Circle of Pearls

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘Michael!’ She was panicking at her own yearning reaction.

  ‘My darling Mary, my love and my life!’ Then he was kissing her. When he felt the tautness in her melt and her arms slide lovingly about his neck, he knew her door would not be locked against him on this visit. As he was now resolved never to bring Sophie to Sotherleigh there should be no turning of keys between them ever again.

  *

  By six o’clock Julia and the Webbs were on the road again with the weather threatening to turn sultry, which was the worst condition for spreading pestilence. They began to meet little groups of sober-faced people on foot or in carts and occasionally a coach with finely dressed passengers, all of them fleeing the Great Plague. In meadows and waste land on either side of the road were make-shift tents of every colour and shape as people rested on their journeys. Others, less fortunate, having been barred from entering a nearby town or village, had to remain there indefinitely. The only sound of laughter came from the children, some of whom would never have been out of a London street before, and they played about and chased one another happily. There were always men and women, as well as their young, who ran to beg as travellers went by, but it would have been impossible to give to all and Mr Webb advised Julia against giving anything.

  ‘You may be pulled from your horse if they glimpse silver or gold in your purse. I beg you to spare me from shooting anyone and adding to people’s misery.’

  She did lean from her saddle to give a gold piece to a widow trudging along with three children at her heels and a baby in her arms, knowing that at least it would keep them fed for weeks to come. She also gave to other solitary refugees who held out a hand dumbly, despair in their faces. Many simply cried out for a blessing from the parson, dropping to their knees in the dust as he made the sign of the Cross over them as he rode by.

  At Southwark Julia parted from her travelling companions, having decided to take a ferry-boat upriver to the Strand. The Webbs gave her an address where they could be contacted and she gave them hers. She waved them on their way to London Bridge and then rode to a tavern at the riverside to leave her hired horse. Travellers rushed out to be the first to hire it before she had dismounted, quarrelling over it amongst themselves. It gave her an insight into the demand for transport to get away from London.

  In contrast there was a line of ferry-boats for hire, business being slack, and she could see how sparse traffic was on the river. The waterman took her baggage from her and stowed it aboard, all without the usual quips associated with his trade. Glum and silent, he pulled on his oars, slicing through the shining water while London Bridge slipped away eastwards. The City glided by on the north bank and from it came the doleful sound of church bells tolling for the dead. There was always smoke billowing upwards from commercial and domestic chimneys, but today when she might have expected less there was more, hanging like a suspended wreath over the rooftops and hiding some of the many church spires that gave grace to the skyline.

  ‘Why is there so much smoke?’ she enquired.

  ‘That’s from the bonfires that are burning night and day to help dispel infection. They’re fuelled with fir or cedar for its effluvium of turpentine.’

  ‘Some of the smoke looks very dark.’

  ‘That’ll be from coal bonfires for the sulphur and the bitumen.’

  ‘I see. Are they helping?’

  ‘Not that I’ve noticed,’ he replied bitterly. ‘I live in the parish of St Giles and five hundred died there last week. We was the first to ’ave the bonfires.’

  She almost quailed, realizing he could be carrying the infection on his clothes or be already afflicted in his person, but then she checked herself. From now on everyone she met would have had some contact with the plague. She must simply carry on as normal in times that were anything but normal, which was the way most people would be coping with whatever they had to do.

  She stepped ashore at the Somerset steps. With her baggage under her arm, she walked quickly up the street to the Strand.

  On the way she passed a pair of ornamental gates to a large mansion, red crosses splashed across the stone gate-posts and again within on its great entrance door, showing that the plague took no heed of wealth or rank. A burly watchman stood on guard to ensure that none of the occupants went in or out all the time the sickness prevailed and throughout the period of quarantine afterwards.

  When she turned into the Strand she saw more red crosses on both sides of the wide street. Here the watchmen, all rough-looking fellows like the one outside the mansion, patrolled several buildings in a row. They wore a badge of office on their hats and carried thick staves to enforce their authority towards the unfortunate inmates of those houses and shops under their jurisdiction. As with the river, there was none of the customary bustle to and fro along this main artery between the walled City and Westminster. Most of the sparse traffic rolled intermittently westward, carrying escaping families out of London.

  Julia increased her pace, her longing to reach Adam overwhelming her now that there was so little distance left. Then it dawned on her that she was the only pedestrian keeping to the side of the street as she hastened along. A new pattern of walking had evolved in which people braved what traffic there was to follow the middle of the thoroughfare and avoid being near any of the infected houses. Suddenly she heard terrible shrieks coming from one of the padlocked houses and was astonished that nobody took any notice. Then she understood that such sounds must have become commonplace.

  She hastened along but could not hope to see her destination yet. Shady trees and the fact that some house entrances projected forward, while others lay back behind gates, gave an obstructive view ahead. It crossed her mind that the watchmen had a difficult task on this side of the Strand to ensure that none went in or out of the plague-marked residences under cover of darkness.

