Kitty said to me: “Perhaps I should never have brought you here. You would be safer at this moment in the country.”
“I wanted to come,” I assured her, “and I have no regrets.”
I could imagine my mother’s reaction to what was happening. She would say it was God’s vengeance for the wickedness of the great city. Then I thought of the poor woman I had seen dying in the cobbled alley, and the sound of the death cart trundling through the streets, and I knew that I would not wish to be there and to hear her continual condemnation. Indeed, I knew there would have been a certain gratification in what she would perceive as God’s vengeance on the unrighteous.
“No,” I went on, “I have had my little triumph, and I would not have been without that, whatever happens now.”
“That comforts me a little,” said Kitty. “You have always been on my conscience.”
“When you see me as a great actress you will be pleased, Kitty, for one day it will happen.”
“Oh, bless you,” she said. “It is true that that will make me a very happy woman.”
The next day, when she arose in the morning, she felt unwell.
As the morning progressed she said her head was aching and she felt hot although she was shivering with cold.
Maggie and I looked at each other and dared not say or even consider the thoughts which came to us. When anyone felt faintly unwell, we kept telling ourselves, we always had these uneasy feelings. It was nothing at all to be concerned about.
By the evening Kitty was worse.
Yesterday she had gone into the streets. She could not stay in any longer, she had said. She needed some fresh air and she would see if it were possible to buy food somewhere. Could it have been that she had picked up the dreaded infection somehow?
I scarcely slept that night and I knew it was the same with Maggie.
First thing in the morning, I went to Kitty’s room. She was lying in bed. Terror beset me when she looked at me rather vaguely and said: “Oh…it’s Sarah, is it not?”
“Kitty!” I cried. “How are you? Are you better?” I was beseeching her to say yes.
She said: “It was cruel of me to leave you. I had made my vows. But I could not endure it.”
Then the awful truth dawned on me. She was delirious. It was one of the symptoms…headache, shivering, nausea, delirium.
She seemed herself suddenly. “Oh, I am better this morning, Sarah. I am a little tired. I think I’ll rest awhile.”
I drew the sheets about her. I felt sick with fear.
I went to Maggie and told her.
Maggie stared ahead, her face tense with anxiety which she was obviously trying to thrust aside, rather than accept what she feared.
“She’s a strong girl,” she said. “She went out yesterday. I wonder…” She looked at me steadily. “If it is…”
She was silent for a while.
“We get fearful sometimes without cause,” she went on. “It cannot be. But if it is, Sarah, we must needs face it.”
There was silence throughout the house. Kitty remained in her bed.
That afternoon I went to her. She was lying very still, her eyes wide open.
“Sarah,” she said. “It has come. I fear I have brought it into the house. I must go while there is time.”
“Go…where would you go?”
“I would go into the streets, as so many have. They go there to die because they do not want to take the plague to their families. It is what I must do. Give me my clothes. Help me to dress. I know I must go…before it is too late.”
“You shall go nowhere, Kitty. You shall stay here in your bed.”
“Oh, God help me, no. I am afflicted, I know. Soon the dreaded signs will show themselves on my breast. I must go before that.”
“We shall never let you do that, not I, nor Maggie. This is your home. You will stay here and we shall care for you.”
“And die for it.”
“It may be that it is not the plague. It is just a rheum.”
She laughed, without mirth. “I know it. I stopped in the street and talked with a woman. I know her slightly. She was one of the orange girls at Drury Lane. She was looking for food to buy. That was it. I could have caught it from her, or perhaps it is in the very air we breathe. I don’t know, but I am stricken, Sarah. Go away from me. I would go myself, only I am so tired, so feeble. But I cannot bear to think that you or Maggie or Martha or Rose should suffer through me.”
“Kitty, listen to me. If you have this terrible thing, there is nothing to be done about it now. We have both been out. So let us not talk of your going out. Do not dare move from your bed. I know Maggie feels as I do. We are going to look after you.”
“You don’t understand what this means…”
“I understand well. We are together, you, Maggie and I. Nothing shall part us, not even this terrible plague.”
Her eyes were filled with tears. She said: “Yes…we are together. It would be too late. If it is as I fear, it is already too late. I can never forgive myself. I should not have gone out. I should not have stopped to talk. It was folly. Oh why, why? All our dreams…where have they led us? To a house in a desolate city with a red cross painted on the door.”
“Not yet, Kitty. No, it is nothing. You are going to be better tomorrow. You will laugh at this.”
“Shall I, Sarah? Oh yes, let us say that…even though in our hearts we do not believe it.”
When I told Maggie of this she was sober.
“It must not be,” she said. “Not Kitty. She has her life before her. Oh no…this terrible plague. The misery…not Kitty. We will nurse her back to health, you and I, and we have Martha and Rose. People do recover. I heard of a man years ago. That was not as bad as this time…but he took the plague and he returned to robust health. Just go on as though we are not unduly concerned, Sarah. If it is the plague—and I fear it is—let us fight it. We’ll keep our Kitty alive, in spite of it.”
