The First Passages of my Historical Novel…

[Author’s Note: written in the 18th century idiom]

The Life of Doll Noble

A Novel by

K M Warwick

The Illegitimate daughter of a high ranking London clergyman with a mortal weakness for servant girls, Mistress Doll Noble’s life story is the account of an extraordinary survivor of the deathly Georgian gutter, who was to rise phoenix-like to become London’s most celebrated ‘madam à la philanthropic’.  The first volume in a series, author K M Warwick opens the story of Mistress Noble’s life – her early development and her inexorable ascent, her vivid and sometimes reckless adventures.  Aided by her extreme beauty, rapier wit, a strong business brain and a philanthropic nature, we learn of her good deeds, dangerous liaisons, diverse business schemes, and her timely good fortune which quickens her journey to the very pinnacle of that other social order that entwines serpent-like around the lives of the rich and famous, inveigling the very fabric of polite society.  This is her story; a rich and candid account of the life of the surprising Mistress Doll Noble.

 The Life of Doll Noble: Fiction Text including all Poetry; Cover Design; Editing; Typography 

By K M Warwick 2013: ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

The  Life  of

DOLL NOBLE

By means of Mistress Doll Noble, Dr Samuel Johnson, Will Sharp, Granville Sharp & John Johnson.

"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire."

Aristotle

(384 BC – 322 BC)

The DEDICATION

 

Richard M Kingsbury BMus, ALCM, for everything, and esteemed author Peter Ackroyd CBE, for vivid inspiration.

The Life of

DOLL NOBLE

The Candid Biography & Extraordinary Adventures of 

Mistress Doll Noble

A Novel by

K M WARWICK

VOLUME ONE

Venus Revealed

Of dreams your smiling face adorns

The glinting heavens in their light

To haunt me wondrously within

My deep Hypnos enthron’ed night

You stooped and I was at your feet

Entranced by your ennobled nose

Those violet eyes and fullest lips

That fine framed face in nature’s pose

So natural was your regal charm

That in my heart a beat was skipped

And yet you brought enthralling calm and

Exquisite pain as my eyes sipped

Desire is an exquisite foe

For its keen sting will ebb and flow

To rise and surge and fall at will yet

Tossed about as on a flame’ed grill!

I dreamed of you in all your light

But knowing that my poignant crush

Will lose a vain and hopeless fight

I bowed to common sense and blushed

Thus I retreat from your cool sight

Perceptive that you cannot see

Or feel affection for unseen me

So I must forgo with all my might

And wishing you all that is sweet and good

Yet unrequited - I knew I should

Relinquish all imagined zeal

That love was my whim and was not real.

©2011 KMWarwick

THE  PREFACE

Anno Domini 1771

‘For John came unto you in the way of righteousness, and ye believed him not: but the publicans and the harlots believed him: and ye, when ye had seen it, repented not afterward, that ye might believe him.’

King James Bible, Matthew 21:32

London has a perceptible sound when viewing its smoking prospect from on high; a curious rumbling clamour that as daylight emerges rises from an agreeable murmur through a crescendo of mounting dissonance encompassing a myriad of voices.  The London sound is an amalgam of countless horse’s hooves; heavy-laden carts; numerous careering hip-breaking carriages; boisterous and hectoring humanity; raucous steam-driven machinery and belching infernal smelting works and factories, all inexorably combined as like fire and brimstone.  Such a lively cacophony is essentially the beating heart of our great metropolis, fed by diverse industries that encompass, inhabit, and possess London en masse; merging with the noisy vagaries of mortal sin, violent crime, and the common discord that people pursue as if the criterion of the rabble.  Verily it has been ascribed that London proper could be taken for the secular battlefield between our divine Lord God and our eternal adversary, the iniquitous Satan; revelling rampant in his flagrant wickedness.  Within this warring miscellany of mortal depravity and oft failing godliness, the objective witness may feel mightily offended at the prospect of the morally degraded and debauched; and those sad deflowered souls who, grasping for life, haunt the many rookeries and alleys in great numbers and oft dwelling in criminal pursuits, or publicly languishing in the shame of hopeless squalor.  Furthermore, this plentiful evidence of human corruption includes the daily tally of discarded corpses and at dawn the mournful sight of starved children lying dead in the gutter where they expired overnight; oft lying in their own effluvia after a bout of, say, deadly cholera or the effects of inexorable starvation.  Such corpses are destined to be thrown onto a cart and taken away to a paupers pit for burial, the location of which completes a vision as if it be the day of reckoning.

