*
Monck had continued to supervise the procurements for the Navy, Pepys being a frequent visitor to The Cockpit. Another habitué of the Albemarle’s quarters in Whitehall was Lord Craven in his capacity as enforcer of the plague regulations. Sir John Lawrence, the Lord Mayor of London, and his Aldermen were also enforcers and all these men were forbidden to leave the City. Monck and the Earl of Craven ordered any gatherings, particularly the religious meetings of the Quakers and other sects, to be broken up as being seats of infection, while a strict watch was kept for looters and other trouble-makers, especially Dissenting and disaffected soldiers. Despite Monck’s assiduous efforts to ameliorate the effects of enforced disbandment of the New Model Army, there yet remained a number of veterans ready to take advantage of the disruption of the epidemic, the streets being deserted, and may rich households left empty.
The invocation of the regulations drawn up forty years earlier, which ruled that pest houses must be isolated, had been ruthlessly enforced by Monck and Craven. These included the Draconian compulsion that all infected persons should either be removed into the nearest such facility as soon as any symptoms appeared, or their houses were to be isolated and marked with red crosses, with a watchmen posted over them. Although this condemned those still uninfected but living within the property to the probability of acquiring the disease, it had its slow impact.
The plague gradually abated as the weather changed and the fall of the year drew on. By mid-August the curfew was lifted and those confined in their houses were allowed to take the evening air after nine of the clock. The Committee of the Privy Council marked the decline in the parish returns that Morice garnered every week. After some two thousand and twenty deaths in the capital alone during the week between the 25th July and the 1st August, the toll slowly diminished. Nevertheless, Morice’s carefully complied record told of the passing of some seventy thousand souls over the summer months.
‘I am convinced it came to us by ship,’ he had told Monck when the Duke announced his intention of disbanding the Special Committee. ‘From the Levant by way of the Smyrna fleet I surmise.’
‘The Smyrna fleet.’ Monck nodded, recalling it had been plague contracted in Smyrna that was believed to have killed Anne’s first husband. ‘Well, well.’
Monck joined his family at New Hall on two occasions, glad to see that the Clarkes had taken advantage of the Moncks’ hospitality and that Will was much improved. Dorothy Clarke thanked Monck for his consideration but he made light of it as they walked, the four of them, in the formal gardens of New Hall, the great brooding red-brick presence of the Tudor Palace basking in the warm sunshine.
‘It is the very least that I can do for the years of service he rendered me,’ Monck said, drawing aside to look at some roses and leaving Clarke and Anne to walk on ahead. ‘He deserves some time to give over to idleness, for I placed a heavy demand upon him in Scotland.’
‘He has not been idle, Your Grace,’ Dorothy responded with some asperity. ‘He has been attending to his papers, compiling a record of those events during the Civil War of which he bears witness.’
‘Oh! Well, well,’ grunted Monck with a smile. ‘If it pleases him, I am glad of it. I understand Clarendon intends some such conceit. I suppose someone will profit from it. See, Mistress Clarke, these white roses thrive in this clay soil; have you noticed that?’
‘They have a lovely scent on a warm afternoon such as this.’
‘Here, then…’ Monck plucked a bloom and presented it to Dorothy Clarke with a bow and a flourish. ‘A smaller recompense for the faithful wife, eh?’
‘I have heard that the soldiers thought you a devil, Your Grace,’ she said, carefully taking the rose stem.
‘Only the enemy’s, Mistress Clarke, or so I am told.’
*
‘So, George, now that our labours are done here, what do you intend? Devon or Essex?’
Monck swallowed, dabbed his mouth with his napkin and swilled his mouth with wine, throwing a glance at Anne at the far end of the table. She was staring at him pointedly.
‘Well,’ he began, lowering his glass and addressing his interlocutor, the Earl of Craven, though he knew it was Anne who was the more interested. ‘Devon for preference, William, but Essex if I must. There is much to be done at New Hall.’
‘I recall it as a grand pile.’
‘Aye, and the hunting is good, both deer and duck.’
‘But it is better at Potheridge,’ put in Anne sharply, to which the twelve-year old Kit added eagerly.
