Jem (and Sam)

by Ferdinand Mount

  At dinner comes a messenger from the Counter, with an Execution against me for the 30 pounds ten shillings given by the last verdict to Field. The man’s name is Thomas, of the Poultry Counter. I sent Griffin with him to the Dolphin, where Sir W. Batten was at dinner; and he being satisfied that I should pay the money, I did cause the money to be paid him and Griffin to tell it out to him in the office.

  They being gone, Llewelyn having again told me by myself that Dering is content to give me 50 pounds if I can sell his Deals to the King, not that I did ever offer to take it or bid Llewelyn bargain for me with him, but did tacitly seem to be willing to do him what service I could in it, and expect his thanks what he thought good.

  Diary of Samuel Pepys, 15 December 1663

  On the way to Seething Lane, we had made a pause at the Globe in Eastcheap to wet our whistles. The mistress of the house had a fresh cask of canary which she spoke warmly of and after a glass or two (or three in Peter’s case) we found ourselves in agreement with her and we gambolled down the street past All Hallows Church like lambs that have found their legs.

  The knock we gave at Mr Pepys’s door would have awakened the dead and indeed Mr Pepys looked as pale as a ghost when he opened the door to us.

  I do not usually stand by the door, he said, but the maids are helping with the dinner and the boy is sick. Yet I suspected that he had been waiting by the door for some other visitor, for he seemed surprised to see us.

  This is a handsome chamber, Peter said, I don’t know when I have seen a finer, Mrs Pepys. And indeed it was handsome with a fire blazing in the grate and two portraits of Mr and Mrs Pepys, though somewhat gloomy, and two globes, for Mr Pepys was giving his wife lessons in geography and the planets. And beyond was Mr Pepys’s study which contained a fine collection of books in an old press that he was resolved to replace, for it was too small. The firelight shone upon the backs of the books and brought me to the conclusion that books do furnish a room as well as any picture.

  It was in truth a snug apartment and I could not but envy Mr Pepys his domestic contentments, and I wished that I too had a wife and an apartment of my own where I could stretch my legs and play the master instead of lodging like a cuckoo in another’s nest and in a connection that dare not avow itself. What had Sam done to deserve Mrs Pepys who was so sweet in her ways and had eyes a man might drown in (though her teeth were imperfect, vide supra)? She too was pale but that was on account of her maladies which Peter tells me come from a swelling or Fistula in her privates (how does he come to know such a thing?) which Mr Hellier the surgeon hath lately cut her for. Theorem: that Mrs Pepys’s incapacity drives Mr Pepys to the stews to piece up his lost contentments, which excuses him somewhat for such trespasses. But I do not believe this, for he is a lecherous fellow and would do it willy-nilly.

  It was a good dinner, though not grand: a joint of salted beef and a fruit tart and Rhenish wine, but the company was dull. Peter Llewelyn told two or three of his stories which I had heard before, and which were too indelicate for Mrs Pepys’s ears. Then he told a story of my lord Sandwich and the slut he keeps down at Chelsea, at which Mr Pepys told him to shut up his discourse, for it was a private matter and none of Llewelyn’s business. To which Mr Llewelyn said that the matter was no longer private because the whole town was talking of it. At which Mr Pepys said that Llewelyn ought to find some better occupation than listening to idle tattle and that he had become embittered since he had been turned out. To which Llewelyn replied that he had rather be a free man than a whoremonger’s lackey. And Mrs Pepys looked pale, and I fretted for I foresaw that the dinner would go by before I had asked Mr Pepys if he could advise me of any free place in the Navy Office.

  But our quarrels were interrupted, for there came a rough knocking at the door and the maid flew down to answer it.

  O sir, it is the man from the prison.

  Mr Pepys went white. He could not speak. His wife ran to his side and put her arms round his neck. Mr Pepys recovered his speech enough to say, let him come up, but the man was already in the room, a little yellow fellow with a moustache.

  Thomas, sir, from the Poultry Counter. Which of you gentlemen is Samuel Pepys, esquire?

  I am he, said Sam, standing up, setting his wig straight and taking off the napkin from his neck.

