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Progress Reports for Prince Rupert | 30/12 am- Xmas 1677


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Prince Rupert resided, while in London, in a collection of well appointed rooms that carried a theme of Rhenish design, which created a rather interesting contrast to the bold Gothic architecture, for this was one of the older parts of the palace. The Duke held only modest accommodations at Whitehall, his main residence being at Windsor Castle. His common law wife Peg Hughes also resided here during the season.

 

Upon entrance the visitor would note the rose wood and the many roses about the room. The rest of the interior basked in masculinity, military shields, banners and rifles, collections of weapons simply everywhere. The visitor would await the Duke's pleasure in the receiving room, where the deeper part of the apartment revealed a study, a drawing room for ladies and two bedrooms as well as rooms for servants.

 

After having met with Pepys and spoken to a few lords about their naval needs, Beverley had more to do that morning than sort through correspondence and prioritize it. As was his custom he showed up to the Prince's rooms in the morning and set about his tasks, but this time he had the stack of papers given to him by Pepys sitting upon his master's desk as well.

 

He still needed to speak to the Lord Chancellor for ideas, but he had wished to speak to his father and Lord Worcester first so that he might not seem a complete ignoramus of what the law might allow with raising funds. He was hoping to cross paths with the Lord Chancellor later that day or the next. In the meantime, Pepys had given what they had needed as well as his own thoughts on funding.

 

Whilst he waited for Rupert to make his appearance, he began writing responses to the mundane requests.

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It was ten o'clock promptly when Rupert emerged from his chamber. He had taken to sleeping in a bit for the winter.

 

Seeing his aide, the Prince greeted him amiably. "Good morning Beverley." He did not know whether the younger man might have a report or not, so made no inquiry. Rather, he proceeded to collect the hot tea that was offered him by a servant.

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"Good morning, Your Highness," Beverley replied.

 

Ever-aware that being direct was his master's favoured method, he launched right into his updates.

 

"I have the information from Mister Pepys. The office rallyed in a way worthy of the Navy and had the vast majority of the information overnight!" His face reflected the task with the widening of dark, hazel eyes.

 

"During Christmastide such dedication to your causes speaks very well of Pepys and his clerks."

 

He gave a nod and then went to his next update, "I have spoken to a few lords about funding cannon and have also come up with an additional idea and there is also one from Mister Pepys."

 

He left it up to his master which he wished to hear about first.

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"Mr. Pepys is an industrious sort, so it should not surprise me that he exceeds expectations." He moved closer as if to collect the documents and then thought better of it. He really did not need to spend the next hour pouring over journals. "Give me a summary of the report and then tell me what you have been hearing," he encouraged.

 

There was a comfortable chair nearby and the Prince moved to take a seat. It was often his practice to be seated near his aide as the younger man provided information. The hot tea had cooled sufficiently that Rupert began to sip it lightly.

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"He reports we have plenty of experienced captains, but the crews grow restless about coin. It has put stress on our abilities to make all repairs which is, well, not very good news, Sir." He sighed, not wishing to be the bearer of it, but that was one of his duties, unfortunately. It was better to say it than to run circles around the issue.

 

"I thought some of these matters with funding had been settled previously, something to do with that Langland fellow and the bank?" He had been in Ireland collecting Annie with his father around that time so had no first-hand knowledge of such things.

 

"The lesser ships seem to be suffering from Pepys' estimation. That will need to be addressed."

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There was a baritone groan as the news of sailor pay and morale was revealed. It was not unexpected. As High Admiral, he knew of the shortcomings in the fleet generally.

 

"The Bank of England was supposed to be a wondrous thing, sprouting gold in every direction," Rupert grumbled. "If it is making any money at all it is being kept by the bank for its reserves." It was with a grimace that he took another sip of tea. "It will not have been the first time that Lords has found lofty promises to be met with shallow results. We shall just need to think of alternative sources of revenue. How go your contemplations in that regard?"

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"Have we no recourse against the bank to get what we were promised?" Beverley asked, his brow furrowing in thought and no entire understanding of what was promised to begin with. "With Master Pepys skill, perhaps we should have his audit it," he added, with a chuckle.

 

No matter what the situation was, there was little choice but to move forward.