‘You are right, Mother,’ the lad said, turning enthusiastically to Craven. ‘I shot a buck there last year, My Lord.’
‘Well done, young fella,’ congratulated Craven while Monck nodded, his expression rueful. He avoided Anne’s eyes. Craven’s glance flickered from one to another. He had been courtier long enough to divine tension and felt for his friend.
‘If Your Grace will forgive me for so saying,’ he addressed Anne, ‘the King is much in need of your husband’s services, ma’am. No-one could have performed those prodigies which, if they have not saved this city, have at the least ameliorated the impact of the recent plague. No-one knows this better than myself, for I was at His Grace’s side throughout.’
Anne had coloured and Monck himself felt for her as Craven delivered his gentle admonishment. At once grateful on his own behalf, he was embarrassed for Anne who seemed close to tears or to precipitately withdrawing. Only recently admitted to the privilege of dining with adults, Kit was looking at her with obvious concern.
‘You flatter me too much, sir,’ Monck demurred. ‘It was you who put activity into the wanting.’
‘No, George, I could not have done a thing without your authority.’
This awkward scene was abruptly terminated by the opening of the dining room door and the announcement of a visitor.
‘His Highness Prince Rupert, Your Grace,’ the servant announced breathlessly, ‘prays you will allow him a word with you.’
‘Then show him in at once.’ Monck rose, followed by the others as the tall figure of Rupert of the Rhine swept into the room and made his elaborately courteous bow to the Duchess of Albemarle. The men, including Kit, made their own genuflection but it was Anne the Prince addressed, which further flustered her discomfiture as she rose from a deep curtsey.
‘Pray, forgive me, Your Grace. You are still at table,’ Rupert said in his impeccable, slightly accented English.
‘Will you join us, Your Highness?’ Anne asked.
Rupert declined. ‘I have eaten, thank you.’
‘In a glass perhaps,’ said Monck, motioning the waiting servants to draw up a chair close to Monck’s.
‘A glass would be perfect, thank you.’
The company sat again and for a moment was silent as the wine was set before the Prince and he sampled Monck’s sack.
‘I was saying, Your Highness,’ put in Craven, breaking the silence, ‘that London owes much to My Lord Albemarle’s sedulous attention to his duty in regard to the plague.’
‘Indeed. And I understand – though you will both deny it – to the generous purses of both, Your Lordships.’ Rupert smiled and raised his glass in tribute to Monck and Craven before turning to Anne. ‘And His Grace could not have effected anything without the loyal support of his lady, eh, gentlemen?’ Rupert toasted Anne, inviting Craven and Monck to join him.
Anne flushed with pleasure, but was not to be over-set so quickly. ‘Your Highness is too kind. My husband’s duty is his own.’
‘But no man’s duty comes unencumbered if he be married,’ soothed Rupert. ‘Besides, there is the future to think of and women do that best.’ Rupert smiled over his raised glass at the boy sitting beside his mother. ‘He takes after Your Grace,’ he observed.
Flattered, Anne bobbed her head then looked at her husband. ‘We should leave you gentlemen to your tobacco,’ she said rising and, taking Kit with her, she withdrew.
Monck blew out his cheeks in
unashamed relief as Craven chuckled. ‘Forgive me George,’ he said leaning forward. Pipes and tobacco were placed on the table and the servants followed their mistress from the room as Monck, eschewing a pipe, tucked a quid into his cheek.
‘I have arrived at an awkward moment, eh?’ Rupert asked.
‘No, no. Your Highness is always most welcome.’
‘I never doubted that, George,’ Rupert laughed. ‘Not from you, anyway.’
‘Please forgive –’
‘There is nothing to forgive. I am the intruder on your domesticity; it is I who require forgiveness.’
‘Your Highness –’ Monck began a protest but it was cut short.
‘I think I bring you bad news, but it is better you are warned,’ Rupert began, turning to Craven. ‘I rely upon your discretion, Wilhelm.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Craven said easily. He and Rupert were old friends. As young men they had fought on the Continent and been taken prisoner together. Craven had been long in the service of, and benefactor to, Rupert’s impoverished mother who was sister to the executed Charles I. As the exiled and widowed Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, she relied upon such charity for the King spared her nothing and Craven had wasted a fortune in her service. Once immensely rich, Craven had lost most of his wealth in the Civil War and was attempting to recover what was left. Any confidence of the Prince’s was safe with him.