  I have a writ of execution against you on behalf of Edward Field, esquire for the thirty pounds ten shillings given him by verdict of the court on Friday last, which you must pay or go straight to jail, sir.

  I’m aware of the matter, says Sam, essaying to speak as though there were a dozen such suits against him every day, it is a trivial thing. Will you go with my man Griffin down to Sir William Batten at the Dolphin so that he may settle it?

  My orders are to settle with you, sir.

  You know who Sir William Batten is, do you not? He is Surveyor of the Navy. The matter concerns the Navy’s honour. I can’t proceed in it without his consent.

  Yes, sir, very well, sir. And the miserable little fellow trotted off with the doorkeeper to the great Sir William who was at dinner in Tower Street and within ten minutes returned saying:

  He says: Pay.

  Which Mr Pepys duly did with a flourish, as though it were an act of charity and not to keep himself out of prison. And after the man had gone he was at his ease again and told us the whole story, which was in truth long and tedious, videlicet: Field had accused the Board of failing to arrest one Turpin who had, he said, stolen timber, Field himself was arrested for slander but got free because he showed proof that the Board had no power to arrest a man within the City, Field then brought a suit against Pepys, and Batten brought a suit against Field, etc., etc. Lord, how tedious these lawyers’ affairs are, and how they seduce the wits of ordinary men who get entangled in them. Mr Pepys droned on and I looked into his wife’s eyes and listened to her gentle voice (there was as yet a touch of French in it, I fancied, for her parents were Huguenots) as she pressed me to another piece of tart. Then, ah what delight, I felt a silken leg alongside my own, and it began to stroke mine as a cat rubs its fur against a table – and then I saw Llewelyn laughing like a donkey and knew whose leg it was. Meanwhile, Mr Pepys:

  It was a matter for the City magistrates in the first instance, I’ll admit that, our counsel was poor, yet the gravamen of the original charge . . .

  And I began again to despair of ever mentioning my matter to him, for he was in full spate by his own fireside and a regiment of Ironsides would not have halted him.

  But little Peter Llewelyn, inebriated though he was, knew the trick.

  If you are looking for an honest timber merchant, might I remind you . . .

  Ah yes, said Sam, there is a small matter between us, isn’t there? I had quite forgot, I’ve had so much to think on. Let us retire, then we shan’t weary the company with the particulars of our business.

  They went into the study and shut the door behind them. We were alone together, Mrs Pepys and I, for the first time.

  Although it was winter, she wore a black silk taffeta gown, low at the waist, as was now the fashion, and open below to show the petticoat, which was of a lemon yellow. She wore her hair loose, for she was at home, and it tumbled about her bare shoulders. Her skin was fair, almost white, she could have been a child (she was only twenty-three years old) but that her breasts were as round as apples. There was a look about her eye which carried some such sly message as keep off but come again – or so I fancied. I have spoken before of her teeth, unkindly, but now by the light of her own face they seemed almost to bite into her lower lip as though she were tasting some succulent fruit.

  It’s so long since we last met, I said.

  I don’t go out much, except to my mother and Mr Pepys’s friends.

  Why not?

  I was very young when we were first married, and Mr Pepys thought I’d be shy in company, so we have lived very quietly – or I have.

  Don’t you like to go out?

  Oh yes, I am fond of the play and
weddings and many other things, but – I don’t like to say this for it has a presumptuous sound – Mr Pepys is a jealous man and he doesn’t like to see a man talk to me unless he be very old.

  And you – are you jealous?

  She laughed and said, Yes I am, but you should not ask me such things.

  We are old friends, Mr Pepys and I. There is no harm in the question.

  He would not care to hear that I had talked with you so freely.

  Well then, you need not tell him. But I think you should go out more often. A beautiful flower should breathe the pure air and feel the sun upon her petals.

  I go to my parents, but the air is not very pure there, for they have a place in Long-Acre which is among all the bad houses and I don’t like my husband to see them in such condition, so he sets me down upon the corner of Covent Garden.

  What is your father by profession?

