The Lovers (Echoes From The Past)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Quinn, you don’t have to make any decisions today. Just take a little time to figure out what you want from your relationship with her.”

  “I don’t know that I can ever think of her as my mother, but I would like to get to know her better. There are questions I still need to ask. And I’ve decided not to confront Rhys, at least not yet. I’m simply not ready to have that conversation with him.”

  “I understand. I’ll call you later. Someone is waiting for me.”

  “OK.”

  Quinn made herself a cup of tea and sat down in front of the unlit hearth. The house felt cold and damp, but she had no energy to lay a fire. She suddenly felt drained, her heart heavy. Quinn slowly sipped her tea until some warmth returned to her limbs, and she reached for the phone once more. It was time to call Sylvia Wyatt.

  Chapter 53

  June 1665

  Suffolk, England

  Elise stood patiently by Edward’s bedside while Dr. Samuels examined him. Edward had slept poorly during the night and was still flushed and agitated come morning. He had no appetite, and his chamber pot was full of vomit that permeated the room with its noxious odor. It was a testament to how ill Edward was that he hadn’t demanded that Elise leave the room as soon as the doctor was admitted and had not objected to her opening the window just a crack to air out the chamber, although the doctor might have had he been able to draw breath without gagging.

  “Take that out immediately,” Elise hissed at Peg who poked her head into the room.

  “Yes, me lady.” Peg covered the bowl with a towel and took it away, allowing them all to breathe easier. The doctor looked visibly relieved and stuffed the pomander he’d been holding to his nose back in his pocket.

  “It’s not the plague, your ladyship,” Dr. Samuels said as he walked out with Elise. “Your husband is suffering from a fever, but he will most certainly recover. He must stay abed for at least a week and have nothing but broth and thin gruel. Keep a fire burning in his bedchamber, and do not open the windows. You don’t want him catching a chill, what with the sea air and all.”

  Edward’s room was already stifling, and the smell of stale sweat, vomit, and illness was overwhelming, but Elise nodded in understanding. She would do as she was told.

  “And how are you feeling?” the doctor asked as he took in her growing belly.

  “I am well,” Elise replied. And she was. She felt more energetic since leaving London, and her appetite had improved. She was actually hungry, especially after taking a brisk walk. The lethargy that plagued her in London seemed to have dissipated, and she felt a need to be active and spend time outdoors in the fresh air.

  “You mustn’t exert yourself,” Dr. Samuels admonished, as if he could read her thoughts. “Women in your condition should remain indoors and rest as much as possible. You must attend church, of course, but walking should be avoided, as should all rich foods. Limit yourself to broth and porridge, and under no circumstances are you to consume any uncooked fruit or vegetables. Very unhealthy for digestion, I’m afraid. Have you consulted the local midwife?”

  “No, not yet,” Elise admitted. “I’ve been here only a week.”

  “I’ll have Mistress Wynne call on you. She’s a good pious woman,” he added, wishing to assure Elise that no accusations of witchcraft had been made against the midwife. “She’s devoted to Christ and the teachings of the Church, and she practices no pagan methods.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Elise didn’t expect Dr. Samuels to attend her at birth if she were still in Suffolk. Male doctors were rarely called, seeing childbirth as the providence of women. If a male doctor was called in, either the mother, the child, or both were in grave danger. Elise hoped that Mistress Wynne was kind. She feared childbirth and, having no mother or other female relatives to offer her guidance, felt isolated and ignorant of what to expect when her time came. A midwife often brought the village gossips with her to ease the labor and offer support to the mother. The women told stories and comforted the laboring woman. Elise wasn’t sure that anyone would come for her since no one in the area knew her, but she longed for the camaraderie of women, even if they happened to be strangers. Elise wished she could have formed more of a bond with Barbara, but the girl seemed even more withdrawn since leaving London. She found the new surroundings intimidating and refused to venture farther than the garden, terrified of seeing the sea. She kept doggedly at her sewing and embroidery and seemed to grow more animated only when she saw James. She obviously trusted him.

