‘Gently!’ cautioned Cornelius.
‘Mama!’ Harriet flung herself at her mother and the two boys scrambled up onto the bed, exclaiming at their new brothers.
Susannah stood in the doorway watching the cosy domestic scene. A touch on her shoulder made her jump.
‘It’s dark and a blizzard is blowing up,’ said Dr Ambrose. ‘I shall walk you home.’
‘There is no need!’
‘I cannot imagine your husband would care for you to be out, alone, after dark.’
Susannah glanced again at the happy family scene, which no longer included her. Somewhere deep in her breast was an aching hollow so deep she thought she might fall in and never climb out. ‘Perhaps not,’ she said, wondering if Henry would even notice.
She fetched her cloak and Dr Ambrose took her arm and led her outside into the darkness.
Chapter 11
Later, Susannah wasn’t quite sure what sparked off the argument. They’d never discussed what happened between them on Christ -mas Day but, strangely, Henry had been in a more cheerful frame of mind of late, going about his business humming to himself and talking about the future as if it was full of interesting possibilities again.
‘In the spring, perhaps we’ll find a little house in the country,’ he said as he shaved that morning.
Susannah, sitting on the end of the bed, watched as he made circles on his cheek with the soapy shaving brush. ‘I thought you needed to be near the docks and the coffee houses and the Exchange for your business?’
‘I do but you could enjoy good country air while I’m working in the city.’
‘I would love a garden,’ said Susannah, getting up to put more coal on the fire. ‘But Peg and I have enough to do trying to keep the dirt down in this house without another one in the country to manage.’ Shivering in the chilly air, she hopped back into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin again.
‘What you need are house slaves.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you remember? At Christmas I said we needed some. I’ve thought it all through. You shall have a woman to do the washing and cleaning, a man to carry the coal and a boy to run your errands.’
Susannah laughed. ‘But, Henry, simply another housemaid will do.’
‘Nonsense! The slaves can stay to look after me in the city, while you go to the country.’ Henry smiled. ‘The perfect solution!’
‘I don’t want to live in the country on my own and I don’t want any slaves.’
Henry frowned. ‘I’ve already said you shall have three house slaves. I’ll not have any more turnip-faced little maids dragged in from the gutter.’
‘Henry, that’s no way to speak about Peg! She’s learning fast and we manage very well.’
He shrugged. ‘Well enough, I suppose. But my mind is made up.’
‘But I don’t want slaves in the house. I should feel outnumbered. Besides, I’m not sure I like the idea of people stolen from their homes and sold into slavery.’
‘You like sugar, don’t you?’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘Well, then! You can’t have sugar without slaves. It simply isn’t economically possible.’
‘I still don’t want any slaves here.’
‘There is nothing more to discuss. Damnation! Now look what you’ve made me do.’ He wiped blood from his face onto the clean white towel. ‘Besides, I’ve already arranged for them to be sent from Barbados.’
‘Henry! You might have consulted me.’
‘I’m telling you now …’
‘Exactly!’
‘And there is nothing more to be said on the matter. Why, even Aunt Agnes has a blackamoor to run her errands.’
‘I have Peg to run mine. We certainly don’t need three extra servants.’
‘I had not thought to find you so ungrateful. You’re always bleating on about how hard it is to keep house with only one.’
‘I am not!’ said Susannah, stung by the injustice of his comment. She threw back the blankets and stood in front of him. ‘I won’t have them in my house!’
‘Your house?’ Henry’s eyes glittered and he dropped his razor into the basin with a clatter. ‘You forget yourself, madam. This is my house and you live here only by my grace. Perhaps you should cast your mind back to a time you were glad enough to accept my proposal as a happier alternative to working as a servant yourself?’
Susannah gasped. ‘I think it most ungallant of you to throw that back in my face. I have made every effort to be a good wife to you.’ Then, before she could bite her tongue, she said, ‘And it isn’t as if my father didn’t pay you enough to take me off his hands. You had yourself a very good bargain in me.’