  In the late King’s reign he was a carver to the Queen, an excellent workman in wood, but he had a quarrel with one of her friars, upon some religious matter, and he punched the friar upon the nose and was dismissed, he is a Protestant but because he is French he has trouble in finding work. Mr Pepys is very good to him. He employs him to make fine rules upon the paper in his office and to repair the tables, but I weep to see him engaged upon such tasks, which are so inferior to his talents. You must know that he is an inventor – and her round eyes seemed to swell and brim as she thought of her father and his ill-fortune.

  An inventor?

  He has invented a machine for removing the smoke from chimneys, and for keeping the water in ponds clean so that horses may drink from them, and he has perfected a device for making ornamental bricks in any design you fancy – with leaves, or crowns, or letters upon them. And he has patent licences upon all of them, so that no one may copy his machines with impunity.

  He must be a grand projector.

  You mean a cheat?

  No, no, not at all. I meant a man who sees further than others, one who has the visionary eye.

  Sometimes I think he sees too far. I wish he would look nearer home and see to his own affairs, but he says he has no time. He is presently working on a project which is so private and so extraordinary that I am to tell no one of it, not even my husband, but then I don’t think he cares to hear, for he thinks little of my father.

  You may tell me, I’m as secret as the grave.

  No, no, I must not, I promised him I wouldn’t.

  And I promise you I won’t speak a word of it to any one. There is my promise – and I took her little hand and pressed it warmly and held it for above a minute that she might see there was more feeling in the pressure than was necessary for the promise alone.

  Well then, if you are sure – perhaps it is really of no great consequence, so long as he does not hear of it, it is a – and here she bent low to my ear, so that I could feel her sweet breath upon my cheek, but we were both trembling so much that she could only mutter and I could not hear.

  A what?

  A perpetuum mobile. Do you not know what that is?

  Certainly I know, I misheard you, that is all. It is a machine that operates in perpetuity, ad saecula saeculorum, without any horse to pull it, or water to drive it, or any other thing.

  Oh it is such a pretty device with little iron balls that run along channels and into buckets that pass through other channels that are filled with water. He intends that Prince Rupert should come to see it when it is complete, for the Prince is a great projector and has but lately made a machine that draws pictures without a man’s hand guiding it, and also a metal that is indistinguishable from gold but made all of baser metals, I know not which ones. Also he has made chemical glass drops which shatter to dust if you break off the little end, which is a great mystery and Mr Honeywood showed us. If Prince Rupert approves the machine, why then my father’s fortune is made.

  And does it work, this perpetuum mobile?

  It must be built upon a larger scale, my father says, for then there will be less friction and the energy of the machine will never be exhausted.

  I should not want there to be no more friction, I said and rubbed her hand with my own as one rubs a sore spot, gently.

  Oh Mr Mount.

  Jem, I said, call me Jem.

  Just then there was a noise of a door opening. Llewelyn and Pepys must have finished their conference, and they laughed as they came along the passage.

  Do you care for cards? she said quickly in a low voice.

  Yes, yes, I said, although I had scarcely played at cards above three times in my life.

  My husband doesn’t. Though Mrs Jemimah Mountagu taught him cribbage, yet he can’t keep the rules in his head, but he is often late at the office and I like to take a hand with Mr Pierce the surgeon and his wife, she is another Elizabeth and very beautiful.

  She could not be more beautiful than the Elizabeth I know already, I whispered as her husband came back into the dining-room with Llewelyn, both of them being as smug as dormice. I spoke so low that I did not know whether she had heard me, but her eyes told me that she heard well enough.

  Up and to the office, where all the morning sitting. And at noon to the Change, and there I found and brought home Mr Pierce the surgeon to dinner – where I find also Mr Llewelyn and Mount – and merry at dinner – but their discourse so free about claps and other foul discourse that I was weary of them. But after dinner Llewelyn took me up with him to my chamber, and there he told me how Dering did intend to be as good as his word, to give me fifty pounds for the service I did him, though not so great as he expected and I intended. But I told him that I would not sell my liberty to any man. If he would give me anything by another’s hand, I would endeavour to deserve it, but I will never give him himself thanks for it, nor acknowledge the receiving of any – which he told me was reasonable. I did also tell him that neither this nor anything should make me to do anything that should not be for the King’s service besides. So we parted, and I left them three at home with my wife going to cards, and I to my office and there stayed late.

