White Water Read online

  Harriet looked at Maria with new hope. ‘Mayhap the crosses were old ones,’ she suggested, ‘from an earlier outbreak. And the women just gossiping and the bonfire was to celebrate — ’ Her voice trailed off as she failed to think of an alternative reason for the untimely appearance of the bonfire.

  ‘Mayhap,’ said Maria kindly. ‘As Hugo says, we must not fret. We shall take precautions and all will be well. We’ll have a few bonfires of our own to burn up any pestilence in the air — if there be any — and will stay away from Ashburton for a week or so.’

  ‘Have we plenty of medicaments?’ Hugo asked lightly and she nodded. ‘Then we can speak no more on such a mournful topic,’ he said. ‘We’ll finish our wine and then Harriet shall sing for us.’

  Maria nodded and her smile to Harriet was warm and reassuring. However, as she sat later listening to the girl’s thin sweet voice, her thoughts returned to the threat of infection and she determined to be safe rather than sorry. She would send out for more herb of grace and dragon water and sprinkle fresh herbs and flower petals among the rashes on the floor to sweeten the air. Tomorrow, too, she would warn Melissa. Content that she could do no more, she went to bed a little easier in her mind and, with Hugo’s body comfortingly familiar beside her, the spectre of plague faded until at last she slept.

  A week later, however, the number of reported plague cases in the town had trebled and there were isolated cases in the neighbouring hamlets. In Exeter there were a few more and Maria’s concern grew daily for Beatrice. The baby, due in October, would be the first grandchild.

  At Ladyford, a short distance from Heron, a bonfire burned day and night. There Melissa Benet, the children’s aunt, kept a watchful eye on her own small household. Her husband Thomas was an old man and vulnerable. Neither Minnie, the cook, nor Jacob, the hired man, were ever ill and her son Oliver was away at sea. Nevertheless Melissa heeded Maria’s timely warning and had visited the apothecary before the general alarm put the medicaments in short supply and sent the prices creeping up. There was nothing left then but to wait and pray and this last they all did with great fervour.

  *

  Kent, July 1574

  Appledore, in Kent, shimmered under a fierce July sun which, late in the afternoon, struck the wooded slopes at an angle and sent long shadows across Romney House, nestled below them. They gave the white walls a cold look and the black beams stood out harshly, but were in their turn offset by the warm thatch grown brown with age and pitted with birds’ nests. The house now belonged to Maria, but had formerly been the home of Harold Cummins, to whom she had once been betrothed. Now it had a neglected air and the gardens were little better. The once neat hedges sprouted rebelliously and the shrubs grew into trees, obscuring the red brick wall which bordered the garden. Harold Cummins would have grieved to see it in such a state but his sister Ruth, who had survived him, was unaware of the gradual deterioration for her sight had begun to fail two years after his death and now, four years later, she was blind. Maria had engaged a young companion for her, and Felicity Carr moved into Romney House. Maria also kept on the shepherd, Mark Wynne, for the dwindling flock of sheep and a part-time gardener who could do little more than tend the fruit trees and keep an eye on the bee hives.

  Felicity tiptoed into the bed chamber and gently opened the shutters and pulled back the bed drapes. Then she sat beside the bed, closed her own eyes briefly and waited for Ruth to waken from her afternoon’s sleep. At last the old lady stirred and her eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes but saw nothing. She drew a shaking hand from the bed clothes and felt for the bed drapes. They had been pulled back and a cool breeze reached her, telling her that the shutters had been opened. She listened but there was no movement in the room and she called feebly. ‘Felicity? Are you there, child?’

  ‘I’m here, ma’am.’

  The voice was soft and caring and came from the left side of the bed. The old woman stretched out her left hand and felt young firm fingers close round it.

  ‘I was waiting for you to waken,’ said the girl. ‘I made your draught but when I brought it up you were already sleeping. I thought it best not to disturb you.’

  ‘Quite right, child. Quite right.’ Ruth sighed heavily. ‘What time of day is it?’

  ‘Evening, ma’am. I opened the shutters when the sun passed. And — ’ she could not hide the excitement in her voice ‘ — there’s a letter come, ma’am — from Mistress Kendal.’

