Kitabı oku: «The Darling Strumpet», sayfa 2

They were all about sixteen years old, probably nearing the end of their apprenticeships, and it looked as if their master was nowhere near, for a barrel had been tapped and stood on a table at one side of the room. Each of the boys held a mug, and from their red faces and boisterous laughs, Nell guessed they had been drinking for some time.

“I’m Nick,” said the first boy. “This is my brother Davy, and Kit and Toby.”

The boys nodded their greetings, and Nell took the mug Kit handed her and drank. The dark stout tasted full and bitter, much heavier than the small beer she was accustomed to drinking, but she swallowed it down as the boys looked on, grinning. Feeling their eyes on her a little too keenly, she went to the window.

From this height, the view stretched eastward down Fleet Street toward St. Paul’s, and southwest past Charing Cross to Whitehall Palace. Across the road to the south, she could see over the walls of the grand houses along the Thames, their imposing fronts facing London and their capacious gardens sloping down behind to the river. Every wall, window, and rooftop was occupied, and the streets as far as she could see were aswarm. The noise of the crowd was growing louder. Nell heard drumbeats and the tramp of booted feet.

“Here they come!” Kit shouted, and the lads crowded to the windows around Nell. A shimmering wave of silver moved towards her, and she saw that it was a column of men marching. At the front was a rank of soldiers in buff coats with sleeves of cloth of silver, a row of drummers to the fore, rapping out a sharp tattoo as they swung along. Behind them marched hundreds of gentlemen in cloth of silver that flashed and shone.

Toby whistled. “Lord. Never knew there was so many gentlemen.”

“There wasn’t, a month since,” laughed Nick. “They was all lying quiet in the country or somewheres. Only now the king is come and it’s safe again ….”

The silver swarm was followed by a phalanx of gentlemen in velvet coats, interspersed with footmen in plush new liveries of deep purple and sea green.

“I didn’t know there was so many colours,” Nell breathed, awed by the beauty of the rich reds, greens, blues, and golds. “I didn’t know they could make cloth like that.”

“They can if you can pay for it,” said Davy.

“Aye,” Nick agreed. “I’ll wager Barbara Palmer has a gown of stuff like that.” He turned to Nell with a wink.

“Who’s Barbara Palmer?” she asked, not wanting to seem ignorant, but desperate to know.

“Why, the king’s whore!” Nick cried. “They do say she’s the most beautiful woman in England. Nought but the best for the king!”

Nell took this in with interest. The king’s whore. Wearing fine clothes. The whores she knew made themselves as brave and showy as they could, but she had never seen anything like the finery on display today.

The Sheriff of London and his men, all in scarlet, passed and were succeeded by the gentlemen of the London companies—the goldsmiths, vintners, bakers, and other guilds that supplied the City, each with its fluttering banner.

“There he is!” cried Kit. “Our master,” he explained, pointing to a beefy man in deep blue who strode along with his brothers in trade.

After the guilds came the aldermen of London, in scarlet gowns, and then more soldiers with tall pikes and halberds. But unlike the grim-faced soldiers who had patrolled the streets throughout her life, these men did not strike fear into Nell, for they couldn’t help smiling at the ringing cheers.

The roaring of the crowd exploded into a frenzy. Nell scrabbled for a hold on the windowsill and craned to get a better view.

The king was coming. Three men on horseback rode through Temple Bar, but the king could only be the one in the middle, in a cloth-of-silver doublet trimmed in gold, his saddle and bridle richly worked in gold. He turned from side to side to wave as blossoms showered down upon him. The throngs pressed forward, waving, throwing their hats into the air, calling out to him—“God save the king,” “God bless Your Majesty,” “Thank God for this day!”

“Those are his brothers,” Toby shouted to Nell. “The Duke of York and the Duke of Gloucester.” They were a dazzling sight, all in silver, riding side by side on three enormous dark stallions, radiant as angels in the noonday sun.

The king was close enough now that Nell could see him clearly. Big and broad shouldered, he sat tall in the gilded saddle, long booted legs straightening as he stood in the stirrups, as if he could not stay seated in the face of his people’s adulation. His long dark curls cascaded over his shoulders as he swept his hat from his head and waved it, turning to either side to acknowledge the cheers.

He smiled broadly, laughing with exuberance at the tumultuous welcome. “I thank you with all my heart,” he called, his deep voice ringing out amidst the clamour and cries.

