The Great Plague Page 5

  “Bring out your dead!”

  I wondered how many others would surrender the bodies of dead loved ones that night. How many other poor souls would join my aunt in the cart and be tossed into a hastily-dug pit. I did not open my eyes until the mournful sounds had finally faded. I think the sound of wheels on cobbles will haunt me for the rest of my life.

  Later

  I have killed Aunt Nell. The dreadful thought will not leave me. I would do anything to turn back the clock. If I could, I would leave poor Mistress Gratton to her fate and save my aunt. My own flesh and blood has been sacrificed for a stranger. How can I bear it? If only I could talk with Papa he might find a way to ease this terrible guilt. But he does not come and I wonder if he, too, is stricken. I have started to crochet another collar. It will be my penance.

  July 17th

  I am quite alone now except for Poppet. Young Will came by with four eggs. He would not say how he came by them and I was reluctant to ask. Food is so scarce. The woman with the cow no longer passes us and there are precious few vegetables to be had. And certainly no fruit. If only I had been able to grant Aunt Nell her last request for a juicy pear. But I must not complain. There are loaves aplenty by order of the authorities and they will not let the bakers overcharge us. I am becoming thankful for small mercies.

  I am using my first collar as a pattern and have managed two neat rows tho’ I shed so many tears over it, I fear it may shrink before ’tis done.

  July 18th

  It seems that last week more than 1,000 folk died in London. The watchman has returned with the gloomy news. He has brought no flowers and pretends he was robbed of the money I gave him. Still, he is someone to talk to and I am horribly lonely.

  “A thousand?” I asked. “But not all dead of the plague, surely.”

  The wretch shrugged.

  “Some are dead from other causes,” I insisted. “Consumption, dropsy, jaundice . . . scurvy, of course, and accidents. . . And – and infants who died at birth.” I wondered how many had died of grief or, bowed down by guilt or sorrow, had taken their own lives.

  The watchman shrugged again and would not look up at me. ’Tis like talking to a stone at times.

  “Either way they’re dead!” he muttered and drank deeply from his jug.

  I slammed the window on the stupid creature.

  July 19th

  I try not to think about Aunt Nell and her sad end. Papa will be desolate when he gets my letter and I miss her most dreadfully. Still no news of Papa and today the watchman has disappeared again. There is no one to fetch food for me but the doctor may look in on me if he passes this way.

  July 21st

  Poppet has run away. I feared this would happen. The poor pet was so desperate to get out of the house he leaped from the upper window. Mercifully he seemed unharmed by the fall and scampered off, barking joyfully and revelling in his freedom. Now I fear the dog-catcher will take him. Without him the house is silent but at least I am still free of any plague symptoms. Has God heeded my prayers? If he has then I cannot impose on him further to find my dog.

  The collar is growing slowly and is very neat.

  The weather continues close and mighty hot. We need a cool breeze or a refreshing shower.

  July 22nd

  Praise be for young Will. He called by with three oranges and a note from Maggie. I pulled it up and dried it between two flat stones heated in the fire to rid it of the contagion. When I thought it safe I unfolded it. Maggie prays the worst is over for her family – no more having taken the sickness. Young Will is on his way to see how Jon Ruddle fares. I wanted to ask Will to go in search of Poppet but he ran off before I could do so. Determined not to lose my dog to the dog-catcher I hailed a young woman who was passing the house with a posy of herbs held to her nose. I promised her a silver pin as a reward if she could find Poppet.

  “A King Charles spaniel,” I said. “And handsome. Brown and white with a smudge of black over his left eye.”

  She was deliberating what to make of this offer when a commotion arose and, as if on cue, Poppet himself appeared round the corner of the street. My delight turned to horror, for he was pursued by the dog-catcher, noose in hand. The latter was ugly, red-faced and angry. He called my sweet dog “a mangy cur” and made a snatch at him. Poor Poppet scrabbled at our front door begging to be let in and I shouted at the dog-catcher not to harm him.

  By this time, the young woman had hastened away. Who can blame her? We made such a racket between us. I was screaming and Poppet was barking. The dog-catcher was uttering the most beastly oaths as he tried to grab Poppet’s collar. At last the wretch had Poppet by the collar and held him up to show me.

  “A quick twist of the neck. . .” he muttered, leering up at me with a most foul expression.

  “Spare him!” I begged but his answer was to fasten both hands around Poppet’s neck.

  In a moment I had Aunt Nell’s purse in my hand and was holding up a shilling. “Put the dog in my basket and this shall be yours,” I told him.

  I doubted he would earn that much in a normal month but the wretch laughed scornfully.

  “Is he worth so little then?” he demanded.

  I dared not give him all the money in the purse for how should I buy food when it was empty? Poppet was squealing with fright and I could not bear it. Within moments he might be dead, dangling from the man’s hands. I snatched off my ring and held it up.

  “This ring, then?”