‘Well,’ he said, staring at her with sudden animosity, ‘that’s for me to judge, isn’t it?’
Hurt and angry in equal measures, Susannah didn’t trust herself to speak. She dressed in silence, all the while replaying the conversation in her mind and resentfully imagining the alternative responses she could have made. Meanwhile, Henry put on his coat and left the bedchamber without even looking at her.
Sighing, Susannah followed him downstairs, having come to the conclusion that it was obviously going to be up to her to make the peace. Perhaps she had been making a fuss about nothing. There was no doubt she had been so used to making her own decisions over household matters for so many years that it had brought her up short to have to bow to a husband’s decree. Ah well, extra help in the house might be a good thing. Maybe now she’d have time to learn to play the virginals after all.
The decision to placate Henry was taken away from her, however, since she had gone no further than the top of the stairs when she heard his staccato footsteps across the hall, immediately followed by the slamming of the front door.
She stood in the silence of the hall, fury seething in her breast,then marched into the kitchen where she made Peg’s life miserable for the rest of the day by commandeering her assistance in rolling up the rush matting throughout the house and scrubbing all the floorboards.
Unsurprisingly, Henry didn’t come home for either dinner or supper. Susannah sat by herself in solitary splendour with the grand table laid with a fine linen cloth and the best beeswax candles burning in Agnes Fygge’s grand candelabra. She was damned if Henry would return to find her weeping over a bowl of gruel by the kitchen fire.
The candles burned down into their sockets and still she sat at the table. At last, tired and irritable and with her hands raw from scrubbing floors, she went upstairs to bed.
The next morning Susannah woke to find that Henry’s side of the bed was still empty. She glanced into the other bedchambers but he wasn’t there. Running downstairs she searched everywhere for him, even looking into the coal cellar, before accepting that he had not returned. She dressed, cursing under her breath all the while at the selfish behaviour of men who thought they owed no consideration to their wives.
The morning passed slowly, so in the afternoon she set off to visit her father to distract herself from the nagging worry of Henry’s whereabouts. The streets were teeming again. The hard frost had caused the bills of mortality to fall further; the plague didn’t like the cold, and the cautious confidence of the populace was shown by the number of people in the street again. Life had to go on.
She made a detour to the Star coffee shop, a favourite haunt of Henry’s. The small window panes were cloudy with condensation but as she stood there the door opened and two men came out drawing their cloaks close against the bitter wind. A blast of warm air laden with the rich smell of coffee followed them and Susannah contemplated poking her nose inside to look for Henry. However coffee shops were not for ladies. Instead, she called to the two men as they went off down the street.
‘Excuse me, but have you seen my husband, Mr Henry Savage?’
They turned to look at her, eyebrows raised and she stared back boldly, all the while silently cursing Henry for putting her in the humiliating position of having to ask.
‘Savage? I saw him last week but he’s not in the Star this morning. You might try the Harte and Garter.’
‘Thank you, sir, I will.’
Susannah hurried away to the Harte and Garter but it was the same story. Henry hadn’t been seen there for several days. Tight-lipped with annoyance, she set off to her father’s house.
Susannah heard the twins screaming even before she opened the door to the shop. The household was turned entirely upside down by the two tiny tyrants who lay head to foot in their cradle exercising their lungs at full volume. Arabella had retired to bed in hysterics, leaving the nursemaids attempting to placate the infants. Susannah took her new brothers in her arms and rocked them, kissing their angry little faces before handing them back.
Cornelius was mixing gripe water in the dispensary and hadn’t the energy to do much more than kiss his daughter’s cheek.
‘I wondered if Henry had passed this way?’ she said, dipping her finger into the simmering pan of gripe water and tasting it. ‘More aniseed.’
‘Who?’ Cornelius tipped another spoonful of aniseeds into the pan.
‘Henry.’
‘Oh. Was he coming here? Haven’t seen him. Do you think I should put more sugar in this?’