 

"Well, I was thinking we could perhaps sell off the ability to have something inscribed on one of the new cannon. That way if one could not kill French in person, at least in name and spirit?" The look on his face said he knew it was something of an odd idea. "I had been speaking to Lord Chatham, an officer of a foot regiment it seems, and he rather liked it. He is quite supportive of the effort, so I am trying to garner funding from him. A few words of attention from Your Highness personally might not hurt."

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"An audit would be a good idea," Rupert admitted, "though I doubt they would let the Navy in. Perhaps someone in the Treasury could be tasked by the King. Danby cannot be trusted surely." It was more an outlet of disappointment than a passion for the idea. He expected little from bureaucrats generally.

 

Beverley explained the novel idea for raising funds. Rupert had not considered such a campaign. "An interesting idea," he replied as he thought through the possibilities. "They would pay to inscribe a family name perhaps?" He wondered silently what would happen if the cannon exploded. Would the patron be told? "So, the idea is to solicit sponsors for each new cannon? How much do you think a family might pay?" He had heard that his niece had raised significant funds in a candle lighting event, so perhaps there was spare gold to be had for cannon. "How many sponsors might we expect?" He could think of a dozen or two, but perhaps Beverley had something else in mind.

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"And it would likely take far longer than Parliament..." Beverley added, also throwing out the idea.

 

His ideas about the cannon had more promise. "A name or whatever they might like, that is the idea, Sir." Beverley nodded. "It would cover some of the costs, and you know how lords can get over any competitive issue. Some of those wishing to fight and not being able to might also make such a purchase to fight in their stead." As to how many people they could expect, well, that was harder to estimate.

 

"I've spoken to three of such an idea or of donating money for cannon outright. Two of three have been quite receptive, the other I think must lack in coin but quietly so. In the right circumstances I believe Lord Chichester might make a generous contribution."

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No specific sum was mentioned and Rupert was imagining something like 50 pounds per sponsor but gave no voice to the number. "Every bit would help and you might be correct that it would serve as an alternative to service in war." He paused then to wonder whether that might provide some gentry a way to avoid military service completely, which was an unwelcome image.

 

"I cannot imagine that there could be any objection from the Crown or Parliament." He would see to it that the Admiralty would not object. "Perhaps the next step is to create a list and have gentleman provide firm commitments so that we might present the idea to the King with a ready list of volunteers," he suggested. "Perhaps you could use the merriment of New Year's to solicit a wide array of gentlemen."

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  • 2 weeks later...

Beverley had asked for far more than 50 pounds since the cost of the cannon were 300 apiece, but then again Beverley thought strategically. Peers could sometimes be made to put exorbitant amounts on even frivolous things, let alone useful things. He had catered the amount to his measure of the target at the time.

 

"Might I suggest the potential fruitfulness of meeting with Lord Chichester? I made mention he might meet with you to discuss a more particular sort of generosity than what the multitude are offering." Implied was that Beverley would be happy to facilitate it. Lord Chichester had a good fortune if one judged by his acute tastes in fashion and other extravagances. Some of that coin could be put to uses that would benefit them as much as his friend.

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"Chichester? You mean the earl who spent time in the Tower for confessing to have murdered his betrothed that was already dead?" There was a small measure of mirth in his voice. "Is he the one who should lead this?" The question was obvious.

 

"You have obviously spent some time with the man. What do you think of him? If you recommend that I speak with him, I surely shall." His teacup was empty and he signaled a nearby servant to fetch more.

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  • 2 weeks later...

"I did not say lead, Your Highness," Beverley said, with a smile that held back a chuckle of his own mirth. "But for all the reasons mentioned, the earl wishes to remake himself at court. A Sisyphean task for any man, but Chichester had the coin to ease such burdens. I think he could be convinced to make a large contribution in return for an acclamation of such at Lords or some court event. I believe he thinks even to convert and wishes to show he no lover of meddling, foreign Catholics."

 

Beverley licked his lips and added, "I think it is quite worth it if you wish not to fully wait for Parliament to vote whatever funding they might. Besides, if someone people see as a Catholic donates to our Naval efforts, then no man could be a good Protestant and not do so as well. Everything can be, erm, slanted in a useful direction."

 

There were many things where Beverley had no skill, but his mind was well-suited to strategy and action.

 

"A commendation from a prince can aid in fixing many ills, and you could make an agreement very generous to your desires with the earl, I think."