“Yes, Maggie,” I said, “we will.”
That night I saw the dreaded macula upon her breast.
Our door now bore that tragic sign: the red cross and “Lord have Mercy upon us.”
She wanted me with her and that was where I wanted to be.
I was with her throughout the night.
She wanted to talk. I believed at times she was not sure where she was. It seemed as though she were talking to someone I did not know, and then suddenly she would be lucid and fully aware of what was happening.
In one of those moments she said to me: “Sarah, I am dying. I know it. I never thought it would be like this. I thought I would come back to the stage and prove to myself and them all that I had done was right for me. And now…it seems so worthless. We strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are heard no more. I played in Macbeth once. I loved those words so much. I never forgot them, though I did not have the honor of saying them. Charles Hart’s grandmother’s brother was a great poet, Sarah…Sarah, I think of you so often and in particular now…when I shall not be there.”
“Kitty, you will get well.”
“No. It has claimed me, Sarah. There’s no hiding from the truth. My time has come. I blame myself. I should have gone away to die. Sarah, listen to me. You are very young. There is so much you do not understand. I fear for you. I always thought I should be there to look after you. You would be as a daughter to me. From the first moment I saw you I felt something for you…something strange and sweet and strong.”
“I was drawn to you, Kitty,” I said. “We were drawn to each other. Do not talk of dying. It is more than I can bear.”
“I was to be your guardian. You will be an actress, I know it. This terrible plague will pass and everything will be as it was before. There have been other epidemics…it just happens that this is bigger than those others. Life will go back to what it was. The theaters will be open. There will be the triumphs, the failures and the dangers. I was going to protect you from them. I was going to make you into a great actres
s. Oh, Sarah, did I think I was God, to mold your destiny? And who was I, to think I could do that? Now I see how feeble I am. Look at me now. Where are my plans? I married because I thought it was best for me. I left my husband to return to the profession I loved. You see, I thought of myself all the time.”
I tried to speak lightly. “Kitty, we all do…every one of us.”
“You make excuses for me, Sarah. I can see that I was brazen in my belief in myself, and God has struck me down to show me what a feeble person I am in truth. What am I now? What use to anyone? Use indeed! What have I done? I have brought the plague to this house. The red cross is on the door. This house is unclean. Do not enter.”
“Kitty, you are acting as though on a stage. Thousands of people have this sickness. It could happen to any one of us. Stop talking nonsense about God’s punishing you. All you did was try to help. I should have left my home sooner or later, I am sure. It was you who found a way for me. You have done more than I can say for me, Kitty. Thank you.”
“My dear child, I do want all to go well for you. My last words to you…for there will be few more, I am so weak…I know I am failing fast, Sarah. Guard your virtue. Do not be deceived by fine promises. Maggie will be a good friend to you, but promise me you will be careful. If a man loves you enough to want to spend the rest of his life with you…if he wants to make you his wife and you love him, that is well. But only then, Sarah. Promise.” She laughed. “Ah, here I am, guiding you again. It is because I love you, Sarah, and I wanted to see everything good for you. Everything that went wrong for me must go right for you, everything I did not have myself you must have.”
“I promise you, I shall remember your words forever.”
She seemed satisfied. She lay back exhausted, and I realized that talking like this had sapped what little energy she had. I bent over her. Her lips moved slightly. “Remember,” she whispered. “Remember, Sarah.” I stood by her bed, watching her. All the life seemed to have left her now.
I went to Maggie. I said: “She is very ill, I think.”
Before the day was out, Kitty was dead.
It was growing dark. We sat together, myself, Maggie, Martha and Rose. We were listening for the sound of the pest cart. We knew that soon we should hear the tinkling of the bell and the sound of the wheels on the cobbles.
It came. We sat there tense, not looking at each other.
“Bring out your dead.”
It was close now. We opened the door. Maggie and I carried her out and there she was, our dear Kitty, once beautiful and merry, who had dreamed of becoming a great actress, and yet…one blow, perhaps a chance encounter with an old acquaintance, and that was the end of her dreams. Life was cruel. This was happening in thousands of homes in London. Ours was a common tragedy. But this was Kitty—our Kitty—and she was no more.
Lost Illusion
WE HAD TO REMAIN in the house. A month had to elapse before we emerged, and during that time the dreaded sign of the red cross would remain on our door.
Ours was a house of mourning, a silent house. I know Kitty was in all our minds; we did not speak of her, but she was with us every moment.
In the evenings we sat together, Maggie and I with Martha and Rose. How silent everything was. I longed to hear the old sounds of those pestilence-free days: the street-sellers shouting of the excellence of what they had to sell, the rattle of a passing vehicle… people laughing, quarreling…fighting sometimes…perpetual noise. But now there was only this unnerving quiet.