“God save King Charles!” Nell realised it was her own voice. The king looked up, and Nell caught her breath as he looked her full in the face. He grinned, teeth showing beneath his dark moustache, eyes twinkling in his swarthy face, and called back to her, “I thank you, sweetheart!” Impulsively, Nell blew him a kiss and was immediately overcome with horror at the audacity of her act. But the king threw his head back and laughed, then blew a kiss to her, waving as he and his brothers rode on.

Nell giggled and bounced off the windowsill. “Did you see? He blew me a kiss!”

“Aye, and from what I hear of him, he’d offer you more than a kiss, was you close enough for him to reach you!” Nick guffawed. “He’s got a mistress who’s another man’s wife, and two or three merry-begotten brats by other women, they say. For who will say nay to the king?”

Not I, thought Nell.

The procession continued below, but once the king had passed, Nell’s attention was no longer focused exclusively on the street. Nick refilled her mug, and the other boys drifted away from the window to drink.

Nell was in high good humour, awed by the glamour of the pro cession and her exchange with the king. Her head swam a bit from the stout and from the excitement at being out on her own for the first time, in company with these older boys, almost men.

“What think you of the king, Nelly?” Kit asked.

“Oh,” she cooed, “he’s fine as hands can make him.”

“Not finer than me, surely?” cried Nick.

“Oh, no,” Nell shot back. “No more than a diamond is finer than a dog turd.” The boys roared and moved in close around her. At the heart of this laughing group, she felt worldly and sophisticated. She had been silly to doubt that she could handle the lads. They were eating out of her hand.

“Ah, Nick, you’re not good enough for Nell,” Toby chortled. “Mayhap you’d have better luck with Barbara Palmer.”

“Well, Nell?” Davy laughed. “Do you think she’d have him?”

“Aye, when hens make holy water,” Nell answered tartly.

“What?” Nick gawped at her in mock amazement. “How can you say such a thing? When you’ve hardly met me! Why, I have qualities.”

“Aye, and a bumblebee in a cow turd thinks himself a king,” she retorted. “Is there no end of your talking?”

“I’ll leave off my talking and set you to moaning,” Nick leered, sidling closer. “Once a mort is lucky enough to feel my quim-stake, she’s not like to forget it.”

Nell gave him a shove in the belly.

“Enough of your bear-garden discourse.”

“Aye, speak that way to Barbara Palmer, and you’re like to be taken out for air and exercise,” Toby grinned.

“No, you’d get worse than a whipping at the cart’s arse for giving her the cutty eye,” Kit shook his head. “Look the wrong way at the king’s doxy and you’ll piss when you can’t whistle.”

“How say you, Nick?” Davy asked. “Do you reckon there’s a woman worth hanging for?”

“If there is,” Nick said, “I’ve yet to clap eyes on her.”

“Don’t lose hope yet.” Nell batted her eyes at him. “The day is young.”

Eventually the last of the king’s train passed, followed by a straggling tail of children and beggars, but the crowds in the street below did not disperse. Drink flowed and piles of wood were being stacked in preparation for celebratory bonfires. The party would continue through the night.

“Come on, who’s for wandering?” Nick turned from the window. “To Whitehall!” he bellowed, once they were in the street. “I want to see this trull of the king’s.”

Their progress was slow, as the way toward Whitehall was packed with others wending their way there, and there were constant diversions. Musicians, jugglers, stilt walkers, and rope dancers performed, as if Bartholomew Fair had come early.

Before the palace, the gang crowded with others around a roaring bonfire. The windows of the Banqueting House glowed from the light of hundreds of candles. Carriages clogged the street, the coachmen and footmen gathered in knots to talk as they waited for their masters.

“The king’s having his supper now, before the whole court,” Nick said. “I reckon he’s got that Barbara Palmer with him.” He moved closer to Nell and she felt his eyes hot on her. He was quite big and the intensity of his gaze made her heart race.

“I know I’d have her,” he continued, “wherever and whenever I wanted, was I king.” The boys hooted their agreement, but Nick’s attention was on Nell now. He pulled her to him roughly and ran a hand heavily over her small breasts. She felt a surge of fear and tried to pull away.

Someone nearby cried out, the crowd stirred and buzzed, and Nell saw that the king had appeared at one of the windows of the Banqueting House. Nick loosened his hold on her and turned to gawk. The light blazing behind the king created a golden aura around him. The bonfires illuminated his face and made the silver of his doublet shine. He raised a hand to salute the crowds below, and they roared their approval and welcome.