  Adam! Adam! Adam! Her heartbeats seemed to echo his name as she covered the last stretch of cobbles that would bring her to within a view of their home. And there it was! No red crosses on the gate-pillars! She gave a sob of thankfulness as she pushed open one of the double gates to close it again after her. Because the house faced the river instead of the street, a tree-lined drive led southwards and around to the front. She flung her baggage down on the grass verge, not wanting to be hindered by anything on this final lap of her journey. Gathering up her skirts, she broke into a run as she followed the drive under its leafy canopy. Her hat flew from her head, but she did not stop to retrieve it. Then she burst out of sun-speckled shadow as the drive curved to lie parallel with the house’s many-windowed frontage, lawns and flowerbeds sweeping down to the river. The door stood open. With a swirl of petticoats and flashing heels she was up the steps and into the hall.

  ‘Adam!’ she called joyously. ‘I’m here!’

  Her voice echoed back at her in a way that told her the house was deserted, neither he nor any of the servants being there. At the same time she saw, although there had been no red cross on the door, that disaster of another kind had struck. Looters had been here! A chair had been overturned and lay amidst the scattered fragments of a smashed Chinese vase of great beauty and antiquity that Katherine had bequeathed her. It had been the first thing she had found a place for when coming to London. Her favourite tapestry, depicting a knight and a lady in a forest, had gone from the wall, leaving a disarray of hooks that showed how violently it had been tugged down, while the silver salver that was always on a carved sidetable was nowhere to be seen.

  Full of foreboding she looked into the Grand Salon and was appalled at the wreckage of the room. What had not been taken had been slashed as if the looters had taken vengeance against the house of those who had left London and escaped the plague, for she was now certain Adam would have sent all the servants to a safe place, even if he should still be at Westminster and staying elsewhere. The wanton damage proved to be the same in all the downstairs rooms and she supposed the homes of many people from every walk of life would be robbed and vandalize
d in their absence. There were always vultures waiting to take advantage of a general misfortune. Her guess was that the looters of her home had been there only the previous night, for one had relieved himself against a wall and the floor was still damp.

  Although she was certain she was alone, it was with caution that she went up the stairs. As soon as she began to draw level with the landing she saw at once that there everything was orderly and nothing had been touched. Hopeful that at least the upper floor had been spared, she hastened up the last few stairs and crossed the landing to reach her bedchamber door. Entering, she sighed with relief. No intruder had been in here. She could tell by the closed shutters that Adam had shut up the house completely and that those downstairs had been opened by the looters to let in the moonlight, the better to see what they were about. In the light from the door she left open she could see that the four-poster where she and Adam slept was neat from a maidservant’s last smoothing of the coverlet into place.

  The shutters went clattering back at her touch. She turned and there, propped on her toilet-table against one of her perfume flasks, was a letter in Adam’s handwriting. In a matter of seconds she had opened it. Two slips of paper fell out and she saw they were certificates of health made out in her name and Molly’s, bearing the Lord Mayor’s signature and seal. Quickly she turned to Adam’s letter, noting it had been written five days before.

  Beloved Julia. Today I am closing the house and going home to Sussex. The King has left Westminster to go to Hampton Court and from there he will take the Queen with him to the city of Oxford for greater safety. In addition Parliament has been prorogued for the duration of the plague, which leaves me free of my duties. I intend to set off with the least possible delay from Warrender Hall and Sotherleigh to you in France from where we might travel together and see some of the marvels of Romey Florence and Venice. In a way I am putting my thoughts on paper, because it is my hope that this letter will be torn up unread when you and I return here when all is well with London again. But always I have to allow for the unexpected with you, my love, and for that reason I have obtained certificates of health for you and your maid in case you should return from France unannounced and expect to find me still at Westminster. If this should happen, leave with all haste for Sotherleigh and let nothing delay you. Your devoted Adam.

  Her disappointment at missing him by a few days was like a knife being struck into her. Her head bowed slowly and she pressed the letter against her breast, her whole being crying out for him. The irony was that he had almost certainly been crossing the Channel to France from a harbour near Sotherleigh while she was on the ship bound for Dover. It might even have been the sails of the vessel he was travelling in that she and Michael had seen in the distance.

  She was as far away from him again as she had been during all those past weeks in Paris. If only she had met Joe sooner! But it was useless to dwell on that now. She had to gather her workers together and get them out of London without the least delay, not only for their safe-keeping, but also because as soon as Adam discovered she was not in Paris he would return to England immediately. She wanted him to find her at Sotherleigh when he arrived. Fortunately she had told both Faith and Christopher she would go straight home in the event of Adam’s not being in London.

  Now she needed water to freshen herself after her morning journey and then she would set out on foot for Carter Lane. Mrs Webb had warned her not to ride in a hackney coach, because they harboured infection. As she came out of her room she thought she had better check the rest of the upper floor to make sure all the rooms were untouched. She opened one door and then another, satisfied each time. Then she saw that the door to the anteroom of the large guest chamber stood open. Instantly she sensed danger, a chill running down her spine and her heart beginning to thump. There were crossed swords on the wall facing the head of the stairs and soundlessly she took one down. Warily and silently she approached the open door, hearing no movement and yet knowing something dreadful awaited her there.