  To proclaim with suitable regard to this work, The Life of Doll Noble, it must be affirmed from the commencement of this provisionally ‘clandestine’ literary work (officially tabled to be publicly revealed on a certain date), that it may be judged by testing readers as being a fundamentally audacious, née even scandalous, manuscript.  That may be the opinion of some and yet the writers have endeavoured, most solemnly so, to import sound prima facie evidence that may reveal a truthful biographical exploration of the life, both private and public, of London’s most celebrated and successful bawdy house trader; including a précis of her immediate environs and recounting some of her extraordinary adventures which we shall also narrate.  Nonetheless we are solemnly obliged by our sponsor, Mistress Doll Noble herself, to describe parts of her life in a form that only she shall grant approval, and that our group transcriptions are only publicly published ‘a full fifty years after Mistress Noble’s demise to the very day’.  Albeit as we write this volume, Mistress Noble is robustly alive and circa 37 years in age (her age based on her natural father’s recollection of the year of her conception).  Upon the expiration of this solemn veto this set of five volumes will officially be made public, via the publisher Joseph Johnson of 72 St. Paul's Churchyard.  His business recently restored after a calamitous fire, Mister Johnson is now in the due process of publishing such important works as John Hunter's ‘A Natural History of the Human Teeth, Part I’, and many other authoritative works which Mistress Noble has eagerly studied.  Not withstanding, should Joseph Johnson’s publishing house become defunct, a comparable extant publisher of literature shall be directly sought, that Mistress Noble’s solicitor-in-law, a Master Thomas Newell of Henley-On-Thames, shall duly direct to employ as an alternative esteemed house of literature for the purposes of official publication.  Suffice to say that the master copy of the said volumes is being held securely in reserve by Newell and with the copyright intact, inside a vault.  

  The final provisional clause is that Mistress Noble also claims the right to choose which disclosures are included in our volumes, and that she herself may even contribute unaccredited chapters, passages, and inclusions, so as to import firsthand recollections and prima facie eyewitness accounts, all judiciously edited with prudence.  Indeed, Mistress Noble also deigns that there be a further clause that no particular written passage should be accredited to any of the remaining three writers, and that this will avail, she asserts, a less imbalanced reading of the texts.

  Let us now fully introduce you to our protagonist Doll Noble; someone we fancy who stridently defies conventional depictions of bawdy house madams, in that she purports never to have worked as a prostitute herself; a claim firmly upheld by her employees and friends alike.  This repudiation of a popular but mythical stain on her reputation, conflicts with common fallacy and places Mistress Noble in a certain perspective.  Certainly, many former prostitutes have gravitated to becoming pimps, or rather the covert overseers of indentured whores and that such industry is widespread, and so it might be reasonable to assume that Mistress Noble was indeed herself a harlot.  Mistress Noble insists that her professional status as a ‘whore trader’ or ‘stew mother’ was a careful choice she made from specific personal reasons.  She also states that her ‘dame de la chambre à coucher la nuit’ ladies are free to leave at any time and are not held against their will; indeed, she fervently believes slavery, indentured or otherwise, to be a great bane for women and a view shared with her circle of close friends and allies, including Granville Sharp, the very enemy of slavery and its abuses.  To confirm, Mistress Noble’s industry would not only make her the wealthiest manager of the most highly prized harlots in the capital, but also enabled her to deliver her carnal-ladies-in-waiting with a certain quality of employment rarely ever seen or documented before, including the gratis personal attentions of a physician and prescribed sanitary practices that would ensure the ladies cleanliness, not seen outside of a scrubbed nunnery.  

