From Clamps to Cramps

The work on Sam’s house comes to an end in Week 19 of 1661 – but it’s left the beginnings of a health concern…

I should be writing this post in a state of bliss, being in a home with all works completed and my wife in bed beside me. But alas, Elisabeth has me both worried for her current state of poor health, and angry for the role she played in bringing it upon herself…

One artist’s impression of my wife’s suffering while I keep her company. – Generated by Substack

Elisabeth has always had a rather sensitive soul. I sometimes think she felt the pain of my Stone just as much as me, and that this was the reason for our ‘old difference’ (which I hate to remember).

So perhaps I should have been prepared for her susceptibility to malady right from the beginning of this week, when we fell into an argument over the beauty of the wife of James Pearse the surgeon.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, agrees that Mrs Pearse is a marvel, a walking Eden – everyone, that is, except Elisabeth. This disagreement meant we passed the last miles of our return from Portsmouth in silence, and perhaps prepared her body for sickness to take root.

We returned to find no more work done in our absence, about which I was greatly troubled. This meant sending Elisabeth back to my father’s, while I continued to oversee the workmen.

The very next day, Mr Creed and I carried out a string of errands for our Lord Sandwich, albeit often stopped in our way by the City’s trained bands of militia heading for the displays before the King and Duke in Hyde Park. The presence of the Duke seemed to confirm the reports that he was not too troubled by the loss of his son of 7 months, which must upset those who dislike the Duke (or, more accurately, his wife), who were pleased that the royal couple had cause to suffer.

To escape the traffic, Mr Creed took me to an Ordinary by the Old Exchange, where all the meals have a fixed price. We had very good cheer for our 18d a piece. The host and his wife sung and played so well that I stayed a great while, and drank a great deal of wine.

That was the end of my joys for the week – and it was only Tuesday.

The following night, amidst the great dirt produced by the workmen, my Elisabeth returned. She was apparently desperate for my affection, having had a foretooth extracted and feeling unwell.

I could hardly send her back, though I let her know how greatly it vexed me that she should bring her frail form into such a dirt-ridden place. Sure enough, the following day, her old pain had returned as well – her particularly harsh form of womankind’s regular affliction.

Her condition deteriorated fast from there, and remains poor as I write these words for you.

Elisabeth’s condition isn’t the root of all my melancholy this week. Uncle Robert wrote to ask my help purchasing a fiddle for his cousin Perkin the Miller, who is hoping to earn from performing for a group of dancing country girls while his mill is broken.

I was happy to help, of course. But it worries me that my uncle didn’t seem able to help his cousin himself. He is my Lord’s bailiff in Brampton, and at one time his income was so high that he could afford a clock. What could have afflicted him now, that he has not the wealth to support his family, and must ask it of me?

Then there’s my boy, Will. I begin to fear he will not take the counsel of his uncle, my friend Robert Blackborne, who tried to reassure me yesterday that his nephew would ever give me good service. Too oft have I recently caught Will with bad company.

So alas, all this has rather outweighed the joys of this week, including that afternoon of merriment at the Ordinary.

My Lord Chamberlain agreeing to provide a job for our cookmaid’s father, the old waterman Payne? Barely registered.

Sir George Carteret promising to pay the remainder of Mr Creed’s bill of some 1,035£, ensuring none of it falls to me? No cause for celebration – though actually, I did celebrate that one, meeting William Child in the street after and feeling so euphoric that I treated him to drinks at The Swan…

In particular, the workmen finally finishing their work today, and to a very good condition? That should have been cause for celebration, but it only resulted in greater angst.

Why? The stresses of the delayed finish and Elisabeth’s affliction had only gone and put me in such a state as to lose my bill for this quarter’s salary, and I had to rush to get a new one signed this morning.

Fortunately, Mr Hater still arrived with my salary this very evening. But full relief is still far from my mind, due in part to Elisabeth’s continued suffering – and in part to the expectation that a significant proportion of that salary may end up in a doctor’s pocket…

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In return for these words of mine, please pay just one word of yours. What one word sums up your thoughts on my week?

Speak with you again soon – and may the Lord bless you and keep you till then!