Rupert smiled and turned to Monck. ‘The late action with the Dutch off Lowestoft,’ he began, nailing their attention. ‘’Twas a fierce fight. I was, as you know, initially in command of the van. Sandwich had the rear squadron and the centre was under the command of my cousin, the Duke of York, with Penn at his side. The Dutch were well served, though their fleet was not in as good an order as was ours, for the winds were light, but they engaged with their customary vigour and courage and all swiftly descended into a chaotic mêlée. His Highness in the Royal Charles was hard-pressed by Opdam van Wassenaer in his flagship Eendracht. Chain-shot carried away several officers hard by my cousin who was covered with gore but gallantly stood his ground and the engagement between the two flagships was only ended when a chance shot lodged in the Eendracht’s magazines and blew her company into the next world.’
Rupert paused. Both Craven and Monck were silent, the latter staring at the soiled table cloth but in his mind’s eye he saw again the stricken body of Richard Deane, all but cut in two at Monck’s side in the opening broadsides of the Battle of the Gabbard.
‘The enemy rapidly lost heart and, leaving the field to us, retired to their own coast with the loss of more than thirty ships.’
‘Thirty? Good heavens, I had heard but a score!’ Craven remarked.
‘And, I am told, a good deal of squabbling among the surviving admirals, or so Master Pepys informed me,’ added Monck.
‘Indeed. But the point is, gentlemen,’ Rupert went on, ‘that, not unreasonably, His Majesty has ordered that the Heir Presumptive to the throne cannot again be exposed to such mortal danger.’
Monck knew what was coming and was profoundly thankful that Anne had left the table.
‘And so, George, I have come to warn you that it has been decided by His Majesty that you and I shall command the fleet in the forthcoming campaign. I have need of your advice, for I declined the sole command and asked for you.’
The Prince’s admission invited little comment but the thought of a return to sea was no longer much to Monck’s liking, flattering though it was that Rupert had asked for him. Anne, he knew, would be opposed to the project; he must at least seek a relief from the obligation.
‘Why me, Your Highness? Ned Sandwich was made a General-at-Sea at the Restoration, and he has recently served, as you have just indicated.’
‘He is disgraced, George.’
‘Why so?’ Monck was shocked. That such a profound fall from grace could have happened without his knowledge disturbed him.
‘You have not heard?’
‘No. Not to my recollection. Pepys is my chief informant. He is usually to be relied upon for gossip; the more derogatory the better.’
‘Well, perhaps on this occasion it is no surprise that he is tight-lipped. Little Master Pepys is a nosey fellow, but he is both Sandwich’s man and the Duke of York’s.’
Was that the reason? Monck asked himself. Certainly he could recollect no such event being described by Pepys when he had brought him news of the Lowestoft fight. Rupert sighed and resumed his narrative.
‘Well, to tell the tale… After refitting following the action, Sandwich cruised on the Dogger Bank and fell upon a convoy of homeward Dutch East Indiamen. Owing to the emptiness of the King’s Treasury he had presciently obtained permission from the King that, were he to be successful in such an endeavour, he might allow his men to plunder the Dutch prizes in lieu of pay, thus reliving His Majesty’s purse.’
‘I can see nothing very wrong in that,’ remarked Craven. ‘Indeed it seems a wise expedient, not merely for the relief of His Majesty’s Exchequer, but as an inducement to his men who ought not to be asked to fight, or even attack merchantmen, without some assurance of a just reward. Why, ’tis no different to giving over to the soldiery a place taken by storm.’
‘Quite so, Wilhelm, quite so, and had Sandwich confined the rapine to his men, he had no need to retire in obloquy.’
‘He partook of it himself?’ Monck asked, incredulous.
‘Most excessively; and moreover so did his officers, to the extent, or so I have heard, that his men felt the want of the reward they had been promised.’
‘What folly,’ remarked Craven.
