Plague

by Jo Macauley

  “What if Big Moll catches the plague?” Maisie kept saying. “Or ... or I don’t know, perhaps the Peacock and Pie could burn down while we’re away? We could find ourselves with no home, no landlady...”

  “We can’t worry about such things,” Beth said. “We’ve got enough on our hands. I have to pack, box up my things, I’ve letters to send...”

  “Won’t be time to send any letters, Miss Beth,” said Maisie gloomily. “Besides, where would you find a messenger to take it for you?”

  Maisie was right, Beth realized. Her vision of writing a hasty letter to John Turner by candlelight evaporated.

  John, who had formed such a bond of trust with her on her last mission. John, her friend and now her fellow spy, along with the vagabond Ralph Chandler. Nobody in the theatre company knew of her secret mission to serve and protect the King under the guidance of their spymaster, Sir Alan Strange. Ralph had been taken in by Strange and trained in the art of espionage long before Beth had met either of them, but John had only stumbled into their world by chance. And yet he’d been an integral part of their mission to stop the recent attempt on the King’s life, and as such had been invited to join their gang of spies.

  But it could be some time before even their spymaster knew of the company’s move to Oxford.

  Unless word got back to them soon, John would be looking for her, wondering where she was, in a city full of deadly disease, and she had no way to let him know where she’d gone. In spite of her hopes to keep her thoughts professional, Beth’s heart sank at the idea that he might think she’d abandoned him without word.

  Later, as Beth made her way back through the streets to her home at the Peacock and Pie tavern, the threat of the plague seemed to loom ever larger. She couldn’t help noticing more glaringly the desperate sobs of women who’d no doubt just been told terrible news about their loved ones, or the furtive glances of people at the merest hint of their companion coughing or sneezing. Instead, she looked up at the familiar rooftops and high windows of London, trying to fix them in her mind. The future had become suddenly uncertain, and those memories might be all she ever had to come home to if this terrible disease continued.

  Who knew if she might ever return to London again?

  Chapter Two - A New Addition

  At first, Beth had thought the two-day journey to Oxford might be a pleasant one. Open country, sunny skies – it couldn’t be too bad, could it? But the first sight of the transport Huntingdon had arranged quickly put an end to that notion.

  “Ah – open carts,” she said, trying not to sound too dismayed as she looked at the high-sided wooden carts with their long benches on either side. “They look ... er ... what’s the word?”

  “Filthy,” Maisie muttered.

  “Rustic!” Beth corrected her quickly. “So we’re travelling country-style. I should have kept my shepherdess costume on! Besides, Maisie, I know you’re glad just to be coming along with the company at all,” she said to her friend pointedly. Maisie nodded quickly and began to clamber onto one of the carts without another word.

  “They were the best I could get at short notice and with next to no money,” Huntingdon told Beth apologetically. “Comfort will have to wait until we’re in Oxford. ’Til then, I’d find a bale of hay to sit on if I were you.”

  The hours of travel passed all too slowly. The English countryside was green and blooming all right, but the road was so cracked and dry from the heat that dust rose up in choking clouds from the carts in front. Beth felt grimed and gritty all over, not to mention sore from the constant jolts and judders.

  The company stopped at a coaching inn in High Wycombe to spend the night, and Beth gratefully went to splash some cool water on her face. As she was making her way back to her table, she overheard Lovett complaining to Huntingdon at the foot of the stairs:

  “...any idea of the problems we’ve had since we brought one woman into the company? Diplomacy is all very well, but surely under the circumstances...”

  Going unnoticed to eavesdrop was part of her spy training, but Beth knew that if she stayed to listen to any more, they’d find her out. Reluctantly, she continued her journey back to her table, frowning with irritation. Dozens of questions were boiling up within her as she ate her simple dinner of bread, goat’s cheese and dark bitter ale. Lovett bellyaching about her was nothing new, but he’d never made this complaint before. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d said the words, “since we brought one woman into the company.” Obviously, Lovett objected to any woman acting alongside him, so the implication was that there might soon be more than one.