  Diary of Samuel Pepys, 29 December 1663

  Every day thereafter I waited for an invitation from Mrs Pepys, for I fancied that she was of an ardent disposition, though she seemed so modest, and would not abide a long parting once the conversation between us was begun, for though she had not declared herself in speech, yet her eyes spoke. But a fortnight passed, and it was Christmas and I had returned from church with Nan but ten minutes earlier, and she was taking off her beaver fur when Griffin the Navy Office man came with a letter.

  That’s a woman’s hand, Nan said, and tried to seize the letter from me, but I was too quick for her.

  Oh it’s merely an invitation to dinner and to play cards, from Mrs Pepys, the clerk’s wife.

  She is handsome, I dare say.

  Scarcely. She is a pale thing, little more than a girl. We are old friends, Pepys and I. As I told you, we were clerks together in Cromwell’s time.

  Why doesn’t Mr Pepys invite you?

  He is a busy man.

  Shall you go?

  Yes.

  I may have need of you that day.

  Well, if you have need of me, I shan’t go. The day is Tuesday.

  Oh go then, go. You need the company of fledglings. You have roosted with old birds too long, no, don’t deny it. I can discern the weariness in your look, I don’t deceive myself.

  Nan, you know that my passion for you burns brighter with each year.

  Such stale speeches. I am sure they are more to Mrs Pepys’s taste than mine. Be off with you, I await a delegation of Russian merchants who come smartly upon their cue, for this old beaver has become a nest of moths. Go take your ease with your little clerks and their little wives.

  I left her with a sensation of relief. Of late she had become bitter towards me, seeing fault where I had sought only to please. She seemed to love her jewel-box more than me. I took refuge in the buttery downstairs, and more than once sat on a cask in the
cool dark and drank a bottle of the old canary wine that the General loved. But even there, she would hound me – Jem, you drink too much, a gentleman-usher should set an example – so that I came to dread the rustle of her skirts on the stone stair.

  Thus I lived through the three days before my dinner with Mrs Pepys in burning impatience. I foresaw the two of us with our heads together over the cards, her little white teeth biting her underlip as she pondered whether to play a knave or a king while my hand might brush against her thigh as I picked up a card that had fallen. The day before the dies amoris, I dropped upon the Golden Fleece for a glass of sack to keep out the cold and there chanced on Llewelyn who was finishing a glass of ditto.

  Ha, Jem, I cannot stay, I must off to Deptford to view a fresh cargo of Norway firs, but we shall meet tomorrow.

  Shall we?

  Yes, with Mrs Pepys at cards. We are to teach her ombre which is a new game lately arrived from Spain and is for three persons.

  When I presented myself at Seething Lane, there Llewelyn was on the doorstep before me. We went in together to Mrs Pepys who was in a white taffeta gown, with roses embroidered upon it, very pretty and costly. Not five minutes later, I was further sunk in despair for in came Mr Pepys with Mr Pierce, the Duke’s surgeon, whom he had found on the Exchange.

  This Pierce may be an eminent doctor, Mr Pepys swears by him, but he neglects one element in his profession, the one that Hippocrates himself imposed, viz. to stand mum about the affairs of his patients.

  His manner of talk was thus (though I cannot remember the half of it):

  All the world thinks that the King has set Lady Castlemaine by, but it is not so for he lay with her Wednesday last, having lain with the Queen but two days earlier and that was for the first time in a month, which gave her great pleasure, but Mr Frazer tells me that she, Lady Castlemaine I mean, complains of a great soreness in her parts, which I trust is but the result of the frequent traffic in that highway and nothing of more serious import, else the entire court will be poxed although the half of them are already afflicted. Mr Collins tells me that the Prince has the most fearsome sores rising up his body and likely to break out upon his head and . . .