I never thought to write such terrible words in this diary but tragedy has befallen us with a vengeance. Yesterday, when the doctor returned to see his patient, he told me that Aunt Nell’s fever has not been broken. Of a certainty she has the plague. The disease must run its course, he warned. She may die. If tokens appear on her skin there is no hope for her. I stared at him, chilled from head to toe with a fear like nothing I have ever known. I tried to speak but the words eluded me. I felt dizzy and had to sit down. He said the house must be shut up so that we do not go out and infect others.
“Not the plague!” I whispered, when I at last found my voice. “ ’Tis the spotted fever, surely?”
He shook his head wearily and wrote out a prescription. Back I went to the apothecary for more medicaments. On the way home I fell into the most fearful panic and I was sorely tempted to run away. The thought of being locked in with a victim of the plague made me tremble. I feared I would fall to the ground in a swoon like poor Mistress Gratton. Then I came to my senses and was truly ashamed of my cowardice. How could I think of abandoning my aunt? Aunt Nell, who had been a mother to me all these years. Regardless of passers-by, I sank to my knees and prayed for courage for the ordeal ahead of me. God heard my prayer and I came home with a heavy heart.
Within the hour the doors were barred front and back and I was under strict orders not to open the lower windows for fear the contagion leaks out into the street and infects passers-by. A watchman has been appointed to help us. He is clean enough but seems a little too fond of his jug of ale. He sprawls against the door, half asleep, clutching the jug to him. I cannot say I like him but he is not disrespectful – yet.
By the time Papa returned from work he found himself locked out and nothing would persuade the watchman to let him in. Once in Papa would be unable to go out again. On second thoughts he felt he could be more help outside than in. We decided he should lodge with one of his colleagues if he could find anyone willing to accommodate him. Perhaps Master Waybold would oblige. He left us, vowing to return on the morrow to help in any way he could.
July 9th
I stared at myself in the mirror this morning and saw a frightened stranger. Aunt Nell lay in the next room. I had washed her face and hands but dared go no further for fear of doing her some harm. Already there is a cruel swelling in her neck – the beginning of a bubo which will cause her much pain. I tell myself she will survive and cling to this thought. Just before three I heard the door being unlocked and hurried down the stairs full of hope. A frightful apparition waited at the foot of the stairs. I screamed with shock but as soon as it spoke I knew it was the doctor.
“My newly issued protective garment,” he told me in muffled tones. “Hot and cumbersome but ’twill keep out the contagion.”
It was the strangest apparel I have ever seen in my life. A long loose garment covered him entirely with the exception of his head. It was made all of soft thin leather and I saw at once that with the July heat he would roast within it. The headpiece was a leather helmet with a beaklike nose and eyepieces of thin horn that he could see through. I pitied him with all my heart. Who would wish to be a doctor when plague strikes the city?
I led him upstairs into my aunt’s chamber.
“I fear she is delirious this morning,” I told him. “She doesn’t know me.”
“ ’Tis a common symptom,” he told me. “If she recovers it will pass.”
He was tender with Aunt Nell as he examined her. I caught another glimpse of the bubo, which was a small purple swelling, then stepped back a pace. Aunt Nell’s confusion was obvious yet the doctor’s strange garment aroused no comment.
“You are home early tonight,” she murmured, thinking the voice was Papa’s. “Supper will be ready shortly.”
The doctor shook his head in answer to my unspoken question.
“We can do little for her,” he told me. “The sickness must run its course. If the bubo breaks open she has a chance. It will release the poison.”
If it does not, then she will surely die.
And so will I, I thought but kept that to myself. Tonight I have tried to make a pact with God.
“Dear God in Heaven, if you will preserve us all, including Poppet, I promise I will never say an unkind word again. Nor will I be hasty or lazy. Please God, hear my prayer . . . I will pray twice a day and be charitable towards the poor – as soon as I have married well. I will try harder with my pastry and practise my singing. I will spend more time with Maggie at her writing lessons and I will crochet a hundred collars.”
But doubtless God is being overwhelmed with such entreaties. Will he even hear mine among the clamour? Has he heard Maggie’s prayers for her mother, I wonder?
Papa called by to say that Master and Mistress Waybold have gone to her sister’s house in Chatham and that he is staying in the house they have left empty. His presence, they trust, will deter robbers who grow ever more daring as the plague increases. They prey on the sick and steal from abandoned houses.
July 10th
The doctor says Aunt Nell is no better and no worse. He tells me that the King’s Court has moved upriver to Hampton Court. The Parliament will next assemble in Oxford in October.
“So we are abandoned to our fate,” I said with some bitterness.
“Not so,” he replied. “We have our own Lord Mayor and Aldermen. We shall be well served.”
I hope he is right. I am so tired but am managing better than I expected. When I need food I lower a basket on a rope from the upper window. There is money in it and I tell the watchman what we need. He sets off, still clutching his jug, and brings back the goods when he can find them. (I notice he always steals a few coins for his trouble but the poor wretch has to live.) Then I draw the basket up again. I have almost forgotten how life was before this disaster overtook us.
