He was right. Within a few minutes the Duchess was dead.

But there were many in that room of death to note her last words and to tell each other that when she died the Duchess was on the point of changing her religion. It seemed clear that, if the Duke was not openly a Catholic, he was secretly so.

Monmouth must lie low for a while. He must curb his wild roistering in the streets; but that did not prevent him from spreading the rumor that the Duke—heir presumptive to the throne—was indeed a Catholic. Had not the English, since the reign of Bloody Mary, sworn they would not have a Catholic monarch on the throne?

Nell was now enjoying every minute of her existence. She had indeed become a fine lady.

She had eight servants in the house in Pall Mall, and from “maid’s help,” at one shilling a week, to her lordly steward, they all adored her. The relationship between them was not the usual one of mistress and servants. Nell showed them quite clearly that she was ever ready to crack a joke with them; never for one instant did she attempt to hide the fact that she had come from a lowlier station than most of them.

She liked to ride out in her Sedan chair, calling to her friends; and to courtiers and humble townsfolk alike her greeting was the same. She would call to the beggar on the corner of the street who could depend on generous alms from Mrs. Nelly, and chat as roguishly with the King from the wall of her garden. Nor would she care who his companions were. They might be members of his government or his church, and she would cry: “A merry good day to you, Charles. I trust I shall have the pleasure of your company this night!” If those who accompanied the King were shocked by her levity, he seemed all the more amused; and it was as though he and Nell had a secret joke against his pompous companions.

Nell entertained often. She kept a goodly table. And there was nothing she liked better than to see her long table loaded with good things to eat—mutton, beef, pies of all description, every fruit that was in season, cheesecakes and tarts, and plenty to drink. And about that table, she liked to see many faces; she liked every one of the chairs to be occupied.

Nell had only one worry during that year, and that was the King’s failure to give her son the title she craved for him. But she did not despair. Charles was visiting her more frequently than ever. Moll Davies rarely saw him now, and it was not necessary to administer jalap in sweetmeats to turn the King from her company to that of Nell. He came willingly. Her house was the first he wished to visit.

Louise was still tormenting him and refusing to give way. Many shook their heads over Louise. She will hold out too long, it was whispered. Mayhap when she decides to bestow herself the King will be no longer eager.

Barbara Castlemaine, now Duchess of Cleveland, was growing of less and less importance to the King. Her amours were still the talk of the town, partly because they were conducted in Barbara’s inimitable way. When Barbara had a new lover she made no attempt to hide the fact from the world.

That year her lustful eyes were turned on William Wycherley, whose first play, Love in a Wood, had just been produced.

Barbara had selected him for her lover in her usual way.

Encountering him when he was walking in the park and she was driving past in her coach, she had put her head out of the window and shouted: “You, William Wycherley, are the son of a whore.”

Then she drove on.

Wycherley was immensely flattered because he knew, as did all who heard it, that she was reminding him of the song in his play which declared that all wits were the children of whores.

It was not long before all London knew that Wycherley had become her lover.

So with Barbara behaving so scandalously, and Louise behaving so primly, and Moll ceasing to attract, Nell for a few months reigned supreme.

Rose was a frequent visitor. She was now married to John Cassels, and when this man found himself in trouble Nell managed to extricate him, and not only do this but obtain for him a commission in the Duke of Mon-mouth’s Guards, so that instead of having a highwayman for a husband Rose had a soldier of rank. Nell had also found it possible to bring her cousin, Will Cholmley, his heart’s desire. Will Cholmley was now a soldier, and she hoped that ere long there would be a commission for him.

Rose came to her one day, and they talked of the old days.

Rose said: “We owe our good fortune to you, Nell. It is like you, Madam Gwyn of Pall Mall, the King’s playmate and the friend of Dukes, not to forget those you loved in the old days. We have all done well through you. I’ll warrant Ma wishes she had used the stick less on you, Nell. Little did she think to what you would come.”

“How fares she?” asked Nell.

“She will not fare for long.”

“The gin?”

