Jem (and Sam)

by Ferdinand Mount

  So when she went out to dine, I must put on my chain and set off with her and His Grace, although he was more often absent upon business of the King. And for the most part, I did not mind greatly, for in foreign houses I was not burdened with preparing the dinner and I could talk with the ladies and participate in high discourse. Thus I was not much discomposed when Nan bid me make haste for we were to the Tower to take dinner with Sir John Robinson, a great merchant (in cloth): a colonel for the old King, he had played some part in bringing in the new King and had received the Tower as his reward. He was a boastful fellow who was always talking of his deeds in the war and how without him the King would never have come in. But it pleased me to go to the Tower as a visitor and ponder on all the tragic prisoners who had perished there, on the block or out of misery at their long immurement. And it pleased my fancy also to recall how I had looked over at those frowning walls and wondered what lay behind them and where my Nan had gone. For her too it was a visit to a scene of romance, where the General had wooed her while she sewed his shirts, though I could not imagine him in the guise of a wooer. He must have been like bluff King Hal in Shakespeare’s play: Harrumph, Mrs Radford, well then, will you harrumph . . .

  But I observed that His Grace made an excuse not to come with us, by which I deduced that he was not eager to visit his old prison.

  As our carriage came close to the Tower, there was such a press of coaches and wagons that we were stuck stock still. Nan who was ever brisk and impatient said, let us get out and walk. So we dismounted and stretched our legs. As we were going down by All Hallows Church, I espied a familiar mop of white hair. It was my cousin Fluffy Ralph. He greeted me warmly as though we were friends long lost. I am a farmer again, he said. We have two sons and a daughter, our eldest Richard is to be apprentice to Mr Fisher when he is older, I hope that he may like the business better than I did, you must drop upon Mr Fisher’s shop on Tower Hill, it is much enlarged, for with the revival of seagoing trade the demand for charts is very great. How goes it with you? Well, I said, very well, and to Nan: May I present a cousin? Her Grace the Duchess of Albemarle. I’ve the honour to be escorting her to dinner at the Tower, with the Lieutenant, Sir John Robinson.

  Fluff made a low bow but not so low that I could not see how far his face had fallen to see me in such company. We promised to meet again, though I had no such intention, and I sailed on into the Tower with flags flying.

  But within half an hour my self-esteem was a shattered wreck, for as we moved into the Lieutenant’s dining-chamber and I took my place behind Nan’s chair, some latecoming guests shuffled in: Sir William Batten, Surveyor of the Navy, Colonel Slingsby, Comptroller to the Navy, and horror of horrors, Mr Samuel Pepys.

  All the morning at the office. At noon Sir W. Batten, Colonel Slingsby and I by coach to the tower, to Sir John Robinson’s to dinner.

  Where great good cheer. High company; among others the Duchess of Albemarle, who is ever a plain, homely dowdy.

  After dinner, then to drink all the afternoon. Towards night the Duchess and ladies went away. Then we set to it again till it was very late. And at last in came Sir Wm Wale, almost fuddled; and because I was set between him and another, only to keep them from talking and spoiling the Company (as we did to others, he fell out with the Lieutenant of the Tower; but with much ado we made him understand his error). And then all quiet. And so he carried Sir W. Batten and I home again in his coach. And so I, almost overcome with drink, went to bed.

  I was much contented to ride in such state into the tower and to be received among such high company – while Mr Mount, My Lady Duchess’s gentleman-usher, stood waiting at table, whom I ever thought a man so much above me in all respects.

  Also, to hear the discourse of so many high cavaliers of things past – it was of great content and joy to me.

  Diary of Samuel Pepys, 8 March 1661

  V

  The Tower

  A DAY IN the bottommost pit of Hell would have been better. Four or five times I wished I had never been born. A dozen times I wished old Mrs Pepys had miscarried most foully or her son been eaten by rats in infancy. And it had begun so fairly. Nan presented me as a gentleman to Sir John and I entered upon my duties as though I were doing a kindness to a friend, the Lieutenant’s household being short of hands. But then entered Mr Pepys in his new silk suit with gold buttons, doffing his new low-crowned beaver to my lady as though he were a veritable Castiglione and then turning to me with his Good-morrow, Jem, I hadn’t thought to see you here, and he took my hand in a most condescending fashion. But as we were yet in the antechamber, the worst had not been revealed to him, and it was not until we had proceeded into the grand salone (in truth, a mean dark chamber, for the place was but a gaol) that the scales were to fall from his eyes. Or rather, they were to pop from his head, Mr Pepys’s eyes being as prominent as his wife’s teeth.