  “The shilling and the ring for your mangy cur!”

  His greed sickened me. I think his cunning face and sly eyes will haunt my dreams. I shook my head. He then began to insist that I throw down the shilling before he would release the dog. I gambled on his greed and held my ground and he at last relented. But worse was to come. As I began to draw up the basket. Poppet leaped out and made to scamper off again. My heart raced for fear that I should lose him after all. But the dog-catcher wanted his reward and caught him again. Seconds later Poppet was in my arms and I was weeping for joy.

  For a brief moment I was tempted to deny the fellow the shilling but thought better of it. If Poppet escaped again, he might forswear his illgotten gains and kill him out of spite.

  Instead I tossed the shilling over his head so that he missed it. I took some small pleasure in watching him scramble among the grassy cobbles. Damn him for a scoundrel.

  Not knowing what Poppet had been doing, I gave him a bath to rid him of any contagion that might linger in his fur. He made a great fuss and splashed water everywhere. It used up much of my remaining soap but I thought it well spent.

  July 23rd

  I watch my little dog with hawk-like eyes for fear he will escape again. This morning I considered my finances. The money from Aunt Nell’s purse was almost gone but I still had the ring and I could sell Papa’s best pewter bowl if necessary. There was also Aunt Nell’s jewellery.

  Watching this morning from the upper window I saw three rats in the street below. Never so bold before, I fear that the plague regulations are to blame. There are so few dogs and cats left to deal with the rats that the horrid creatures are making hay, so to speak. I clapped my hands but they did not even run from the sound. Grass, now, is thick between the cobbles and a few weeds grow so that the street looks sadly neglected. ’Tis rare nowadays to see a fine horseman pass by. Anyone who can afford to flee London has gone long since.

  I now appreciate all that made life beautiful before the plague came. Music, cheerful conversation, laughter. Not to mention good food and drink. I wonder if they will ever come again.

  July 25th

  The doctor, finding the door unattended and the key in the padlock, called in and was surprised to find me still unaffected by the plague. He suggests that I will not catch it now and eventually will be released from this prison. The quarantine period is 40 days so I shall be locked up until August 14th. Almost three
more weeks. I told him I should be dead from hunger by then for I have no watchman. He promised to see that the wretch is replaced.

  July 27th

  Still no sign of the promised watchman but I am too unhappy to care. My head aches and I have stayed in my bed. The clock has just struck midday and I have eaten nothing all day and yesterday – nought but a lump of rancid cheese that any decent mouse would refuse.

  Later

  I was interrupted by a shout from below and there was young Will, his face alight with glee. Send down the basket, he tells me, and sends me up a veritable feast. Bread, a jar of pickled walnuts, a pot of plum jam and a flagon of ginger beer. It seems he has raided an abandoned house, taking from the larder whatever is to be found.

  “I crept round the back and climbed in the window,” he told me cheerfully. “Found the poor old beggar dead in his stinking bedchamber – and not a stitch on. Smothered in tokens.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Not that he was a beggar. ’Twas a grand house so he must’ve been a rich man. I thought, what’s he want with food, so I helped meself.”

  I know stealing is wrong but I could not scold him. Maggie is well, he says, and he provides food for the family. He utters this information with such pride. I pray God he is not arrested and thrown into the Fleet Prison. I shall never pass that place again without uttering a prayer for the unfortunate prisoners. I know only too well now what it means to be locked up – and at least I am in the comfort of my father’s house.

  After he had gone I ate my fill. Poppet would not touch the walnuts but licked some jam from a saucer and ate some bread. Then he curled up in his basket and fell to snoring. Even that sound is better than the silence.

  July 28th

  Felt queasy all day. Pain in my gut and some vomiting.

  July 29th

  The vomiting has ceased but I feel so tired. I can barely drag myself up and down the stairs. Surely the plague has not caught me at last? Poppet whines so and the constant whimpering irritates me. To my eternal shame I slapped him. His look was so reproachful that I at once gathered him into my arms and begged his forgiveness.

  July 30th

  No change. I sit and stare from the window and ponder on my life. I wonder if I will live to see my birthday on August 3rd.

  July 31st

  The doctor came again. Still melting within his special suit in the summer heat. He tells me ’tis not the plague (Heaven be praised) but most likely rancid cheese or too many pickled walnuts. They have aggravated my digestion. I hope I deserve such wonderful news. I thank my mother and Aunt Nell. I believe they must be looking down on me to preserve me from worse disasters.

  The doctor has discovered that Papa is in the pesthouse in Old Street. So now I know why he has stopped calling here. Poor Papa. He was taken sick suddenly in the street and carried away in haste. He is hovering between life and death and I am unable to help him. Dear Papa. Forgive me for all my careless ways. If God spares you I will be a model daughter to you. What will he say when he learns of Aunt Nell’s death?