  Elise went up to see Edward, who was now sitting up in bed propped up by pillows and wearing a clean nightshirt. He still looked deathly pale and was far from clean, his hair greasy and his beard smeared with dried vomit, but at least the air in the room was fresher. Edward waved her away as soon as she stepped into the room. “Leave me. You mustn’t get ill. Send Peg back in. I need to use the chamber pot, and I’d like to wash and shave.”

  Elise was sure that Dr. Samuels would advise against such foolishness, but she saw no harm in allowing Edward to freshen up. He was a vain man, and getting clean would allow him to regain some dignity and control over the situation. And if he wanted Peg, well, so much the better. Elise was relieved not to have to look after her husband. His treatment of her rankled, and she’d resolved to spend as little time in his company as possible. She wished she could see James, but he’d gone to London. Elise could understand his need to see to his sister, but she worried so. James and the child were the only things that mattered in her life, but she had little control over their well-being. With James gone, every day felt like an eternity, and Elise had nothing to keep her occupied, save her sewing.

  Chapter 54

  James covered his face with a kerchief as he passed through Bishopsgate and into the city proper. He’d been in London just over a week ago, but things had changed dramatically during that time. A pall hung over the city, the people looking gray and frightened as they went about their business. The number of red crosses had multiplied drastically, and the streets were virtually deserted at a time of day when London normally buzzed like a giant beehive. No children played in the street, and few fine carriages passed by, the wealthy having either left the city or holed up in their houses, hiding from infection.

  It was early July, and the heat of the summer combined with the raging pestilence made the air thick with evil smells. London reeked of death, open plague pits exhaling lye-scented fumes of putrefaction. James found himself holding his breath until he grew light-headed, but he could hardly stop breathing, so he tried to suck in air through the handkerchief, conscious that every gulp was laced with ill humors.

  A gauzy mist curled between the houses, softening the sharp edges and obscuring the sky. It was thickest along the ground, almost masking the layer of muck and waste that coated the slimy cobbles. In some places, the refuse mixed with mud, forming ankle-deep rivers of sludge. James’s horse picked its way through this swamp, its ears pressed back and its nostrils flaring as its hooves nearly lost purchase several times. The animal was nervous, and unusually skittish, especially after the fresh air and open spaces of the countryside.

  James tried to avert his eyes as carts piled with corpses slowly rolled past him, the drivers staring ahead with dead eyes, correctly assuming that their own sorry carcasses would grace such a cart before the summer’s end. James’s horse reared as a cloaked man wearing a leather mask with a long beak materialized out of the mist. The man was a plague doctor, and he gave James a brief nod before vanishing down a dank alleyway. What hope did one man have against the tide of sickness sweeping the city?

  The Tower of London looked even more forbidding than usual in the swirling mist, the ravens screeching loudly as they flapped their black wings and flew from one rampart to another. The stink of rotting fish wafted off the river, and James heard the plaintive cries of the ferrymen as they called out to one another to relieve their boredom. They got few fares these days since most people left their houses only w
hen absolutely necessary and saw little reason to venture across the river. The sickness would claim many, but so would poverty. Almost everyone’s livelihood had been threatened by the plague, and they were feeling the pinch.

  An unnatural hush hovered over Molly’s street, her normally nosy neighbors all hiding indoors, whether by choice or necessity. James tethered his horse and slowly approached the house, fearful of what he’d find. Several dwellings were marked with the telltale red cross, and James breathed a sigh of relief when he took in the unblemished wood of Molly’s door. No plague, then, not yet. James knocked loudly, eager to see Molly and her family. Molly opened the door and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. She was hollow-eyed and tense.

  “What are you doing here?” Molly hissed as she took in his travel-stained appearance.

  “I came to see after the family,” James replied, surprised by Molly’s hostility.

  “You must leave. Now.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “What’s happened? Are ye blind, man? There’s plague all around.”