  It happened thus. I took up my station behind my lady’s chair, having helped her to the venison and the wine (of which in her greatness she was becoming passing fond). Mr Pepys was at the end of the table and was talking with Sir William Batten, his superior at the Navy Office. His glass was empty and he looked around the table for the bottle, and his eyes lighted upon me. His little woman’s mouth (that had a swollen underlip) fell open so that he looked as though he had but lately swallowed an asparagus. Then he looked away in some embarras – yet I thought I saw him smile. Then he looked back again, for fear that he had made a mistake and I had merely been passing her chair on the way to my own, for there was as yet a chair vacant, Sir William Wale being retarded. But he saw that I did not stir, could not stir, for Nan had said that I must not move a muscle until she commanded me, that it was the sign of a well-bred household that the gentleman-usher did not fidget. Only when she commanded me with the crook of her little finger was I to bestir myself, help the company to more meat or wine, etc. That would be a truly genteel proceeding, she said, which would reflect well upon us in the mirror of society. I doubt whether you will be able to crook that finger soon, I had said, with the weight of all the jewels that dangle from it. Now, Jem, she had said, don’t be sour.

  So there I stood still as a statue, silent as the tomb, while Mr Pepys smirked and ogled and caught my eye and then ducked away again. I felt the most pressing urge to crush his greasy little body until it was no bigger than a nut. Then he turned to his neighbour Colonel Slingsby and began to talk in a most confiding manner, and I knew what he was saying as though I could hear the very words, viz. would you believe it sir, that fellow over there behind Her Grace’s chair, that waits at table, yes him, not long since, last year in fact, he was a clerk to the Great Council, and much respected, and now he is but a common serving man, how the whirligig of time doth bring in his revenges.

  Could I break a plate over his head or soak his popinjay’s outfit with wine? No I could not, for Nan would fly into a fury and screech at me for a fortnight.

  What think you of it, sir? I said, what think you of it?

  Jem, wake up, Sir John is addressing you.

  Oh, yes, sir?

  I was asking what you thought of my proposal.

  Your proposal . . .

  To pull down all the shops that jut out in Canning Street and make a fine carriageway the entire distance from St Paul’s to the Tower. A dual carriageway, wide enough for two carriages to pass. Don’t you think that a rare solution to the problem of the wheeled throng that’s so costly to our merchants in terms of delay and other expense?

  Rare indeed, I murmured (for even in a state of distress I can play the sycophant as well as the next man). Might I venture to suggest that it be named Robinson Street in honour of its progenitor?

  Sir, you do me too much honour. I would not wish that posterity should think me puffed up, yet it is well that the author of such a scheme should be commemorated. What think you, Your Grace?

  Oh, Sir John, Nan said with a waggish laugh (for she was pretty near foxed already), it would be like trotting over y
our grave.

  Hold hard, Your Grace, I’m not dead yet, said Sir John. More wine, boy, more wine.

  This threw me into a rage. Until that minute, I had thought I was beginning to recapture my position, for it seemed Sir John was speaking to me as a guest rather than a servant, but now I saw that he was merely giving me the time of day, as one will to a porter or a groom.

  In my rage, reckless of Nan’s reproaches, I splashed the red wine over the sleeves of Sir John’s coat which was of a pale yellow colour, much too gallant for such a pustulate old potbelly. He jumped to his feet and swore several oaths, then apologised to Nan who had heard worse in her time but bowed prettily in acknowledgement of his delicacy and then reproached me, but not as fiercely as I had feared, for she was wearied of Sir John’s discourse of carriages and licences and easements and bills and committees.