  We must look back to a prospect of ancient Rome and the picturesque Roman custom of officially registering each harlot so as to grant them the right to trade, via the issuing of the licentia stupri; the official inscribed permit to trade bodily in carnality within the old Roman Empire.  With regard to this strange custom, a wise caveat should warn us that this modus operandi also marked the harlot out as a ‘whore absolute’ until her mortal death; without any hope of reformation via the avenues of alternative forms of employment and an innovative form of existence.  This is in some ways similar to the modern day condition of harlotry, albeit without an official licentia stupri; a situation most actively rectified by Mistress Noble with her equitable measures of what she refers to as ‘trade reformations’.  It is, as an afterthought, a fact most evident that there exist ladies of high rank who certainly began their street work as commercial whores, before finding salvation in a marriage most astronomical, as to their rise from the gutter.  

  Mistress Noble’s enterprise has been persistently and enthusiastically patronised by the very highest aristocracy; the wealthy upper echelons of British and European society have flocked to her door, including European and British royalty, and Mistress Noble’s business prospers without hindrance, much owing to the strong patronage she receives from high quarters.  One of her own pledges is that as a purveyor of her ‘majestic strumpets’, as the ladies have been described by a Gentleman’s Magazine scribe, Mistress Noble’s strict trading standards mean that she only employs those women who would otherwise be described as ‘enthusiastic nymphs’; who naturally and eagerly enjoy sexual union.  They are therefore taught, exactly so, all the carnal techniques that would enable clients to achieve a high level of sexual gratification; even those members of a straw pole or wan nature; and so Mistress Noble was renowned for never allowing a guest to leave without satisfaction gained, a word of mouth recommendation that was partly the reason for her great success.  Furthermore, she is most careful in choosing her labour force by discriminating candidates for their beauty and intelligent wits.  These natural attributes are then improved via some sound education in reading, writing and general knowledge as in matters of interest to their future patrons, and to enhance their inherent intelligence.  There was in addition with much training in deportment and fine manners both in the carriage and dinner table etiquette; all learned within most comfortable surroundings and with the employment of only the most learned tutors; some members of that paean of education, the Bedford Coffee House.  This practice alone has consequently seen certain ladies freely retiring marry suitors of high station; proving to be irresistible to their ardent lovers who have presumably fallen head over heels to acquire a harlot as a wife.  Veritably socially transformed, the reformed harlot acquires a new nomenclature, and even a reputable title into the bargain and from thereon keeps her past well hidden and commences her new existence with, presumably, great alacrity.  This unusual freedom to marry is a further sign of Mistress Noble’s philanthropic nature, and brings both compassion and useful aid together in a singular act of beneficence to be applauded, some might say.

  A further revelation is that Mistress Noble even provides a generous monetary paid pension for her unmarried retiring whores (they can retire at 30 years of age), or are at least afforded the financial means to begin trading in a profession other than harlotry along with further tuition, if needed; the continuing pursuit of harlotry elsewhere would certainly lead to an uncertain and dangerous future and so this avenue is most beneficial indeed.  Yet it must be said that this is but one of the many perquisites the philanthropic Mistress Noble confers upon all of her blessed employees, and well bolstered by her considerable largesse.  Significantly, Mistress Noble has made it known that she regrets most greatly that she could not employ more women than she is able to, so as to remove them from the baleful streets.  She has stated that she often encourages other whore traders to follow her example in order to greatly improve the lot of the itinerant prostitute; a wish that is often unheeded by a business swathed in heartless pimps, cutthroat tricksters, and dark murderous practices.  Unwholesomely, our Thames is well known as a watery necropolis for dead harlots, oft brutally slain and on the sly tossed into the waters and left floating there.  Moreover, there are whores that have drowned after they have willingly jumped into the river as an act of sinful suicide, perhaps exacerbated by hardship and injurious thrashings.