‘Your Highness will forgive me for saying this,’ ventured Monck, ‘but such conduct is a perfect manifestation of Cavalier officers.’
‘You are perfectly entitled to that opinion at your own table, George,’ said Rupert, smiling. He and Monck got along perfectly, but their followers, being from opposing factions, cordially disliked one another and made no secret of the fact. ‘And perhaps, George,’ the Prince rattled on, ‘that is one reason I wish to have your plain-spoken help in our next encounter. Your authority in such matters would carry greater weight than any such proscription of my own. Besides I would wish to beat the enemy soundly, thrash them while their command is divided. So,’ he said as Monck leaned forward and refilled his glass, ‘I shall wish to confer with you as soon as is possible. You will likely have an audience with the King tomorrow, after which I desire that we set our minds to a conference.’
Monck grunted and looked up and into Rupert’s handsome face. There were those that inveighed against Rupert, who said his precipitate action of the battlefield had cost his uncle a victory or two in the late Civil War but, if that were the case, he had learned from the experience. He had, Monck, thought to himself, a greater capacity than his Cousin, King Charles II. ‘Thank you, Your Highness, for the notice.’
‘We are to be shipmates, George!’ Rupert said with a laugh, smacking the palm of his right hand on the tale so that the platters and glasses jumped. He looked from Monck to Craven. ‘A cavalryman and an infantryman together, eh? To drive the sailors, ha! Ha!’ Rupert laughed and drained his glass. ‘It is a pity you cannot join us, Wilhelm.’
‘I have already provided the Navy with timber, Your Highness,’ Craven said with an edge to his voice. ‘Master Cromwell, a contracted and reimbursed provider of timber himself, saw fit to order my sequestered estates ravished of their oak and elm; it is enough, I think.’
Monck had gone directly to bed after his guests had departed, knowing Anne would be waiting. A single candle burnt beside the vacant half of the bed, but he knew she had been weeping. Without beating about the bush he told her the purpose of Rupert’s visit as he undressed and braced himself for her angry response. It did not come and he at first had to raise the candle stick to see if he had mistaken matters and she had fallen asleep.
‘Anne?’ She turned and faced him, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Are you not angry?’
She sniffed, wiping
her eyes with the sheet and nodded. ‘Of course I am angry, but you no more want to go back to sea than I to see you go. What can we do? You placed the King upon the throne and now he requires that you kill yourself in keeping him there. First the plague must be dealt with by you and only you; now only you can manage the fleet and beat the Dutch. Why cannot matters stand as they do now? You have done enough to have earned a respite. You are not the man you once were…’ She was rallying and although this precipitated an onslaught Monck was oddly pleased to find her spirit undiminished. ‘Are there not enough of those gallant cavaliers that so proclaimed undying loyalty for the King that you have to suffer and endure obligation after obligation all in the electric name of duty? Why you, George? Why you?’
‘Because the King cannot expose his brother –’
‘To death? No, of course not, but it is a wonderful thing to call old General Monck to stand in his shoes, is it not?’
‘Anne, Anne…’
‘Do not “Anne, Anne” me! The King begets bastards but the Royal prick cannot sire an heir that we must all keep His Highness of York in a jar of preserve! Why do you laugh?’
‘I had not thought of York in a pickle-jar,’ Monck chuckled and neither, it seemed, had Anne, for she too broke off and, sitting up, threw her arms about her husband.
‘Oh, George, George, what are we to do?’
‘What we always do,’ he answered, stroking her hair. ‘Our duty.’
‘But you are a great man, George. You are a Duke; you have earned your rest.’
‘With rank come obligations, Anne. Besides, great man or not, ’twas you who so strongly favoured the King’s return.’ He had her there and she sighed. ‘Perhaps we should think of the men who have no choice in the matter, the men pressed into naval service without a thought for their wives and children.’
‘What choice have you, George?’ she asked sharply, taking her head from his shoulder. ‘None that I can see.’
‘I could refuse, but it would result in a fall from favour that would humiliate you more than me and blight our son’s chances in life. Besides,’ he added, playing to her acquisitive nature, ‘there are rewards to a Commander-in-Chief that do not accrue to the common man.’
Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck Page 54