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Authors: Gillian Bagwell
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enveloped Wat in a bear hug and kissed him loudly on both cheeks.
“Aye, I’ve come, and the other old men with me!”
Hart was indeed accompanied by several men who were noticeably grayer than the lads at the table, but there was nothing old about him, Nell thought. He was about thirty, tall and well built, and the grace and energy with which he moved made her think of the rope dancer she had seen at Bartholomew Fair. His dark eyes shone with happiness as he returned cries of greeting from all sides.
“Who’s that?” Nell whispered to Rose and Jane.
“Charles Hart,” Rose answered. “He’s Mr. Killigrew’s leading actor. Mighty fine, isn’t he?”
“Fine as a fivepence,” Nell agreed.
Tables, stools, and benches were shuffled until all the actors were seated. Nell noticed that the younger men made way for the older, their deference tinged with admiration and affection. Wat Clun turned to Hart.
“Now then, Charlie, what do you say?”
“We’ve made a good start on it,” Hart said. “And I raise my cup to each of you. To John Lacy and to Michael Mohun. Whose light shone through the long dark days. And without whom we’d not be here tonight.” The men on either side of Hart acknowledged the murmurs of agreement from their fellows.
Big John Lacy, sitting to Hart’s left, surveyed the faces around him. “Back onstage again. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day. Here’s to you, my old dear friend, and the lord of the dance, Charles Hart! And to His Majesty. God save the king!”
“God save the king!” The room echoed with the cry. Nell gazed at the solemn faces of the older actors around the table. For the first time she felt ashamed of her whoredom, and she wanted desperately not to have to relate to the players as a whore. She felt sure that they embodied some mystery and wisdom, and she wanted only to be in their company and listen to them. She glanced around the room and was relieved that Madam Ross was nowhere to be seen and that Jack was engaged in a game of dice at a corner table and was paying her no mind.
Soon the spirit of the gathering lightened as the talk turned to the afternoon’s performance.
“A good house, and a merry, especially considering the weather,” Lacy said.
“True enough,” Hart agreed. “But then, considering how long some of them had been waiting to discover how it came out, perhaps they didn’t mind braving the cold.”
Nell was puzzled by the laughter at this remark.
“Why were they waiting?” she ventured to ask. She felt self-conscious when all eyes turned to her, but Lacy answered her cheerfully.
“The theaters were outlawed under Old Nol, thou knowest that? Well, during that time, some of the old actors twice put up this same play at the Red Bull, and were twice stopped and arrested.”
“But now,” Nell ventured, “now you can play again?”
“Yes, thanks be to God and to Charles Stuart,” Wat nodded. “And after eighteen long years, here we sit before you, the King’s Company, in business once again.”
Nell was chagrined that she had missed an event of such momentousness as the actors’ triumphant return to the stage. Jimmy Cade and a few of his friends came in the door, and he caught her eye. She was usually happy to see him, but she lingered at the actors’ table for a few minutes.
“This play you played today,” she queried, “will you give it again?”
“We will,” Hart said. “But we’ve other fare for the next few days.”
“And then”—Lacy grinned—“on Thursday, we move to better quarters, indoors, and give the first part of King Henry the Fourth .”
“I wish I could see it.” Nell looked up at him, hope shining in her eyes.
“And so you can,” Lacy said. “Even better, come to our rehearsal tomorrow. Then you can say you saw it before any in London.”
Nell gave him a happy grin and danced off to find Jimmy Cade. By the time she returned downstairs, most of the actors had left. She longed to
“Aye, I’ve come, and the other old men with me!”
Hart was indeed accompanied by several men who were noticeably grayer than the lads at the table, but there was nothing old about him, Nell thought. He was about thirty, tall and well built, and the grace and energy with which he moved made her think of the rope dancer she had seen at Bartholomew Fair. His dark eyes shone with happiness as he returned cries of greeting from all sides.
“Who’s that?” Nell whispered to Rose and Jane.
“Charles Hart,” Rose answered. “He’s Mr. Killigrew’s leading actor. Mighty fine, isn’t he?”
“Fine as a fivepence,” Nell agreed.
Tables, stools, and benches were shuffled until all the actors were seated. Nell noticed that the younger men made way for the older, their deference tinged with admiration and affection. Wat Clun turned to Hart.
“Now then, Charlie, what do you say?”
“We’ve made a good start on it,” Hart said. “And I raise my cup to each of you. To John Lacy and to Michael Mohun. Whose light shone through the long dark days. And without whom we’d not be here tonight.” The men on either side of Hart acknowledged the murmurs of agreement from their fellows.
Big John Lacy, sitting to Hart’s left, surveyed the faces around him. “Back onstage again. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day. Here’s to you, my old dear friend, and the lord of the dance, Charles Hart! And to His Majesty. God save the king!”
“God save the king!” The room echoed with the cry. Nell gazed at the solemn faces of the older actors around the table. For the first time she felt ashamed of her whoredom, and she wanted desperately not to have to relate to the players as a whore. She felt sure that they embodied some mystery and wisdom, and she wanted only to be in their company and listen to them. She glanced around the room and was relieved that Madam Ross was nowhere to be seen and that Jack was engaged in a game of dice at a corner table and was paying her no mind.
Soon the spirit of the gathering lightened as the talk turned to the afternoon’s performance.
“A good house, and a merry, especially considering the weather,” Lacy said.
“True enough,” Hart agreed. “But then, considering how long some of them had been waiting to discover how it came out, perhaps they didn’t mind braving the cold.”
Nell was puzzled by the laughter at this remark.
“Why were they waiting?” she ventured to ask. She felt self-conscious when all eyes turned to her, but Lacy answered her cheerfully.
“The theaters were outlawed under Old Nol, thou knowest that? Well, during that time, some of the old actors twice put up this same play at the Red Bull, and were twice stopped and arrested.”
“But now,” Nell ventured, “now you can play again?”
“Yes, thanks be to God and to Charles Stuart,” Wat nodded. “And after eighteen long years, here we sit before you, the King’s Company, in business once again.”
Nell was chagrined that she had missed an event of such momentousness as the actors’ triumphant return to the stage. Jimmy Cade and a few of his friends came in the door, and he caught her eye. She was usually happy to see him, but she lingered at the actors’ table for a few minutes.
“This play you played today,” she queried, “will you give it again?”
“We will,” Hart said. “But we’ve other fare for the next few days.”
“And then”—Lacy grinned—“on Thursday, we move to better quarters, indoors, and give the first part of King Henry the Fourth .”
“I wish I could see it.” Nell looked up at him, hope shining in her eyes.
“And so you can,” Lacy said. “Even better, come to our rehearsal tomorrow. Then you can say you saw it before any in London.”
Nell gave him a happy grin and danced off to find Jimmy Cade. By the time she returned downstairs, most of the actors had left. She longed to
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