  James glared at Molly and took her by the shoulders. “What are you not telling me, Moll?”

  “Beth’s been taken ill. Two days ago. Oh, I can’t bear to lose another child, James,” she wailed. “If anyone finds out, we’ll get shut in, and that will be the end of us all. You must leave. Save yourself, Brother. You still have a chance.”

  “Molly, let me take Mercy. I’ll keep her safe.”

  Molly stared up at him, her mouth working as she bit her lip. “Where would you take her?”

  “I’ll take her back to Suffolk.”

  “Oh, you think our esteemed father will look after his granddaughter, do you?”

  “No, he’s banished me. But I can stay in the town, Moll. There are no cases of plague there yet. Life goes on much as before. The food is not tainted, and there’s fresh air from the sea.”

  “All right. Take her, James. Keep ’er safe. I have to stay and care for Beth.”

  “And Peter?” James asked, realizing that he couldn’t hear the sound of Peter working in his workshop.

  “He’s gone, James. He’s been summoned to the palace. They need carpenters to make coffins. I haven’t seen ’im in nearly a fortnight.”

  James nodded. Of course, there were thousands of people living in Whitehall Palace, and no carts would be collecting the dead in plain view. The nobility would have wooden coffins and proper burials, with a church service and mourners, not be tossed into lye-filled pits. The afflicted servants and other lowly members of the household would be discreetly disposed of, so as not to offend the sensibilities of the wealthy.

  “And the king?” James asked. “Is he still in London?”

  “Rumor has it that ’e’s left for Salisbury with ’is court, but there are many who remain behind. Oh, James, it’s terrifying, this is.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s much worse than any previous year.”

  “There are shortages of food, and whole families die out once they’re shut in. I’m scared, James.”

  Molly finally let go of her self-control and flung herself into James’s arms, weeping. “I don’t want to die.”

  “You’re not going to die. Come with me, Moll.”

  “I can’t leave Beth behind, and I can’t bring ’er along. She’ll infect the others and bring the pestilence to wherever we go. She doesn’t ’ave long, James.”

  “May I see her?”

  “No, ye fool. Ye may not. Just take Mercy, and be on yer way.”

  Molly grabbed an empty sack and began to throw in various items of clothing for her daughter. There wasn’t much, and the sack was depressingly light. “Come,” she called out to Mercy, who peered from behind the curtain of the alcove where she’d been sleeping. “James will take ye away from this accursed place.”

  “But what about ye and Father, Mam? And Beth?” Mercy pleaded. “I don’t want to leave ye.”

  “We will come and fetch ye as soon as we can. Now mind yer uncle and don’t be a burden to ’im.”

  Molly seized the child and held her close for a moment, kissing the top of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling, then swiftly pushed Mercy away. “Go now.”

  Mercy looked frightened as she followed James out of the house. She glanced from left to right, shocked by the silence and stink of fear that permeated the narrow alley where she’d been born and lived her whole life. James lifted Mercy onto the horse and swung into the saddle behind her. She leaned against him, giving him her trust, but he could feel her slight shoulders shaking with silent sobs as they trotted away from Blackfriars. Mercy didn’t say a word, but her body was rigid against James’s chest, and she continued to cry, occasional sobs tearing from her as she took in the state of the city. James wished that he could comfort the child, but there wasn’t much he could say. She knew the reality of what was happening and understood only too well the consequences of having a plague victim in the house.

  James wrapped his arms about her and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll be all right, Mercy. I’ll take care of you no matter what. You hear?”

  Mercy nodded miserably. “Thank ye, Uncle James. I know ye will.”

  Mercy remained silent for the rest of the ride through London, huddling against James as if she could meld into him for greater safety. She wasn’t asleep, but she kept her eyes closed to block out the horror. James reached into his saddlebag and took out a piece of bread. “Here, have some bread, child.”

  “’T might be tainted,” Mercy replied, stiffening.