  ‘A letter from Maria? Why didn’t you wake me? Oh, help me up, child and then read it. A letter from Maria! Why, ’twas only yesterday I spoke of her, saying I was certain she would write.’

  Smiling, Felicity helped the old woman into a sitting position, as eager as Ruth to hear the news from Devon. Although she had never visited Heron, and had met Maria only once, the news from the Kendal family was almost her sole link with the outside world and eagerly anticipated.

  She plumped up the pillows and straightened the woollen bonnet which the old woman wore at all times to hide her scanty grey hair.

  ‘There!’ she said. ‘All tidy. D’you want to take your draught now, then the news will take your mind from the bitter taste!’

  Ruth was impatient to hear the letter but she allowed the girl to spoon three measures of the syrup into her mouth and wipe the drips that ran down her chin. Sometimes she wondered about the girl, trying to piece together an image from the modest descriptions Felicity gave her. A homely face, small mouth, speckled brown eyes set wide apart and long mid-brown hair. Hardly a beauty but kindly and dutiful — altogether a good choice.

  And patient in the face of Ruth’s occasional nagging, for her sudden blindness had in no way sweetened her temper and increasing age had not mellowed her sharp tongue.

  ‘The letter!’ she demanded. ‘My chin’s of no importance with none to see me but you. Read the letter and read it slow, the way I told you, else I can scarce take it in.’ Felicity handed her the rolled paper. Ruth liked to feel the seal to reassure herself that it was unbroken and that her young companion had not taken a preliminary look at its contents. Felicity watched her, a faint smile of amusement on her face, then received it back, opened it, and began to read.

  ‘From your affectionate Maria this first day of June. In hopes that your health be much improved and pleased that the shaking in your limbs is less troublesome. Felicity writes a fair script and we value her reports on your progress. Lorna is stitching a sampler for you with thick wools that she says you may feel the design with your fingers and see the colours in your mind. Piers makes progress with his Latin though Master Parry declares him an obstinate scholar — ’ Ruth’s face puckered suddenly into a smile and she laughed silently until the laughter became a rattling cough and Felicity leaned forward anxiously to put an arm round the bony shoulders.

  ‘That young Piers!’ said Ruth. ‘So like my brother when he was a boy. Such a bad boy, he was, and never out of mischief. You did not know my brother, did you?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’ Felicity answered the familiar question patiently while her eyes skimmed the letter eagerly.

  ‘He died,’ said Ruth. ‘He was a good man. Such a bad boy but such a good man. Maria would have wed him but his health failed him. Poor Harold. He loved Maria. They were betrothed. Did you know that, child?’

  ‘Aye, ma’am.’

  ‘And you did not meet him?’

  ‘Indeed not.’

  ‘He was a good man — a dutiful brother … But go on with the letter. Piers and the Latin — ’

  Felicity continued ‘ … an obstinate scholar and would beat him if I would approve such measures but I can not. My beloved Hugo is well enough, but the mine is a source of great unrest and he finds little pleasure in it and loses sleep and is grown tired and out of humour. I trust you do not suffer the plague in Kent, which is lately broken out again in these parts and with some speed leaps from one village to the next, and the heat of summer will nurture it so that we are grown fearful and stay at home. Beatrice is in
Exeter and it is there also so we must all to our prayers and take all good care that we can do. I am thankful Martin is away at school and Allan in London away from the infection. Matt would be remembered to you and speaks often of you and Harold, God rest his soul. Now my letter closes and I wish God’s grace and peace to all at Romney House.’

  She let the letter fall into her lap and looked at Ruth for her reaction. The old woman plucked absentmindedly at the coverlet and stared unseeingly towards the window.

  ‘Martin,’ she said at last. ‘She speaks of Martin. How old is he, this Martin?’

  ‘Eleven, ma’am — or it may be twelve. He is at school in Winchester.’

  ‘Ah, yes. And have we seen the boy?’

  ‘No. Nor any of them.’

  ‘Yet I see them, you know, Felicity. I see them as you read. How is such a thing possible?’

  ‘Maria has told us. She describes them and you remember.’

  ‘I do indeed, child. I remember all of them. My adopted family! Maria calls them my adopted family.’ She sighed. ‘I could have wed you know,’ she said wistfully. ‘Did you know that, Felicity?’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am. You have often spoke of it.’