Kitty was always in my thoughts. She lay buried in a pit with many others. Never again should I hear her voice, never see her…there was nothing left but to mourn her. I could see that Maggie’s thoughts were similar to mine, Martha’s and Rose’s too. And the silence seemed unbearable.
If we went to our beds we could not sleep. We were imprisoned in this house for another month and if, by that time, none of us had contracted the disease, we would be considered free of infection and free to go out.
Where to, I wondered? To closed theaters and empty streets and more memories of Kitty.
Martha had warned that the flour would run out soon and there would be no bread, but no one seemed very excited about that. We were too deeply sunk in gloom to think about such a trivial matter.
One evening, as we sat there, there was a knocking on the door.
Startled, we looked at each other. Who could be there? Had whoever it was not seen the dreaded notice on the door warning all to stay away from a contaminated house?
“Someone has failed to see the sign,” said Martha. “They will, and then they will run as though the Devil were at their heels.”
We sat still, and the knocking started again.
“Who in the world can it be knocking at a door like that?” said Martha.
“There is one way to find out,” I said. I went to the door and opened it.
A man stood there. Tall and thin, he wore no wig on his fine fair hair. He was somberly dressed like a Puritan.
I said: “Go at once. Have you not seen the sign?”
I was preparing to shut the door when he said: “It is because of the sign that I have come.”
I stared at him. He must be mad, I was sure. Did he not know the law? Did he think anyone would put up such a sign without good reason for doing so?
“I am Rupert Lawson, a priest. I visit such as you in the hope that I can be of some help. I could bring you food. Would you allow me to come in?”
Startled, I stood back and he entered the house.
Maggie had come out. I saw Martha and Rose behind her.
I said: “This is the Reverend Rupert Lawson. He visits those in our position in order to help them.”
“I thought you might be in need of comfort, and perhaps food.”
“Let him come in,” said Martha.
Maggie said: “Do you realize, sir…”
Martha interjected: “We’re running short of flour…”
“We have had a death in this house,” I explained. “It is less than a week since…”
“I am aware. I have visited houses such as this since this terrible epidemic came to us. Yet I have never caught the sickness. I believe that God protects me so that I might do His work of mercy.”
It might have been hard to believe such a statement, but there was an air about him of what I think of now as saintliness. In any case, unlikely as his story seemed, I believed him and I think we all did.
“If I might come in, and hear your particular needs…” he said with a smile.
Maggie was silent for a moment, then said: “As long as you realize what risk you are running. I must repeat, it is a very short time ago that a victim of the plague was carried from this house.”
“We have already told him that,” I said.
“It is of no consequence to me. I am here to help.”
He sat there among us. The promise of food had interested Martha; Rose was round-eyed with wonder. Maggie was inclined to be a little suspicious, but even she was beginning to believe his story with every passing minute. As for myself, I immediately felt a great trust in him.
He said: “Your grief must have been intense.”
We were all too moved for speech.
He went on: “God will help you. I will pray for you. You must speak to Him too. Just little simple prayers as you go about your daily tasks…just naturally, as you might speak to each other. He will understand. Tell me about the friend you have lost.”
Strangely enough, it was easy to talk to him. In a little while I was telling how I had come to London with Kitty and had just been getting a few small parts when the theaters had been closed down.
I had expected him to say that it was good to close the theaters and that God was punishing the wicked city by making it impossible to continue with its licentious ways; but nothing of the sort. He said that the theaters would doubtless open when the plague had passed. We had only to wait for the end of the summer, for the plague thrived in the heat, and the cold wo
uld kill it as it had before.
He talked to us of the people he had visited. He had been doing this since the beginning of June. He was a priest of God and he believed that in what he was doing he was serving Him far more effectively than he could by preaching to a congregation.
“Do the work that is at hand,” he said. “That is a good law to follow. People cannot get to church, so I visit them. It is true that in the beginning, when people were aware that the sickness was about to come upon them, the churches were filled with people who had never thought to visit them before. It is often only in times of terror that some people remember God. I have found a great satisfaction in this work…such as I never had before.”
Martha said: “We are getting short of flour, and we’re living mainly on bread and ale. It suffices, but I can’t think what we will do when it’s gone. We can’t get out and none will come to us. I do not know how we shall live.”
“I shall bring you flour,” he said. “There is no fresh food I can bring, but flour I am sure I can procure.”
“While I have flour I can bake bread,” said Martha.
“You still have a little?”
“I’m using the winter’s store. It won’t last the month, and then what, I say? Who knows…?”
“The winter will soon be with us. When the cold weather comes this must pass.”
Martha was looking at him superciliously. I could see then that she did not believe he would bring us flour.
He sat down with us and talked. He told us there were signs that the plague was abating. We could only wait and hope. He asked if he might say a prayer, and we sat with our eyes downcast.
“Lord,” he said, “give us courage to bear this cross; give us hope that it may soon pass from us, and the fortitude to rebuild the lives which are left to us.”
Then he left us, promising to return the next day with flour.
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