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they projected their lines, and used them for what they desired from the audience. As each actor spoke, Nell found herself standing in the anonymous darkness and shadows, mimicking their upper-class accents. Men’s lines, women’s. It did not matter. She quietly repeated them all. As the actors moved across the stage, her lips mirrored what they said. She studied each sound and inflection. On the way home, her body tingled with fatigue and her mind hummed with all that had happened. She had sold the contents of two baskets, and earned five shillings in tips for herself. It had taken an extra hour, and half the tips, but she was returning home with a new dress for Rose. Like her own, the dress was used, bought through a woman whom Mary Meggs knew, the wife of a prosperous tailor whose wealth exceeded her good sense, shown by discarding perfectly suitable dresses after a few wearings. Nell could not imagine the luxury of discarding anything. The dress was the color of dried rose petals, and Nell knew it was meant for her sister.
    Nell was so full of excitement she was not prepared for the sight of her sister huddled against the bed, a bruise swelling on her cheek, and her top lip cut. But she knew what had happened.
    “She took it,” Rose said, weeping. “All of it.”
    Nell sank onto the sagging mattress that dominated the tiny room.
    “Forgive me, Nelly.”
    Music and laughter from the tavern below came through the floor and swelled up around them. “I should never’ve left it ’ere with you, Rose. Ma can smell money, I swear it.” Nell put an arm around her sister, feeling suddenly like the older of the two. She drew out her tip money. Watching the open shock on her sister’s face made her smile. “I suppose we shall simply be forced to use this instead.”
    “Oh, Nelly, you didn’t sell yourself for me—”
    “Not a chance in the world! I’m far too smart for that!”
    Rose touched the coins. “You ain’t stealin’ it then, are you?”
    “I’m now a proper orange girl inside the King’s Theater.” She was preening, sitting up a little straighter. “In a month’s time, I’ll be the best bloody orange seller Moll has ever employed, I’ll warrant ye! Most of this is tips. As long as we give ’er the profit, the tips are ours to keep, whatever we’re clever enough to earn.”
    “Knowin’ you, Nelly Gwynne, that could end up bein’ a small fortune indeed!”
    Nell stroked the side of her sister’s face, and Rose grimaced a little when she touched the bruise there. “You’ve always believed in me, Rose, always loved me, and always taken care of me. Now its my turn. Oh, and I nearly forgot!” she said, lunging for the dress lying in a fabric pool near the door. Rose gasped when she realized what it was, then her eyes filled with tears.
    “’Tis the color of roses,” Nell said proudly. “Just like your name.”
    “You shouldn’t ’ave spent your money on me.”
    “ Our money. And I cannot think of anythin’, or anyone, better to spend it on.”
     

    Women swirled past her, cloaked in dark velvet to conceal their identities, and vizards to hide their well-known faces so that they could do as they pleased. Dandies were in their lace and jewelry in a select area of the pit called Fops Corner. They preened and strutted up and down the narrow, overpacked isles, crushing orange peels under their elegant shoe heels, holding snuffboxes and pomanders stuffed with fragrant cloves. The aroma of cooked food mingled with perfume, with the rank stench of body odor, and from those who had relieved themselves in the corners. Nell gripped the basket of fruit with determination, and smiled broadly. She loved it all. Just then, an excited call came from beyond the doors.
    “The king comes! The king! The king is coming to see the play!”
    All around her, patrons began making way for the great royal party that approached. Nell’s heart rocked in her chest. She might actually catch a glimpse of the