by John Patrick
James brushed himself off and swept his greasy locks away from his face. He took a deep breath and headed from the churchyard towards the house. The red cross meant at least one person in the house had plague. Perhaps it was a mistake, maybe nobody was sick. Or perhaps it was Miss Pewtersmith. It was tempting to turn and walk away; as long as he knew no differently, there was always a chance it might not be one of his family with plague. How he hoped it was the cook who was stricken. There was no one at the boarded-up front of the house so he planned to sneak up to it and call to Elizabeth or the children. If he was seen he’d reason with them; persuade them to at least let him speak to his family. Maybe he could even talk them into letting them go or perhaps claim he’s been sent to search the house and then say they were suffering with something else, some other disease that didn’t require incarceration. There were too many guards around to challenge them physically, more than he’d seen at any other house he’d visited.
He climbed quietly over the front fence and made his way up the steps. The painted cross stood three or four feet tall on the door; the hastily applied paint had run like red tears down the wood. He tapped gently then listened. All he could hear was the chatter from the guards around the corner. He tapped again, cupped his hands against the door and called gently. 'Elizabeth... Samuel... Mary'. He listened again. Silence. He pressed his hands and face up close again and called a little louder this time.
A hand crashed into the middle of his back and thrust his face into the door. 'What the ‘ell ‘are you doin'?' He was hauled from the door and thrown down the steps. ''Enry, come see what we got 'ere!'
James scrambled to his feet and started to walk around the corner of the house towards the kitchen door. Two more guards were on their way to investigate.
'Hello' said James trying to appear composed 'I just want to speak...'
'Oh what we got? A beggar? Bloody ‘ell, look at the state of ‘im! Go on, piss off! We don't need your type round 'ere!'
'No' James tried to explain 'That's my family you've got locked in there. I just want to...'
'I said piss off! We got enough bloody mouths to feed 'round 'ere. We don't need another one!' He picked up a small rock and threw it towards James. 'Go on, get out of it!'
At the overgrown rear of the garden, behind an empty apple tree, gooseberry bushes and runner beans, Brock stood and watched as James was chased from the drive. Brock had been outside when the guards had arrived to lock everybody up and had slipped out of sight into the overgrown vegetable patch. Even though he was free, he had nowhere else to go and had stayed hidden in the garden. He too had been trying to concoct a plan to free Elizabeth and the children, and he had mixed feelings about seeing James still alive. As James ran from the flying rocks, Brock slipped further back into the bushes and hid.
Chapter 33