  “It’s not. I brought it with me from Suffolk. I don’t have much left, but we’ll be able to buy some food in a few hours once we are far enough from the city.”

  Mercy accepted the bread and chewed it slowly, savoring every bite. James realized that the child probably hadn’t eaten at all since yesterday, food being scarce. James took out a kerchief and gave it to the girl. “Tie this around your face once we get closer to the gate.”

  “Why?”

  “It will keep you from breathing in evil humors.”

  “And how will that help?” Mercy asked, suddenly curious.

  “I don’t know, but the plague doctors wear those leather masks with the long beaks, and the masks seem to keep them safe. So, covering your nose and mouth must have some benefit.”

  Mercy nodded and tied the scarf around her face. She looked like England’s tiniest highwayman.

  “Will it get better outside the wall?”

  “Not for a while. It’s even worse past the city gates, but eventually we will get to open country. Just be patient till then.”

  “Not like I have much choice in the matter,” replied Mercy wisely.

  Chapter 55

  “I’m glad to see you feeling better,” Elise said as she entered Edward’s room with the breakfast tray. Edward was sitting up in bed, a scowl of irritation on his face. The unnatural flush of a few days ago had been replaced by pallor, but at least the fever had gone, and Edward was no longer vomiting. He’d lost weight over the past few weeks, and his jowls sagged, loose skin wobbling beneath his chin in a most unbecoming manner. His hair appeared to be grayer than it had been even a few months ago, and there were fine wrinkles around his eyes even when he wasn’t smiling, which at this moment, he most certainly wasn’t.

  “Will you try some breakfast?”

  “Give it here,” Edward replied and took the tray from Elise. She sat down and watched as he obediently ate a hot bun and drank a cup of broth. Edward handed back the crockery and made to rise.

  “You are not fit to be out of bed, Edward,” Elise protested. “You need a few more days, or you will undermine your recovery.”

  “If I don’t die of sickness, I will perish of boredom,” Edward growled.

  “Better than dying of the plague,” Elise replied. “They say in the village that the king and his court have left London for Salisbury. He will remain there until the pestilence begins to abate in t
he city.”

  “Then I will go to Salisbury,” Edward said but made no move to rise. Surprisingly, he’d decided to heed her advice for once.

  “Perhaps I can come with you. Salisbury is not so far, is it? I’ve never been.” Elise already knew what Edward would say, but she thought she might try. Being in this house without James was unbearable. She floated from room to room, desperate for something to do and someone to talk to, but there was no one, save Peg, and it wasn’t proper to chat with the servants as if they were friends. Elise had grown close to Lucy during her time in London, but Peg was a different type of woman, a woman who was best kept at arm’s length if one didn’t wish to have to pull a knife out of one’s back. Elise was even lonelier than she had been in London, where at least she could take the occasional walk and see something of the hustle and bustle of the city.

  “You will remain here,” Edward replied, his gaze boring into her, daring her to defy him.

  “Edward, what have I done to displease you so?” Elise cried, suddenly unable to contain her frustration any longer. “I have tried to be a good wife to you, but you are never at home, and when you are, you ignore me. Perhaps if you would explain things to me, I could learn to be a better companion to you,” she begged.

  Edward stared at her as if his horse had suddenly spoken. She’d never confronted him so openly before, and the experience was new to them both. He leaned back against the pillows and studied her for a moment, as if deciding just how much honesty she could handle. He let out a sigh of defeat, his shoulders slumping as he acknowledged the truth of her argument.

  “Elise, my accident robbed me of my manhood, but it hadn’t dulled my sight, nor has it done anything to dampen my lust. I might seem old to you, but inside, I’m still a young man who burns with desire and longs for pleasure. Having you belong to me, but not being able to use you as a husband should and seeing you grow big with a child that isn’t mine enrages me. I long to punish James and cause him the kind of suffering he’s caused me, but I can hardly hold him accountable for doing what I asked of him.”