theater’s wall, she slipped in at the back door. Skeletal frames of timber stood in the hush of the midday sunlight that filtered through chinks in the unfinished ceiling. A mist of sawdust blanketed the rough-hewn floors.
Nell made her way through a doorway in a wall that was not yet built, and realized that she must be standing upon the stage. She crept silently forward, hardly daring to breathe. The center of the space was a soaring emptiness. Like a cathedral, she thought. Galleries for spectators lined the walls. She wondered what it would be like to stand on that stage before an audience, and thought of how Lady Castlemaine had surveyed the crowds before Whitehall on the night of the king’s return. She snapped open an imaginary fan and swished it languidly before her, her head held high, her chin tilted coquettishly.
“Lud, Your Majesty,” she trilled, batting her eyelashes, and gave the invisible king a pouting smile.
A harsh bark of laughter and the sound of clapping startled Nell so much that she almost cried out. A figure stumped toward her from the shadows at the back of the theater. It was a grizzled old man in a loose shirt and pantaloons, with a long pigtail, and Nell was amazed to see that he was missing the lower part of his left leg and walked on a wooden peg.
“I meant no harm,” Nell began. “I’ll go.”
“Don’t go on my account,” the old man said with a grin. “I was enjoying it. And any road, I’m just a harmless old carpenter.”
“You look like a sailor,” Nell said, staring at his weather-beaten face.
“And so I have been, since before I’d a beard to my face. But I’m too old for that now, and happy to have a berth ashore. A playhouse is much like a ship, you know—canvas, ropes, rigging—and needs a crew just as a ship does.”
“I wish I could work at the playhouse.”
The old sailor squinted at Nell and tapped a finger alongside his nose.
“And mayhap you can. I hear the king has ordered that from now it’s only women are to act the parts of women.”
“No boys?” Nell asked.
“No boys. Not in petticoats, leastways. The Duke’s Company sent little Moll Davis onto the stage but a month or two ago. A pretty little thing she is, and much cried up, too. About your years, I’d think.”
Nell had been so cut off from her theater friends that she had not heard that bit of news. She felt a surge of jealousy toward pretty little Moll Davis.
“How came she to be in the Duke’s Company?”
“I don’t know,” the old man shrugged. “But if there’s call for one actress, there’ll be call for more, as sure as eggs be eggs.”
“What’s your name?” Nell asked.
“Richard Tarbutton is the one my old mam gave me. But my mates call me Dicky One-Shank.”
“I’m Nell. Nell Gwynn.”
“Nell Gwynn,” said Dicky One-Shank, his blue eyes disappearing in the weathered folds of his face as he smiled. “I’ll remember that.”
“HE SAID THERE ARE TO BE NO MORE BOYS PLAYING WOMEN’S PARTS, but only girls,” Nell excitedly told Robbie that night over supper. “Actresses.” She said the word reverently.
“Actresses!” Robbie spat, throwing down a chicken bone. “Whores, more like. The only reason for putting women on the stage, mabbed up like slatterns, is so that men can look on them with lust.” He snorted again, tore a hunk of bread from the loaf, and furiously sopped it in the gravy on his plate.
Nell thought, but did not say, that he had had no objection to looking on her with lust when she was at Madam Ross’s place. He seemed to have little sense of humor these days, and more and more she did not speak what was in her mind for fear of rousing his irritation.
THE DAYS SHORTENED INTO WINTER DARKNESS, AND THE THAMES froze again. Nell and Rose walked onto the deep and shadowy ice, encrusted with sludgy snow, but Nell lacked the joy she had felt the previous winter. And Rose was downcast.
“Is summat amiss?” Nell
Nell made her way through a doorway in a wall that was not yet built, and realized that she must be standing upon the stage. She crept silently forward, hardly daring to breathe. The center of the space was a soaring emptiness. Like a cathedral, she thought. Galleries for spectators lined the walls. She wondered what it would be like to stand on that stage before an audience, and thought of how Lady Castlemaine had surveyed the crowds before Whitehall on the night of the king’s return. She snapped open an imaginary fan and swished it languidly before her, her head held high, her chin tilted coquettishly.
“Lud, Your Majesty,” she trilled, batting her eyelashes, and gave the invisible king a pouting smile.
A harsh bark of laughter and the sound of clapping startled Nell so much that she almost cried out. A figure stumped toward her from the shadows at the back of the theater. It was a grizzled old man in a loose shirt and pantaloons, with a long pigtail, and Nell was amazed to see that he was missing the lower part of his left leg and walked on a wooden peg.
“I meant no harm,” Nell began. “I’ll go.”
“Don’t go on my account,” the old man said with a grin. “I was enjoying it. And any road, I’m just a harmless old carpenter.”
“You look like a sailor,” Nell said, staring at his weather-beaten face.
“And so I have been, since before I’d a beard to my face. But I’m too old for that now, and happy to have a berth ashore. A playhouse is much like a ship, you know—canvas, ropes, rigging—and needs a crew just as a ship does.”
“I wish I could work at the playhouse.”
The old sailor squinted at Nell and tapped a finger alongside his nose.
“And mayhap you can. I hear the king has ordered that from now it’s only women are to act the parts of women.”
“No boys?” Nell asked.
“No boys. Not in petticoats, leastways. The Duke’s Company sent little Moll Davis onto the stage but a month or two ago. A pretty little thing she is, and much cried up, too. About your years, I’d think.”
Nell had been so cut off from her theater friends that she had not heard that bit of news. She felt a surge of jealousy toward pretty little Moll Davis.
“How came she to be in the Duke’s Company?”
“I don’t know,” the old man shrugged. “But if there’s call for one actress, there’ll be call for more, as sure as eggs be eggs.”
“What’s your name?” Nell asked.
“Richard Tarbutton is the one my old mam gave me. But my mates call me Dicky One-Shank.”
“I’m Nell. Nell Gwynn.”
“Nell Gwynn,” said Dicky One-Shank, his blue eyes disappearing in the weathered folds of his face as he smiled. “I’ll remember that.”
“HE SAID THERE ARE TO BE NO MORE BOYS PLAYING WOMEN’S PARTS, but only girls,” Nell excitedly told Robbie that night over supper. “Actresses.” She said the word reverently.
“Actresses!” Robbie spat, throwing down a chicken bone. “Whores, more like. The only reason for putting women on the stage, mabbed up like slatterns, is so that men can look on them with lust.” He snorted again, tore a hunk of bread from the loaf, and furiously sopped it in the gravy on his plate.
Nell thought, but did not say, that he had had no objection to looking on her with lust when she was at Madam Ross’s place. He seemed to have little sense of humor these days, and more and more she did not speak what was in her mind for fear of rousing his irritation.
THE DAYS SHORTENED INTO WINTER DARKNESS, AND THE THAMES froze again. Nell and Rose walked onto the deep and shadowy ice, encrusted with sludgy snow, but Nell lacked the joy she had felt the previous winter. And Rose was downcast.
“Is summat amiss?” Nell
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