“It is as bad as ever. She is more often drunk than sober. I found her lying in the cellar—that old cellar; how long ago it seems!—dead drunk. John says she’ll not live long.”

“Who cares for her?” asked Nell.

“There are plenty to care for her. She can pay them with the money you send her. But ’tis a foul place, that cellar in Cole-yard. The rats are tame down there. ’Tis not as it was when Ma used it as her bawdy-house.”

“She will die there,” said Nell. “’Tis her home. I give her money. That is enough.”

“’Tis all you can do, Nell.”

“She needs care,” said Nell. “We needed it once. But we did not get it. We were neglected for the gin bottle.””

’Tis true, Nell.”

“Had she been different … had she loved the gin less and us more …” Nell paused angrily. “’Tis no concern of ours … if she be ill and dying of gin. What is that to us? What did she do to you, Rose? What would she have done for me? I’ll never forget the day the flesh-merchant said you stole his purse. There she stood before you, and there was terror on your face … and she pushed you to him. Rose, she cared not for us. She cared for nothing but that you should sell yourself to pay for her gin. What do we owe to such a mother?”

“Nothing,” said Rose.

“Then she will die in her cellar, her gin bottle beside her … die as she lived. ’Tis a fate worthy of her.”

Nell was angry; her cheeks were flushed; she began to recount all the unhappiness and neglect she and Rose had suffered at their mother’s hands.

Rose sat listening. She knew Nell.

And as soon as Rose had left, Nell called for her Sedan chair.

“Whither, Madam?” asked the carriers.

“To Cole-yard,” said Nell.

That night Nell’s mother slept in a handsome bed in her daughter’s house in Pall Mall.

“Old bawd that she is,” said Nell, “yet she is my mother.”

Many were disgusted to discover the bawdy-house keeper installed in her daughter’s house; many applauded the courageous action of the daughter, which had brought her there.

Nell snapped her fingers at them all. She cared not, and life was good. She was again pregnant with the King’s child.

That was a happy summer for Nell. She was with the King at Windsor, and it was a pleasure to see his affection for her little son.

Never, declared Nell, had she known such happiness as she had with her Charles the Third. Charles the First (Charles Hart) had been good to her and taught her to become an actress. Charles the Second (Charles Sackville, Lord Buckhurst) was a regrettable incident in her life, but with Charles the Third (the King) she found contentment. She did not ask for his fidelity. Nell was too much of a realist to ask for the impossible, but she had his affection as few people had; she knew that. She had discovered that she could keep that affection by means of her merry wit and her constant good humor. Charles had been accustomed to women who asked a great deal; Nell asked for little for herself, but the needs of her son were ever in her mind.

The little boy was now called Charles Beauclerk—a name given him by his father as a consolation while he waited for a title. He was called Beau-clerk after Henry I, who had received it because he could write while his brothers were illiterate. This Henry I had been the father of a greater number of illegitimate children than any English King before Charles—Charles, of course, had beaten him. It was characteristic of the King to remind the world of this fact in naming Nell’s son.

So temporarily Nell had to be content with the name Beauclerk which, while it brought no earldom nor dukedom for which she craved, at least was a royal name and a reminder to the world that Charles accepted Nell’s son as his own.

Louise was growing a little anxious. Nell Gwyn was becoming too formidable a rival. It was rather disconcerting that, as in the case of his other mistresses, the King seemed to grow more rather than less affectionate towards Nell. It was incredible that the girl from Cole-yard should have such power to hold the elegant and witty King’s attention where fine ladies failed.

Louise began to listen to the warnings of her friends.

Louis Quatorze had work for her to do. He was very impatient with her on account of her delay. Lord Arlington, who had Catholic inclinations and who had made himself her protector, was decidedly worried.

Louise had declared so frequently that she was too virtuous to become the King’s mistress that, unless she made a complete volte face, she did not see how she could be. Yet she, too, had come to realize that to delay any longer would be dangerous.

“The King is an absolute monarch,” she said to Arlington. “Why should he not, if he wishes, have two wives?”