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘Colic is a terrible thing. You had it, too. Makes everyone out of sorts. You’ll come to the christening, won’t you? Samuel and Joshua, we’re calling them. I did want you to be godmother but I’m afraid Arabella …’
‘It’s all right, I understand.’
‘I knew you would. You’re a good girl, Susannah.’ He scratched at his head under his wig. ‘If only they’d sleep through the night. If it’s not one it’s the other.’
‘Martha says the early weeks can be difficult.’
‘I’d forgotten just how difficult.’
Susannah hugged him. ‘Try to snatch some rest when the babies sleep.’
‘That’s just it. They never do. Anyway, better get on. Send my best wishes to Henry.’
Susannah dawdled her way home in spite of the icy wind and threatening snow and stopped at the Exchange to buy some ribbons to pass the time. Darkness was falling by the time she opened her front door in the full expectation of finding Henry in his study. Peg, however, was just lighting the candles and told her that the master still wasn’t at home.
Carrying a light up to the drawing room, Susannah began to feel anxious. Surely their disagreement hadn’t been serious enough for him to stay away so long? Where could he be? Perhaps he’d gone to stay at his Aunt Agnes’s house. That must be it! If he hadn’t returned by the morning she’d go and find out for herself.
She sat by the fire and tried to read but she simply wasn’t able to concentrate on the Faerie Queene. Staring into the flames, she rehearsed what she would say to Henry when he finally arrived. Resentfully, she decided she would probably be forced either to eat humble pie or to pretend nothing had happened in the interests of marital peace.
An hour or two later she heard the door knocker sound. Henry! She ran downstairs and saw Peg about to open the door. ‘It’s all right, Peg. You can go back to the kitchen,’ she said, drawing back the bolts herself. ‘Henry, where have you been? You really are the most inconsiderate …’ She stopped. The man, swathed in a cloak and with his hat pulled down against the sleet, stepped out of the shadows. It was William Ambrose.
He took off his hat. ‘I believe you expected my cousin?’
‘Please, come in,’ stammered Susannah. ‘Forgive me. I was worried, you see and I thought you were Henry.’
‘Where has he gone?’
‘That’s just it; I don’t know.’
‘Late for his supper?’
‘If it were only that! He’s late for yesterday’s supper. Henry didn’t come home last night and I have no idea where he is.’
‘I see now why you called him inconsiderate.’ Ambrose removed his hat. ‘Is he in the habit of absenting himself like this?’
‘I rarely know where he is and he’s often late but he’s never stayed away overnight before. Well, not quite all night, anyway.’ She bit her lip. ‘The thing is … we had a quarrel.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘He’s sent to Barbados for some slaves and I said I didn’t want them.’
Ambrose’s silver-headed cane slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. ‘He did what?’
‘He told me he’d sent for some slaves. I didn’t like the idea and he was angry with me and stormed out of the house.’
Tight-lipped, Ambrose said, ‘I saw him yesterday afternoon.’
‘Where was he?’
Ambrose bent down to pick up his cane. ‘I didn’t speak to him. I was on my way to visit a patient at Bethlehem Hospital.’
‘Bedlam?’ Susannah repressed an expression of distaste. ‘I hear people pay for the amusement of watching the lunatics raving in their cells.’
‘Hardly amusing but it’s true that the patients are treated with little compassion.’
‘But what was Henry doing there?’
‘I saw him elsewhere – at Moor Fields – when I was on my way to Bishopsgate to visit Bethlehem Hospital. Henry was …’ He hesitated. ‘He was going into a tavern.’
‘Which one? I shall fetch my cloak and go there at once.’
‘You will not!’
Susannah’s mouth fell open.
‘I shall go,’ he said.
‘But …’
‘Henry is my cousin. Besides, it’s not safe for you to go out on your own in the dark.’
‘Then I shall come with you.’
‘Out of the question! You will stay here and wait in case Henry returns. He will have left the tavern long ago but I can ask if anyone knows of his whereabouts.’