  But all Mr Pepys could see was my slopping and my consequent humiliation, and he chuckled into his plate so violently that I thought he would suffer an apoplexy. Then of course he drew Colonel Slingsby’s attention to my mishap and the Colonel was stricken too.

  To calm myself, I began to circulate with a fresh bottle of wine. In due course, I came to Mr Pepys.

  Have you heard Colonel Slingsby’s jest, Jem? If the Lieutenant’s discourse will not dry up, at least his coat shall be soaked.

  Very witty, sir. I emitted a little cough to indicate the degree of mirth appropriate to so feeble a jest.

  He is an old sinner, is Sir John, he stands in need of regular baptising.

  Very witty again, sir.

  By now Pepys and Slingsby were paroxysmal at their own wit. I passed on, resolved on swift and brutal revenge.

  But first I must make my true position plain to S. Pepys. He must be brought to understand that I was in truth a species of secretary to Her Grace, enjoying the confidence not only of herself but of her husband and entrusted with many important missions in their service. That I should be standing behind Her Grace’s chair was a matter of convenience so that I be at hand to carry out any high business that might be in train. It was out of courtesy that I took my part in the serving of dinner, for a gentleman is never too proud to make himself useful.

  Some such speech I had prepared for Mr P. on my next circuit. I suffered a mortification when he barely noticed my passage, waving his fat little hand in the direction of his glass that I should fill it promptly, for as usual there was not a drop left in it. Nor could I interpose myself between him and his neighbour, for their heads were knocking together as each boasted of his part in bringing the King back in, at which every man round the table then joined in, for it seems Restoration has a hundred fathers.

  Soon I saw Nan’s head beginning to nod which was a sign infallible of approaching stupor, and so I reminded her that we must make haste back to Whitehall.

  So soon, Jem, so soon. I would rather stay with these jovial gallants. They are, they are – and she fumbled at some length for the verbum justum – they are such cavaliers. At which all the tousled old tosspots smirked and preened their feathers.

  Madam, we must away.

  Jem, you’re a spoil-sport.

  Madam, come. And at last she came. I had to drag her down the stairs and haul her into the carriage as though she were a sack of coals. And when we were in the carriage she fell to kissing me copiously, so that I was glad it was already dark (for we had been at the Lieutenant’s five hours and more) and we could not be seen. To be kissed in a carriage by a duchess may seem like a fine thing, but when she has five pints of Rhenish inside her, it is more like being kissed by an alehouse.

  She slavered me the entire way from the Tower to St Paul’s, but all the while I was thinking how I might restore my credit with Mr Pepys and simul be revenged upon him. I resolved therefore to call upon him and make my peace with him while spying out the land.

  My lady was to attend a fête musicale at Hampton Court on the water as a guest of the King, so I scampered off to the City, to the Navy Board’s house in Seething Lane, where I knew Mr Pepys had his lodgings.

  Barely had I reached one end of the street when I saw Mr Pepys come out of the house with Mrs Pepys and some other persons unknown to me. I walked towards them, but while I was as yet twenty paces behind them they went into the little church on the corner (which I discovered to be St Olave’s, that had a modern gateway with skulls grinning upon its top). I then remembered that it was Sunday (Nan and the rest at Hampton Court were to hear a sermon, which was not much to her taste). Nothing would therefore be easier than to join Mr and Mrs Pepys in church and walk home with them afterwards, perhaps be invited to dine, part firm friends, etc. I went through the door of the church and saw the tail of their party disappear through a little inner door, but when I attempted to follow them, a fellow barred the way, saying, you may not be admitted, the gallery is reserved for the Navy Board and their ladies.

  So with a bad grace I went outside and sat opposite the gate with the skulls upon it. Inside I could hear the parson drone on concerning the persons of the Trinity and I fell asleep (for Nan and I had been late to sleep the night before, the General being away) and when I awoke the church was emptied, and my only company was the silly grinning skulls. Though I made haste back to the Navy Office, I arrived only to see Mrs Pepys shutting the door behind her. For a minute I delayed to reflect whether I should knock upon the door or whether that would make me seem too like a supplicant when I caught sight of my quarry, Mr Pepys, walking past the end of the street towards the Tower.