 

There were others far more useful for leading, but who knew what use Chichester could be in time, if he made the right changes.

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"Ah, I see now," the older man agreed as he received a fresh cup of hot tea. "Yes, it makes perfect sense. He wishes to cast off the coat that has dragged him down. It could work." He found himself nodding as he sipped the fresh cup.

 

"Tell him I shall meet with him. If he is generous enough and speaks up in Lords in support of our causes, I shall be certain to speak well of him in the chamber." That was easy enough, and it was the way that favors were exchanged at court. "When do you propose this meeting? You know my schedule. It is fairly open at present," he noted with a bored voice.

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"Perhaps Saturday? It is a day for goodwill and gifts," Beverley replied. Which was to say that perhaps Lord Chichester might note the symbolism that it was also a day in which one usually paid visits to their patron at court.

 

"Was there a date for when you were celebrating for your daughter's birthday?" Beverley asked. He had not forgotten the issue of Ruperta and riding lessons, nor that it was shortly her birthday. "Was there success with finding a pony?"

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"Ja, Saturday will suit," Rupert agreed, "though let's have it during the day." He tended to tire in the evening hours these days. The afternoon was likely the best time.

 

"Bah," came the reply about the pony. "She insists upon only a white pony. She fancies a unicorn after seeing the depiction of one. I am not going to buy an Arabian pony. I do not know if such a thing exists in London, nor am I inclined to purchase an Arabian colt. Peg is insisting that she can find one, but there is only one day left. She will fail. I have had a toymaker work on a stuffed unicorn toy. Peg spoils the girl," he complained, though Robert knew that the Prince did too.

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Beverley raised his brows as Rupert said his daughter was demanding a white pony.

 

"Well, Your Highness, why bother with flighty Arabians anyway?" Beverley asked. "I am sure you can find a pony that is white in another breed. Ladies do not understand enough about horses." The viscount easily discounted the wisdom of his master's common law wife.

 

"Is not Cumberland known for a type of small horse? They might not be typical for riding, but for a child who wants a unicorn a white one could easily have a cone fastened to it's bridle," he succeeded in suppressing an outright laugh. "I think they are called Galloways or Fells. Sturdy and not as prone to spooking as warmblooded sport horses and war horses."

 

Horses was far more of a knowledgeable topic for Beverley than the bending of men to give and procure money at court!

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"I quite agree," came the judgment of Arabians, and not just horses. "The Galloways are perfect of course," he admitted, "but have you ever seen a pure white one? I have not. I saw a stable with a white one, but it had a dark blaze and stockings -- not good enough for our little princess," he sighed. "Nor a white dunn."

 

For all he complained about Peg thinking she could find one, Rupert was remarkably well informed of the availability of a pure white pony. In that, he betrayed his own efforts to please his daughter. "I would give a handsome sum if such a creature existed." He sighed again after finishing the next cup of tea. "Maybe we paint one white." He was not serious.

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Unfortunately, Beverley had no line on white ponies. If Cumberland could not find one, Beverley was far less amply connected. Mary certainly did not bring a Galloway white pony farm to his marriage.

 

He had to rely on other skills. "But, Sir, I thought that real unicorns were silver? Pegasuses, Pegasi? Those, I grant, are white." He nodded as he spoke, as if trying to hook the Prince onto his drift. The drift being that if there were no white ponies, then the easiest remedy was to convince the child that unicorns were, actually, a far finer color than white! "And are not the bravest of unicorn studs black?"

 

Beverley clearly had been around Annie's children! He was already spinning a story and covering all possible areas of failure. Surely his master could find a beautiful dappled grey or jet black pony.

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"Silver," Rupert mumbled to himself. His mind was pursuing several strategies.

 

"It might work," he admitted. "The problem is that she has seen coats of arms that only show white horses." Robert's own coat of arms made matters worse, except for the mane and tail. "Perhaps we convince her that the white ones are the common ones, but the rare ones are of a different color. It will need to be pure," he continued.

 

"If there was a book about unicorns and it had an image of a different color ... ." He looked at Robert invitingly, knowing that he could not be seen looking for children's books himself. Yet, asking his aide to do it was beneath the lord's dignity. "I can have Johann find one." Johann was an old and trusted servant. "I should have thought of this weeks ago. Thank you Beverley." There was but one shopping day left.

