And to think she’s but ten years old, pondered Nell’s mother. Her tongue’s twice that age for all her small body and her child’s face.

Madam Gwyn was filled with self-pity that she, a loving mother, always thinking of her girls, should be so treated by them; with cupidity, in assessing the value of these two girls in her proposed venture; and with admiration for herself because of the livelihood with which she was going to provide them.

“Nelly’s right,” she said placatingly. “It’s always best to have the truth.”

“When the King comes home,” said Rose, “London will change. It’ll be like the old London Ma knew as a girl. And if things change for London, they change for us. But it’s a long time since Noll Cromwell died, and the King is still not home. I can remember, when he died, everybody said, ‘Now the Black Boy will be home.’ But he didn’t come.”

“The Black Boy!” cried Nell. “How black is he? And is he such a boy?”

“It’s his swarthy skin and his way with women. He’s as dark as a blackamoor and always a boy where the girls are concerned,” said Madam Gwyn. She began to laugh. “And Kings set fashions,” she added significantly.

“Let’s wait till he’s here before we line the streets to welcome him,” said Rose.

“No,” said Nell. “Let’s welcome him now. Then if he does not come we’ve had the fun of welcome all the same.”

“Put a stop to those clacking tongues,” said Madam Gwyn, “and listen to me. I’m going to make this place into a nice house for gentlemen … There’s the cellar below, where we’ll put a few chairs and tables, and the gentlemen will come in to take their fill.”

“Their fill … of what?” said Nell sharply.

“Of pleasure,” said Madam Gwyn, “for which they’ll pay right well. I’ll let some of the girls hereabouts come in and help me build up a nice little house, and it’ll all be for the sake of my girls.”

“And a little extra gin,” murmured Nell.

Rose was silent and Nell, who knew her sister well, sensed the alarm in her. Even Nell fell silent. And after a while Madam Gwyn dozed, and Nell and Rose went to the old herring-woman on the corner to help sell some of her wares.

They lay side by side on their pallet. Close to them, on hers, lay their mother. She was fast asleep, but Rose could not sleep; she was afraid; and Nell sensed Rose’s fear.

Nell’s tongue was sharper than Rose’s and Nell was bright enough to know that there were some things about which Rose must be—on account of her two years’ seniority—better informed than herself.

Rose was alarmed at the prospect of the “house” which her mother was planning; and Nell knew that Rose was thinking of the part she would be called upon to play in it. This meant entertaining men. Nell knew something of this. She was so small that she appeared to be younger than she was, but that had not protected her from the attentions of certain men. Her pert face, framed by abundant curls, had not passed unnoticed. On more than one occasion she had been beckoned into quiet places and had gone, hoping to earn a groat or two, for Nell was often hungry and the smell of roasting flesh and hot pies which filled certain streets was at such times very tantalizing; but she had quickly retreated after inflicting kicks and a bite or two, and there had been a great terror within her which she had hidden by her indignant protestations.

“Rose,” she whispered consolingly, “mayhap it won’t come.”

Rose did not answer. She knew Nell’s way of not believing anything she thought might be unpleasant. Nell would play at the pageants and the excitement of the King’s return over and over again, but of these plans of her mother’s which might prove unpleasant she would declare—and believe—they would come to nothing.

Nell went on, for Nell found it difficult to hold her tongue: “Nay, Ma’s house will come to naught. ’Tis many years since there has been this talk of the King’s return. And is he here? Nay! Do you remember, Rose, the night of the storm? That was years and years ago. We lay here clinging one to the other in the very fear that the end of the world had come. Do you remember, Rosy? It had been a stifling hot day. Ugh! And the smell of the gutters! Then the darkness came and the thunder and the wind seemed as though it would tear down the houses. And all said: ‘This is a sign! God’s angry with England. God’s angry with the Puritans.’ Do you remember, Rosy?”

“Aye,” said Rose. “I remember.”

“And then just after that old Noll died and everybody said: ‘God is angry. He sent the storm and now He’s taken old Noll. The Black Boy will be home.’ But that was long, long ago, Rose, and he’s not here yet.”

“It was two years ago.”

“That’s a long time.”

“When you’re ten it’s a long time. When you’re as old as I am … it’s not so long.”

“You’re only two years older than I am, Rose.”