I am keeping busy. I have lit a fire in Aunt Nell’s chamber and each day steep rosemary leaves in vinegar. Then I toss the liquid on to the hot coals which send out much vapour to fumigate the air she breathes. The window is then opened and the stale contagious air is driven out.
Today I washed Aunt Nell tho’ it turned my stomach to do so. She was never robust but now she is almost wasted away and her arms and legs no more than sticks. I forced myself to lay the soapy face cloth upon her body. I tried to avert my eyes for it seemed an impertinence to see her without her clothes but at last I overcame my unease. The swelling grows daily in size and is coming to a head. ’Tis full of loathsome matter but this will be discharged when it breaks. If it does. Her skin is hot to the touch with fever, her lips chapped and split.
Poor dear Aunt Nell. The terrible pain makes her scream in agony and has affected her mind. She often calls me “Mother”. Perhaps she thinks she is a child again. Once today she gave a little smile. I wanted tell her that I loved her but the words would not come. Have I ever told her?
July 11th
I am still unused to the growing silence. There are fewer bells being rung this month since the constant tolling was depressing the townsfolk. The dead are buried mostly at night and in silence which is almost more depressing than the bells. I keep recalling what Maggie’s young brother told us of the dead cart and the burial pit. I have made myself a promise that if Aunt Nell dies I will not allow her to suffer such indignities.
I was cheered today by the appearance of young Will, sent by Maggie to see how we are faring. It seems he went missing when the padlocks were put on their doors. I think he is better off roaming the streets than locked in with the plague. With his cap on at a rakish angle, he stood in the middle of the street, staring up at the window. He told me that his little sister has the plague and that his mother has died and gone to Heaven with the angels. All this in such a cheery voice that I cannot help but smile.
“Ma will like it there,” he said. “She likes to sing hymns and they all have lovely white wings so they can fly around the sk
y. And white clothes. I asked Maggie who will do their washing but she says it will all be seen to. All very proper.”
He said also that charitable folk all over England are sending money to help the London poor at this time of great sickness and distress. Thousands of pounds, he told me, adding that when they receive their share of it they will surely be rich. I did not care to disillusion him tho’ I have heard a similar rumour.
I told him I had nothing for him but he said he had something for me. With a sober expression he produced the cheese grater from behind his back. Hiding my amusement, I lowered my basket and he tossed the grater in.
“Because Ma can see me now,” he confided.
I wonder if my mother can see me. If she can she will surely help me through this fearful time.
July 12th
Poor Poppet is getting very naughty but I cannot chide him. He hates to be confined all day and scratches the back door, hoping to allowed into the yard. How can I tell him it is barred on the outside. He needs exercise, poor creature.
July 13th
This morning I was alerted by a stone thrown against the chamber window and looked out to see Luke in the street below. He was sitting on the seat of his cart holding the reins of his horse – a bay like the horse I rode in Woolwich not so long ago. He had come by, he said, to satisfy himself that I was still alive.
“You see that I am, Master Luke,” I said. “Locked up and alone but still in the land of the living.”
He asked if he could help in any way and I told him that I had not seen my father for three days. He promised to make enquiries when he had time but was on his way to collect a family from Cheapside who were fleeing into Essex to camp out on the marshes. I told him that when I could escape my home I would make my way to Woolwich.
“If anyone will give you passage,” he said, his manner at once sober. “I hear you will need a Bill of Health. There are hundreds waiting at The Old Bailey for the precious scrap of paper. But to get it you will need a letter signed by your doctor.”
He looked so healthy and cheerful that despite his gloomy words he lifted my spirits entirely and I found myself more cheerful for his visit.
When the doctor called he said the bubo must be brought to a head by hot poultices and asked if he should send in a nursewoman. I rejected the idea saying that I would do it. Under his guidance I prepared the poultice. Bread was soaked in boiling water, squeezed almost dry and wrapped in a cloth. This was applied directly to the swelling but my poor aunt screamed so loudly in such agony that I was overcome by fright and fainted clean away.
When I came to my senses I felt blood oozing from a gash on my forehead. The doctor told me I had struck my head on the corner of the chest. I was in such a state that the doctor insisted I could not try again with my aunt’s poultice. He will send in a nursewoman by the name of Mistress Sweet who has some experience of the work.
July 14th
Each day is worse than the one before it. I have doubled my prayers but God has turned his face from us. Today Mistress Sweet, the nursewoman, arrived. She is a filthy, ungainly creature who smokes a clay pipe at all times. I swear her long, straggly hair has never seen a comb nor has she discovered what wonders a wash cloth and soap will do for dirty skin. The clay pipe, she insists, keeps her lungs safe. I wonder what she uses for tobacco for the smoke is disgusting. She wears no protective clothing and yet seems to be untouched by the contagion. Aunt Nell would never allow such a foulmouthed woman into the house if she were well but what can I do but abide by the doctor’s wishes?
Aunt Nell asked once for food and I gave her all that we have – a slice of bread and a pickled egg which, poor soul, she could not eat and shrieked that I was trying to poison her. Tomorrow I will fetch and pluck one of the few remaining pigeons and make a thin broth. Maybe she will be able to take some of that.