  Could Huntingdon really be thinking of bringing more female actors on board? He wasn’t considering cutting Beth’s roles down, surely ... So far as she knew, he’d been delighted with her performances. And what on earth did “diplomacy” have to do with it? She thought about the fact that her position at the theatre was useful cover for her work as a spy. Could there be another of Alan Strange’s recruits being drafted in without her knowledge? Beth sighed – she hated not knowing what was going on.

  * * *

  Another exhausting day on the road followed the first, and it was growing late when the King’s Company finally rolled into Oxford. Beth had heard it was a beautiful city, but the sight of the spires and the gleaming river coming into view was so lovely it went quite some way to make up for the arduous journey there.

  “No wonder the King’s chosen to move his court here!” she laughed, as a light evening breeze ruffled her hair. “In all this red and golden light, it looks like something out of a fairytale book.”

  “Oxford’s long been a friend to His Majesty,” said Brian. “This is where his father Charles I lived during the war against Cromwell’s lot.”

  “Of course!” said Beth. “Oxford was Royalist through and through, wasn’t it?”

  “Mostly,” Brian said casually. “His Majesty spent many years here. It’s like a second home to him.”

  As the carts drew wearily into the Oxford streets, Beth was glad to see they were clean and quiet. She was braced for her first sight of a red cross on a door, but there was no sign of any. The plague really seemed to have passed Oxford by – at least for now. The carts clattered to a halt in the broad courtyard of an inn. It was a huge building, close to the river, with many sloping roofs and cosy-looking casement windows.

  “The Half Moon Inn,” she read, looking up at the painted sign and nudging Maisie, who’d actually managed to fall asleep on the juddering cart. “Home sweet home, for now at least.”

  Even Lovett seemed satisfied. “This is more like it! It’s good to be back in dear old Oxford at last. When I think of the nights I spent here as a student! All the scrapes, the tomfoolery, the dares...” He looked around wistfully. “The things we got up to would make the ladies swoon!”

  “Well, try to restrain yourself while we’re staying here,” Huntingdon said wryly. “We’re the King’s Company, don’t forget, and we’ve an important duty to carry out.”

  Beth had to speak up. “Duty? I thought we were just here to lodge for a while, until London was safe to return to?”

  Huntingdon gave her a tired smile as if he’d said too much. “We still have to earn our keep, Beth,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll find out more, but for now ... let’s just say there’s a strong chance Love’s Green Garlands will see more than one performance after all.”

  * * *

  The next morning, the whole company gathered at Christ Church, the magnificent college where King Charles I had stayed. They sat down to breakfast in the Great Hall, and Beth watched Maisie’s wide-eyed amazement with relish. She too marvelled at its long tables, huge portraits and high vaulted ceiling. The building had a wonderful antique smell, a sort of dusky blend of polished wood, old books, leather and frankincense, as if it were half-library, half-cathedral. She could hardly contain her excitement. Something was clearly afoot, and she was finally on the verge of discovering what it was.

  “Lor
d Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester!” announced the steward who was haunting the doorway. The company quickly got to their feet.

  Beth stared as a young man of about eighteen came striding into the room, wearing a colossal wig, a frock coat and an expression of deep mischief. His eyes locked with hers instantly, and she felt an uneasy lurch behind her ribs.

  “Actors!” he said with relish, like a starving man might say “food.”

  The whole company bowed and curtsied, Beth along with them, but Lord Wilmot never took his eyes off her. She began to feel heat stealing across her face, but Huntingdon came to her rescue.

  “Your Grace, may I introduce the King’s Company of Drury Lane. We are His Majesty’s humble servants.”

  “Aren’t we all,” said Lord Wilmot. “Sit, sit. Regrettably His Majesty cannot join us in person, but he bids you welcome to Oxford. He hopes this move from London will not have to be permanent.” He steepled his fingers. “Can’t say I agree. I’d love to keep you here.”

  “You enjoy the theatre, Your Grace?” Beth said boldly.

  Lord Wilmot grinned like a hungry fox. “Immensely.”

