Later
There was much talk about the laxity of the authorities with regard to the possibility of plague. Master Waybold insists that there has been no provision for grain and meal to be stored and no public funds for relief of the poor. Papa blames the magistrates. Master Waybold blames the Lord Mayor. Apparently the French and Italians do things better. They put measures in place and regulations to prevent the possible spread of infection.
They then fell to discussing the new dances, many of which are French. New tunes are available, they say, for sarabands and jigs. Papa insisted that he prefers the English dances which are more elegant and less rowdy. But at his age I daresay he would. After my birthday I shall persuade Aunt Nell to ask Papa to find me a dancing tutor. He surely cannot refuse me indefinitely. I am no longer a child and if he wants me to find a good husband he must see that I have all the ladylike skills.
Saturday
I think ’tis the 18th – I am so confused I cannot think clearly. Such a dreadful thing happened this morning. I was leaving the house to visit Mistress Capperly when a young matron approached on the other side of the road. Of a sudden I heard a commotion and running footsteps behind me and I saw the woman’s expression change to one of horror. I turned in alarm as a man passed me. He was stumbling, dirty and unkempt. He sang snatches of a most bawdy song and uttered the most horrible profanities. I shrank back against the wall but he paid me no heed. Instead, he took hold of the woman and, against her will, kissed her full on the mouth. I felt sick to see such a disgusting thing.
“Now you too will die of the plague!” he told her and stumbled on, laughing.
The young woman gazed at me with such horror in her eyes that I could not ignore her. Senseless with fear, she swayed and I stepped forward and caught her as she fell. I recognized the folly of it as soon as I held her in my arms and screamed for Aunt Nell who ran out to help me. Poppet ran out also but we paid him no heed. We dared not invite her into the house but sat her against the wall outside. Aunt Nell sent me in for a mug of lemonade and we brought her round. Poppet then crept closer to her, whining softly, and she patted his head with a trembling hand. She could scarcely speak but whispered that her name was Madeline Gratton and she was on her way home from going to the apothecary to buy oil of cloves for her husband’s toothache. In desperation she rubbed repeatedly at her mouth until Aunt Nell brought her a bowl of vinegar water and a face cloth to wipe away all trace of the man’s vile kiss. All the while Poppet lay with his head in her lap and seemed besotted with her. I confess I felt a little jealous of this small betrayal but told myself that if he was of comfort to the poor soul I should be glad.
“That wretched man lied,” I told Mistress Gratton with as much conviction as I could muster. “He was as healthy as you or I. His looks were more those of a drunkard. Believe me, ’twas nothing more than a cruel prank.”
The poor creature shook her head. “He had the plague. I smelled it on him.”
I thought it very likely but feared she would die of anxiety before the plague could claim her. We could not reassure her and later, with heavy hearts, watched her go on her way. Aunt Nell would not carry the vinegar water back into the house but emptied it into the gutter. Once inside the house she scoured the bowl with sand and threw the face cloth on to the fire to be rid of it. Her lips were tightclosed and her hands trembled. In truth we were both badly shaken by the encounter. I wish I had been a mile away when the incident happened. ’Twas the nearest we have come to the pestilence and I shall not sleep tonight for thinking of it.
What a mournful noise the bells make. There are so many dead that they are tolled almost incessantly, reminding us constantly of the danger and our own fragility.
June 20th
In bed with griping pains in my stomach. Aunt Nell says I ate too well of the cherries Mistress Capperly sent round yesterday. (She has friends south of the Thames near Maidstone – Mistress Capperly, not Aunt Nell.)
June 23rd
A mighty bad start to the day. I took Poppet for a walk and saw a man throw himself under the wheels of a carriage. I knew ’twas no accident for I saw him wait until the last moment to hurl himself forward. The horses reared up and the carriage threatened to overturn but the driver brought it under control. Poppet barked himself hoarse and I confess I lingered to see how it would all end. The man was dazed and bleeding but not yet dead as a crowd gathered. Then a woman came running and said she was his wife.
It seemed their only son, who was a sailor on the Royal Oak, had died during the battle with the Dutch some weeks ago. Her husband, a prey to melancholy humours, had taken it very hard and had lost the will to live. The man was lifted up and carried to his home with the poor wife weeping beside him. I cut short Poppet’s walk and returned home chastened by the sad spectacle.
June 24th
Another letter from Uncle John urging us all to leave London. He says the plague is taking a firm hold and we should leave while we can. According to rumours, if the plague becomes too bad Woolwich and the other villages will refuse entry to Londoners. Aunt Nell wants me to go but I begged Papa to let me stay, saying that perhaps the worst of the plague is over. I squeezed out a few tears and he relented “for the present”. Aunt Mary sends her love and says we should chew a mixture of garlic and rosemary at all times to keep our lungs clear. It sounds most unpleasant and fortunately Papa thinks so too.
’Tis said that the bells will stop tolling next month by decree of the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. I wonder. London is abuzz with rumours and we no longer know what to believe.