  Mistress Noble’s uncommon beneficence, we might deduce, is an unusual blossoming of charity and practical endowment and is virtually unheard of across the land, and in truth represents a veritable transformation, or a Shakespearian ‘sea change’, in the management and the personal welfare of professional London whores.  In essence then, Mistress Noble is intent on improving the profession of whoredom in a significant way, whilst expounding that such fleshly trading will never cease to subsist, and therefore hopes that this might lead to a conversion in social morality, and so, hopefully, the eradication of some of the inherent dangers in such an ancient yet precarious profession.  However, it is expressed here that even the lady herself acknowledges that this ‘Damascene’ reformation in moral thinking, would be most difficult to achieve and may never be attained despite the auspices of, say, the venerable Magdalen House, which opened in 1758 at 21 Prescot Street, Whitechapel which still continues its philanthropic pledge to save retiring prostitutes from a fate most dire.  Such endeavours and reforming zeal is to be well applauded, indeed, and we shall touch again upon this institution later on in this biographical work. 

The Lark

                                                       

As I was waiting for my goal

A lady trotted idly by

She stopped and asked if she could join

My nightly stint to steal some coin

So I replied ‘Feel free to try’

And off we tarried to enrol

On lady luck’s uncertain roll

And after all our theft and rob

Under a tree she took my cob

The merry two we surely be

Under the guise of light and dark

We ride by night and enjoy our lark!

CHAPTER ONE

The Lark 

or

A Settling of Accounts

In darkness at around 11 o’clock the searching wind moaned through writhing trees and bushes as a bitter January blast of freezing air bounded across the exposed face of Shooters Hill.  An ominous gibbous moon high over the gibbet briefly appeared between the dark flying clouds then was lost again.  Nearby a small wind-buffeted carriage shakily sped along the potholed road, its wheels bumping high as the speed increased; the anxious occupants bracing themselves and eager for a safe journey through a notorious landscape.  

  The highwayman, with a black woollen scarf placed full around his face but showing his striking eyes, was astride his great stallion which was protected with a blanket as black as the rider’s pitch velvet garb.  The mount neighed as if startled or fearful as the stormy darkness converged around them in a hastening tumult whilst a light but sharp snow was wildly hurled about like diminutive shards of glass.  Then echoing in the distance from the highway, the unmistakable thumping of horse’s hoofs on hard sod could be heard approaching rapidly; a startling dark outline loomed quickly upon the scene.  Captain Sparks swiftly manoeuvred his horse to the front of the copse of trees nearest the gibbet, and its caveat of two rotting heads, to receive the incoming rider.  

  As the horse and its traveller bore down, Captain Sparks raised his horse upon its hind legs as if making an equine greeting, before clamping the animal back down onto the frozen ground.  A familiar but softly pitched womanly voice was harked:

“It is I, collaborator!  Let us hope the snow storm leaves off; the marked carriage is but a short while behind me – it stopped to remove the logs you spilled over the road,” the woman said, a little breathless, and then she laughed as if with some bravura.  

“Joys indeed, welcome my Lady Sparks!  I thought it may be too cold and blustery for you to venture so far up to this forsaken place for it is devilishly cold!  I duly worry for your safety milady yet you are a brave filly indeed; quickly let me kiss your ripe lips!”  With that the two quickly moved closer to each other and after pulling down their scarves, kissed with strong passion; long and hard and soon both ceasing for want of breath.  They both restored their disguise as the black stallion and black mare neighed together as the two equine bodies touched and the woman’s hand reached out to fondly caress the Captain’s cheek beneath his black masking scarf.  As the horses converged she felt the bulk of the captain’s loaded pistol compress against her upper body; pulling her horse away quickly she laughed amusedly so.

“I see you are well armed as usual Captain – please do not get wounded for I have a want of such fine weaponry!” she whispered, to which Sparks gave a low and broad laugh.

 “Remember Lady Sparks – no pistol shots until I discharge firstly if it be needed!  By the heavens you are my most strong desire and my mortal weakness!  I therefore hope one day that you will tarry more with me, so we may enjoy tea drinking on a daily basis?”

 “You mean as in a marriage of minds, estates or of bodies?  What a forward and dashing fellow you are my delicious scoundrel, yet these secret trysts where we conspire to punish those who have refused to settle their bill, duly owed, are such high excitements for a woman of my trade, and are beyond measure,” she said, then looking about: “That coach should be here very soon!”

“You cut it fine my lady.  Are you not frozen with the cold?  It’s hellish!”

