Nor was Paul’s Walk the only place where it was possible to mingle with the London world. There was the Royal Exchange and the New Exchange; and in each of these were the galleries where shopkeepers set up their stalls, where pretty young women not only sold trifles but made appointments with the dandies who strolled through the galleries. There were young men in velvet coats carrying swords with jeweled hilts; they wore gold buttons on their coats, brilliant feathers in their wide-brimmed beaver hats; their breeches were trimmed with fine point lace and held in at the knees with ribbons, and their hair was beautifully dressed and hanging in ringlets over their shoulders—the delight of the girls and the envy of every apprentice. The theaters had closed at the beginning of the war, but the London to which Lucy came was a very merry place.

Each day she would wander out into the street, would stroll through the Royal Exchange, buy herself a fan or a ribbon, give her peculiarly inviting smile to the ogling men, and if her lover were away, she would agree that the one she fancied most should come to her lodging.

She found a little maid—Ann Hill—who thought her wonderful and declared she would die rather than leave her service—as she probably would of starvation, being ill favored. Lucy was glad to take her in and, in her lazy way, was kind to her.

Lucy would have been content to go on in her pleasant way, but the war brought changes. Each year there was a difference in the London scene. There were more soldiers in the town, and now they were not swaggering Cavaliers; they burned beautiful buildings and praised God as they did so. Beauty had no place in the good life, they believed; they used the churches as sleeping quarters; they took possession of St. Paul’s; they stabled their horses in the Cathedral and cut down the beams for firewood; they played ninepins in the aisles and shouted to each other throughout the night. Very few Cavaliers flaunted through the streets now. The King’s cause was a lost one, said the people. Noll Cromwell was in command.

Lucy’s lover had appeared at her lodgings in a great hurry; he had stayed there for several days and nights, for he dared not face the streets. London was less merry; people were subdued and no longer openly expressed an opinion unless it was favorable to Cromwell.

Lucy went out to buy food during those days, and she was watched, she knew, by a man who always seemed to be lounging in the gallery of the Royal Exchange. For several days she had seen that that man’s eyes were on her. She was not sure how, but she knew him to be a Cavalier. His hair was cropped and his clothes were somber; yet there was that in his face which told her he was no Roundhead.

She liked his appearance; she more than liked it. She thought about him a good deal; if she had not already been harboring one man at her lodgings she would have invited him there.

Then one day he followed her. Lucy was not frightened so to be followed; she was only exhilarated. She understood the meaning of his glances. He wanted only one thing from her; and she believed she would be very willing to grant that; so what had she to fear?

He caught up with her in a deserted alley whither she had led him. He plucked her sleeve and, as she turned, he released it and bowed as only a Cavalier would bow.

“You would have speech with me?”

“You are Mistress Lucy Water?”

“That’s true enough.”

“You are the most beautiful woman in London.”

Lucy smiled complacently. He kept his eyes on her face.

“I wish to know you,” he said, “very well.”

“You know my name,” she answered. “Should I know yours?”

“I will tell you … in time.”

“And now what would you have of me?”

“You have a lodging near here?”

She nodded.

“And you share it with … a friend?”

Her eyes flashed. “A very good friend.”

He caught her arm; his touch pleased her because it excited her. “I know him,” he said. “He served with me. Take me to him. I must have speech with him. Please believe me. There must be no delay.”

To Lucy this was a new method of approach and she enjoyed novelty. “Come this way,” she said.

When she brought the stranger to her lodgings her lover was overawed. There was no doubt that the man had spoken the truth.

“Let us talk,” said the newcomer. “There is little time.”

“Sit down, sir,” said Lucy’s lover. “Lucy, bring a stool.”

Lucy obeyed; she sat at the table watching them, her plump hands supporting her chin, her dreamy eyes on the newcomer. He would be an exciting lover, she was telling herself. He will be an exciting lover! She knew that whatever he was implying, that was what he wished to be ere long; and that was what had brought him to their lodging.

He flicked his fingers. “Your life won’t be worth that, if you’re caught here, my dear fellow.”

“No, sir, ’tis true.”

“I am leaving this day … for The Hague.”

“To join the Prince, sir?”