 

"I will tell her that she will get her present on Twelfth Night." That would give him five more days to find a book an a pure colored pony. "Peg will play along." She was an actress after all.

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  • 3 weeks later...

"Or that there is no proper silver paint to represent it?" Beverley half-asked and half-suggested. "Or both in combination."

 

The more evidence, the more persuasive? Even if it was not true, child logic was rarely strong enough to naysay multiple assurances.

 

"You could commission a painter or artist to alter something to have a unicorn of a color of your choosing as well," Beverley said. "Twelfth night is ample time for that as well."

 

If one could not find the real thing, when one had enough coin, one could simple have it made so. Such business had to far easier, even, for royalty than it was for noblemen. It was always best to go with a strategy that assured success.

 

"And if having other children about when she does go to learn to ride might ease her anxieties further, I can bring one of my nephews of a similar age if you wish." He had no nieces to offer.

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"Ja, a painter." Johann would know one or two that might dabble with children's books. Twelfth Night would give him time.

 

"Your nephew is in London. Bring him, but he must exclaim that the pony is a unicorn when he sees it." Peg would bring Nell's children and they would be happy to play along. "Let us plan something for noon on Twelfth Day."

 

Instinctively the Duke moved to his writing table. There were notes to compose. He also rang his bell and asked for Johann to be brought to him in one hour. It seemed as if the other matters discussed this morning were slipping away.

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"He shall exclaim whatever you ask, Sir," Beverley said. Rory was the good one. His elder brother was the snarky one. Besides, it was never too soon to teach a second son to jump on whatever opportunities could be gotten. That was what was expected.

 

"I will brief him very well." And bribe him too. One could never be too assured of the best behaviour with children, even with the good ones.

 

"Unless you wish me to write for you, I will take my leave and see you and Miss Hughes this evening for the party at the Spanish Embassy."

 

Then an aha moment struck him at the thought of notes. "I recently met a Lieutenant Turnbull who served with your highess and who joined the Life Guard on your recommendation? If you have yet to receive him at court, I shall happily arrange a time. Or you might include such in your correspondence." It was just as equally an aide's duty to remind his master of the social niceties that should not be overlooked.

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"Sehr gut," the Prince replied to Beverley's assurances. It seemed that the nephew would be useful.

 

"Ja, I recall the party this evening. I suspect the French will not be in attendance," he speculated with an air of humor. "Perhaps there will be worthy conversation this evening." He was tiring of holiday niceties notwithstanding the fact that Peg enjoyed them immensely.

 

The name Turnbull caused the older man to pause to search his memory. He nodded, though he struggled to recall the soldier's first name. "Has he sent a letter?" Rupert looked towards his tower of correspondence. "Let us see if he sent us a letter. Then we can decide how to respond. I should be happy to meet him." It was clear that he expected his aide to sift through the letters to see if one belonged to Lieutenant Turnbull.

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"True," Beverley replied with a chuckle of his own. "All the better." For Beverley's French was poor and he hated trying to distinguish their accents when speaking English.

 

"I do not think that he has or I would have mentioned it before," the viscount replied. At least Beverley hoped not, for he was the one who prioritized the prince's mail! "I also am not sure he thinks so highly of himself to presume on your time, despite it being a court custom to send such letters and have such receptions." Which was to say many sailors and soldiers were not fully aware of all the different social expectations of court, even younger sons of peers.

 

Nevertheless, despite not thinking there was a letter, Beverley dutifully searched through the pile. It took some time, for this season of year it was all quite extensive.

 

"I do not see anything, Your Highness, but you know our mail service..."

 

Whilst gentlemen could use their own servants, Turnbull's letter if he had sent one, could have gone through many, many hands. Which was to say, Beverley offered the excuse that a missive could easily have been lost if posted, especially if it was posted outside of London.

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Though he did not expect his aide to search the correspondence in that instant, Beverley set out to do so. One had to admire the diligence of the man, not to put off an assignment for the morrow. "No matter. Perhaps he will be at the Spanish affair tonight." There would be other opportunities to see the man.

 

Using some of the time to begin drafting letters of his own, there was quiet as both men's time was consumed by correspondence. Rupert was giving instructions with regard to the pony, while he remembered it, and then moved on to answer some of the more urgent letters.

 

 

~ Wrapping up?

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