  “Word of Your Grace’s appetite has reached Drury Lane,” said Huntingdon, giving Beth a warning glance.

  Lord Wilmot waved a dismissive hand. “I dabble. Now, to the point. While you remain here, Master Huntingdon, your company has an emergency role. You will entertain His Majesty’s court while we remain resident in Oxford.”

  Huntingdon smiled and nodded. “I am sure I speak for us all when I say it will be our pleasure.”

  Wilmot nodded. “His Majesty expressly requires you to perform Love’s Green Garlands exactly as you would have done at home ... with one small alteration.”

  He let that ominous statement hang in the air for a moment. He’s enjoying this, Beth realized. He may have been an earl by birth, but Lord Wilmot was clearly a performer through and through.

  “His Majesty’s cousin, Lady Lucy Joseph, is lately come to England from Germany,” Wilmot went on. “But as it is still too dangerous for her in London, she will be coming here to Oxford. And as she has a keen interest in the theatre, it would please His Majesty greatly if she could be given a part in your play. A small part would suffice.”

  “Indeed. I am sure we can accommodate,” Huntingdon said through a strained smile.

  He didn’t look at all surprised, and Beth realized he must have been expecting this. She glanced quickly at Lovett, and there was barely-hidden anger written all over his face. So that was what he had been complaining about the previous night. Another actress in the company – and the King’s cousin, no less.

  “It is very important that young Lady Lucy be kept happy,” Wilmot said smoothly, though with a hint of menace.

  “Naturally,” Huntingdon said.

  Wilmot studied him, and then nodded curtly. They understood one another.

  The facts slotted into place in Beth’s mind like puzzle pieces. Diplomacy. Beth had heard of Lady Lucy, cousin to the King, who had spent her childhood at the court of the German monarch. With England at war with Holland, she realized that the King must be trying to form alliances with other countries of Europe – and Germany would certainly make a strong ally. Beth decided that Lucy must be well-loved in the German court, if the King hoped to build an alliance on the basis of her ambassadorship. Her good will – or her anger – could have consequences for the potential alliance, and for all England itself.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Lord Wilmot said. “Good day to you all. I am eager, nay, ravenous to see you perform for us here at Christ Church.” He took a step closer to Beth, and she cringed inwardly. “Especially the delectable Miss Johnson. I’m sure I shall savour her appearance for a very long time...”

  * * *

  Beth was unpacking her things, helped by Maisie, with whom she was sharing a room, when there was a knock on the door.

  “I wanted to have a quiet word,” Huntingdon said when she admitted him. He glanced at Maisie, who she saw was pretending not to be listening while smoothing out some of Beth’s dresses.

  “About Lady Lucy?” Beth guessed.

  “She’s twelve, Beth. A fair bit younger than you, but you’re the best person I can think of to look after her.” He held up his hands. “Court diplomacy is a difficult matter. It requires the right person. I’ve never been a twelve-year-old girl. You have. And believe me, I wouldn’t ask you unless it was important. There are reasons—”

  “I’d be happy to take care of her,” Beth assured him quickly. “Leave it to me.”

  “She’s an enthusiastic amateur actress,” Huntingdon said, enunciating every word. He pulled off his wig and fanned himself. To her alarm, Beth saw he was sweating. “She might be a natural, God willing, but then again, she might be a disaster...”

  “So long as she enjoys acting with us,” Beth ventured, “does it really matter if she’s any good at it? After all, isn’t the important thing to keep her happy?”

  Huntingdon paused and gave her a long appraising look. “You’re a very good listener, Beth Johnson. The kind who sometimes hears what people don’t say out loud.”

  Beth grinned. “I’ll make sure she has all the fun a girl her age could want.”

  When Huntingdon left, she turned back into the room and saw Maisie sitting on the end of the bed, pouting and swinging her legs. She remembered her young friend had aspirations to follow in her footsteps and become an actress too.

  “There’s no need for that sour face, young Maisie,” Beth said. “You’ll get your chance at the stage one day too! For now, we have to do everything we can to make sure the King’s cousin is welcomed into the company...”