“It’s a great deal. A lot can happen to a girl in two years.”

Nell was silent for a while; then she said: “You remember when the General came riding to London?”

“That was General Monk,” said Rose.

“General Monk,” repeated Nell. “I remember it well. It was the day after my birthday. It was a cold day. There was ice on the cobbles. ‘A cold February,’ everyone was saying. ‘But a hard winter can mean a good summer, and this summer will surely bring the Black Boy home.’”

“And it looks as though it will,” said Rose.

“What excitement, Rosy, when the General rode through London! Do you remember how they roasted rumps of beef in the street? Oh, Rosy, don’t you love the smell of roasting rumps of beef? And there’s one thing I like better. The taste of it.” Nell began to laugh.

“Oh, what a time that was, Rosy,” she went on. “I remember the bonfires—a line of them from St. Paul’s to the Stocks Market. I thought London town was burning down, I did indeed. There were thirty-one at Strand Bridge. I counted them. But best of all were the butchers and the roasting rumps. That was a day, that was. I always thought, Rose, that it was for my birthday … coming so soon after it, you see. All those fires and good beef! I went with the crowd that marched to the house of Praise-God Bare-bone. I threw some of those stones that broke his windows, I did. And someone in the crowd said to a companion: ‘What’s it all about, do you know?’ and I answered up and said: ‘ ’Tis Nelly’s birthday, that’s what it is, though a bit late; but Nelly’s birthday all the same.’ And they laughed in my face and someone said: ‘Well, at least this child knows what it’s all about.’ And they laughed more and they jeered and were for picking me up and carrying me nearer to the bonfire. But I was scared, thinking they might take it into their heads to roast me in place of a rump … so I took to my heels and ran to the next bonfire.”

“Your tongue again, Nell. Guard it well. That was the end of the Rump Parliament, and the General was for the King.”

“It was not so long ago, Rose, and this time he’ll be home. Then there’ll be fun in the streets; there’ll be games in Covent Garden, Rose, and there’ll be fairs and dancing in the streets to the tunes of a fiddler. Oh, Rose, I want to dance so much I could get up now and do so.”

“Lie still.”

Nell was silent for a while. Then she said: “Rose, you’re afraid, are you not? You’re afraid of Ma’s new ‘house.’” Nell threw herself into her sister’s arms. “Why, Rose?” she demanded passionately. “Why?”

This was one of those rare moments when Nell realized she was the younger sister and begged to be comforted. Once they had been more frequent.

Rose said: “We have to make a living, Nell. There are not many ways for girls like us.”

Nell nodded fiercely; and a silence fell between them.

Then she said: “What shall I have to do in Ma’s house, Rose?”

“You? Oh, you’re young yet. And you’re small for your age. Why, you don’t look above eight. Keep your tongue quiet and none would think you were the age you are. But your tongue betrays you, Nell. Keep a fast hold on it.”

Nell put out her tongue and held it firmly in her fingers, a habit of her very young days.

“You’ll be well enough, Nell. Just at first you’ll be called upon to do nothing but serve strong waters to the gentlemen.”

The two sisters clung together in silence, rejoicing that whatever the future held for them, the other would be there to share it.

Nell was there in the streets when the King came home. Never in all her life had she witnessed such pageantry. She had climbed onto a roof—urging Rose and her cousin Will to climb with her—the better to see all that was to be seen.

Nell’s eyes shone with excitement as others, following her example, climbed the roof to stand beside the three children; Nell jostled to keep her place and let out such streams of invective that those about her were first incensed, then amused. She snapped her fingers in their faces; she was used to such treatment; she knew the power of her tongue which always made people smile in the end.

From where she stood she could see St. Paul’s rising high on Ludgate Hill and dominating the dirty city, the hovels of which clustered about the fine buildings like beggars about the skirts of fine ladies. Even the wide roads were so much in need of repair that they were full of potholes; the small streets and alleys were covered in mud and filth. The smells from the breweries, soap-makers and tanneries filled the air, but Nell did not notice this; these were the familiar smells. On the river were boats of all descriptions—barges, wherries, skiffs, anything which could float. Music came from them, and shouting and laughter filled the air. Everyone seemed to want to talk of his pleasure in this day so loudly as to shout his neighbor down.