As they sat down Nell became conscious that there were two men in the box directly adjoining theirs and that both of them had watched her as she came in. She glanced at them, a smile on her lips—and then she gave a little gasp of horrified surprise and one hand went to her throat. It was the King and his brother, both apparently incognito for they were in ordinary dress, and the King wore neither the Star nor the Garter. In fact, their suits were far more conservative than those of most of the gallants buzzing away down in Fop Corner, next the stage.
Charles smiled, nodding his head slightly in greeting, and York gave her an intent stare. Nelly managed to return the smile but she wanted desperately to get up and run and would, in fact, have done so but that she did not care to draw the attention of the entire theatre upon them. And furthermore Betterton, wrapped in the traditional long black cloak, had now come out onto the apron of the stage to speak the prologue.
She stayed, but even after the prologue was over and the curtains had been drawn for the first act she sat rigid and tense, not daring to move her head, scarcely seeing the stage at all. Finally Villiers shook her elbow and whispered in her ear.
“What’s the matter with you, Nell? You look as though you’re in a fit!”
“Shh! I think I am!”
Villiers looked annoyed, not knowing whether to take her seriously or not. “D’you want to go?”
“No. Of course not. Be still.”
She did not even glance at him, but her cheeks had begun to burn for she was aware that Charles was looking at her, and he was so close that by leaning over slightly she could have touched his arm. And then suddenly she turned her head and stared him full in the eyes, questioningly. He grinned, his teeth shining white beneath his black mustache, and Nelly gave a relieved little laugh. Then he wasn’t angry! He had thought it a good joke too.
“What brings you here?” asked Charles, speaking in a low voice so as to attract no more attention than could be helped from those around them.
“Why—a—I came to see if it’s true Moll Davis is a better dancer than I am.”
“And do you imagine she’ll be dancing today?” His eyes sparkled at her obviously painful embarrassment and confusion. “I should think she might be sick at home with the colic.”
In spite of herself Nell blushed and dropped her lashes, unable to face him. “I’m sorry, Sire. I wanted to pay her back for—” Suddenly she looked up at him, eager and serious. “Oh, forgive me, your Majesty! I’ll never do such a thing again!”
At this Charles laughed outright and his familiar deep voice drew several glances. “Give your apologies to her, not to me. I haven’t spent such an entertaining evening in a long while.” He leaned closer, put the back of his hand to his mouth and whispered confidentially, “To tell you truly, madame, I think Mrs. Davis is mightily out of humour with you.”
With sudden boldness Nelly retorted, “Well, she must be mighty simple or she wouldn’t have been taken in with a stale old trick like that! She should have known it was physicked after the first bite!”
At that moment Moll came whirling out onto the stage below them, spinning round and round, a small graceful figure in her close-fitted boy’s breeches and thin white-linen blouse. A spontaneous roar of shouts and applause went up. Charles gave Nelly a brief glance, one eyebrow lifted as much as to say, Well, she did dare to come after all. Then he returned his attention to the stage and it was not long before the girl on it saw him and smiled, as brazenly self-assured as though nothing at all unusual had happened the night before.
But just the next moment she saw Nell sitting there beside him, leaning with her elbows on the railing, grinning down at her. For an instant Moll’s face lost its smile, then immediately she stuck it back on again. Swiftly Nelly raised her thumb to her nose and waggled her fingers, but not so swiftly that his Majesty missed the impudent gesture. When Moll’s dance was over she flung several kisses toward the middle-box; then she was gone and she appeared no more, for she had no part in the play that afternoon.
From time to time as the play progressed Charles and Nelly exchanged opinions on the acting, a song, a bit of stage-business, costuming and scenery, or the rest of the audience. Villiers was beginning to look disgruntled, but York glanced now and again at his brother’s newest mistress with pleased interest, liking her expressive face, her gaiety and the spontaneous happy laugh that crinkled her blue eyes till they all but disappeared.
When at last the play was done and they were getting up to leave Charles casually remarked, “Now that I think on it, I don’t believe I’ve eaten any supper yet. Have you, James?”
“No. No, I can’t say that I have.”
