“What d’you make of the Duke’s new whore then, Tom?” Jack piped up, a little too loudly, I thought.
“’Tis not his whore, ’tis his wife, you shit-head!” roared Tom, and then retailed the exchange to the other cullies sitting round about them, and the one I thought I knew from somewhere laughed loudest and most mirthlessly of all and I noted that though his behaviour was ugly he was a most handsome-looking young man.
“Well then, a wife’s but a whore with a priest for a pandar!” Jack squeaked back, but no one was paying him any heed now.
I gathered from others whispering about me that this fine couple were the Duke and Duchess of York, and though I did not like to stare I took an opportunity once or twice to look at them, and was a little shocked to see how they kissed each others’ hands and leant on each other most familiarly in front of all the company.
I continued to cast anxious looks towards the door but still my aunt did not appear. And then the play commenced. Against her coming late, I kept my seat, and turned my eyes to the stage. I do not think they left it for the next two hours.
I straightway understood why the playhouse was thought a wicked place. Although the playbills outside had said the play was called Thomaso the story was more about Angellica, who I now know was a courtesan. There is the first deception, I thought, and resolved to be on my guard. First of all it presented marriage in a very wicked light. A man told a lady (who, you may be sure, was no lady) that marriage was no better than a kind of sale, and in marriage a man wanted only the woman’s portion and wanted her only as a chattel he takes to stock his family, as other cattle to stock his land. This seemed harsh and very likely against God, as God invented marriage. But then there were parts that made a deal of sense and reminded me of Margaret Cavendish, our friend in the library, as another man said “I do believe women may do most of their own business upon Earth themselves, if they would but leave their spinning and try.” And I began again to wonder uncomfortably whether Margaret Cavendish might be sinful as well.
And again Angellica berated Thomaso, asking him why when a man and a woman sin together, the woman loses honour by the crime, while the man gains honour by it. I confess this puzzled me, as it made a deal of sense. It set me thinking on my poor sister Grace and how her life was ruined by a single act, yet her lover most likely gave it not a second thought. And then Thomaso objected because Angellica sold her love, being a mercenary prostitute creature, and then she said “Well, would you marry a woman without a dowry?” meaning he expected to be paid too. And he had no answer to that. And this set me wondering again.
When the play ended I clapped and clapped but could not see the players so well on account of the bullies in front of me getting up to go.
“’Tis excellent apt casting, eh Tom?” shouted one to the other. “Mistress Gwyn plays the whore as true to life!”
“Ah, but she has an unfair advantage – she and Hart, eh?” and he made a circle with his left finger and thumb and thrust his right finger through it. I had never seen this gesture before, but immediately knew what it signified – after all, I was bred in the country. I thought I was like to vomit, it so powerfully affected me. I felt hot and wanted to get out and made my way blindly to the exit, but in all the confusion found I had mistaken my way and found myself behind the scenes. Casting about for a way out I saw behind a half-curtain the beautiful girl who had played the courtesan. She was getting undressed.
“Moll, are you there?” she called. “For God’s sake don’t suffer any of those pricks from the pit to come back here. Moll?” I scurried away, back the way I had come and finding the auditorium nearly empty followed the last of the spectators out.
I did not know what to make of my initiation to the theatre. It had been both a wonderful and a terrible experience. I ran all the way home, thinking it had not been at all like The Taming of the Shrew.
When I got home I went straightway to find my aunt. Evelyn had returned and they were playing a hand of cards with Puss at their feet.
I dropped a curtsey and then went to kiss my aunt.
“Did you enjoy the play?” she asked.
“Oh yes, Aunt, vastly,” I said, and began to pour out the evening’s adventures. But then I stopped and asked, “But why did you not come?”
“A head-ache, my dear,” she said. “Happily it soon went. Put the cards away, Evelyn,” she said and while Evelyn’s back was turned she winked at me and I realised that she had never intended to come to the playhouse and I loved her the more for that kindness. “Did you see anyone we know?” she asked.
“No, Aunt, but I believe I saw the Duke and Duchess of York.”
“Anyone else?”
“No,” I said. And then my eyes fell on the painting of Aunt Madge and her sons, and I suddenly realised who I had recognised in the playhouse. “Oh!” I exclaimed and explained to my aunt that I had thought I had seen one of my cousins.
Aunt Madge seemed grimly satisfied.
“Who was he with? Did you notice?”
“Jack and Tom, I think they called each other,” I said. “They were very – ” and then I stopped as I did not want to tell tales, or bring trouble on my cousin. “High-spirited,” I chose, thinking that safer and not a lie.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Aunt Madge. “In any event, your cousin is coming home on Saturday and you will be able to see whether this was the same person.”
“Yes, Aunt,” I said, hoping it would not be the same person, as though he was mighty handsome he was a very loud rough fellow and I did not like what I had seen of him.
7
I was coming down the stairs on Friday morning with clean linen for the table for the dinner party that evening when I heard someone coming in at the door, and looking down I spied the man I had seen in the playhouse; evidently he was my cousin. He threw his coat and hat to the Potters before bounding up the stairs two at a time. He stopped when he saw me.
“Who the devil are you?” he said.
“H, sir,” I said, dropping a curtsey. “I am your cousin from the country.”
He smiled.
“Then welcome, coz,” he said, and gave me a great smack on the bottom as he ran past, causing me to squeal and drop my linen. I had not been smacked so before and it took me some time to recover my composure. I picked up the linen and took it through to the dining room and then noticing a flower had fallen from the vase on the mantelpiece I replaced it, and happening to catch myself in the glass above the fireplace was surprised to see I was both grinning and blushing like a great country booby.
There was plenty to do that day, as we had to ready not only Roger’s but also his brother Frederick’s chamber, as he too was expected back from the university at Oxford for Easter. Their chambers were aired, the beds turned over, fires lit and fresh herbs hung about and I was hastening past Aunt Madge’s room with a new quilt when I heard raised voices.
“You have been in town a week and not come home, Roger!” Aunt Madge cried, sounding most vexed.
“Mother, how many times must I tell you, I arrived only this morning and came here straight from the Oxford stage,” answered Roger.
“That is a lie, to my certain knowledge,” said Aunt Madge.