Petals in the Ashes (10 page)

Anne and I both laughed.

Kitty wandered in from our back room and Nelly bent down to pick her up and kiss her, saying, ‘I have a fur muff of exactly this colour!' Kitty gave a yowl of protest at being handled, for she was not a cuddlesome cat, and Nelly put her down again. ‘Oh – are those oranges?' she exclaimed, pointing at two decorated pomanders which hung in the shop. We said they were, and were for hanging in closets, and Nelly said that until recently she had been selling them in their natural state during the interval at the theatre (which I knew, of course, but affected not to) and would take them both because they were so pretty.

‘But have you been to the theatre – either of you?' she asked when she had paid us.

‘Never,' I said.

‘I have always wanted to!' Anne blurted out.

‘Then you shall go.' Twirling a red curl around her finger, Nelly said, ‘When I return for my violets I shall bring you tickets for next week's performance.'

We, quite overcome, gave our thanks and curtseyed
again – indeed we were bobbing up and down like ships at sea as she went out. By this time, a small crowd had gathered outside our shop, for Nelly was very popular with the people on account of her having risen from such humble beginnings to this position of prominence. Moreover, it was the talk of the coffee houses (so Mr Newbery informed us) that the king, tiring of Barbara Castlemaine, might take Nelly for his mistress, for he had been seen at the theatre on many occasions when she was performing.

True to her word, Nelly did return for the violets and gave us tickets for the theatre, and Anne and I were both monstrous excited at the thought of going, in spite of Mr Newbery telling us that he would not attend a theatre for a king's ransom. ‘They are nasty, crowded places and breeding grounds for all sorts of diseases,' he said.

‘Then are not taverns those things, too?' I asked nicely, for Mr Newbery was exceedingly fond of alehouses and was often brought home hung about the shoulders of the night watchman. He did not reply to this.

On the day of the play we shut the shop at midday and were at the theatre for two o'clock, for although the performance did not start before three, we wanted to be sure to see everything there was to be seen. We were dressed in our best – I wearing the plum linseywoolsey suit which I had made and embroidered, and Anne wearing my blue linen gown of the previous year; we both had new starched lace caps and scented gloves.

The King's Theatre was in Rider's Yard in Drury
Lane, which was a goodly way for us across the City and outside the walls. From the road it looked just like an ordinary building in some disrepair, but inside it had a glass roof and was circular in form, filled by boxes separated from each other and divided into rows going upwards. Our seats were in the middle of the theatre and there was a gallery below us and one above, this latter being where the 'prentices sat. At the bottom was a sloping pit area containing benches where well-dressed young men were sitting, and next to the stage lounged the pretty orange and lemon sellers shouting their wares to the quality and, I noticed, casting their eyes upon the young men nearby as they did so.

Anne and I sat down and began staring avidly at the people there, looking this way and that and exclaiming and gasping by turn. Early though we were, the place was already crowded and noisy with laughter and conversation. People were walking about, changing seats, hailing friends, eating pastries and indulging in horseplay, so that it seemed to me more tavern than theatre.

On stage, acts came and went to amuse the audience before the play began: a dancing bear, a juggler, a man playing a pipe and dancing a jig. No one seemed to take much notice of them. At one point, the 'prentice boys on high started a chant of, ‘Nel-ly, Nel-ly! Nel-ly!', which the other men took up, causing us to put our hands over our ears until their yelling ceased.

Anne drew my attention to the pit, pointing out that there were a dozen women sitting with the young gallants. Such women, though! In butterfly colours,
they flirted and giggled and moved from one man to another, either wearing glittering masks held to their faces on sticks, or so many patches and sequins that you could scarce see their complexions beneath. Their gowns were of rich materials in delectable colours, but seemed to have been made when they were a deal smaller, for their bosoms looked about to fall out of their bodices.

‘They're the whores,' I said, leaning over to whisper in Anne's ear. ‘They're looking for business.'