It irked her but Susannah knew that what Ambrose suggested made good sense.
‘I’ll come back to let you know what I find out.’ Dr Ambrose put on his hat and gloves. ‘Oh, I forgot the reason for my visit.’ He pulled out a folio from underneath his cloak. ‘I thought you might like to borrow this. It’s Jonson’s Volpone. I remembered that you said you enjoyed seeing the play in Drury Lane. Perhaps it will help you to pass the time until Henry and I return?’
Before she could answer, Ambrose had gone out into the night.
She had fallen asleep over Volpone and the drawing-room fire had crumbled into ashes when the door knocker sounded. Stiff-limbed from the cold, she stumbled to the door but when she opened it William Ambrose was alone. Her hopeful smile faded. ‘You didn’t find him, then?’
‘May I come in? It’s freezing.’
‘Of course.’ Susannah led the way back to the drawing room and stirred the embers with the poker, anxiety tightening its hold on her chest.
Ambrose poured coal from the scuttle into the grate, and then took the poker from her. ‘Have you any brandy?’ he asked, once the fire was burning brightly again.
‘Only rum.’
‘That’ll do. Fetch some glasses.’
Susannah did as she was bid and they sat each side of the fire warming their toes. ‘Did no one at the tavern know where he went?’ she asked.
‘Drink your rum,’ he said.
She sipped the drink and it ran like liquid fire down her throat. ‘Someone must have seen him.’
‘They did. Susannah, it’s not good news.’
‘What has happened?’ She could hear the shrill note of anxiety in her voice.
‘You must prepare yourself.’
‘For what? Where is Henry?’
‘Henry was taken ill.’ Dr Ambrose’s voice was gentle. ‘The sickness came upon him very quickly. I am sorry to tell you he died early this morning.’
‘Died?’ Her heart began to flutter and she turned deathly cold. ‘But … he can’t have! He was here only two days ago. They must have made a mistake.’
‘There is no mistake. I saw his body.’
The finality in Ambrose’s voice made her gasp. She reared up and, as
blackness clouded her vision, she clung, swaying, to the marble chimneypiece.
‘I’m afraid it is true.’
‘Not Henry! We didn’t have the chance to make up our disagreement.’ She gulped back her tears. ‘I must go to him! We must bring him back here and prepare him for burial.’
‘You cannot go out. Besides, he is already buried.’
‘But who …’
‘In cases of the plague the authorities take the body away.’
She swayed again, her breath threatening to choke her. ‘Sweet Lord, not that! He was so very frightened of the plague.’
Ambrose spoke gently to her. ‘Susannah, you realise that it’s possible you may be infected, too?’
Cold fingers of dread ran down her spine. ‘I feel well. A little tired of late, perhaps, but nothing more.’
‘Good. But you should still not go abroad until we are sure you are well.’
‘No. I can see that. And you must keep away from me.’ Suddenly she gasped. ‘I visited Father yesterday. I kissed the babies!’
‘Susannah, you show no signs of sickness so I doubt you are infected. Try not to worry too much and I will call every day.’
His kindness caused her tears to overflow. ‘We argued. Oh, William, I wish Henry and I hadn’t quarrelled before he died!’
Afterwards, she blushed to remember how she had clung to him and unconsciously used his Christian name.
Chapter 12
Once again Susannah confined herself to her bedchamber, while Peg retreated to the kitchen. Living in fear of plague symptoms appearing, she examined herself at frequent intervals for buboes or discoloration on her skin. Every tickle in her throat, each suspicion of a headache or hint of nausea sent her into a flutter of panic. She paced the bedchamber floor, twelve steps one way and ten the other, until she almost wore holes in the matting.
This time, Susannah would have been delighted to have Henry’s company, however bad-tempered. Unbidden, a hideous vision of his body tipped unceremoniously into the pit rose up in her mind. She scrubbed her knuckles into her eyes to dispel the image of his handsome features bloated and distorted by death.
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