  When he reached the corner he turned to the right along Thames Street towards Whitehall, where no doubt he had business. I resolved to track him in parallel, along Tower Street, then cut down Pudding Lane so that I could run into him by accident and not seem importunate. I walked at a brisk pace but even so when I came down the lane into Thames Street, no Mr Pepys. Had he taken a carriage? Or a boat? I went down to the wharf Still no Mr Pepys. Returning in some perplexity to Seething Lane, supposing that he might have returned home, I suddenly saw S. Pepys at the end of the street walking at a great rate in the opposite direction, viz. towards the Tower. Again I gave chase, running past the skulls once more, that seemed to say ‘you’ll not catch him now’. But the more I hared after him, the faster his little legs seemed to carry him. By the time he came down to Wapping Steps, I was 300 yards behind him.

  I thought he would go in at Warren’s timber yard, for I had heard him have words at the Tower with Sir William Batten in re Warren’s Norway deals: Colonel Slingsby had jested that a Batten could be made out of a wood but all that could be got out of a warren was a rabbit, which Mr Pepys did not think witty and no more do I. But that is by the by.

  Mr Pepys did not drop upon Warren but went on down to the steps and took a pair of oars and bade the man row downriver. My blood was now heated by the chase and, I know not why, I looked for a sculler to carry me in Pepys’s wake but it being the Lord’s Day had to wait above a quarter of an hour. Yet Pepys’s boat was still in sight, at the bend in the river, and we followed him down to Deptford Wharf at a sharp pace, for the tide was on the ebb.

  At Deptford he paid off the man and went up the row of cottages where the Navy carpenters dwell. He knocked at the door of the last house and was admitted by a woman, whether young or old I could not see. I waited at the harbour end of the street. It was a fair day and the swallows were dipping in the water and I lost count of the time, but a sturdy fellow soon came out of the house with a disagreeable aspect on his face and took himself off to the tavern by the quay, the Dog and Fiddle. I considered whether to join him, but resolved to stay at my post. After an hour, near enough, out came Pepys with a smirk on his face, and a woman came half-out of the door behind him gathering her loose gown about her, a fine buxom laughing woman. She kissed him on the lips and patted him behind as though she were sending off a horse to pasture, and Mr Pepys came skipping down the road. He did not see me, for I skulked in the boatyard behind the tar barrels.

  Well, this was usefu
l intelligence to be stored up against a rainy day. Yet the day was only half done, and I followed my quarry back to the City, upstream, seriatim.

  I thought he would have his boat land at the Tower Wharf, but they went on against the current under the bridge, which my man would not do, saying the tide was too low and he feared lest we might be dashed against the pier as had happened to three fish merchants the last Sunday but one. So we disembarked at the Custom House, and I walked on up Thames Street in search of a hackney to take me home, pondering to what advantage I might turn my strange adventure.

  But as I came past Barnards Castle, to my amazement coming up from Puddle Wharf there was Mr Pepys again, well out of his ground, for the Navy Office was a good mile behind us. He stuck to the side of the warehouse like a fly to a window pane and looked as though he did not wish to be observed.

  To my further amazement, he took the back cut that leads but to one place, viz. the notorious Fleet Alley. By now I was but twenty steps behind and had to moderate my pace. Even in the afternoon, the alley is dark enough to cover the deeds of darkness that are hourly committed there; and never at a greater rate than on the Lord’s Day when the throng is idle and has money to jingle in its pocket. By chance, I was detained at the entrance to the alley by a woman I had had some dealings with and who declared, mendaciously, that I owed her 5s. Well, I thought, why should Mr Pepys have all the pleasure? And so I offered her 10s to include a return of our match, which she accepted. She took me by the arm and led me up the steps and along the gallery of the ill-famed house which boasts no rooms but wooden stalls fit for cattle with but a dirty curtain before each. As we passed along the gallery, she laughed and pointed at a torn curtain, through which we could see a man jiggling at the bare buttocks of some wretched woman. His breeches of a pale blue silk were at half-mast and his shirt-tail was streaming like a pennant in his agitation. He had not even troubled to take off his hat, which was a low-crowned beaver. I could not fail to distinguish the beaver and the breeches, for I had been pursuing them all day.