Then a woman appeared next to him, and Nell knew that this must be the famous Barbara Palmer. She was darkly beautiful, her hair dressed in elaborate curls, and she wore a low-cut gown of deep red that set off the pale lushness of her bosom. As she leaned close to the king, sparkles and flashes of light from the jewels at her ears and throat cut through the shadows.

Nell had never seen a woman so stunning. She looked carefully, memorising every detail, and longed to be like her—gorgeously dressed, elegant, and at ease before the adoring crowds.

Barbara Palmer disappeared from view. The king gave a final wave to the crowds and followed her.

“Aye, just give me half an hour with her,” crowed Nick. “I reckon she’d be worth the price.”

“You’ll not earn the cost of her in your lifetime!” Davy gibed.

Nell felt a rush of envy. She didn’t want to lose the delicious new sensation of feeling admired and special.

“She may be beautiful,” she announced, tossing her tangled curls, “but she’s not the only one worth her price.”

This pronouncement produced a ripple of some indefinable undercurrent and an exchange of meaningful glances among the lads. Nick moved close to her, and she could not breathe for the nearness of him and his size. The firelight flickered orange on his face, and on the faces of the other lads, who stood flanking him and regarding her with new interest.

“Is that so?” Nick asked, taking a lazy drink. His eyes gleamed in the dark. “And just what might your price be?”

Nell’s stomach heaved with nervous excitement, but remembering Barbara Palmer’s easy confidence, she managed an inviting smile as she looked up at him. She thought of what Deb and Molly had said—was it only this morning?—about the riches to be made this night.

“Sixpence,” she said to him. And then, taking in the others with a flicker of her eyes, “Apiece.”

“Well, then. Time’s a-wasting,” said Nick, with a canine grin. He glanced toward the blackness of St. James’s Park, grabbed Nell by the wrist, and pulled her along, the other boys in tow.

The park was scattered with revellers, but there were secluded dens amidst the darkness of the spreading trees and tangled shrubbery, and in any case, no one was likely to ask questions, tonight of all nights. Nick drew Nell into a thicket of trees, and the others crowded in behind him.

This felt very different from the morning’s hasty coupling with the red-haired apprentice, and facing the four lads, panic rose in Nell’s throat. But there was nothing really to be afraid of, was there? A bit of mess and it would all be done. And she would be two shillings the richer. Best to get it over with. She turned to find the driest spot on which to lie, but before she could move further, Nick shoved her down and onto her back, pulled her skirt up to her waist, and was on top of her.

He leaned on one forearm as he unbuttoned his breeches, his weight taking Nell’s breath away, then spit on his palm, guided himself between her legs and entered her hard. Her nether parts were tender, and his assault made her gasp in pain. She bit her lip and struggled not to whimper.

Nick lasted much longer than the young apprentice had, and finished with a low growl and a deep sustained thrust that made Nell cry out. He looked down at her for a moment, vulpine triumph in his eyes, then, grunting, heaved himself off her, put his cock back in his breeches, and buttoned his flies.

“Who’s next?” he asked. There was a moment of hesitation, and he turned in irritation to his mates. “What ails you? I said who’s next?”

Toby came forward. He was faster than Nick, and Nick having spent within her made his entry easier, but still it was painful. Nell turned her head so that she would not have to look him in the eyes. The other boys needed no urging now. Davy and Kit hovered on either side of her, watching, eager for their turns, and Davy knelt between Nell’s thighs as soon as Toby was done. He hooked his arms under her knees, and he looked down at her keenly as he moved inside her, snarling like an animal.

The other boys laughed and called out their encouragement. Nell shut her eyes. Rocks and twigs pressed into her back, and the damp earth was soaking through her clothes. She didn’t feel elegant and enchanting, only uncomfortable and frightened. But it would soon be over. And the money would make it all worthwhile.

Kit nearly knocked Davy aside in his haste to get on top of Nell. She was so sore now that she could barely keep from crying, but managed not to let more than a stifled moan escape.

Finally, Kit finished, and sat back to fasten his breeches.

“Come on!” Nick ordered, yanking him to his feet.

“My money!” Nell cried, struggling to get up. “Two shillings.” Nick shoved her onto her back with a foot.

“Two hogs?” he sneered. “For that? We’ll not pay a farthing. You’re not only a whore, you’re a stupid whore, at that.”

Nell scrambled to her feet and caught at him. They couldn’t. After all she had suffered.

