door.
“He … rides with them, these older ladies?” I tentatively asked Theo once Teddy had gone.
“They like to be seen beside him in their carriages. He is somewhat of a favourite companion with the women of this town.” From what I’d heard, he was equally a friend to the gentlemen, but I kept these thoughts to myself.
“And he wears—”
“Yes, he loves to dress up. He was so good at it, you see, and then everything changed. Not that we don’t appreciate having lovely creatures like you around, my dear, but it used to be so … different. And Teddy, of course, he was the star. I think he must miss it, but he would never say so.”
When I returned to the theatre, I encountered Lady Fenworth, now standing and calling her fluffy dog. The ferocious air about her had dissipated, and she was coquettishly giggling and girlishly fluttering her eyelashes. With her was a delicately beautiful woman, wearing a light walking gown of spotted yellow silk. Watching her fluid gait, it took me a moment to realise that it was Teddy. He winked at me as he went by.
Lady’s Household Companion
A Complete Guide to an Englishwoman’s Home
To Make French Macaroons
Wash a pound of Jordan almonds and then beat them to a fine paste.
Add half a pound of finely ground sugar and dampen with rose-water.
Add the whites of two new beaten eggs and bake until crisped white.
S OMERSET H OUSE, L ONDON
T O OUR SON, H IS M AJESTY K ING C HARLES II AT T UNBRIDGE W ELLS
F ROM H ER M AJESTY Q UEEN H ENRIETTA M ARIA
A UGUST 5, 1663
Charles,
A most disturbing report has reached me. Does your queen dress as a man? James writes to say that she has embraced a peculiar new fashion, and all the young people are following suit. She has been seen
publicly
in velvet breeches, an embroidered surcoat, and a plumed hat. You must put a stop to this at once. It is neither dignified nor safe. Does this mean she has been riding astride? As you know, I dislike strong language, but this behaviour in a lady of rank, never mind a queen, is unthinkably disgusting. At this rate she will never have children and the country will come to ruin, and it will be squarely on your head. Manage your affairs better.
Queen Henrietta Maria
Your (displeased)
maman
Postscript:
I have heard from Queen Anne that Phillipe has been opening Minette’s letters. Minette naturally dislikes her husband’s intrusiveness but cannot stop his bad behaviour, no more than she can prevent his fruity choice of hats. I recommend you engage a special courier at once in order to correspond with your sister.
Saturday, August 15, 1663—late (everyone asleep)
Cannot sleep. Rose was in the theatre tonight. It did
not
go well.
This evening:
Meg, Lil, and I were in the middle gallery counting up the day’s takings, forty-seven oranges and seventeen limes (a good sum) when we heard a frightful commotion below. A woman’s voice: “Harry! No! Put me down! Not here!” as the Venice lamp for the new
Claracilla
crashed to the floor. I turned sharply at the sound of the voice. Quietly, we three peeked over the gallery banisters. On the stage were a drunken Harry Killigrew, Tom Killigrew’s eldest son, and an equally drunken young woman in a tightly laced pink gown. Her brown side curls had come undone, and the loose hair concealed her heavily made-up face. Harry was fumbling with her bodice but unable to manage the laces, changed his mind, and decided to lead her in a disorderly
pavane
instead, smudging the wet paint of the new flats as he went. The woman was careful to keep her dress away from the paint. Something in the set of her shoulders…
“Oooh, no! Mr. Fuller hasn’t even finished ‘em yet!” Lil whispered as Harry brushed against the fresh paint.
“Shh!” Meg hissed, intent on watching the couple on the stage.
“There we go! You’ve got it!
Brava!
Now bow to the audience.” Harry applauded his partner. The woman, giggling overloudly, turned and curtseyed to the pit. She
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