A knock at the great doors. The Wright sisters in their best gowns, clucking and simpering, fly across the hall.
The doors open. Through a chink, I can feel the rush of air and glimpse a piece of sky. There is a sound of bells tinkling, then the beating of a gong, very deep and solemn.
In comes a young Chinese boy in a green silk gown chased with dragons. He carries a little pagoda in miniature all wrought of gold. Behind him come two girls carrying blue-and-white bowls of China manufacture (though nowadays it is the Dutch who make them at Amsterdam or Delft). After them come two oriental slaves stripped to the waist, their skins black as pitch, bearing between them a japan cabinet, lacquered with scenes of Chinamen frolicking under willow trees and carrying home the hay over little bridges. Then another slave beating the gong. He also bears a head-dress of little golden bells, so that when he shakes his head, the bells ring. After him two attendants bearing golden palm trees twice as tall as they, so that they must dip them to bring them through the doors, and then more attendants yet bearing more trinkets that I failed to observe, for after them came – O shame, O treachery – Dr Hans Sloane. At least he was not wearing a Chinese dressing-gown. Far from standing by with a watchful eye, he was leading the Great Imposter into his mistress’s private chamber.
There directly behind Sloane – I cannot bear to call such a man a doctor – came Mountagu, although it took a second, nay, a third glance to know him.
He wore a silk robe that reached to the ground, made of gold and silver filigree chased with figures of strange birds – half-stork, half-parrot – and monkeys and serpents. Upon his lip he wore a long moustache in the oriental mode. His eyebrows and eyes were painted too, so that they slanted away from his nose. On his head was a tall hat in the shape of an anthill, richly adorned. His fat hands were lost in the folds of his sleeves, and he bowed deeply as he came into the house, I think to propitiate our household gods, for there were no persons of note to bow to, though the sisters Wright were throwing him curtsey upon curtsey. With him came an overweening aroma of China spices – sandalwood and jasmine and I don’t know what else, for his footmen swung silver censers about the hall, so that I had a trouble to breathe without sneezing. Then the procession took its way up the stairs, and I saw them no more, though I could still hear the bells tinkling and the gong sounding and the hall was yet full of the spices.
For some quarter of an hour by the hall clock, I was alone and ached in every limb, for I was pressed as tight in the broom cabinet as though I were in my coffin. Then came a clatter upon the stairs, and I perceived the boy who had led Mountagu’s retinue lead them back down into the hall. But now they were no longer in solemn order but laughing and jesting as though they were off to drink, which in truth they were, for Mary and Sarah Wright came down after them with a great silver bowl of mulled wine (the scent of it filled my nostrils with longing). I could see from my spyhole that they had shed their pagodas and palm trees and the lacquered cabinet, all doubtless given to my lady.
Oh, this tar itches on my skin, like a plague of fleas, it is.
And that cabinet, weighed a ton, it did. I said we needed four men to carry it from Soho. They call it Coromandel lacquer, but with my own eyes I saw Mr Robinson painting it.
Although the imposture was an open book to me, yet the sound of their cockney voices amazed me.
His Lordship said he’d only pay for two bearers and we must black, for our skins were too pale else.
Well, the money is good, that I won’t deny.
And maybe more to come later if all goes well. We’re to bring more China-ware from the Lambeth factory tomorrow, for she says she hasn’t got a complete set for drinking tea.
Well, here’s to His Lordship and fair fortune to him.
I’ll drink to that.
From my cramped crow’s-nest I cursed their swilling and counted the minutes till they were gone. It seemed an eternity before they were summoned up the stairs again to accompany the Emperor to his coach.
I allowed another half-hour to elapse. All was quiet. I crept up the stairs. The footmen were gone and I stole into the great chamber, the door being ajar.