“You said—you agreed!” But Nick just flung her away, and she tripped sideways and fell to her knees as the boys ran, crashing away through the branches.

It was hopeless. She gulped, fighting back sobs. Every part of her ached; the insides of her bruised thighs were clammy; she was covered in mud. She tried to straighten her clothes, and cried out as she realised that her rosette was gone. In a panic, she looked and felt around her. And there it was. It must have come off when Nick first pushed her down and been crushed beneath her. It lay crumpled in the muck, its beautiful bright colours sodden grey.

The tears Nell had held back flowed now, and she wept, her body shaking, as she clutched the precious knot of ribbons in her hand. Nick was right. How stupid she had been, to think that she could ever be like the glorious Barbara Palmer. She was just a shabby little ragamuffin, fit for nothing better than selling oysters. Her dreams of freedom had been so much foolishness. She would have no choice but to go back to her mother, to endure the beating that she knew awaited her, and resume her life of drudgery.

When she had finally cried herself out, Nell pushed herself up, wincing in pain, and wiped her nose and eyes on her shift. Her fingers closed around the lump in the hem. Her remaining pennies were still there. One shred of consolation. But the money would not buy her lodging for the night, and she longed to lie herself down. She could go home. Or spend a second night on the street. Unless she could find Rose. That thought brought her to her feet. Rose would surely be at Madam Ross’s.

She emerged from the trees. There were still crowds gathered around the bonfires before the palace. She hurried toward Charing Cross, spurred on by hunger and weariness and the hope of comfort. Fires burned in the Strand and music drifted towards her on the warm evening breeze. She turned into the warren of narrow lanes that lay to the north of Covent Garden. She was near home now, and it felt odd to bypass the familiar close. But, resolutely, she made toward Lewkenor’s Lane.

“Nell!” Rose’s voice called her name. Nell rushed toward Rose and clung to her.

“I’ve been looking for you all the day,” Rose exclaimed, and then took in Nell’s state of dishevelment. “Wherever have you been?”

Nell’s tears burst forth again, and Rose guided her to a step, sat her down, and listened as the whole story came out in a rush. After she finished, Nell sat sobbing, overcome by humiliation and shame. Rose stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

“Oh, Nelly,” she said. “I wish I had found you this morning. If I had only known what was in your mind ….” She shook her head, considering, then put a finger under Nell’s chin and tilted Nell’s face to hers. Nell looked into her sister’s eyes, and Rose’s voice was gentle.

“I cannot make the world a different place than it is. But I can tell you this: Get the money first. Always.”

CHAPTER TWO

MADAM ROSS PURSED HER ROUGED LIPS. NELL FIDGETED UNDER THE examination and threw an anxious glance to Rose. The madam’s red hair, unblinking gaze, and the quick tilt of her head made Nell think of a russet hen. She supposed Madam Ross must be as old as her mother, maybe even older. But she was a very handsome woman, and elegant in the dark green gown which showed off her buxom figure.

“Hmph,” Madam Ross mused. “Good eyes, good skin. Hair not a bad colour, but monstrous wild.” Nell reached a hand up to try to smooth her curls and suffered Madam Ross to take her by the shoulders and turn her about.

“The beginnings of a nice little bosom,” Madam Ross commented. “And I make no doubt you’ll fill out more, like your sister. Yes, not bad at all. Lift your skirts.” Nell hesitantly pulled her skirt and shift to her knees.

“Higher, girl,” said Madam Ross, twitching Nell’s skirts to waist height. “Hmph. Very lovely little legs you have. And bit of feathering to the cuckoo’s nest, I see. Do you have your courses yet?”

“Aye,” Nell stammered. “Just.”

“Well, Rose can teach you what to do to keep yourself from getting with child.” She stepped back and regarded Nell for another moment, then nodded.

“Aye. You’ll do well. Some of them like the look of a game pullet who’s still but a child. We can sell you as a virgin for this day or two. And even without that, you’re a pretty impish little thing.” She smiled at Nell and then turned to Rose.

“She can lie in the room next to yours. Get her things today. We’re like to continue busy and we can use all hands.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Rose said, and Nell echoed her, “Aye, thank you very kindly, ma’am.”

Madam Ross nodded her acknowledgement. “Rose, make sure she has a bath. And help her to do something about that hair.”

She sailed out the door in a rustle of skirts, and Nell and Rose were left alone in Rose’s tiny room. Nell studied Rose, wishing as she frequently did that her own hair would fall in the smooth chestnut waves her sister had. Rose’s blue eyes were intent on her with an expression Nell couldn’t read, the colour standing out on her high cheekbones.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rose asked. “’Tis not … all ease. You could go back home.”