June 25th
Lordsday. To church again but the congregation much smaller than before. The sermon was about sin and the punishments thereof. It seems likely that the plague is brought upon us by the iniquities of the population – a horrid notion. Papa was uneasy and wonders again if we should stay away from all public places until the plague is ended. ’Tis true we can say our prayers at home but for myself I should miss the meeting of friends and acquaintances and the thought of our empty pew saddens me.
June 26th
Monday. Or should I say Black Monday? Aunt Nell has a sick stomach and Maggie was sent in search of asses’ milk for her but could find none. Mistress Capperly called in today to tell us not to go near St Giles where many are sick of the plague and most of those stricken are dying.
“The contagion is in the air everywhere,” she insisted. “We should carry posies of sweet-smelling herbs to hold beneath our noses.”
A curse on those countries abroad for sending us this plague.
Master Cox, the pie man, has not passed and I do recall he comes from the St Giles area. Has he been stricken? I hope not for he has a wife and two small children.
June 28th
Another hot day with scarcely any breeze. I found it impossible to sleep when I came to bed. Just after the stroke of twelve I heard a commotion in the street and crept to the window. I saw a man rolling on the cobbles, shrieking in agony. He tore at his collar, tearing the lace and screamed that devils were tormenting him.
He cried “Get away from me, you hideous fiends!” and lashed out with his fists as though fighting invisible adversaries.
The link man arrived with his lantern and bent over the poor wretch. At once he recoiled from the man. He shouted “ ’Tis the plague!” in a most terrible voice and jumped back in a panic. Around me windows were flung open and heads poked out. Mistress Capperly cried that the poor wretch was obviously delirious – a sure sign of the infection. Then Papa rushed into my room and slammed my window shut.
“You foolish child! Don’t you know the contagion travels in the air?” Aunt Nell joined us and we watched as a blanket was thrown from a window and the unfortunate wretch was wrapped up in it and carried away.
“Is he dead?” someone asked the linkman.
“As good as!” was the reply. “They will take him to the pest house.”
&nbs
p; The man who lives opposite says plague was foretold back in March. It seems that on one fateful day the winds blew from both north and south at the same time and this is a sure sign.
June 29th
Mistress Capperly left London today. She took her ginger cat with her in a wicker basket and piled bags and boxes into a cart. The driver was a cheerful young man in his twenties who seemed happy to talk to me. His name is Luke and he told me that he has hired a cart and is earning good money taking folk into the countryside. He was an actor by profession but audiences are thin. The theatres will soon all be closed. Maggie came out and tossed her yellow curls at him. I asked her loudly how her sweetheart, Jon, was faring in his wherry on the river. She threw me a poisonous look, flounced back into the house and banged the door behind her. I wonder if Luke has a sweetheart. Not that Papa would allow me to wed an actor. In his eyes they are all rogues and vagabonds. Why are parents so full of prejudice? I trust I shall keep an open mind when I am a parent.
It was quite a sight to see Mistress Capperly sitting atop her bundles as the horse set off at a comfortable pace. By that I mean he ambled along despite Luke’s best efforts to hurry him. Mistress Capperly has a friend in Dorking who will accommodate her until the plague ends.
June 30th
The heat is intolerable. Aunt Nell is fidgety and bad tempered and has a pain in her head. As soon as I heard her speak of it I fell prey to a deep anxiety. What if our connection with Madeline Gratton has brought this about? I will write it plain – by that I mean THE PLAGUE. If so, I will hold myself responsible for ’twas I who called Aunt Nell into the street to help me.
July 1st
Another hot airless day. If only it would rain. Some of the pestilence might be washed away.
Shelling peas, I sat in the yard in the shade with my petticoats round my knees but still found little comfort.
Just before dark I heard a cat wailing in the street and there was Mistress Capperly’s ginger cat. He’d escaped his basket and found his way home. I begged a few scraps of cold mutton and fed him on the doorstep. Poppet barked his head off. He was jealous, poor sweet.
July 3rd
Aunt Nell came home from the market looking very pale. She overheard two men discussing the Weekly Bills of Mortality. It seems that in the past week 700 people have died from the plague. So the plague is well and truly come to London after all. After much discussion I am to be sent to Woolwich with Aunt Nell. I refused to go without Poppet and Papa has relented. At least Poppet will enjoy the farm. Plenty of chickens to chase. I was sent to enquire of a carrier but was soon stopped in my tracks. One of the houses in the next street had a red cross painted on the door. Above the cross someone had chalked “Lord Have Mercy Upon Us”.
The door had been padlocked on the outside and a man was sitting on the steps. He looked dirty and his clothes were tattered. He said he was the official watchman and that the house was “shut up”. Inside was someone dying of the plague and nobody was allowed in or out.
“But how will they eat?” I asked.
“I’ll run their errands.” He grinned and I saw his horrid teeth. “For a small sweetener!” He rubbed his finger and thumb together and of a sudden I was glad to be going to Woolwich. But I could find no carriers for hire – they were all spoken for. Returned home deeply disturbed.
