The Great Plague

by Pamela Oldfield

  May 27th

  Maggie is in a bad mood again today and has put me quite out of humour. This afternoon I picked up the leather bucket in the yard and found a dead rat in it. I screamed and dropped the bucket and Maggie called me a ninny. I doubt that she would have been one wit braver than I, faced with such a horrid sight. She said it had most likely died of the plague and I was half minded to tell Aunt Nell but I thought better of it for we are not to speak of the plague for fear it brings bad luck.

  If Maggie leaves us the new servant might be worse. At least we are friends most of the time.

  May 28th

  Lordsday. Went to church – to our own pew in St Andrew’s – and on the way watched some jugglers in the street which made us late. One of them had a humorous way with words and was entertaining the crowd. Even Aunt Nell laughed at his jokes. I should like to marry a man who makes me laugh and keeps me from melancholy. A man who shall never snap at me or call me careless (as Aunt Nell does) or complain about my singing (like Papa) or be unkind about my dog (like Maggie).

  May 29th

  A great scandal has broken in court of which Papa heard the details from Master Pepys himself. On Friday last the Lord Rochester attempted to elope with a certain Mrs Mallet who is both beautiful and rich. She was snatched from her carriage, by prior arrangement, and bundled into another. The Lord Rochester himself was fast in pursuit of her but was seized and now languishes in The Tower for his sins. ’Tis said the King is most displeased.

  “And what news of Mrs Mallet?” I asked.

  “None of the lady,” said Papa. “She has been spirited away.”

  “ ’Tis none of our business,” said Aunt Nell. “You ask too many questions.”

  Papa merely shrugged.

  “ ’Twill all end in tears!” said Aunt Nell, tut-tutting.

  My aunt, bless her, has no romance in her soul. For my part, I think it the most romantic thing I have ever heard. A fair lady kidnapped and stolen away and a passionate man imprisoned for love of her. Papa shook his head in disapproval (he has that look to perfection) but I shall pray for the lovers to be reunited. I confess I felt like cheering at the news. These excitements are the very stuff of London life. How can the country compare with such a town? For countryfolk no doubt a runaway ox or a thatch on fire is the best excitement they can hope for.

  May 30th

  Tuesday. No more news of the runaway lady but the Lord Rochester is still in The Tower. And still has his head, as Maggie remarked. ’Tis hardly a treasonable offence but ’twould be sad to see his head on a stake above London Bridge with those of criminals.

  And now for a most secret thing. Papa must never know. Today Maggie has told me of a famous fortune-teller who has hung out his sign near Leadenhall market. He claims he is a distant cousin of Mother Shipton, the witch from the north. While not being evil in any way he is able to see into the future. I am determined to visit him to know for certain that, should the plague overtake us, we shall all survive.

  June 2nd

  More excitement but of a different nature. Papa tells us about the English fleet which should shortly be engaging the Dutch ships which greatly outnumber ours. I suggested the numbers may be exaggerated but Papa is adamant. If Master Pepys says ’tis so then ’tis so, for Papa hangs on his every word. Papa is so proud that he works for the Navy Board.

  To please him I went to St Paul’s with Aunt Nell this morning to pray on our knees for our brave sailors and to ask God to bring England a great victory.

  “I fear the Dutch may be praying also,” I whispered to Aunt Nell. “What is God to do?”

  She nudged me hard with her elbow and hissed that I was blasphemous.

  A letter has come from Uncle John, urging that Aunt Nell and I should join them in Woolwich if the plague takes hold in the city. Papa says it would be wise but Aunt Nell is against the notion. I am also. Weeks or even months with that noisy family. My nerves would be in tatters. I can enjoy them for a few days but longer would be a torment. And if we should go, who will care for Papa? Maggie can do little in the kitchen without supervision and how would Papa endure a daily breakfast of hardboiled eggs and burnt toast?

  I wish folk would not harp on so about the plague. I know that Holland was stricken two years since and that thousands died but ’tis years since London suffered. I think we must visit that man in Leadenhall market who can tell the future. That would put my fears at rest.

  June 3rd

  My naughty little Poppet escaped again today and I was in a turmoil searching the streets until I found him two doors away from home. He had chased Mistress Capperly’s ginger cat into the house and she was most displeased. She insisted that I take more care of my pet.

  “If the plague increases, dogs at large in the streets will be seized and killed,” she said.

  I hope she is wrong.

  Today I learned another great secret by way of Aunt Nell. Papa is to buy me a string of pearls for my fourteenth birthday. It will look well with the ring my grandmother left me – seed pearls in a gold band which suits my slim hand to perfection tho’ I say it myself. Only two more months to go. A string of pearls. I can hardly believe my good fortune. If I close my eyes I can almost feel them resting against my throat. I do believe I am the happiest young woman in the world.