The Duchess was not seated upon her throne but rather lay across its step with a great tasselled oriental shawl about her shoulders. The room was transformed. On either side of the window the golden palm trees nodded. The golden bells depended from the chandelier. The doors of the great japan cabinet were thrown open and from them spilled gay-coloured bolts of silk and calico. The floor was matted with rich rugs that depicted hunting after deer and boar, warriors with bows and arrows and all the lascivious life of the oriental court.
She greeted me with a languorous waving of her arm, which was hung with Chinese bracelets.
Isn’t all this marvellous? she said in a drowsy voice as though she had smoked a pipe of Samson Lucas’s tobacco: The Emperor is very gracious. Our monarchs are mere barbarians by comparison, don’t you think so?
Madam –
His English is quite perfected. As a boy, he had an English tutor, a parson of good family, from Leicestershire, I think.
Madam –
Do you know any prince at our Court who can speak a word of Chinese? Not one, I’ll wager you. And he spoke some exquisite phrases in French too, he is well acquainted with King Louis.
Madam, that is not the Emperor.
Not the Emperor? What do you mean, you silly old man?
That is –
I won’t listen.
I must tell you the truth.
I never heard such impudence. Thomas! Sarah!
She rose from her affected posture and with her foot began kicking at the gong which had been set down at the side of her chair.
The servants came rushing in, their cheeks still flushed from the wine.
Take this man away.
She went on kicking at the gong, although the servants were standing before her.
It was impossible to stay in such a household. She was now too mad for me to rescue her. With Dr Sloane suborned, what could I do against Mountagu? Even if I had succeeded in opening her eyes, another suitor would have deceived her soon enough. The only other course would be to lock her up in Bedlam with such as Mr Carcase, and what profit would there be in that? I pulled out my faithful chest from under my bed and counted my store. I was but £20 short of £10,000. I was an independent man.
I packed a change of linen into a small leather bag and took that and the chest downstairs. On the lower landing, I met Sarah Wright.
Beg pardon, Jem, but Her Grace says you’re to quit the house today and not come back.
She was weeping, half fuddled with drink no doubt, but I gave her a kiss none the less.
Don’t fret, Sarah, I was on my way out.
It was a relief to shake off the dust of Clerkenwell and set off on a new track. It would be best to find modest lodgings near the Exchange, for I had taken a great deal of business in the past month. The French had frightened off many of those who were usually to be found in Exchange Alley, and the brokers were desperate and would take names that in quiet times they would have disdained. An insurer of my quality who was not afeared to write £500 on a single ship (though it must be a sound one) was greeted with open arms.
The Duchess and Mountagu were married in September, that much was known, but nobody knew where or by whom. Was he still habited as the Emperor? Was she now dressed as a China-woman? Some who told the story of the courtship swore that she was, but others said she was now so mad that chains to restrain her were hidden under her bridal gown that the parson might not see.
Certain it was that nobody set eyes on her. She did not come to Court, but she must have been taken to Mountagu’s house, for the Clerkenwell house was all shut up and was to be sold. Lord Roos had sent a verse to Lord Mountagu which he then retailed to the town, thinking it so witty:
Insulting rival never boast
Thy conquest lately won,
No wonder that her heart was lost,
Her senses first were gone.
For one that’s under Bedlam’s laws
What glory can be had,
For love of thee was not the cause:
It proves that she was mad.
I doubt whether Lord Mountagu paid much heed to this squib, for he was already fully occupied in his wife’s lawsuit that he might double the fortune that was coming to him. Albemarle v. Bath became Mountagu v. Bath, and the lawyers grew fatter yet.
When I thought of such cruel rapacity, I wept for the world and for my late mistress who had been the plaything of fate since her childhood and was led astray by pride because she knew no better. She had had but one true desire in the world and that was to have a living child. This denied her, all else was mere caprice.
I had resolved to concentrate upon the Mediterranean and the Levantine trade, the voyages being short and the rates high in these stormy times, never less than 10 per cent and often 15 or 20 per cent.
