The Loves of Charles II by Jean Plaidy

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