“No Captain – I am wearing thick winter woollen undergarments made from silk and the softest fur of the chinchilla and so I am bathed in exquisite warmth as is my want!”  She laughed again and then added:  “I duly luxuriate and my delicate flesh benefits from the benediction of having such undergarments made by the virgin nuns of a holy convent, no less!  I am sure the Bishop of London himself has nothing finer.”  

“Such religious frivolity milady; my heart races for the vision of it and oh thou art a sister of extravagant mercy yet merciless in your teasing!  Perhaps when we meet at our rendezvous tomorrow, you can elucidate my wondrous intrigue and show me these joys and prove their holy providence?”  She lightly struck him on his upper leg with her whip and began to whisper:

“I may even let you handle these holy vestments for your satisfaction, you daring brigand!  Now though we must attend to our business!”  At that they briefly kissed once again then took their stance facing the highway and replaced their masks.  

“The haunted gibbet and its vile heads seem quiet tonight; no lost spirits crying in the dead of night, although I do now hear…and see…the very carriage fast approaching!”

“Yes – this is indeed our very prize.  Prey let us engage and intercept swiftly!  It looks enormous!”  At this they both manoeuvred to the side of the highway, the wind blasting their path, as the large black gilded and white ostrich feathered coach with the family coat of arms on the doors, rumbled noisily and heavily forward as if it might topple over at any moment.  The four horses that drew it struggled to drag it along the gradient and over the hard humps and potholes that beggar the surface.  Just as their quarry drew near to their position, Captain Sparks audaciously dashed out, abruptly blocking the route and causing the carriage horses to almost stumble and to rail up as they quickly slowed down to a boisterous stop, at which Sparks shouted loudly: 

“STAND AND DELIVER!  GIVE UP YOUR RICHES OR DIE!”  Then lowering his thunderous voice:  “No one will be hurt if you yield!”  He simultaneously raised and pointed his pistol straight at the master of the whip, as the fellow brought his horses under urgent control and then sat stock still, mortally fearful of taking a fired shot clean through his head.  Immediately the accomplice raced to the carriage door as the Captain guarded the coach.  She lent forward and rammed her pistol butt through window glass which shattered instantly, and in a loud voice, taken down an octave or two, she barked out her instructions clearly:

“Put down any weapons or die!  We demand your gold and anything of value.  Hand it over now or we shoot you all dead and will be done with you!  COME ON!  This is no void threat - we have others nearby with your lives in their sights!”  At this terrible demand a strangled scream was expelled and then a male voice, very familiar to Lady Sparks, interjected:

“Please do not harm us sir!  Be assured that we are doing as you request!  Don’t shoot us please – don’t shoot!” 

“Shut up you impudent wretch and gather up the valuables and any guns you have secreted about yourselves - in this!”  The highwaywoman tossed in a small sack and within a few seconds of time passing the bag was returned.  She cast it back as if it were a ripe rotting rat.

“Don’t cheat my senses – fill it up properly so!  THE WHOLE OF IT OR YOUR BRAINS WILL FLY IN ALL DIRECTIONS!  My trigger is much loose and we’ve several pistols at our disposal!”  More whimpers and groans were heard and a female voice whispered fearfully:  

“Not my blessed necklace!”  To which the masculine voice within retorted: 

“Give it up you stupid drudge or I will brain you myself!” followed by more despairing sobbing.  A heavier offering was presented and on this occasion Lady Sparks accepted it voraciously, and as quickly as they had so terrifyingly appeared, the two black-garbed robbers galloped off and were away; further draped in the invisibility of darkness that their disguises embraced with complete effect turning them into phantoms.  As soon as the pair had merged with the twisting, groaning trees they brought their steeds to an abrupt stop; the coach was heard to rush away like the devil to hell.  Fearing falling branches as the wind tugged remorselessly at the trees about them, the accomplices briefly grasped hands before the sack of booty was given over to the Captain to retain.  “We must flee – I will see you tomorrow at noon!”  The lady said, getting ready to depart.  

“You were magnificent, beloved, and I will reward you handsomely my brave lady, so be safe, and speed home swiftly!”  With that they parted and galloped off in opposite directions, the sound of screeching foxes and nightjars making their leave-taking a fitting finale.