Anne gasped and we both watched, fascinated, for none of the women had the least shame about them, nor looked downcast, but instead lorded it over the men with as many airs and graces as if they were duchesses rather than doxies.

‘'T'would never do for Chertsey!' Anne said, and we could scarce stop laughing.

It was at this time, just before the play started, that there came on to the stage a man all dressed in black wheeling a large box which he set up on its end. Shouting to be heard above the hubbub, he announced in a strange accent that he was a magician and necromancer by the name of Count de'Ath, and he had brought with him his mysterious cabinet.

A little hush came across the audience, for everyone loved to hear of magic and enchantment (and indeed Anne and I intended to pay a visit to Madame le Strange, the fortune teller on London Bridge, for it was said that she had predicted the plague and foretold the exact number who would die).

Count de'Ath stood full square before the audience, twirled his moustache and said that if any member of the audience wished to disappear, either from his wife
or his creditors, then he had only to enter this cabinet and he would never be seen again.

‘Where will he go, Maestro?' someone asked from above, and the Count said that the cabinet would instantly convey this man to a land across the sea, where he would live as a person of wealth and property.

‘'Is troubles vill disappear and he vill for ever dwell in a place of warmth and luxury.'

‘I dwells there after five pints at the alehouse!' some wit shouted.

Count de'Ath did not appear to hear this. Indeed, he seemed oblivious to all that was going on in the theatre: the people constantly arriving, the yapping from the lap dogs of the ladies, a brawl taking place in the gallery, a new cry of ‘Nel-ly!' beginning from a box.

‘How much will it cost to go there?' someone wanted to know.

The Count raised his arms. ‘No money vill exchange hands,' he said. There was a pause. ‘It vill merely cost 'is soul.'

There was quiet at this, and several people in the audience crossed themselves. Even the harlots stopped their chatter for a moment.

‘Are zere any takers?' asked Count de'Ath, but of course there were not, because reading the almanacs and visiting a fortune teller was one thing, but selling your soul to the Devil was quite another.

The Count asked again, telling of how a person's life could be changed, how a man could become a king and live on a rich island of his own for the whole of his life. Suddenly, then, from one of the benches in
the pit, a young man stepped forward and ran up the steps on to the stage. He was tall and slim, dressed like a dandy in satins and lace. ‘I'll go!' he said, sweeping his feathered hat from his head with a flourish.

Those in the audience who were watching the act started in surprise and then strained forward in their seats in order to see better, while others gasped at his bravery. I gasped loudest of all – indeed I gave a little cry – for as the young man turned, I saw that it was Tom.

‘
My wife and I to the theatre where sat the King, Madam Castlemaine, the Duke and Duchess, and my wife to her great content had her full sight of them all.'

Or was it? Just as the young man turned and walked across the stage to enter the black cabinet, a couple pushed past us to their seats and we had to rise. As we sat down another couple came by, laughing, and made to engage us in conversation.

‘Damned fine play, this!' said the man. ‘Saw it yesterday, too.'

‘Have you seen it before?' the woman asked me.

I didn't reply and, stifling a cry, almost pushed them out of the way so I could see around the woman's ribboned cap. They passed by, looking at me curiously and muttering about my rudeness, but it was too late by then, for the young man was inside the cabinet, his face shrouded by darkness.

‘What is it?' Anne asked in a whisper as the couple went on. ‘Was she a whore too? Is that why you didn't
speak to her?'

I shook my head but was not able to explain, for I was rapt, breathless, watching the stage.

Count de'Ath bowed. From the musicians standing by the stage there came a fanfare. ‘If any person vants to examine my cabinet, he vill discover no openings or false doors, and no secret passages vere a man might hide!'

‘So where is that man going to go?' someone shouted.

‘He vill disappear … be changed into air and shadow … become a ghost creature who vill travel o'er vast continents until he arrives at the land I have pledged. Only then vill he regain his right shape and substance and become a man again!'

There was quite a stir in the audience at this.