  August 3rd

  My fourteenth birthday. I am well enough to make my way from bed to window. Outside ’tis still hot and humid. My new watchman has appeared at last. As wiry as a ferret with eyes like currants but he greets me cheerily with a wave of his hat. His name is Thomas Winn. He ran off on his errands and returned with two loaves (a most glorious sight) from the baker. Also eight potatoes and a jar of lemoncurd bought from a countrywoman in what remains of the market. He says there are daily less farmers willing to risk a visit to the city. Tomorrow he will try for fish at the river. Some of the watermen, now lacking fares, eke out their existence by fishing with rods. ’Tis a strange sight, he says, to see so few boats upon the Thames.

  Two days later – I think

  (I lose track of the days.) Last night I was awoken in the dead of night to hear Poppet scratching at the door of my bedchamber. I let him out and he flew down the stairs barking hysterically. I lit my candle and followed him with some caution and ended up in the kitchen where the window had been broken. A man was climbing out but Poppet leaped up and caught his ankle. The man screeched and kicked out and Poppet was thrown across the room. He landed on a stack of pans with a frightful clatter. He added his howls to the racket and Master Winn banged on the front door to ask what was happening. I was tempted to seize the man’s foot but recalled the incident with Madeline Gratton. Instead I took up one of the fallen saucepans and hit him on the leg. He fell out of the window and disappeared.

  With my heart beating fit to burst I picked up Poppet and ran upstairs. I opened the window and told Master Winn what had happened.

  “Did he take anything?” he asked.

  “Not to my knowledge,” I told him, “but I will know better in the daylight.”

  He promised to send for a glazier on the morrow and we said our “Goodnights”. I patted my little dog for his cleverness and slid between the sheets. I thought about the intruder but could not find it in my heart to wish him ill. Any man who breaks into a locked up house is risking the plague. The poor wretch must have been desperate. Another Will, I thought. Is our poor city brought to this?

  August 6th

  Only eight more days and I will be free. I am counting the hours. The doctor has promised me a letter of health. But first I must seek out the pesthouse in Old Street and ask after Papa. Please God he will survive.

  Two or three days later

  Master Winn is a most amiable young man. We have talked much these last few days. He is, or was, a wealthy merchant’s servant but the family fled the City at the very outset. They left the two manservants and a maidservant to their fates. Despite this unkindness he is a cheerful soul. Yesterday he took some coins and went in search of food and brought back a rare treat. Oysters. I opened them, splashed them with a little vinegar and sent down half to him by way of a “Thank you” for his efforts.

  He finally found a glazier but the man would not enter our house for fear of the plague. I have tacked a length of sacking across the kitchen window for want of something better.

  Master Winn thinks today is August 10th

  Only four more days. Then true freedom for me and for Poppet. What will he make of it, I wonder.

  August 11th

  Master Winn says there is a new decree – that fires must be lit in every street. In this terrible heat.

  “Are they trying to kill off those who have so far survived?” I asked him.

  “The fires are to burn the pestilence from the air,” he replied.

  It seems they are to be lit outside every twelfth house. The maintenance of the fire is to be shared by the six householders on either side who must provide the wood. Impossible, I told him. Half of us are prisoners. We have no way to earn money and have none to spend on firewood. I despair.

  Poppet was very naughty today. He gnawed the leg of Papa’s favourite chair. He never did such a thing even when he was a pup, but he is bored now and I have forgiven him. It is beyond repair but hopefully Papa will overlook it when – if – he returns. (I shall never take anything for granted again.)

  August 13th

  Half past eight has just struck and I must be up and about. I shall wash and dry my hair for the journey tomorrow. Then Poppet and I shall walk through the door and on to the street. I almost dread it now ’tis so near. What will the day bring? No more sorrow, I hope. Dare I make my way to Maggie’s house to ask after her? I have not seen Will for some time and wonder why. But is venturing into that area a great risk? I will ask the doctor if he comes. . .

  Six o’clock in the evening

  I now have my precious letter. It reads thus.

  This is to confirm that Alice Paynton has not succumbed to the plague and is of sound health. She has resided for 40 days and nights in the house in which her aunt died. She now wishes passage to Woolwich where she will join her uncle, one John Paynton, and his family.


  Signed Andrew Wickham, Physician

  14th August 1665

  I shall take some food and drink in a basket. I will need money so will pawn Aunt Nell’s opal brooch and Papa’s leatherbound Bible. Then these may be redeemed when Papa returns and this nightmare is at an end. I shall also take my diary, a pen and a small bottle of ink.

  August 15th

  The sun is barely up but I can see to write and shall recount yesterday’s adventure. I write this sitting up in my own bed having spent all of yesterday in the following ways.

  I was up early and made my way with Poppet towards Old Street. A strange and fearful journey. I never thought to see the city so quiet and sombre. The streets are almost empty and those folk that venture out keep to themselves. The women hide their faces behind posies of herbs while some men prefer cloths wrapped around the face up to their eyes.