13. 8.iii - Extract from Lady Maryanne Rogue's Journal
The local Lord has placed more taxes on us. There has been a certain call for arms against the Spanish. Fighting off for some distant island no doubt, a bloody killing match for a few bits of sand and dirt.
Lord Monro is also confiscating metal to be melted down in the hope of making new armaments - blades and bullets - and so some of our finer cutlery and jewellery was taken.
Ruben was furious.
With half his spare coins spent on drink and the rest on whores - where would a man like him fine money to pay taxes?
He chewed my ear off a whole night, grousing and grumbling about the levies and how he wished had a son to work or join the Regulars.
Why do your own work when you can wish someone else could do it?
This could mean that Ruben would send me out to work. As what, though, I cannot tell. There wasn't a great many things I could do in the outside world - what with my domestication and my very heavy pregnancy - and asking Ruben, more often than not, wasn't going to help my circumstance.
But there is hope, I suppose. Hope that I might get a job worth doing, and someone who would see me worth keeping.