“No.” Nell shook her head. “I’ll never go back. Besides, you know Mam would have me working the same way afore long. I must earn my keep in some way. I had rather be with you.”

“Very well.” Rose gave Nell a squeeze and a smile. “At least I can keep an eye on you here.”

THAT AFTERNOON, NELL AND ROSE WENT TO FETCH NELL’S FEW belongings from the Golden Fleece. Their mother, Eleanor, was behind the bar and scowled as they entered.

“I was wondering when you’d come creeping back. High time, too. There’s work to be done.” She turned back to the keg she had been tapping.

Nell’s heart pounded with fear, but knowing that Rose stood beside her, she found the courage to answer.

“I’m not coming back.”

Eleanor whirled to face her.

“What prating nonsense is that? Where else would you go?”

“With me,” Rose spoke up.

Eleanor shot from behind the bar with such violence that she sent a stool clattering to the floor, drawing the attention of the few tipplers who sat in a gloomy corner.

“With you? You talk hog-high. Are you so grand now that you’ve money to spare on the lazy little wretch?”

Rage overcame Nell’s fear.

“Lazy? You’ve worked me day and night since I could scarce walk. I don’t need you. I can get my own living!”

Eleanor’s face flushed and she lunged for Nell, but Rose stepped between them.

“We’ve come to get Nell’s things,” Rose said, toe to toe with their mother. “Madam Ross has taken her on. Stand aside.”

Eleanor stood her ground for a moment, eyes blazing. But Rose did not back down, and all the patrons of the tavern were watching now. With a snort of disgust, Eleanor moved away, and Nell followed Rose behind the bar to the stairs.

In the mousehole of a room she had shared with her mother for as long as she could recall, Nell gathered the few items of clothes she was not already wearing—her spare shift, a pair of woollen stockings, a ragged cloak and cap for winter. Her only other possessions were the precious shard of mirror wrapped in a bit of sacking, and a small doll, its body of stuffed cloth and its face a painted walnut. Nell had had the doll all her life, and Eleanor had told Nell that her father had made it for her. It was the only relic she had of his existence, the only evidence that he had once lived, and had loved her.

Eleanor looked up as Nell and Rose descended the stairs.

“You’re an ungrateful little fool. And that Ross woman is an even greater fool if she thinks any man will pay to bed the likes of you.” The words hit Nell like a slap across the face, but Rose put a steadying hand on her shoulder and guided her past their mother.

“Goodbye, Mam,” Rose said.

ROSE OPENED THE DOOR INTO WHAT WOULD BE NELL’S HOME AND place of work. The room was tiny, scarce big enough for a bed, a chair, and a stand that held a basin and bowl for washing and a towel. There were three hooks on one wall, for hanging clothes, and a battered wooden box in which Nell could keep her belongings. Roughcast walls rose to the dingy ceiling. Wide oak planks formed the floor, the grooves between them packed with ancient dust, the path from the door to the bed worn smooth from the passage of countless feet. A tallow candle stood in a bracket on the wall, but it was not lit, as the room’s best feature, the southward-facing window overlooking Lewkenor’s Lane, let in the noontime sun.

It was the most space that Nell had ever had to herself and she surveyed the little room with a sense of proprietorial delight. But the sudden change in her life was unsettling. She didn’t want Rose to leave her, and turned to her sister.

“What must I do now?”

“We’ll find you some better duds, and then you can sleep a bit before evening. ’Tis like to be busy tonight.”

“How will I know what to do?” Nell asked.

“Just chat as you’re used to at the Fleece. Not everyone in the taproom is there to dance Moll Pratley’s jig. If they want to go upstairs, they’ll pay Madam direct. She’ll tell you who to take next. Or Jack will.”

“Who’s Jack?”

“Madam’s man, who serves as bullyboy. Best to keep on his good side. He’ll have his way with one of the wenches once in a while, but if you’re lucky he’ll leave you be.”

“How much do we get paid?”

“The house takes two shillings. We get sixpence. But regulars are more like to be generous and give you extra coin, or bring you fal-lals of some sort.”

“Like what?

“Oh, garters, ribbons, maybe a fan or the like.”

Nell was pleased at the thought of owning such fine things and determined that she would get herself some regular customers as soon as ever she could.