I could not bear to be present while the poultice was applied but I heard my aunt scream and knew the work was done. I was thanking God that the worst was over when, of a sudden, the door of her bedchamber was thrown open. Somehow Aunt Nell had found the strength to walk. She staggered past me to the top of the stairs. There was a kind of madness about her and her eyes rolled unseeing in her head.
She cried, “Your damned cures will be the death of me.”
I was truly shocked for Aunt Nell never uses bad language. Before I could steady her she lost her footing and plunged headfirst down the stairs. She landed at the bottom with a leg twisted beneath her and lay as still as death. I made haste to help her.
“Help me lift her,” I begged the nursewoman who watched from above. The accursed wretch shook her shaggy head.
“I’ve done all I’m paid to do,” she told me, wiping podgy hands on her dirty apron. “That bubo’s hard as a rock. ’Tis never going to break. I’ve seen ’em like that before. But the fall’s most likely killed her.”
Clinging to the handrope, she lumbered down the stairs, shouting to the watchman to unlock the door and let her out.
“Go then and good riddance!” I cried, for suddenly I longed to be rid of her. The thought of her careless hands touching my aunt angered me.
“She is never to be allowed back in,” I told the watchman.
So much for Mistress Sweet, I thought bitterly as the door slammed behind her. Sweet by name but not by nature.
One step at a time I pulled and tugged my aunt upstairs – she was skin and bone and light as a kitten – and laid her on the bed. She was so still. Her eyes were closed but when I spoke to her she mumbled something. I gasped with relief for I had believed her dead. I wiped her face with a damp cloth and made her as comfortable as I could. I pulled the sheet up to her chin and sat beside her until she slipped into a deep sleep. I lifted her right arm to tuck it beneath the sheet and received a most grievous shock. Dark marks were visible below the skin.
Plague tokens. I was so shocked that my heart raced.
So much for my prayers, I thought. Aunt Nell is going to die and the fault is mine. How can I live with such terrible guilt?
July 15th
Aunt Nell is dead. Pray God she is with my mother in Heaven. I am weak from weeping and can write no more today.
July 16th
I cannot believe Aunt Nell is gone from us. Nor will I ever forget the actual manner of her passing. Yesterday I went into her room as soon as I woke and was astonished to find her sitting upright in the bed. Her gaze was clear as she looked at me.
“Alice, my dear, I would like a pear,” she said.
The words were so clear and she looked so much recovered that of a sudden I was filled with a most desperate hope. Unable to speak a word I simply stared at her, my heart thumping. There was a touch of colour in her face and her eyes were bright, with no sign of confusion.
“A pear?” I stammered. “Yes, yes. You shall have one.”
A pear? But how at such a time could I come by such a thing?
She nodded. “A sweet, juicy pear.”
Could I send the watchman in search of such a thing? I knew there were none to be found in the stricken city but I had to try. Before I could speak she smiled and I blinked back tears. Here was my own Aunt Nell miraculously restored to me. I fell to my knees beside the bed and took her hand in mine.
She sank back against the pillows and gave a long sigh. Still smiling, she whispered, “Letty, my dear!” Then she closed her eyes.
For a long while I could not move but waited for her to open her eyes and speak to me. Poppet came pattering into the room and jumped on the bed. He crept closer to her. He put his head on one side. Then his ears went down. I felt a cold chill. Could a dog know?
Was it all over? He whined softly, lay down beside her and with a little sigh, rested his head on his paws.
Later, when I was able, I washed Aunt Nell, sprinkled lavender water over her and dressed her in a clean nightgown. She looked very peaceful. I
wrote to Papa and sent the watchman off with the letter. I gave him money to buy some flowers if he could find any.
“Roses,” I told him, “for they were her favourites.”
Hours have passed and he has not returned.
When the doctor called I asked that my aunt be buried next to my mother but he says there are no spaces left in the graveyards and few to do the burying. So I must after all surrender her body to the dead cart. The idea was hateful to me but I could see no other way.
It was gone eleven that night when the cart came by. I heard the mournful cry – “Bring out your dead!” long before it reached our door. ’Twas smaller than I expected and pulled by a tired looking donkey. The watchman unlocked the door and the driver helped me carry Aunt Nell. Five or six other unfortunates were already laid side by side. Not higgledy-piggledy as I had feared, but as neat as possible. ’Tis true two were naked but three were dressed in a variety of garments. The last was wrapped in a tattered blanket. I had wrapped Aunt Nell in a clean sheet so that none would look upon her.
“I would like to go with her,” I told the driver. “To see her to her last resting place.”
The man shook his head. “I’ve heard that a hundred times or more,” he told me in a kindly voice. “ ’Tis clear against the rules. You have to stay shut up in your house.”
“I have money—”
“Don’t try to bribe me. Would you have me end my days in the Fleet Prison?”
As the cart trundled away I said the Lord’s Prayer then hid my face in my hands. I heard the rattle of wheels and the wheezing of the donkey and once again the plaintive cry rang out.
The Great Plague Page 4