“Aye! To join the Prince. You would do well to make good your escape while there is yet time.”

“But to journey to The Hague … I have not the means.”

“Can you obtain two good horses?”

“I could … if I had the money, sir.”

“Then get them. Make for Harwich. The coast is quiet there … and I will tell you how you can find a boat to carry you across.”

“But, my lord …”

“You have but to tell the Prince that I have sent you, and you will be well received; you will be given a place in the Army there. Here is money.” He turned to look at Lucy. “We shall meet in The Hague. If you bring Mistress Lucy Water to me safely there, you will not regret it.”

“I will do as you say, sir. You will take a little wine?”

“I have no time. I have certain things that must be done before I leave for The Hague. Wait till dusk, then go. Mistress Water will crop your hair. Don’t venture out with your lovelocks flowing. Mistress Water …” He stood up and Lucy stood up with him; he gripped her arms and looked into her face. “You and I will meet ere long. I eagerly await our next encounter.”

He was gone and the two looked at each other in amazement.

“Why, my pretty Lucy,” said her lover, “you have got yourself one of the quality this time. Do you know who that was? It was Algernon Sydney, son of the great Earl of Leicester. Get ready, girl. Don’t waste time. We’ll be out of this place as soon as night falls. We’re going to Court … the Prince’s Court. We’re going to leave the sinking ship, my pretty. Come! Cut my hair. He’s right, you know. You’ve got to make me into one of those ugly Roundhead fellows, and I’m to deliver you to your new protector, Lucy; and when I do my reward will be great.”

But his smile was rueful while he jingled the gold in his silken purse.

Lucy lay in bed watching her lover dressing. He was preparing himself to go to the little Court which the Prince had set up in The Hague.

Lucy had seen little of the place as yet. She had arrived after a tedious journey which had taken far longer than her ex-lover had anticipated. The journey to Harwich had been beset by difficulties; one of the horses had gone lame, and they had to procure another; everywhere they went they were under suspicion, as many were in England at that time; and then, when they had been ready to sail, the wind and weather had been against them. Meanwhile, in The Hague, Algernon Sydney eagerly awaited the girl who was being brought to him.

Lucy had discovered that he had paid fifty gold crowns to her lover, and that amused Lucy. He had paid for that which he could have had for nothing, had he waited to court her as a gentleman should. Not that Lucy would have needed much courting. She could quickly decide whether or not a man could appeal to her, and how far that appeal would carry him; Algernon Sydney need not have feared that he would fail to win that which he coveted.

Yet she would always laugh at the way things had turned out. She heard now, from Colonel Robert Sydney, how impatient his brother Algernon had been—watching the tides, riding three miles a day to Scheveningen where the boat was expected to make port, finding no satisfaction in any other woman, so that he had been the laughing stock of the whole Court.

Colonel Robert laughed with her, for after all he had come very well out of the affair.

“God’s Body, Lucy!” he told her. “He almost wept, so vexed was he! He said there wasn’t another woman in the world who would do; and worse still he had paid some rogue fifty gold crowns for you.”

“Then he has none but himself to blame,” said Lucy. “No man should pay another money for me. I’m not that sort of harlot.”

Now, watching him dressing for his appointment at Court, she did not regret the way in which matters had turned out. Robert was a satisfactory lover and she doubted his brother could be better. When she thought of arriving from the boat, and being brought to this place, to the comfort of hot food, a warm bed and a lover, she was not sorry. Robert was handsome and bold; he had wasted no time in taking to himself his brother’s preserves. “It is, after all, a family matter!” he had joked.

She had not known that her arrival and the fifty gold pieces had provided the amusing story of the moment. It was the sort which would amuse a band of exiles. They craved other amusement than continual dicing, and all were eager to see the young woman for whom Algernon Sydney had paid his fifty pieces. That he should have been called to join his regiment for service elsewhere and so been deprived of his prize, was a matter for the greatest hilarity.

Robert knew how all at Court were laughing over the affair; he also knew that his brother—whom he had always believed to have been something of a connoisseur where women were concerned—had not been deceived about this one. Robert was anxious to keep her to himself and not eager that she should be seen by the young roués who circulated about the Prince.