“There’s more you need to know,” Rose continued. “You don’t want to get with child. You can’t work once you’re far along, and you’re like to get flung out before then anyway.”

Nell had not thought about pregnancy, and wondered what other unexpected hazards lay ahead.

“Come,” Rose said. “I’ll show you what to do.”

In Rose’s own little chamber, she produced a small lemon and a knife. She cut the lemon in two, squashed one half against a protruding knob in the bottom of a small wooden dish, and held up the resulting hollow little cup of rind and juiceless pulp.

“You put this up you, and set it so that it covers the entry to your womb.”

Nell goggled at her. “How will I know where it is?”

“Lie on your bed or squat down and put your finger up inside you. You’ll feel what I mean. A man’s seed is what gets you with child, do you see, when it gets into your belly. This helps keep it out. A little sponge soaked in vinegar will work, too. And after a man spends inside you, get up as soon as you can, use the chamber pot, and squeeze the stuff out. And wash between men.” She hesitated, and her fair face flushed pink as she spoke.

“Since your mind is made up, I’d best tell you some other things. Some men will prefer your mouth to your belly. It can be bad but at least it will not get you with child. When you think a cull is about to come off, get his yard as far back in your mouth as possible so you need not taste his spendings. Or have the necessary ready to hand so you can spit it out.”

Nell glanced at the chamber pot beneath the bed. It seemed that implement was quite an important tool of her new trade.

“What else?”

“Some will want to take you up the arse. It can hurt but you get accustomed. I’ll give you some salve. If you put a bit onto him or yourself it will make the business easier no matter where he takes you.”

“Even in the mouth?”

“No, of course not.” Rose spoke brusquely, dismayed at the depth of Nell’s innocence, and then continued more gently. “That’s different. The only difficulty there is breathing if he pushes in deep. You’ll learn.”

In the alehouse and around the bawds from her earliest days, Nell had heard of these practices, but she had never given them any particular thought. Faced now with such stark descriptions of what she would shortly be called upon to do, she quailed a little. But surely, whatever came would be easier than her previous work? No hauling sacks of charred scraps of wood and ash, no pushing the unwieldy barrow of oysters, its rough wooden handles making her hands blister and callus, the weight of the load through the long day wearing her out until all she could do was drop to sleep, exhausted. Surely this would be better.

She squared her shoulders and looked at Rose.

“Aye. I’ll learn.”

Rose stroked an errant curl out of Nell’s eyes and smiled.

“Come, let’s find you some rigging.”

This was a part of making ready that Nell thoroughly enjoyed. She watched in delight as Rose threw open the chest where Madam Ross kept a small store of clothes that had been left behind by girls who had been cast out or run away or died.

Rose rummaged through the brightly coloured garments, tossing flounced and ruffled articles into a heap on the floor. She pulled out a skirt and matching boned body in a blue that made Nell think of harebells. Its fabric was finer by far than any she had ever worn. She held the body against her chest and smoothed it so that the waist met hers. The fit seemed just right, the full skirt grazing the tops of her bare feet. In a moment Rose held up a pair of stays, their long laces trailing, and a shift of fine lawn.

“Perfect. Now all you need is shoes and stockings. You’ll have to start with some of mine. It’s best that way any road—you’ll have to pay Madam Ross for these out of your earnings, and the less you have to work off, the better. But before you put any of that on, you need a bath. A real one, all over.”

Nell looked up at Rose, startled. She washed, using a bucket of water and rough lye soap to get the oyster brine and smell from her hands and arms and face. But bathing her whole body? She had never considered that.

A tub large enough to sit in stood in a small room off the kitchen, and Rose and Nell had only to carry enough buckets of hot water from the great kettle on the stove to fill it partway, and enough cold water to make the temperature bearable.

Nell looked at the steaming tub dubiously, but Rose was impatient.

“Come, off with your clothes. You’ll feel better. And you’ll look better. Keep in mind, you’re a good deal more bedraggled than what Madam is accustomed to taking in.”

Nell pulled off her dress and smock, lifted a leg over the rim of the tub, and waggled her toes in the warm water. It did feel good, and she climbed in and sat down so that the water rose above her waist.

“Wet your head. I’ll wash your hair,” Rose directed. Nell closed her eyes and submerged herself. The water was already an opaque browny grey. Rose handed her a cloth and a pannikin of brown soap, and pulling a stool close to the tub, she rubbed soap briskly into Nell’s hair. Nell submitted, enjoying the novel sensations.