For the shipowners grew ever more fearful of the French cruisers and privateers. Although we were now joined with the Dutch, our navies could seldom spare frigates for escort, and many a merchantman had to fret at anchor for a month or two until a convoy could be made up. Ships that had taken a cargo in February had to wait until May before Admiral Rooke could send twenty men-o’-war to keep them company. By then, there were 400 merchantmen. I had written lines on thirty-five of them myself for sums from £50 on the little Anna that was carrying dyes and Sheffield ware to Naples, to £600 on the England’s Glory that was bound for Smyrna (indeed, the whole convoy was called the Smyrna Fleet, for that was its last port of call).
There were but two or three men in the City that had written more lines on the ships, and I was glad that the Grand Fleet was to sail with them to make assurance doubly sure.
It was a pleasant spring morning and I had no business on hand and so resolved to saunter down the Strand and take a turn by the river. The sun was so bright that I did not at first see the little old man just by the Water Gate that Mr Jones built (I can remember the very spot). He was somewhat plump, and seemed near-sighted, for he peered at the passers-by as though they were written down in print too small to read. There was something about the way he walked, a stumping pugnacious little gait he had, and I knew him instantly and thirty years of enmity dissolved in a lightning flash.
Mr Pepys! Sam.
He turned and peered at me.
You have the advantage of me, sir, I fear. My eyes are bad.
Jeremiah Mount, sir, your old acquaintance.
Jem, Jem, my dear friend (perhaps he had never known how hard I had tried to destroy him). You’re much changed. But then we’re all old men though Sir George was kind enough to say last week that he would not take me for a day beyond forty-five.
You live nearby?
He pointed to the windows of the building behind us.
Up there, he said. That’s my lodging in retirement, though I hope that I may soon move to Clapham into the house of my old clerk Will Hewer who lodges here with me also. It’s a fine house at Clapham. It belonged formerly to Alderman Gauden that once victualled the Navy but is now dead. But for the time being, I’m content enough here. I have my little library. Every Saturday some of the Fellows come to dine, we call ourselves the Saturday Academists. We talk of some learned matter and drink, rather too much, I fear. You must join us. I am quite retired now, I went out with King James. They tried to find fault with my stewardship, they locked me up twice and released me twice. That makes four times I’ve seen the inside of a prison cell for serving my King, but they never found a fault, Jem, not one, and so now they leave me in peace. My work is done and the new King knows it. But the other day he was heard to say when some piece of work was botched, ‘This would never have happened in Mr Pepys’s time.’
He chuckled and I saw that age had not diminished his faculty for self-congratulation.
Now you, sir, he said, what have you been doing with yourself? I have seen you but seldom since you were in the service of the Duchess of Albemarle.
He would bring up that humiliating recollection, and I could see how greatly he delighted in it.
Well, sir, I threw back, I am in a fair way of business as an insurer on the Exchange.
Marine or fire?
Marine.
Well, I hope you have nothing riding on the Smyrna Fleet.
I went white. I could scarcely stammer:
What, what do you mean?
Haven’t you heard? It was all over Lloyds coffee-house this morning. I go to Lloyds once a week to keep up with the world. Admiral Rooke thought the French Fleet was safely in port, in Brest, I believe, and so he let the Grand Fleet go, but the Frenchies were waiting for him round the corner. That’s all we know at present, but it sounds like a pickle. There were fellows in Lloyds looking to reinsure at twenty-five and thirty per cent. I always said that the fleet was too numerous, never does to put all your eggs in one basket, you know.
But I was in Garraway’s yesterday and there was no word of it.
Oh you must go to Lloyds, they always have the latest intelligence. The Kidney there has the best agents.
I must – I could not finish the sentence but rushed from his presence without a word. By the time I reached Lloyds, the place was in an uproar. Some men were shouting, and battering their fists on the bar, others were sitting at the tables as pale as ghosts and as silent.
Mr Groundsel hailed me.
Ah there you are, I have a couple of ships need reinsuring and wondered whether you might oblige me.
From the Smyrna Fleet?
The same.
What’s the rate?