  June 4th

  Lordsday. In church with Papa to give thanks for the victory at sea. Yesterday we heard the guns all day and England put the Dutch to flight. But there were heavy losses. Came home early before the sermon as Papa had a bad attack of colic. He went to bed and Aunt Nell dosed him with mint tea to ease his stomach. Around six Papa’s colleague Master Waybold called on us with news of yesterday’s battle. It seems the Earl of Falmouth was killed outright with one shot which killed two others also. And some admirals are also lost. We took many of their best ships and lost no more than 700 men while killing nigh on 10,000 of theirs. Ten thousand? I wondered if this could possibly be true but Master Waybold insisted it ’twas so. Papa says ’twas the greatest sea battle of all time.

  “But 10,000?” I repeated. “The sea must be full of bodies!”

  Papa gave me an angry look and I waited for Aunt Nell to mutter “Doubting Thomas” but she refrained. I said I would pray for all their souls and retired to the kitchen to tell Maggie.

  June 5th

  Most wonderful excitement. Maggie has a sweetheart now and to hear her you would imagine him a god at the very least.

  “Write that in your diary,” she told me with a wicked smile. “Write that he takes the most glorious liberties.”

  I asked what these liberties were but she laughed, tossed her head and patted that glorious golden hair.

  How I wish I were more like her – in looks, that is, not situation. It seems this young god goes by the name of Jon Ruddle and he is a waterman on the Thames like his father and grandfather before him. Maggie says he has the bluest eyes and hair like silk. She is clearly besotted with him. I must admit I was envious to hear that he has kissed her. I wish Master Ruddiard would try to kiss me (tho’ I would not allow it). He did once put his hand on my midriff when teaching me how to breathe but Aunt Nell was present and gave a little cough. He snatched his hand away and blushed to the roots of his hair. He tells me that I sing like an angel. If only Papa thought so. He complains that my voice shows no improvement and that he is throwing his money away on my lessons. Last week he bid me sing for him. I gave him “As At Noon Dulcina Rested” (which Aunt Nell declared was prettily done) and then “Come Live With Me And Be My Love”. I imagined myself to be lovesick Maggie and sang it most heartfelt but Papa was not impressed. I cannot please him whatever I do. ’Tis truly vexing.

  June 6th

  In a dark mood all day. Papa has cancelled our visit to the theatre for fear of the plague in crowded places. ’Tis said that the gaming houses will soon be closed and the music houses also. I sat in my room all day and
would speak to no one. Aunt Nell says I could win a prize for my sulks. No one understands me. No one cares. Why am I cursed with such a family?

  Next day

  Maggie’s brother Will called in today while Aunt Nell was at the shops. (She cannot bear him in the house, calling him a young thief, which is true.) We let him into the kitchen and gave him a slice of caraway cake. He could do with a bath and some shoes but Maggie says he is used to going barefoot. He has the most cheerful disposition and seems to find the world a place of endless amusement. For an eight year old he is remarkably quick. Or maybe I should say quick-fingered for he pocketed one of our silver spoons and Maggie had to run after him down the street, hollering at him to return it. I hastened after them. (Aunt Nell would have a fit to see me run in the street.) Maggie only caught him because he cannoned into an elderly gentleman who grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and gave him a good shaking. Maggie gave him a clout but he laughed and put out his tongue. I do wish I had a brother or sister but when my mother died, Papa swore he would never wed again. Aunt Nell claims that living without a wife has made him short-tempered. Amen to that, I say, for something surely has. If I have a husband and he dies I shall most certainly wed again.

  June 8th

  Have finished the collar and will never crochet another. I have hid it in my chest and hope never to set eyes on it again. Such fiddly work is not at all to my taste tho’ Aunt Nell claims it is good for my temper.

  “ ’Twill do you good, Alice, to slow down and concentrate,” she tells me again and again.

  “ ’Twill drive me to distraction,” I reply and she pretends to be shocked and tries not to smile. I wonder if Mama would have been like her had she lived. She is the kindest creature but a mite too strict. Mama was two years younger and her hair was darker. Aunt Nell says that I am truly made in her image.

  June 9th

  A day to remember. I met Maggie’s sweetheart, Jon. We were shopping together and he was on his way to the river. He does have very blue eyes but his hair was tousled and lacked a comb. He put his arm round Maggie’s waist and kissed her tho’ she pretended to push him away. He is full of talk of the plague and frightened us with a dreadful story.

  “I have this fare a day back,” he told us, “who staggers as he comes down the steps. Drunk, I think to meself. He asks to be taken to Southwark but I’ve gotten a good look at him by this time. I’m a bit uneasy, like. I wants to refuse but then he offers me twice the usual fare. When I still hesitate he doubles that so I think ‘Take a chance, my lad’.”

  Maggie said “ ’Twas mighty rash, Jon.”

  “But I did,” he told her. “By the time he’s sat in the boat he’s shivering and white as death. Suddenly he empties his belly all over the boat. Ugh! I’m tempted to throw him overboard but fear to overturn the boat. By the time we fetch up on the far side he can scarcely climb out. I won’t help him for fear of touching him and he slips and falls in and is carried away.”

  There was a long silence.

  He said, “I saw no tokens, Maggie. I swear it. But I made a pretty penny.” He patted his pocket.

  “Tokens?” Maggie said.

  “Aye. Those dark spots beneath the skin. Tokens is a sure sign of plague.”

