Ann Hill had taken charge, and told the barber that her mistress was a lady who had been living abroad and been trying for a long time to return to her native country.

They had a little money, and for a few days Lucy was content to lie in the room looking out on the street; but she soon began to long for a lover.

Each day Ann discovered more of the changes which had befallen London. All the taverns were closed; bull-baiting was suppressed; all the pleasure gardens were closed except the Mulberry Garden. There had been no Christmas festivals in the churches for a long time. There was no dancing in the streets on May Day.

“Why did we come back?” wailed Lucy. “There was more fun at The Hague and in Cologne.”

A few days after her arrival she dressed herself with great care and went out. Everyone stared at her; she was different from other women. She looked like a foreigner. She soon found a lover—a high-ranking soldier of Cromwell’s Ironsides; but she did not enjoy her relationship with him as she had with the merry Cavaliers in exile. He was conscious of sin the whole time he was with her, and he felt compelled to make love under cover of darkness, slipping into the rooms over the barber’s shop at dusk, and leaving before it was light. Lucy was beautiful, and beauty, she believed, was not meant to be hidden by darkness. She was restive. She was wishing she had not come to London.

Finally, she told her lover that she had had enough of him and his preoccupation with sin, and that he had best take himself off to repentance.

After that it had become her habit to go out and wander disconsolately in the Mulberry Garden; it was not what it had been, of course; but it was still a place in which to sit and watch the world go by, to take a little refreshment under the trees and perhaps pick up a lover.

She did not meet a lover in the Mulberry Garden; but as she sat at one of the tables a woman approached and asked if she might join her.

“I saw you sitting there,” she said, “and I thought I should like to join you. It is rarely one sees such ladies as yourself in the Mulberry Garden in these days.”

“Ah, these days!” said Lucy incautiously. “In the old days, it was different, I can tell you.”

“I could tell you too!” sighed her companion. “The old days! Will they ever come back, do you think?”

“You would like to see them back?”

“Who would not? I was fond of the play. I was fond of a bit of fun … a bit of gaiety in the streets. Now it is nothing but prayer meetings … all day and every day. Will you take a little refreshment with me?”

“Thank you,” said Lucy, warming to the company. The woman was rather flashily dressed; she was no Puritan; that much was clear.

They ate tarts with a little meat, which they washed down with Rhenish wine.

“You are a very beautiful woman,” said Lucy’s new friend.

Lucy smiled her acknowledgment of the compliment.

“And very popular with the men, I’ll warrant!”

“Are there any men left in this town?” asked Lucy ironically.

“Yes. A few. They visit my house near Covent Garden occasionally. You must pay us a visit.”

“I’d like to.”

“Why not come along now?”

“I have a family who will be waiting for my return.”

“A family indeed!”

“A boy and a girl. I have left them with my maid.”

“Where do you live then?”

“Near Somerset House. Over a barber’s shop.”

“It hardly seems a fitting lodging for a lady like you.”

“Oh, I have had some fine lodgings, I can tell you.”

“I don’t need to be told. I can guess.”

“You would be surprised if I told you where I have lodged.”

“You have been in foreign parts, eh?”

“Yes. At The Hague and Paris. And … Cologne.”

“There were Englishmen at those places, were there not?”

“Indeed there were!”

“Real gentlemen, I’ll warrant.”

“You would be surprised if you knew.”

“Nothing would surprise me about a beautiful woman like yourself.”

“You are very kind.”

“I but speak the truth.” The woman lifted her glass and said: “I will drink to the health of someone whose name should not be mentioned.”

Lucy seized her glass and tears shone in her eyes. “God bless him!” she said.

“You speak with fervor, madam.”

“I do indeed. There is none like him … none … none at all.”

“You knew him … in The Hague and Paris …?”

“Yes, I knew him well.”

The woman nodded, then said: “Do not speak of it here. It would not be safe.”

“Thank you. You are kind to remind me.”

“It is good to have a friend. I hope we shall meet again. We must meet again. Will you visit my house tomorrow?”

“If it is possible, perhaps.”

“Please come. Come in the evening. We make merry then. What is your name?”