  ‘But I chose to care for my brother.’ The girl was silent, reading the letter again and the old woman’s voice rose querulously. ‘You don’t answer me, child. I said — ’

  ‘You chose to care for your brother,’ said Felicity hastily. ‘That was well done.’

  ‘Aye … but she speaks of the plague in Exeter. We are more fortunate here.’

  ‘We are indeed.’

  ‘Lorna … Have we seen Lorna?’

  ‘No, ma’am. ’Tis a long way for such a child. Maria says she will visit when she is older.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I recall … That Matt she speaks of. Simple in the head, poor lad. Matthew, his name was, but he would not have it other than Matt. Harold taught him his letters, did you know that?’

  ‘No.’ Felicity lied kindly for the story was one of Ruth’s favourites.

  ‘Harold was so patient,’ the old woman began, ‘and he persevered so. But this Matt, he had so few wits and his fingers were big and clumsy — ’

  Felicity settled herself for the account, smoothing her skirt and Ruth broke off suddenly and turned towards her. ‘What are you wearing, child?’ she asked sharply. ‘Answer me truthfully.’

  The girl coloured instantly and put her glands up protectively to hide the blue silk gown which was her best. ‘Felicity! Speak truthfully now.’

  ‘Oh, ma’am — ’

  The old woman’s face hardened. ‘’Tis the silk!’ she challenged. ‘The blue silk. Answer me, I say.’

  ‘Aye, ma’am. The blue silk.’

  Ruth sucked her breath in sharply. ‘How many times have I told you that gown is for special occasions? For visiting and such like. I have told you repeatedly not to wear it about the house when there’s none to see it. The kersey is quite good enough for the likes of you — ’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I — ’ She hesitated, reluctant to point out that Romney House saw so few visitors that the dress might well never be worn at all. It was the girl’s only luxury — to wear the blue gown and feel the silk, smooth and cool to her hands, and to hear it rustle as she walked.

  ‘Make me no excuses you ungrateful child!’ cried Ruth. ‘You take a cruel advantage of my sightlessness and laugh at me.’

  ‘Indeed no, ma’am!’ the girl protested, her sensitive feelings hurt by such an accusation. ‘I never laugh — ’

  ‘You mock me!’ Ruth insisted. ‘You — ’ She was seized by a fit of coughing. The girl hesitated but, as though sensing her concern, Ruth waved her away. ‘Go change the gown!’ she told her angrily, ‘and then stay in your room. I can’t abide such deceptions. You are a wicked girl!’ Felicity’s mouth trembled as she stood head-bowed and made no answer.

  ‘And come back at seven with my hot posset — and leave the letter in my hands. You shall read it again later.’ Felicity handed her the letter, crossed to the door and closed it quietly behind her. Ruth sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Her anger had exhausted her and she breathed deeply while her fingers fumbled with the folded paper.

  ‘Martin … ’ she whispered, ‘and Lorna and Piers … ’ She stopped, struggling for breath, ‘ … and Matthew, such clumsy hands — ’ She stopped again and her head seemed strangely heavy for her neck and fell sideways. Her vacant eyes rolled slowly upwards and her jaw dropped, but she was still aware of the paper between her fingers and knew only that she was still alive.

  *

  Beatrice Quarterman lay on the truckle bed immediately below the window and watched Amy’s fingers thrust the needle in and out of the white linen. Perspiration glistened on the maid’s broad forehead and her frequent glances towards her mistress were fearful.

  ‘Put that away,’ Beatrice told her, ‘and look out again for Mama — Ah, that will be her now.’ There was a banging on the door below. ‘Run down at once and let her in. I feared she would be too late.’