  “Is he drowned then?” I asked. “This man?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Maggie had gone very pale. She said, “You must steep the coins in vinegar. That way you’ll be safe from contagion.”

  “I did that, don’t you fret, my lamb. And swilled out the boat.” He grinned. “I’ll be rich by the time this is all over. How d’you fancy being wed to a rich man, eh?”

  And he gave her another kiss. I must confess I was glad he wasn’t kissing me. As we made our way homeward we agreed not to repeat what we had heard for fear Papa sends us down to Woolwich.

  June 10th

  I dare not tell Papa but Maggie and I visited the fortune-teller. We found the place easily enough by the line of people who waited outside to see him. Once inside we found ourselves in a strange room. ’Twas draped with dark fabrics and there were mystic signs on the wall. There was no window that we could see and the smell was foul. We were both a little frightened but would not admit it. The man himself was small and wizened and his hair was grey and straggled over his collar. His eyes were small, dark and piercing and his clothes were magical – a long black robe decorated with silver moons. And he smelled mightily of garlic. He took my money and asked my date of birth then consulted a large chart which was pinned out flat on a table. The chart was covered with a confusion of coloured shapes – I could only identify a few. A star, a horse with a man’s head, a black sun, a green triangle and two crossed arrows. Thick black lines linked the various shapes in a somewhat random fashion. The fortune-teller slid a gnarled forefinger across the parchment, pausing at each symbol. He muttered to himself, wrinkling his face into a frown.

  Unable to bear the silence I asked, “Are the signs good? Will we survive?”

  In a quavering voice, he informed me that the signs were mainly good but still uncertain and I should return in a week’s time for a more accurate reading, “When the stars are in a more propitious conjunction.”

  Suppressing niggling doubts I tried to take this as most positive but Maggie was sceptical.

  “And then you will ask her to return yet again, no doubt!” she told him. “A fig for your prediction!”

  Then she dragged me outside and told the waiting people to save their hard-earned money. All but one ignored her. The last, an elderly woman, shook her head sadly and wandered away.

  “They are buying hope,” I told Maggie, more than a little mortified.

  “They are being cheated!” she returned. “He is nothing but a stinking charlatan.”

  I fear she was right but I blamed her for putting the idea into my head and said so. We walked home in silence, at odds with each other.

  I hate Saturdays. Papa is at home and looking for faults in all of us. Today was worse than usual. He claimed my fingernails were not clean enough, told Maggie that she eats too much and accused Aunt Nell of squandering his money.

  June 11th

  Sunday. St Andrew’s held special prayers for those suffering with the plague which made me most fearful. While we were at church Uncle John called at the house with a brace of partridges, a basket of fresh vegetables and a barrel of his best cider. But he was in haste to get back to Woolwich and would not wait for our return. Maggie says he was “all a twitter” in fear of the contagion. It seems there are fresh cases in the liberties to the west of the city wall and fine weather will bring more. God help them all. It seems that the contagion likes the heat so we must hope for a cool summer.

  June 13th

  Mistress Capperly called by to tell us of a certain way to ward off the plague. A walnut shell filled with mercury is worn on a leather lace around the neck. She was wearing one herself which she had bought from a stall on the steps of St Paul’s. Aunt Nell was ready to hasten there at once but when we told Papa he was against the notion, saying that it was a sop for the gullible. He has been told on the best authority (a colleague in the Navy Board, no less) that a void in the stomach allows the pestilential humours to enter and we should eat frequently of eggs and strong pickles.

  June 14th

  Ten o’clock has just struck. I am quite worn out and write this diary in bed. Papa is below entertaining Master Waybold and his new wife. Maggie and I shopped all morning and all afternoon helped Aunt Nell to prepare the supper. The weather being hot the kitchen was like an oven with the fire lit. We made a salad with young spinach leaves and lettuce hearts, white endive and chervil. It looked well spread on the plate with slices of beetroot. Aunt Nell prepared a fine fricasee of partridges. I made the pastry for a tart of codlin apples and Maggie churned cream and shelled peas. She started the raspberry jelly which Aunt Nell finished while Maggie polished th
e cutlery and set the table. Thank Heaven Papa does not entertain more often.

  I think I must wed a rich man and have a kitchen full of servants of which one shall be an excellent cook. I shall be glad when my birthday comes and I am fourteen, for then Papa will include me at dinner and I can wear my best silk with the beaded collar. But after the meal we shall all have to sing and Master Ruddiard says I am not yet ready for that. (He will never know how little I practise.)

  On his arrival, Master Waybold told Papa that the plague has been caused by earthquakes in a distant part of the world. Apparently earthquakes allow pestilential seeds to rise from below the ground. These are then borne on the winds and carried to all parts of the world to cause sickness and death. Aunt Nell declared that if this is so ’tis no accident but the will of God. For my part I am sick to my teeth of reasons for the plague. What difference does it make how it came about?

  I shall creep out now to the top of the stairs and see what else I can hear. At times I envy the menfolk. They have interesting lives which are denied to many women. Had I been born a boy I might have become a physician or a lawyer. Instead I shall be a wife and mother. I shall have to wed a man whose work I can discuss with him.