Well – he looked as guilty as a thief just taken – I can offer forty.
Then the ship’s as good as sunk.
Don’t say so, Jem. We know only that –
But I brushed past him into the throng of desperate men, each trying to discharge the worst of his risks on to his fellow. If only I had been to Lloyds the day before, I could have gone part of the way to save myself.
Rooke did his best, but he was outnumbered. We learned a week later that a hundred of our merchantmen had been captured or destroyed (the Dutch lost more yet). The value lost with the cargo was above a million pounds.
Eighteen of the ships I had written insurance on were lost. Eight or nine would have been enough to bankrupt me, but eighteen! I too was utterly lost. I had not a friend living in the world. My last lover thought herself married to the Emperor of China. My deadly rival was living in happy retirement soon to remove to the house that ought to have been mine, surrounded by old friends and bathed in public esteem, while I was an outcast, disgraced, dejected, a futile encumbrance on the new age.
All my money was pledged at the bank. I had only a few shillings in my pocket that would pay the rent for another fortnight. I was without cash or credit. No one would lend me a penny, for it must go straight to my creditors. I gave up shaving. My linen was filthy, because the laundress would not wash any more until she was paid. I had already given up hope, and occupied the day wandering hollow-eyed through the streets of the City, rehearsing again and again the catalogue of my folly and cursing my rashness.
At length a terrible fatigue overcame my body and my spirit and I resolved to spend my last shilling upon poison, for I could not bear the thought of drowning. In my dreams, I heard the cries of the men drowning in the ships I had written lines for, while the Kidney at Lloyds called out every ship’s name and her fate: Mary Bell, lost – Bohemia, captured – Dandelion, lost – Maidstone, in port Genoa – Antelope, captured – Darling, not known.
No, poison it must be. I searched my brains for my old chemical knowledge. I could not go into a druggist’s and inquire out loud after a venom that was cheap and procured a quick and easeful death. Arsenic? Or belladonna? Or hemlock? Hemlock might be the best, Socrates had made no complaint about it. I would inspect the shelves of the druggist on Tower Hill to see what he had. But as I came to the door of
the shop, I trembled and was unable to raise my hand, being as paralysed as though I had already taken the poison.
How now? Looking for the bell? Don’t stand upon ceremony, come in, come in.
Someone slapped me on the back in hearty fashion and I wheeled round to come face to face with – my son.
It is you, isn’t it? He stared into my haggard face, fearing that he was mistaken. My cousin that knew my mother when she was young, you’re he, aren’t you?
Yes, I said, that is I.
I thought it must be, because I remembered you had a powerful interest in maps and marine charts. You must see the new edition of the Pilot, the printing of it is so greatly improved.
I’m not looking for maps.
Not looking for maps? Then why –
I – but I couldn’t say I was about to call next door to choose my poison (I had forgotten his shop was so near).
Well, come in anyway. My wife is here, and she will not forgive me if I don’t bring you to her.
No, I cannot . . .
Cannot what? Aren’t you well, you’re so pale.
He looked closer at me and saw my state of destitution, smelled it too, I do not doubt.
Come in, come in.
So I went in with him and gazed with desolate apathy upon the charts and chronometers that were set out upon his tables and were presently inspected by a throng of prosperous gentlemen of the navigational fraternity.
No, Mr Harrison, I heard him say to a small brown man of a worried aspect, we’ve sold no more of your longitude book. I fear that the title was bad, but you would have the Latin.
But it’s a work of supreme astronomical import, why, Mr Halley himself said . . .
I can’t help that, sir, the public won’t take it. Now then – he turned to me, anxious that I should shift out of his shop before I depressed the spirits of his customers – come along, sir, into the back.
It was a small back room with wooden panels in the shape of diamonds that was now in the mode. There was a crackling fire by which a fresh-faced young woman was seated at a tea-urn. She greeted me kindly and bade me sit down and take a glass of tea, for they had no dishes and slaked their thirst without ceremony.
Jem (and Sam) Page 39