Business as Use You All
Sam returns home for Week 30 of 1661, hoping for normality to swiftly distract him from recent events…
On Sunday, I made a vow to drink no wine this week, finding it unfits me to look after business. That vow was broken on Friday against my will, and I am much troubled for it. I hope God will forgive me.
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As it was, this week began quite fairly in comparison to the last few. The Stankes prepared a fine Sunday dinner for father and me. That evening, the stepcousins came around, along with our mutual friend Mr Greene and our lawyer Mr Phillips, and we all began to argue – but, at last, we came to some agreement: that my aunt would quit the house in return for 10£.
Since I was to leave my father in Brampton to return to London the following day, that was a huge relief to both of us; he needed suffer her base hypocritical tricks no more. In that moment, it failed to cross my mind that this would leave him in that house alone save for the maid and our cousin Jane…
All other matters around the estate, though, were to be left to the law, which pleased us all, and we broke up pretty well satisfied. Indeed, that same evening I collected 20£ from a William Luffe for the surrender of land in Stirtloe as promised in my Uncle’s Will.
Though my return to London began early (around 4 a-clock), I stopped at Hatfield on the way back to meet a friend of Mr Eglin, my old Magdelene friend. This Mr Looker is gardener for the Earl of Salisbury, and he enabled and accompanied me to view the very beautiful vineyard, house, chapel with rare pictures, and above all the gardens – such as I never saw in all my life, nor so good flowers. Nor so great gooseberries! They were as big as nutmegs…!
The remainder of Monday is something of a blur, as I popped in on various friends and family to let them know I was back, including my Lady Sandwich and my mother. Fortunately, at home Elisabeth made the appearance that all things were as well as I could expect – and so, weary, I fell swiftly to bed.
“Thanks to the thief … there is one less unsightly thing…”
It wasn’t until later in the week that, during one of our early morning conversations, Elisabeth revealed to me that our home was invaded during my absence, and our silver tankard stolen. This vexed me somewhat – less from the loss of the property, but more from Elisabeth’s admission that the theft was due to the negligence of my people to leave the door open.
My vexation didn’t last long, though, since I learned that the thief had also made off with my man Will Hewer’s cloak as well. Thanks to the thief having as poor a judgement of fashion, there is one less unsightly thing hanging in my hallway.
Speaking of cloaks, it was on Tuesday morning that I finally had a chance to clothe myself from my own wardrobe for mourning. I had a good chat with Mrs Michell, the bookseller’s wife, before dinner that day – but come the afternoon, finding myself unfit for business, I went to the Theatre Royal on Vere Street to watch Breneralt.
It seemed a good play, but ill-acted. Luckily, my need for distraction was still satiated – by the presence of Mrs Palmer, the King’s mistress, who sat before me. So I filled my eyes with her, which much pleased me.
I needed that pleasure to carry me through much of the family anguish which continued to follow me around. Uncle Wight continues to groan about my father not including him in his half-brother’s funeral (or maybe he’s groaning about not being included in the Will…). Mother also kept up a persistent tattle, so I felt I couldn’t stay at her home either.
Oh, and Pall – my sister Pall! It troubles me to hear how proud and idle she is grown. I am resolved not to keep her in our home much longer.
“Ah, what a pleasure … To talk with persons of Quality, and to be in command!”
My cousin Thomas, once a magistrate, could give little extra light at all into my Uncle Robert’s estate, though he did believe my Uncle has 500£ to his name – a little more than my father and I have found thus far. I wrote to my father midweek, full of thoughts of the trouble we shall go through before we come to see what will remain to us of our expectations…
And so I continued to seek distractions. The Theatre Royal did not disappoint a second time: The Jovial Crew is as merry and the most innocent play that ever I saw, and was well-performed.
A greater distraction, though, was being back in the office. Ah, what a pleasure that was! To talk with persons of Quality, and to be in command!
Of course, I told them that the estate left me is 200£ a year in land, besides money. I wanted to put an esteem upon myself…
Oh, the delight to throwing myself back amongst the gossip of Westminster! And at such a controversial time, too: Parliament expected to adjourn for a few months, but has been hindered for a day or two. George Montagu told me that many envy Lord Chancellor Edward Hyde, in particular the Duke of Buckingham – but Sir Edward is unlikely to be undermined, not least because the King cannot be without him for his policy and service.
“A Frenchman played this new instrument, I believe they call ‘the gittar’. I doubt it will catch on.”
Of course, it was in throwing myself into this world anew that my vow was broken out of necessity. I met Mr Hill, a fellow of my old college, at the Pope’s Head Alley. He had women with him, and took me into the tavern there for wine. He then proceeded to gush forth about how this week saw a change to the whole state of England as to the Church: the King feels now forced to favour Presbytery, or else the City will leave him.
I doubted this news, especially coming from a Presbyterian such as Mr Hill. But perhaps there is some truth to it, given the great disorder in which I later found Parliament to be…
The finest distraction, though? Being among my Lady Sandwich’s household again. She shows my wife and me the wonderfullest favour in the world, in which I take great content. All today, my Lord’s birthday (but he of course away), we celebrated around Westminster and the Royal Wardrobe.
A Frenchman played this new instrument, I believe they call ‘the gittar’. He played it extremely well, but the instrument itself is but a bawble – I doubt it will catch on. Luckily, we had Captain Cooke call on us with a song or two – and without doubt, he hath the best manner of singing in the world.
We ended our delight just a few hours ago, after Elisabeth and I took my Lord’s daughters Jemima and Pall by water under the bridge to show them our home. We were all very merry.
And yet… I still have not heard back from my father, who, poor man, is still in Brampton all alone. It troubles me: Did he receive my letter and fall ill because of its contents? Have my stepcousins or my aunt reneged on their promises to hassle him no more?
Oh, for these concerns to be a thing of the past…!
In return for these words of mine, please pay just one word of yours. What one word could you share right now to offer me hope, or humour… or both?
Speak with you again soon – and may the Lord bless you and keep you till then!
What one word could you share right now to offer me hope, or humour… or both?
Here's mine: "Retirement."