Your business, sir? this fellow had the insolence to inquire.
I am Her Grace’s secretary.
Her Highness has instructed me to admit no one without appointment.
I have a permanent appointment, I said and strode past him.
Angered now, I threw open the door to find her seated on a red velvet chair which had been placed on a platform at the end of the room as though she were giving audience.
She was wearing her saffron gown, the one that had been splashed with Kit’s haemorrhage and she would not have cleaned.
You omit your reverence, sir, would you mock me?
May I speak to you plainly? It is nothing to me whether I bow half a dozen times to you or not at all, but your women are much put out and they are talking of quitting your service (not true, but I hoped to beat some sense into her).
There is insolence everywhere. I am at a loss to find a decent waiting-woman. It will be worse when I am married again, for then I shall require a proper household and this riff-raff will not do.
Married again?
It is unfitting for a person of my station to remain unmarried. I have told the Queen so. It will not be an easy match, for I will have none but a crowned head.
You told the Queen that?
Certainly. Who may I confide in if not in persons of my own rank?
She sat exceedingly upright in her chair, rigid as a chess piece, her hair as tangled as a bramble. At her side was a silver ewer with water in it. She was much given to washing her hands, the Wright sisters said.
After the fellow in the wig had shut the door behind me, I stood irresolute in the passage. No, more than irresolute, I was also much distressed. She was too frail a vessel for such great expectations to be embarked on her.
I climbed the stairs to Dr Sloane’s room in the upper passage. He was in his collecting-chamber, arraying insects in a long glass case that stood by the window.
You remember this little fellow, Jeremiah? Formica fusca minima antennis longissimis I have christened him. This is the one that would eat everything: sugar-cane, dead cockroaches, even my humming-birds, so I hung them by a string from the ceiling and even then the ant found a way.
I contemplated the little brown ant with polite indifference, before beginning:
Dr Sloane, Her Grace is gone stark mad.
She is undergoing some degree of mental disturbance. That is true, but it is only to be expected after her bereavement. I have presented her a simple diet, without oatmeal or cheese, and a marmalade of quinces to settle her stomach, which is her weakest organ.
Marmalade will not recover her wits.
What would you have me do? Beseech her parents to confine her to Bedlam or to one of the private madhouses? Would you rather she were rattling her chains on common straw? No, my friend, time is the only healer in such psychical afflictions.
What afflictions?
It would appear to be a species of dementia, although I would not exclude the possibility of intermittent fits of acute mania. Dr Barwick is of the same opinion, although such diseases do not fall within his bailiwick. I have not yet had the opinion of Dr Sydenham.
Mania, dementia, these are all but words for madness. They tell us nothing.
It is true, said Dr Sloane, closing his long glass case and locking it with care, as though his ants would be the first things a thief would steal: It is true, I confess it plainly, that at present our knowledge of these diseases of the brain is but imperfect. We look forward to the day when we may prescribe medicine for mania and dementia as we now prescribe it for headaches and diarrhoea. But till then –
Marmalade.
We prescribe rest and quiet, nothing to disrupt the mind or the body.
And her fantasies, her command that we must bow three times to her and reverence her as though she were of the blood royal?
We must not agitate her. She must come to her senses of her own accord. This morning she appointed me her court physician. If I am to be of service to her, I must keep her trust, so I’ve sent to the heralds for them to draw up letters patent for my appointment, that she may sign them. A goldsmith on Clerkenwell Green is making up my badge of office with a red ribbon.
When she came out of her cabinet into the great chamber to dine, I bowed low three times. To my surprise, she smiled upon me.
Chamberlain, you are late. You must escort me.
I beg pardon, Your Highness.
And you have no chain of office. I cannot have a chamberlain without a chain. Dr Sloane knows of a goldsmith, he will attend to the matter.
So our little court in the kingdom of Clerkenwell took shape. The sisters Wright became Mistresses of the Robes and bruised their hips black and blue as they backed into chests and cupboards and tables. Dr Sloane became the Court Physician and daily prescribed her pills that he presented in a little gold box with her arms upon it (though the pills were nothing but sugar and camomile). And I was Court Chamberlain to Her Highness with a long white wand and a gold chain which I left in the porter’s box when I went out that I might not be a laughing-stock on the Exchange.
My heart failed whenever I climbed the steps to that great gloomy house and entered into her dismal fairyland.
But if the fairy queen were to awake, would she fall in love with the first man her eye lighted upon? That was our dread, for she was but thirty-six years old and had not yet abandoned all hope of a child. Her old father had died that year and with his expiring breath he had prayed that she might marry again, and she was not disposed to disobey him in a matter where her will was the same as his.
She went out only to wait upon one or other of the Queens (I mean Queen Mary and Queen Catherine) or the Princess Anne, for she said there was no other decent society in England. The sisters Wright said it was as much trouble as to launch a galleon to prepare her for court. Her hair must be combed for upwards of an hour, then she must be bathed and painted and three or four gowns tried before she found one that was to her taste. Then off she would go down the steps, very stiff and stately, and into her father’s old carriage. Dr Sloane would go out to visit his patients and I would go to the coffee-house, but all day we would be fearing lest some fortune-hunter at court might have ensnared her, for she was ignorant in the ways of the world, having been married aet. sixteen.