  * * *

  Lady Lucy Joseph had a face like a china doll. Her painted-on eyebrows were arched ridiculously high, her chin was narrow, and her skin had the palest white look of the finest porcelain.

  Beth watched her as the young girl sat backstage, smearing even more foundation onto her face on top of the ludicrous amount that already clung there. The hand-held mirror she was looking into was exquisite, its carved wooden surround a masterpiece of fine carpentry. Beth cleared her throat, announcing her presence politely, and Lucy turned round slowly, like some strange girl-sized marionette.

  “Hello. I’m Beth Johnson. Lovely to meet you,” she said, smiling.

  Lucy inclined her head, looking even more like a puppet; Beth half expected to see strings holding her arms and legs up. She forced herself to smile more widely and stepped forwards. “I’m looking forward to helping you get to know the play. And if there’s any help I can give with the acting side, I’d be glad to. You may even have the opportunity to perform for your cousin, the King, himself!”

  “That matters little to me,” Lady Lucy said in a cold, flat voice that held a clear German accent, despite her perfect English. “I act for the craft. Though perhaps being in the King’s Company could have its uses...”

  Beth frowned a little at this. “Oh. Well, that is fair; I suppose you mustn’t worry about who is watching, really. The important thing about acting is to enjoy yourself.” Beth reached over to touch Lucy’s mirror, with its gorgeous frame. “Isn’t this beautiful? You must be very—”

  Lucy jerked it away from her fingers. “You shall not touch it!” she snapped.

  Taken aback, Beth could only blurt, “I’m sorry!”

  “This was carved by a German master artisan,” Lucy sneered. “It is the only one of its kind, and I was the only one deemed worthy of owning it. It’s far more valuable than anything you will ever own. And as for you teaching me anything about this play?” She threw back her head and gave a high-pitched laugh like a whinnying filly as Beth stared at her. “You must understand that I have an outstanding reputation abroad for my acting. You can teach me nothing. Instead, it is you who will learn from me, Miss Johnson!”

  Chapter Three - A Welcome Summons

  Midway through the next day, and Beth’s acting ability was facing its toughest chal
lenge ever. Never had she had to work so hard just to put on a sunny disposition. This is important, she told herself. Think of the treaty with Germany ... Think of what Alan Strange would expect of his spies ... Think of the King!

  Far from being the shy amateur Beth had expected her to be, Lady Lucy was proving to be a living nightmare. She was rude, bossy, arrogant and – in Beth’s opinion – badly in need of a twisted ear to bring her in line. Beth had to draw on every last ounce of her skill to avoid losing her temper with the girl.

  The first rehearsal was proving a disaster. In fact, the rehearsal had barely begun before the troubles started. Lucy had been cast as a princess in the royal court, which seemed a nice touch, Beth thought, flattering the girl’s pretensions. In the scene she was meant to be rehearsing, Beth’s shepherdess had crept to the palace to visit her prince in secret, only to wake up the startled princess instead. Lucy had been escorted to her place, a seat behind a scenery window. The idea was that the princess would look down from her turret, see the shepherdess creeping about, and challenge her. The prince would then appear, order the princess back to bed, and the secret lovers’ meeting between Beth and Lovett’s characters could take place.

  Beth shook her head. It all seemed so simple on the page...

  “Your line in this scene is ‘Who goes there?’” she told Lucy. “Are you quite comfortable with that?”

  “It is only one line!” Lucy protested. “How am I supposed to embrace my character with only a single line of dialogue?”

  “You do have several other lines later in the play,” Huntingdon pointed out, with a level of patience Beth had to admire. “Can we just focus on rehearsing this scene, please, ladies?”

  Lady Lucy glared down from her canvas-and-timber turret. “This window is too small!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The window. It does not display my shoulders to their best advantage!” Lucy stood up and angrily climbed back down the ladder. “I refuse to perform unless I can be properly seen. Have your carpenter enlarge it! Within the hour!”