July 4th
Young Will came to the door today tho’ we dared not let him in. Apart from his thievery there is plague in St Giles. I was grating cheese for a rarebit. Will was as pert as ever and full of his usual tricks. Aunt Nell was still abed, still out of sorts. I took her some porridge but she couldn’t keep it down. We gave Will some ham and a chunk of bread which he gobbled noisily, stuffing it in with his fingers. He said he had had great sport, following the cart.
“Which cart is that?” Maggie asked, looking in the larder for some milk.
“Why, the dead cart,” he replied. “Every night as soon as ’tis dark it comes round to collect the dead.”
I stared at him, my heart in my mouth. Then a shudder ran through me. Had it come to this?
Maggie clipped his ear and told him not to tell lies.
“But ’tis true,” he insisted. “The graveyards are full up. Dead bodies on top of dead bodies.” He pinched his nose and rolled his eyes. “And most of the gravediggers are fled into the country. They take the bodies to a pit now and tip them in. Higgledy, piggledy. All arms and legs. ’Tis a most gruesome sight.”
Maggie said, “You lie, Will.”
“ ’Tis the truth,” he insisted. “Half of the bodies are naked as the day they was born. Cross my heart and hope to—”
Maggie clapped a hand across his mouth. She gave him a slice of lemon tart to keep him quiet and we looked at each other.
“Then God is truly punishing us,” Maggie cried. “We are all going to die,” and of a sudden burst into tears. We threw our arms around each other in fear and for a long moment clung together weeping. When we separated, young Will had disappeared taking with him the rest of the lemon tart as well as the cheese grater.
July 5th
Wednesday morning. I am writing this before I rise for breakfast. Yesterday a letter was handed in the door from a man who leaped back as soon as the door was opened. He asked querulously if we “had it in the house”. By this he meant the plague. He was not at all reassured by my denial but scurried away leaving us to read the letter. It was from Master Ruddiard, to tell us he was leaving London with his parents to stay in East Grinstead until the plague was gone out of the City. He urged us to do the same and asked God to bless us. So – no more singing lessons. Life is changing in so many ways.
A letter is come too from Uncle John who tells us of a recipe for “Doctor Butler’s Cordial Water” – a sure cure for the plague. It will drive all venom from the heart. It calls for half a pound of venice treacle (which is nowhere to be had in these days of sickness) as well as pimpernel, cardous, scordium and scabious. And rosewater for distillation. A month since we might have purchased all or some but now there are few medicaments to be had.
Papa asked the doctor to call because Aunt Nell is no better. When the doctor came he was like a stranger, so haggard and pale I scarcely knew him. He held a cloth soaked in vinegar to his mouth to keep out the contagion. He stayed for no more than a minute but I daresay we are fortunate he came at all. Many doctors have fled into the countryside with their families. Aunt Nell has a “high fever”. He scribbled a list of medicaments for me to fetch from the apothecary.
On the doorstep he paused and whispered, “Get out of London before ’tis too late.”
I hastened willingly to our nearest apothecary. It smells so exotic – scented as it is with a myriad of herbs. Dried mint, aniseed, cloves and ginger . . . the list is endless. Ever since I was child I have found the apothecary’s a place of wonder with the sparkling array of coloured bottles, jars of every shape and size and stone jars tightly corked. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling, and baskets and boxes of sandalwood are piled on every counter. Everything is labelled, the contents noted in spidery Latin. Our apothecary looks as ancient as some of his ingredients with a leathery face and kindly blue eyes. Aunt Nell claims that he has been there since the beginning of time, his life prolonged by his own remedies.
I returned with what few medicaments I could buy. Pray God they will work their usual magic.
July 6th
I cannot write. My heart is too heavy. Maggie’s mother is taken with the plague and will most likely die. As soon as Will told her Maggie ran off to reach home before they are shut up. Aunt Nell is very angry and Papa muttered that servants no longer know where their loyalties lie. But I understand. Blood is stronger than water.
July 7th
At last we have seen the coal carrier. He brought us a hod full of coal and has promised another in two days’ time. If he is spared that long, he added, crossing himself. He showed me a c
harm, “To Repel The Distemper” which he has lately bought from a fortune-teller. It is a scrap of paper with the letters of the word ABRACADABRA writ in the form of an upturned triangle. At the bottom is an A, above that AB, above that ABR and so on until the whole word is done. The poor man knows nothing of the alphabet but still insists that this will protect him. I had no heart to tell him otherwise tho’ I fear ’tis quite useless.
Without Maggie ’twas my job to venture into the other end of the attic to select a couple of pigeons for tonight’s supper. How I hate that pigeon loft. A smelly, messy place but the pigeons seem happy enough. I took down the first two birds I could catch and took them to Aunt Nell in her sickbed. She eyed them askance.
“Old birds,” she whispered. “Hardly worth cooking. Look at the legs, Alice. Young birds have pink legs. Go up and find some that are younger.”
I said I could not bear to venture up there again and poor Aunt Nell had no energy to argue with me.
July 8th
The Great Plague Page 3