  She reached the threshold. It was dark within, which should have reassured her, but her fear mounted. Pushing the door open wider, she entered step by cautious step. Again she paused, straining her ears for the least sound, but there was nothing except her own fast breathing and the whisper of her petticoats.

  The recessed door to the bedchamber lay to her left and it also stood open, but not a glimmer of light reached it from the landing behind her and the aperture loomed like a black cave. On she went, the sword poised and heavy in her hand, and she froze every time a floorboard creaked faintly underfoot. At last she could peer into the bedchamber. Her eyes had become accustomed enough to the darkness for her to see the pale draped bed. The stillness within was absolute. She stepped forward into the room.

  Her scream sliced piercingly through the silence as she stepped on an object that rolled away, shooting her off balance, and she crashed full-length over something larger that was lying there, the sword flying from her hand. Terrified that she was about to be grabbed, she hurled herself to her feet and stumbled on her skirt-hem, falling forward to crash her shoulder painfully against one of the two closed window shutters. The force was enough to make the hinges give slightly, letting a bright finger of light penetrate the room and showing her a dreadful sight. Icy horror gripped her and she pressed herself back against the wall, unable to move.

  One of the looters lay dead on his back, sprawled across the Persian carpet that had been rucked by his fall. Around him was the plunder he had dropped. A silver-framed mirror, a pair of gold candlesticks and an ivory-topped cane that had slid from under her foot. The man was coarse-featured and unshaven, and mercifully his eyes were closed, but on his neck above his loosely tied, dirty neckerchief, as well as on his hands, were curious reddish markings that she had never seen before, but which she recognized instantly for what they were. He had died of the plague!

  Her teeth were chattering from shock and her whole body was shaking as she began to edge along the wall towards the door. He was one of those who had surely been affected by tiredness and, unaware of what was happening to him, not having seen the marks on his body, had probably been on his way to find a chair on which to sit and rest. Instead the plague had claimed him. Perhaps he had come upstairs on his own to gain first pickings, leaving the rest to loot below. She could picture them bounding upstairs at the sound of his fall, Then, upon discovering him, they had turned about and bolted for their lives, taking whatever booty they had already gathered downstairs.

  Abruptly she began to gag as bile filled her mouth. She dashed past the plague victim and out to the landing where she leaned weakly against the landing balustrade until the spasm passed. Then slowly she looked at her right hand. Had she touched him when she fell? She could not remember, but her clothes had brushed against him and she must get rid of them.

  She ripped and tore at her garments, kicked off her shoes and stockings until she was only in her undershift, which was shorter than her petticoats and would have had no contact. Then she rushed downstairs, much as the frightened looters would have done, and ran through to the kitchen where the indoor pump was located. The water gushed into a bucket on a ledge at waist level as she pumped the handle. She washed her hands, took fresh water again and when the bucket was almost full she scooped up some with her cupped hands and bathed her face several times. Then, heedless of the trickles that ran down her neck, she stood with her hands dangling wrist deep in the bucket, her eyes closed as if to shut out what she had seen.

  Her panic subsided. Infection was spread by breath or touch and it was probably her own cloak and not his coat on which her hand had descended in her tumble. Moving from the pump, she opened a drawer and took out a linen towel to dry her face and hands as she sank down on to a bench to review the situation. The kitchen was tidy and undisturbed, the copper pans shining on the walls, every lid closed over containers in the long iron bench that housed charcoal to keep the broad surface hot for food waiting to be served at the dining ta
ble. There was something comforting about a kitchen, and the fact that this one was similar to Sotherleigh’s was very calming to her.

  She thought over carefully what she should do. The corpse would have to be removed tonight when a cart for the dead went by, but if she called to the body-takers from the house the authorities would padlock her up inside it. Somehow she must give word to one of the watchmen without suspicion falling on her as an occupant. She must certainly not look like the owner of the property or suspicion should arise.

  She went back upstairs, careful not to touch anything until she reached her room. Then she loosened the ribbons at the neckline of her undershift and let it fall to the floor. Stepping out of it, she took fresh underwear from a drawer, found stockings and garters in another, and when she had donned them she went into the side room where her gowns, shoes, cloaks and hats were kept. She selected a plain gown of striped blue cotton, which was one of the simplest she owned. She then tried to choose a cloak, but in quality they were all like the one she had travelled in, a problem that was resolved when she remembered that the maidservants had an old cloak on a peg in the outer kitchen that they donned in bad weather if sent out into the garden to fetch herbs or a flower-garnish or to take a message to the stables. After a change of shoes into a pair that would be particularly comfortable for walking, she took Adam’s letter with the health certificates and went downstairs again to the outer kitchen. The cloak was there. After tucking the papers into its inside pocket, she slipped it on, letting the hood lie back on her shoulders. She had no modish coiffure to give her away for her hair was simply tidy and softly dressed.

  She left the house without a backwards glance. All had to be left exactly as it was. Material things were not important in such times as these and if other looters should come — so be it. All that mattered was Adam being safe and well. Had it been he lying in that room upstairs she would not have wanted to go on living. Suddenly, in the midst of so much horror, she realized what his love meant to her and that without it everything would have ended for her.