Yet it seemed she had a stronger protector than wisdom or experience, viz. her false sense of her own position.
There was none but canaille there, she would tell the sisters Wright as they undressed her: I am astonished that Her Majesty should tolerate such common people about her.
Then we would read in the Gazette that in truth she had been at a grand assembly full of great lords, ambassadors, etc. Undeterred, the fortune-hunters kept their noses on the scent and at last ran her to ground at Clerkenwell.
Mr Savile presents his compliments, ma’am, and begs to inquire whether he may have the honour of renewing the acquaintance which he made so pleasantly at Hampton Court last week.
He may not, for there was no such acquaintance. I know of no Mr Savile.
I believe he is Lord Halifax’s brother, Your Highness.
If he wishes to offer his services as a gentleman-usher or a groom of the chambers, I shall have no objection.
I believe he wished to discourse with you on a somewhat different footing.
In that case, you had best make the matter plain by asking him to come in by the back entrance.
I thought it kinder to tell Mr Savile that Her Grace was not well and that in any case she did not entertain at home.
Mr Savile wrote, letter upon letter. She declared the letters ill-bred and ill-spelled, though she was the worst speller I ever met with, even amongst ladies. But she read them.
Lord Roos was worse. He sent her verses, which she read out to us in an affected high voice as though she were calling across an abyss:
There’s not a lily fairer blows
Nor cowslip in the dell,
Than my Eliza, England’s rose,
The Queen of Clerkenwell.
Yet shall her doors be ever locked
Against her truest swain?
However oft my way is block’d
I shall return again.
What an impertinent blockhead he is, she cried, though I could see she liked the verse. Eliza indeed, I shall Eliza him. Perhaps I ought to speak to him – but no, it would not be fitting.
At which we breathed a sigh of relief, for Lord Roos was known to have his ways with ladies – he was a pretty lad, though toothy, and her royal reserve might melt in his proximity.
The strangeness of our state was that we became accustomed to it. Behind the great doors of the house we acted in all respects as though we were at Court, while outside we carried on our business as any other citizen might do in workaday fashion. For my own part, I had never been so busy in my life. My correspondence with a dozen brokers, my search for intelligence from my fellow insurers and their agents, my deposits with the leading bankers of the city – all these matters consumed my waking hours, and when the boy gave me a letter in a fine envelope with a handsome seal upon it, I thought it must come from one of them.
Sir (the letter said)
If you would wait at the corner of Covent Garden by St Paul’s Church at ten o’clock tonight, I shall have the honour of letting you know of a piece of business that might advantage us both.
Tour most humble servant
Ralph Mt.
I shall be in a closed coach and I will show you a yellow glove at the window of it.
At first I thought this to be a letter from my cousin Fluffy Ralph come back to dun me in my days of prosperity, but then I remembered that Fluffy Ralph was long dead.
But I was not one to turn away business, though the manner of its approach were murky. So I determined to do as he said and see what transpired.
It was a warm summer night, and the press of carriages about the piazza was so great that I feared lest I might miss my man. It was a quarter after ten by the church clock when a heavy coach that had cloths draped over its doors, so that the arms were hidden, drove up and came to a halt on the King Street corner.
For a minute or so, nothing. Then a hand in a yellow glove appeared at the window and began to go to and fro, to and fro as regular as a pendulum.
I went up to the coach and knocked on the window. The hand disappeared. The door opened. The gloved hand beckoned me inside. Trembling, I obeyed.
Inside, the hand dragged me down on the seat. I found myself beside a short, fat, swarthy man, of coarse complexion (his skin was as pock-fretted as the surface of Vesuvius). There was scarce room for us both on the bench.
You know who I am, do you not?
Yes, I do know.
And I did. For this was no member of my own family (fool that I was to think so) but Ralph Mountagu, Lord Mountagu, the most notorious lecher and turncoat of his age. He had betrayed England to France, then he had betrayed his trusting master King Charles, in favour of Monmouth, then he had fled to France, then he had come back and sworn eternal loyalty to King James, then he had betrayed James for Monmouth again, then he had been the first to come out for William and if he paid court to the Devil, he would sooner or later betray him too. (He was a distant cousin of that other Mountagu, Pepys’s lord that was afterwards Earl of Sandwich.)
Well then, you know I am a widower.
Yes.
And you know my house burnt down, the one in Bloomsbury I mean, and I rebuilt it at great cost.
Yes, it is very splendid.
Well then, I need a wife. I mean to marry your mistress. They tell me you have influence with her.
You do not think . . .
What, that I’m too old for her? Let me tell you, sir, I have had some successes with women. The Comte de Grammont was good enough to say I had no equal in that pursuit. If you’ve got the knack, sir, you never lose it.
No, sir, I didn’t mean that. It is only . . .
What?
Well, my mistress says she will have none but a crowned head. To give her hand to, I mean.
