes focused on her and it hit Nell with a sudden shock that she was there for their purchase. The first lad’s dark eyes were intent. She flushed and then, annoyed with herself at her shyness, tossed her head and gave the group a cocky smile. She recalled the line that Rose had instructed her to use.

“I’m Nell,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen.” She dropped them a curtsy, gathered the empties, and hurried back to the bar. The place grew busier, so she continued to deliver drinks. It gave her something to occupy herself and made her feel less conspicuous, and after a lifetime of her mother harrying her not to be idle, she felt she should be doing something.

Madam Ross bustled into the room an hour or so after Nell had entered. In her wake came a man that Nell guessed must be Jack. He was above average height and muscular in a lean and catlike way, and though he did no more than amble to the bar, casually surveying the room and nodding at an acquaintance or two, he conveyed a sense of coiled danger. Nell could see why Rose had said that his mere presence was usually enough to discourage troublemakers. She remembered, too, what Rose had said about his occasionally requiring the services of one of the girls, and hoped that he would not find her to his liking.

Rose hurried up to Nell and leaned close to speak to her.

“The missus won’t like it if she sees you back here. You’ve got to get out and speak to the men.”

“But what will I say?”

“It doesn’t matter; you’ll think of something. Ned-give me a cup of comfort for Nell, would you? Here-drink this down. It’ll take the edge off and make things easier.”

Nell wrinkled her nose at the brandy but made herself swallow it in a gulp. She coughed, and tears came to her eyes, but almost instantly she felt a warming sensation followed by a pleasant numbness.

“Better?” asked Rose. “Good. Come with me.” She pulled Nell with her to the table where she had been sitting with her gentleman and his friend. “Mr. Green, Mr. Cooper, this is my sister Nell.”

“The usual phrase is ‘one of my cousins,’ is it not?” asked Mr. Cooper with a leer, peering at Nell over spectacles. He was fat and greasy looking and Nell instantly hated him.

“Yes, sir, but I do not speak in jest or in cant. She really is my sister.”

“Pretty little thing,” Mr. Cooper commented to Mr. Green. Nell felt she might have been a doll on a shelf, the way he spoke as if she were not there to hear him. She thought of him touching her and wanted to run, but was stopped from further action by the arrival of Madam Ross at her side.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Come, Nell. A gentleman is asking for you particularly.” She led Nell away and glanced at the table of officers in the corner. “Mr. Cade. He says you’ve met. Take him upstairs. And treat him well. It will do us no harm to be in well with the army lads.”