“Barlow. Mistress Barlow.”

“Mistress Barlow, I hope we shall be great friends. I see we are two who think similar thoughts in this drab place our city has become. My name is Jenny. Call me Jenny. It’s more friendly.”

“I am Lucy.”

“Lucy! It’s a pretty name, and you have a pretty way of speaking. That’s not the London way.”

“No. I come from Wales.”

“Barlow! Is that a Welsh name?”

“Yes. It is, and so is Water … my maiden name.”

“Water, did you say?”

“Yes. My name before I married … Mr. Barlow.”

“Lucy Water … recently come from The Hague. You will come to see me tomorrow, please. I shall look forward to your visit.”

Lucy went home not ill pleased with her visit to Mulberry Garden. Perhaps she would go to Jenny’s house next day. It would be interesting to meet some merry company again.

Lucy did go, and it was a merry evening. She awoke next morning in a strange bedroom, and when she opened her eyes she was slightly perturbed.

Ann would guess that she had stayed the night, not caring to face the streets at a late hour, and she would look after the children, so there was nothing to fear on that score; but Lucy’s lover of last night had not entirely pleased her. She missed the pleasant manners of the Court gentlemen. Yes, that was it; last night’s lover had been too crude for Lucy.

There was another discovery she had made. Jenny’s home was nothing but a bawdy house. She had begun to realize that, not long after she had entered it; but already by then she had drunk a little too much and felt too lazy—and, of course, it would have been very impolite—to leave abruptly.

As she lay there she understood that she had not enjoyed last night’s lover. Love, such as undertaken in Jenny’s establishment, was quite different from that which she had hitherto enjoyed. She had always been fastidious in choosing her lovers; something in them had attracted her or made a strong appeal to her sensuality. This was quite different. This was lust, to be bartered for and haggled over. Lucy was not that kind of loose woman.

Now she knew why Jenny had been so friendly in the Garden, why she had been so eager for her to visit her home. She was glad her companion of last night was no longer with her. She would rise and dress, thank Jenny for her entertainment and slip away, never to see the woman again.

She was dressed when there was a knock at her door.

“Come in!” she cried; and Jenny entered.

“Good morrow to you, Lucy. Why, you look as pretty by morning light as by candlelight, I swear. Were you comfortable in this room?”

“Yes, thank you. I was quite comfortable.”

Jenny laughed. “I notice you took the most amusing of the gentlemen, Lucy.”

“Was he the most amusing?”

“I could see that from the moment you set eyes on him, no other would do.”

“I fear I drank too freely. I am not accustomed to overmuch wine.” “Are you not? It is good for you, and it gives you such high spirits, you know.”

“My spirits have always been high enough without. Now I must thank you for my lodging and be off.”

“Lucy … you’ll come again?”

Lucy was evasive. She was telling herself that if she had not drunk so much wine, if she had not been so long without a lover, what had happened last night would never have taken place.

“Mayhap I will,” she said.

“Lucy, I’ll make you very comfortable here. Those rooms over the shop … they must be most unsuitable for a lady used to the comforts you enjoyed at The Hague and Cologne.”

“I manage very well. I have my faithful servant to look after me, and my children to consider.”

“You could bring them all here. I could use a new servant, or you could keep her merely to wait on you. The children would be welcome here. We are a very happy family in this house.”

The woman was breathing heavily. Lucy smelt the stale gin on her breath, and was aware of the avaricious gleam in her eyes. Lucy was not clever, but she now understood that she had behaved with the utmost folly. Doubtless there had been gossip bandied about as to the life Charles led on the Continent, and her name might well have been one of those which were mentioned in connection with him; and she, stupidly, had betrayed who she was, and perhaps last night had babbled even more.

No wonder this woman was eager to make her an inmate of her brothel! She could imagine what a draw the mistress of Charles Stuart would be.

Then Lucy wanted to get away. She wanted to wipe the shame of the place from her mind. She wanted to forget that she had spent the night in a brothel. All her love affairs had been so different. She had discovered that last night—half tipsy though she had been.

She drew herself away. “Well, I will say goodbye now.”