The Future is Certification
In Week 25 of 1660, things start to look up for Sam – but he can’t help noticing how others aren’t so lucky…
I’m writing to you from my own bed. My own bed! I slept there last night for the first time since my coming from the sea – that’s more than a fortnight ago now. And with my wife too. How lucky am I?
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Indeed, very – for just earlier this afternoon, my Lord and cousin Montagu told me he has obtained a promise of the Navy’s Clerk of the Acts job for me.
At this I am most glad! For sure, this will result in more work for me – certifying officers, commissioning ships, administering payments, etc. But as well as a modest increase in my income, this will also allow me to garner great reputation amongst some of the finest officers of the land – not least, of course, the Lord High Admiral, the Duke of York, his Highness Prince James himself.
I find myself regularly praising God for the joy I’m surrounded by – even during my prayers! At Mr Messum’s chapel this Sunday just gone, I stood by a window, and turned to see there sat Mrs Butler – the great beauty.
In fact, Mr Edward and I wandered around Gray’s Inn straight after that service, and there saw many beauties. It was as if our Lord was determined to prove his England a happy place.
Ah, but I needed some proof. Back then, I had yet to return to both my own bed and my wife. Elisabeth was away at the start of this week, collecting her things from Huntsmoore, and I was very lonely during the nights she was away. Her brother Balty visited on Monday, but he was a poor substitute.
Balty, of course, came to let me know his bad condition, and ask for help securing a home. But alas, he seeks a place for a gentleman, so he may not stain his family. That’s what he seeks; what he needs is bread.
Maybe I’ll soon be in a position to help, though. As well as various bits of business for my Lord this week, I made 5£ writing some letters for Captain Murford, got 5£ more from another captain for a commission agreed over drinks at the Dog Tavern, and finally received my Dutch money from Captain Sparling.
Changing the latter into English money earlier this afternoon has effectively closed the chapter on our sea quest to restore His Majesty, though it will still be some time before living in a monarchy becomes normal again. Yesterday, my cousin Jane related how Lady Middlesex beshit herself in the presence of the King, and people took notice of it. Will she ever live that down?
Some traditions have returned far faster than even Nature was prepared for. Earlier today, His Majesty was due to visit my Lord’s gardens and touch those suffering with the King’s Evil (or scrofula, for those of you so used to banning the monarchy from your lexicon this last decade and a half) – but alas, the rain was so harsh that the service was called off. I believe he later touched them in the banqueting house, though.
Thinking of those poor people being forced to stand all the morning in the rain reminds me of sadder moment from this week, though. On Thursday, my Lord and I went to the Wardrobe, of which he is now the Master. But since Parliament made this building a place for poor children some 15 or so years ago, those wretches were there to greet him.
They sang finely, and my Lord did bid me give them five piece in gold at his going away. But I also overheard my Lord mutter about how he needed to dispose of them, that he may have the house for his own use.
To hear my cousin putting his office above his heart did, or a while, trouble me, especially when this was just two days after the House of Commons gave him thanks for restoring our King. “My Lord,” said the speaker, “you have landed our sovereign upon the safest shore that an English king ever set foot upon: the hearts of his people.”
Hearts you then need to budge out of the way to enjoy your reward from the King himself?
Perhaps my Lord Montagu was reeling somewhat from Mr Annesley quashing the motion to give him a reward. Or maybe it was considering the heartfelt request from his sister, Lady Pickering, who is of course married to one of the judges who sentenced King Charles I to death, and is therefore most concerned about her husband having been exempted from the Act of Indemnity with “a special punishment to fit his case”…
Even so, I hope to see my Lord displaying some more compassion as time moves on. Perhaps he needs to broaden his appreciation of music. I could try sharing with him the skill on the flageolet that I was taught by the royal composer Mr Blagrave the other day – or maybe even convince him to purchase an Angelique, like the one shown to me by Mr Chetwind as we dined at Hargraves this afternoon.
Whatever betides, may I find myself with more opportunities to give relief to the poor myself, as my position advances.
In return for these words of mine, please pay just one word of yours. What one word reveals your greatest concern in life?
Speak with you again soon – and may the Lord bless you and keep you till then!
What one word reveals your greatest concern in life?
'Tis a tricky one, but I think I'd go with "family".