"Employment and Observations...."

 

From the journal entries of Benedict Marlowe.

This morning I rose from my chamber at the King’s Arms Inn, where the light of the early sun filtered faintly through the small-paned window, warming the rough boards of the floor. After a brief washing, I descended to the common room, where I partook of a modest breakfast—bread yet warm from the hearth, a slice of salted pork, and a cup of coffee dark and bitter, though well enough to stir a man to wakefulness.

After taking my breakfast,  I made my way along the cobbled thoroughfare towards the Governor’s Mansion, where my new employ shall be. The air was already warm with the rising sun, and the harbor beyond Dominion Square shimmered with a faint haze. Though the town is still young, its streets already hum with ambition, for all manner of merchants, sailors, and common folk may be seen going about their business.

Approaching the Mansion, I was at once struck by the sight of its stately façade—whitewashed walls, tall shuttered windows, and a broad stair of stone leading up to the entrance. Standing guard at the great double doors were two soldiers of the garrison, muskets shouldered and scarlet coats shining in the morning light. I later came to learn that these men are Privates Laurel and Hardy, specially charged with the task of guarding His Lordship’s residence against all manner of intruders, and though their countenances were solemn, I perceived in their eyes the discipline of men who understood the weight of their station. Their presence alone impressed upon me that this was no ordinary threshold I was about to cross.

(Guards at the door to the Lord Governor's residence.)

Upon giving my name and purpose, I was received courteously and directed inside, where a liveried servant led me down a paneled corridor to a side office upon the first floor. The air within bore a mingling of beeswax and ink, the scent of a place much frequented by both servants and clerks. On the wall of the passage I observed a newly arrived portrait, most carefully hung, of Her Royal Highness, Queen Anne, robed in majesty, her gaze fixed with that mixture of severity and grace that monarchs alone seem to possess. It was a reminder that even in this far colony, the eyes of England herself were not absent.

The servant conducted me into a chamber that served as the office of Mr. Franklin Benjamin, my superior in all matters of record and finance. The room was stoutly appointed, though not ostentatious—oak shelves lined with ledgers, bundles of parchment tied with cord, and a great desk laid out with papers in orderly confusion. A small decanter and glass upon the table betrayed his morning habit of brandy, though it lent him no disrepute, for his manner was steady and his mind keen. Indeed, he greeted me with a measured civility, offering words both firm and encouraging. He wasted little time in laying out the nature of my duties: the careful copying of accounts, the transcribing of correspondence, and the maintaining of records vital to the Crown, the Governor, and the colony itself.

By fortune of my education and diligence, I have been taken into his service as clerk, a position both respectable and profitable. My salary is to be forty pounds per annum, which renders to me a weekly income of fifteen shillings and four pence—a sum upon which a man may live handsomely, if he is not too prodigal. To ease the establishment of my affairs in Port Dominion, I have been granted an advance stipend of five pounds, that I might secure my board at the inn, purchase clothing of proper cut, and provide for such other necessities as may arise.

Mr. Benjamin made it clear that I am to have all arrangements in readiness, for I am to commence my labors the following Monday. In truth, I regard the matter with both eagerness and a degree of anxiety; for though the wage is generous and the prospect promising, yet I cannot but feel the weight of responsibility, and the strangeness of this colony, with all its intrigues and bustle, fills my mind with cautious reflection. There is much here that is unsettled, and though my hand shall be employed in the Governor’s records and accounts, my eye and ear shall take in no small portion of the character of this place.

(Mr. Franklin Benjamin)

As I sat listening, a disquiet made itself known in my breast, for I could not forget where I was: the residence of His Lordship the Governor himself, and, too, of his Lady, Mistress Eleanor Whitehall. Of them I have heard much—he, of a commanding and shrewd presence; she, of beauty and charm, yet not without whispers of more libertine inclinations. Though I have not yet set eyes upon either, my imagination was not idle. A strange thought intruded upon me unbidden: What if Lady Eleanor were to show an interest in myself? How should I respond to such charms, and what peril might there lie in them?

I swiftly checked the fancy, for such musings could only lead to folly. Yet it is a curious thing, how rumor, once heard, sets itself in the mind like a seed, and no amount of stern reason can wholly dislodge it. I shall endeavor, therefore, to apply myself with diligence to the work at hand, and to tread carefully in this place where power, intrigue, and whispers alike find ready soil.

When my business with Mr. Benjamin was concluded, and I had taken leave with the promise of reporting in earnest the following Monday, I stepped once more into the brightness of the day. The air seemed lighter upon leaving the Mansion, as though its lofty walls had pressed down upon me with the full weight of authority. Privates Laurel and Hardy stood sentinel still at the entrance, their muskets glinting in the morning sun, watchful of every passerby.

Crossing back into Dominion Square, I found it transformed from the solemn hush of the Sabbath into a bustle most alive. The shops had flung wide their shutters; apprentices hurried with baskets, and hawkers called out their wares of bread, fish, and fruit. The fountain at the center—its maiden’s stone pitcher ever pouring forth—sparkled in the early light, while women with their water-jugs gossiped freely at its base. Carts rattled over the cobbles, laden with goods, and children, released from yesterday’s Sabbath restraint, scampered freely about.

(Walking through a busy Dominion Square...)

Even amid such activity, much of the chatter turned still upon the sermons of the day past. I heard one merchant tell another that Reverend Goodall’s words bore the measured gravity of an old shepherd tending his flock, while another insisted that Reverend Task’s voice carried the true thunder of the Almighty. Yet a matron nearby clutched her shawl tighter and muttered that such thunder would soon strike at innocent hearts, if every woman’s blush or tremor of the hand were taken for a sign of witchcraft. One tradesman laughed loudly, saying Task would have the whole town stoned for witches before the month was out, but his companion hushed him, glancing warily toward the Mansion, as though careless words might carry.

I marked, too, how those of the middling sort nodded grimly when Task’s zeal was praised, while some of the women looked away, uneasy, as though the echo of his words lingered still too close to their conscience. Goodall’s name, by contrast, brought softer tones—respectful, though not without a hint of doubt that he was too gentle to hold all sinners to account.

As I walked amidst the noise and movement of Dominion Square, I could not help but feel a curious unease, that in this colony both rumor and truth, piety and desire, are ever intertwined. And perhaps it was the warmth of the sun, or some stray whim, but I found my thoughts wandering—what if Lady Eleanor Whitehall herself, of whom so many whisper in secret, were to cast her gaze upon me? What if her rumored coquettish charms should turn in my direction, and she should favor me with a smile or invitation more personal than polite? How then would I respond? Would I withstand such temptations, or falter as so many men are said to have done before?

With these idle thoughts stirring unwisely in my mind, I made my way back toward the King’s Arms Inn, where I shall prepare myself for the days ahead, and for the duties which my new employment demands. Yet still, the mingled voices of Port Dominion ring in my ears—the calls of merchants, the gossip of women, and above all, the echo of two preachers, each in his way determined to save or condemn the souls of this place.