  Amy obeyed and Beatrice was left alone in the small upper room. Her own body was bathed in perspiration and she lay naked under a single sheet. Her limbs ached and movement was agony for her. The infection had advanced rapidly from the initial fever and now affected all her glands and she felt as though a fire consumed her body from within. She kept her eyes open with an effort. If she closed them she isolated herself from the world entirely and knew only the loneliness of darkness and pain. No one had put a name to her sickness and she acknowledged it only to herself. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and she turned her head painfully, hopefully, towards the door. Her mother had come. She would know what to do. She would save her from the dread …

  ‘Tis the doctor, ma’am!’ cried Amy, her panic clear in every word. ‘He would come in, ma’am. I swear ’twas not I that fetched him. Oh, ma’am, I swear I — ’

  She thrust an anxious fist into her mouth and waited for her mistress’s wrath. The plague doctor followed her into the room — a gruesome figure in the familiar protective clothing, floor-length leather coat and a matching hood. This completely covered his head and face, apart from the two round eye holes and beak-like protuberance for the nose which was filled with scented herbs and garlic. A slight groan escaped Beatrice at the dread sight, but as she struggled to sit up the doctor spoke reassuringly.

  ‘Don’t stir yourself, mistress, and calm your fears. ’Tis only I, Master Phillips — ’

  ‘Master Phillips?’ gasped the maid. ‘Faith, sir. I didn’t recognize you.’

  He laughed. ‘Hardly surprising in this guise,’ he said, ‘but I assure you ’tis no stranger who attends you.’

  Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief and her most immediate fears lessened. She had known Daniel Phillips since she was a child herself and he had confirmed her pregnancy earlier that year.

  ‘Fearfully hot, these robes,’ he told her as he knelt beside the bed. ‘In this heat I am slowly roasting and will be nicely cooked by supper time.’

  ‘A cool drink — ’ Beatrice suggested and he nodded as he turned back the sheet.

  ‘Fetch ale for the doctor,’ said Beatrice, then winced as his gloved lingers probed gently for the telltale swelling.

  ‘Nothing in the neck,’ he said. ‘Now gently — I want to lift your arms and feel the arm pit … Nothing there — ’ He lowered the left arm and moved round to the other side of the bed. ‘Slowly does it. I won’t hurt you — Ah! That’s what I was looking for. The bubo. ’Tis forming under this arm. A good sign, child, for the infection will gather there and be expelled. A very good sign.’

  He nodded and through the holes in his hood she saw that the kindly faded eyes crinkled in a smile.

  ‘Then the house … ’ she began.

  He sighed as he stood up moving clumsily in the unfamiliar garments. ‘We’ll have to shut you up,’ he said, ‘and promptly. Is no one here to nurse you but young Amy?’

  ‘My mother
is coming,’ said Beatrice. ‘At least, she is sent for. I thought you were her.’

  Amy returned with a tankard of ale but the doctor shook his head.

  ‘I’ll drink it in the back yard,’ and his voice held the hint of an apology. ‘Then I’ll write you a prescription and Amy shall run to the apothecary for anything lacking in your own cupboard.’

  A sudden rapping on the street door sent Amy rushing to the window. ‘’Tis your mother!’ she cried thankfully, and hurried down to admit Maria.

  ‘A timely arrival!’ said the doctor. ‘I shall speak with her before I go and the watch will be along shortly to make fast the door. But don’t fret. Thirty days will soon pass and all will be well again. You have a mild attack and with your mother’s devoted care will soon be whole again. Pray for others less fortunate.’

  And with a nod he left her and went downstairs to give the rest of his instructions to Maria.

  ‘When the swelling in the arm grows purple, lay a poultice to it,’ he told her, ‘ — as hot as can be borne but not so hot as to blister the skin, like some I’ve seen. Eighteen pennyweight of garlic cloves, fresh butter, lemon and a handful of scallions. Wrap it in calico and when ’tis cooled replace it with another until the bubo is drawn and the poison expelled. She is fortunate — no sneezing and no sign of the tokens on her skin. Aye, ’tis a mild case and she’ll recover, God willing. Not like some poor wretches — six gone in one family in Castle Street. Six in less than a week but that’s how it goes and who are we to question? Once the house is shut up you know the rules — you must admit no one and no one must leave for thirty days. If you need anything send the watchmen. They’re idle wretches mostly but will stir themselves for a coin or two and ’tis mournful work they do, in all conscience.’

  Maria followed him outside into the small courtyard at the back of the house and Amy handed him the ale. He took off his hood and took several deep breaths of the bright sunlit air to clear his lungs, then he applied himself gratefully to his cool drink.

  ‘And the child?’ Maria forced herself to ask the question. ‘The unborn child she carries?’