Tush, sir, do you think I don’t know that proviso? It’s the talk of the town. That’s why I am consulting you, because I have a stratagem and I shall need your assistance.
A stratagem?
Yes, I mean to woo her in the character of the Emperor of China.
The Emperor of . . .
Yes, the device is nicely calculated. In the case of European royalty, she would have some acquaintance with their names, characters, quarterings, etc. But with the Emperor of China, she’ll be as ignorant as I’ll wager you are.
But you don’t look . . .
Look like him? Sir, when you have seen my costume, you’ll be totally persuaded yourself for all that you know to the contrary. And I shall bring gifts and be attended by a brilliant train. That is where I shall need your assistance.
Assistance?
First you must scatter the ground-bait: say, I hear the Emperor of China is in town, will see none but the King and Queen, and that privately. Then a little later, say, it is said he has expressed a wish to wait upon Your Highness, etc., then bring news of his attendants, his dress, his manners, all so that when you usher me into her presence she will know it could be none other than the Emperor himself.
No.
How do you mean, no?
I will not do it.
Will not?
No, it is a vile imposture upon a lady who is not in her right mind. You take advantage of her weakness.
There was a silence. My resistance had amazed him. I confess it amazed me too. The words spurted from my mouth, as it were, without my volition.
I forgot to say that you would be well rewarded. There would be a fee payable now and another thereafter upon the success of the courtship.
He spoke mildly as though I had presented only some trivial objection to the business in hand.
No, never. I could not do it.
You’ll regret it, sir. I will even say, though I make no threat, that you will pay for it. I advise you to reconsider. My offer stands.
So does my refusal.
Well then we have no more to say to one another. You know where to find me, if your mind alters.
His gross little body trembled beside me as though he were finding some difficulty in restraining his anger, knowing that, despite our disagreement, he might later have need of my complaisance.
I tumbled out of his coach, glad to be away from this foul serpent of a man and to breathe the free air of Covent Garden.
How long was it after? Three weeks? It may be a month that I came upon one of the women washing the steps, as I was going out of a morning.
Well, this is very good, Tabby.
The Emperor wouldn’t want to walk upon dirty steps, would he, sir? Them Chinese shoes is very dainty, ain’t they?
What?
I ran back into the house and up the stairs to Dr Sloane’s lodging. He was putting his instruments in his bag before he went off to visit his patients.
Have you heard?
About what?
This monstrous deception that Lord Mountagu intends upon Her Grace.
Ah yes, the quack-emperor. I confess I’m somewhat disturbed by the project. I wish I’d been consulted at an earlier stage.
You were consulted, then?
Alas, too late.
How can it be too late? The Emperor is not yet come to call.
Too late to undeceive her without serious risk to her health. She is firmly persuaded that the Emperor is about to pay court to her. We can’t tell her that it is in truth none but Ralph Mountagu.
Surely we can say that, alas, the Emperor is gone away, or changed his mind, or been taken ill?
But Mountagu will come whether we like it or no. I hear that he has spent a great deal on the China trade already.
How was she misled in the first place?
The sisters Wright were the conduit. They passed a series of messages from Lord Mountagu. By the time he c
onsulted me, she was already persuaded.
He consulted you?
Yes, well, he said that in view of her delicate health he wished to gain my confidence, would retain my services throughout and not proceed without my co-operation.
So you had only to deny your co-operation and the vile scheme would be aborted?
Unfortunately the lady was already persuaded. You know how stubborn she is. I fear for her mind if she is told she has been gulled. In any case, she won’t believe it, so I thought it my duty to accept his offer, strictly in Her Grace’s interests.
So you are forwarding this wicked thing?
I have the oversight of it, yes. If at any stage I think that her interests would be better served if the marriage did not go forward, I shall say so plainly.
Have you taken a fee from Mountagu?
My arrangements with my patients must remain private. You may be sure that I will do what I can for the poor lady. And now I must be off, or my other patients will wonder where I am gone.
I followed him down the stairs, my head in a whirl of anger and confusion.
At the foot of the stairs, one of the Wright sisters came up to me with a bold look on her face.
Her Grace’s compliments, sir, and would you be so good as to avoid the great chamber and its approach this afternoon, for she has a visitor who wishes to come in confidence and not be seen by the household.
Damn your impudence, I’ll go in and speak to her now this minute.
You will not, sir, for she isn’t dressed and the rest of the morning she will be at her toilet.
Without another word I rushed out of the house. My fury was so great that I was halfway down John Street before my reason asserted itself. It might be that my mistress was in her soul not as mad as she pretended, that she could at the last be disabused of her fantasies, or that Lord Mountagu’s costume and his person in it would make so ludicrous an effect that she would burst out laughing. Thus it seemed to me that I must somehow be present at this absurd masque. Accordingly, I cut short my business in the City and returned to the house in the afternoon by a back way.
There was a little chamber behind the stairs where the porter kept brooms and poles for lighting the lamps and other such things. I squeezed myself into the narrow room that remained and prepared to wait. It was not much above an hour.
Jem (and Sam) Page 38