Count de'Ath swirled his cloak around to half hide his face. ‘I am trained in the black arts and 'ave studied at the hands of demons! Only through me can zis enchantment be achieved.' He paused. ‘And just for the price of a soul!' he added.

There was another gasp at this and two gallants arrived on stage to examine the cabinet. Pronouncing it to be in no way out of the ordinary, there was another fanfare and a black curtain was pulled across the front of the box, obscuring the young man within completely from view. The Count made various strange movements over the box, there was the tinkling of bells and a puff of smoke, then the curtain was pulled open.

It was empty. The man inside – whoever he was – had disappeared.

Some people in the audience cried out in
astonishment. The same two gallants then examined the cabinet again and, looking puzzled, pronounced that the young man had gone and they knew not where.

Count de'Ath regarded the audience with some disdain, then gave a short bow before tipping his cabinet on to its side and wheeling it out again without another word. Some people clapped, the 'prentices cat-called, but for the most part those that had watched the performance sat in awed silence.

Anne, too, was spellbound, staring open-mouthed at the stage. ‘A real magician. An enchanter.'

‘It seems like it,' I said, stunned.

‘I've never seen real magic before …'

Slowly my heart stopped pounding and regained its normal beat. It couldn't have been Tom – of course it couldn't. The youth on stage had been taller, thinner, the shape of his head had been different.

And Tom was dead, I told myself sternly. No magic on earth could bring him back again. And yet … and yet …

More entertainment arrived on stage – a man playing the bagpipes – and ten minutes later the play began, although this did not seem to make a jot of difference to the audience. They continued to walk and talk amongst themselves, calling out to compliment or jeer at the actors and actresses. The plot made no sense to me, for I was still stunned by the performance of Count de'Ath, but this did not spoil my enjoyment at being there. When Nelly came on the audience went wild, and indeed she played solely to them, calling, waving and once even neglecting her part on stage to address someone in the
pit. At one time she was disguised as a boy (wearing short breeches and showing her legs, which were very slim and shapely) and when she appeared thus the whole audience rose to her, applauding wildly.

At half-time the orange girls came round selling their wares. One sold sweetmeats, too, and we purchased two lemon suckets and were pleased to find that these were inferior to ours and looked rather limp and stale. On tasting, we discovered that they were not so succulent, either, and we decided that they could not have undergone the six days alternately steeping and boiling in sugar water as ours did, but had been made by a quicker and inferior process.

People came round at this time selling ballad sheets and pamphlets, and holding up bills showing what the following week's performances were going to be, and there was also more entertainment on stage, although not Count de'Ath again.

A few moments after the play restarted there came some noises and barking from the royal box above us, and a stir of anticipation ran around the theatre. The barking, it was whispered, was from a pack of spaniels and meant that the king had arrived.

Anne and I were fearful excited at this.

‘Again the king!' Anne said, for we often spoke about how we'd seen him in the royal barge, and how neither our mother nor father nor our brothers had ever glimpsed him nor were likely to. ‘Today is the best day of my life!' she went on, clasping my hand. ‘I will not sleep a wink tonight for the thrill of it all.'

And now no one was watching the stage, for all eyes were fixed on the royal box, and even Nelly had to take second place to His Majesty. News quickly ran
round the theatre of what the king was wearing, what humour he was in, and what mistress accompanied him, and Anne and I practically fell out of our seats trying to crane our heads outwards and backwards to obtain information on these subjects for ourselves. Unfortunately, though, the royal box was stuffed with ladies and courtiers who were fawning about His Majesty and keeping him from our view, and we caught no more than brief glimpses of piled, curled hair, gaily-coloured dresses and waving plumed fans. We could not even see which royal mistress he had favoured that day, although were told by someone in front of us that it was not Barbara Castlemaine, but a girl called Mall Davis who was but sixteen.

When the play was over and the king had left, Anne was anxious to go round to the stage door to mingle with the gallants and fops gathered there for a sight of Nelly. I agreed to do this, but only because I had a mind to say a word to Count de'Ath.