It was several minutes before Bruce regained consciousness and then he was even more restless and violent. He tossed and threshed about, throwing off the blankets; his voice was loud and angry, and though she could not understand very much of what he said she knew that he swore continuously. She was not able to pour much of the posset down him before he gave a sudden swing of his arm that sent the pot clattering violently to the floor.
When at last he grew quieter she took a pen and paper and sat down at a table close by the bed to write a letter to Nan. It was difficult, for she wanted to tell the girl the truth without scaring her, and she worked over it for half an hour, scrawling out the words laboriously, making several drafts before she had one that suited her. She blew it dry and dripped on a great blob of gold sealing-wax. Then, picking up a shilling from the table, she went to the window and opened it, thinking that if she could find some youngster passing in the street below she could give him the coin to take it to the post-office for her. The price of postage would be paid upon delivery.
The sky was turning pale blue and a star or two had come out. There were not very many people abroad now, but as Amber leaned out she saw a boy, going down the middle of the street, holding his nose as he passed her house.
She looked down and saw a guard there, lounging against the wall with his halberd on his shoulder. That meant the red cross had been marked on her door too and they were shut in together for forty days and nights, or until both of them were dead. A few days before she would have been terrified; now she accepted it almost with indifference.
"Guard!" she spoke softly, and he heaved himself away from the wall and stood out from it to look up at her. "Will you give this letter to someone to post for me? I'll give you a shilling." He nodded his head, she tossed down the letter and the coin, and closed the window again. But for a moment she stood looking out, like a prisoner, at the sky and the trees. Then she turned and once more spread the quilts up over Bruce.
It was almost nine when the nurse arrived. Amber heard someone below talking to the guard and then a rap on the door. She took a candle and hurried down to admit her. "Why are you so late?" she demanded. "The doctor told me he'd send you here in the middle of the afternoon!"
"I come from my last patient, mam, and he wasn't a quick one to die."
Amber ran up the stairs ahead of the nurse, holding the candle high to make a light for her, but the old woman mounted slowly, breathing hard and bracing her hands on her knees at every step to boost herself. At the top Amber turned and looked down, surveying her narrowly. What she saw was not reassuring.
The woman was perhaps sixty, and fat. Her face was round and flabby, but she had a sharp-pointed nose and her mouth was compressed into a thin line. She was wearing a gnarled yellow wig set crookedly on her head and a dark-red velvet dress, soiled and worn shiny, which exposed her sloping shoulders and fitted too tight across the great loose breasts. She had an evil smell, reasty and stale.
"What's your name?" Amber asked her, as she came puffing to the top.
"Spong, mam. Mrs. Spong."
"I'm Mrs. Dangerfield. The patient's in here." She walked into the bedroom and Mrs. Spong waddled after her, her stupid blue eyes rolling over the splendid furnishings. She did not even glance at Bruce until at last, in exasperation, Amber said, "Well!"
Then she started slightly and gave a foolish half-grin, exposing a few blackened teeth in her gums. "Oh—that's the patient." She observed him for a moment. "He don't look so good, does he?"
"No, he doesn't!" snapped Amber, angry and disappointed to have been sent this stupid old woman. "You're a nurse, aren't you? Tell me what to do. How can I help him? I've done everything the doctor said—"
"Well, mam, if you've did everything the doctor said there's nothin' more I can tell ye."
"But how does he look? You've seen others sick of it—how does he look compared with them?"
Spong stared at him for a moment, sucking on her teeth. "Well, mam," she said at last, "some of 'em looked worse. And some of 'em looked better. But I tell you truly—he don't look good. Now, mam, have ye got some food for a poor starvin* old woman? Last place I was they didn't have nothin' to eat. I vow and swear—"
Amber gave her a glare of disgust, but as Bruce suddenly began to retch again she rushed to hold the pan for him, motioning toward the kitchen with one hand. "Out there."
She felt more tired than ever, and completely discouraged. This filthy vulgar old creature would be no use to her at all. She would not have let her touch Bruce, and it did not seem likely the nurse would do so anyway. The best Amber could hope would be that she might induce her to watch him tonight so she could have a few hours of sleep, and tomorrow send her away and get someone better.
Half an hour went by and she heard not a sound from Spong. A last, in a fury, she rushed out to find her immaculate kitchen littered and dirty. The food hutch stood open; there was a broken egg on the floor; great chunks had been cut from the ham and the quarter-wheel of cheese. Spong looked around at her in surprise. She had a piece of ham in one hand and the bottle of stale champagne—which they had opened the night before—in the other.
"Well!" said Amber sarcastically. "I hope you won't mighty near starve here!"
"No, mam!" agreed Spong. "I'd rather nurse the quality, let me tell you. They always got more to eat."
"Go in there and watch his Lordship. I've got to get some food ready for him. Call me if he throws off the blankets or starts to vomit—but don't do anything yourself."
"His Lordship, is it? And you're her Ladyship, I doubt not?"
"Mind your own business, and get on in there. Go on!"
Spong shrugged her shoulders and went off, and though Amber clenched her teeth together, a sullen scowl on her face, she began immediately to prepare the tray. A few hours earlier she had given him a bowlful of the soup left over from their supper. Resentful at being disturbed, he had sworn at her and tried to shove the spoon away, but she had persisted until she poured it down him. Within a quarter of an hour he vomited it up again.
This time, as she held the basin beneath his chin while he threw up the soup, she was so filled with frustration and despair that she wept softly. Spong was not at all concerned. She sat sprawled in a chair five or six feet from the bed, drinking her wine and gnawing at the last of the cold duck. She flipped the bones out of the window, exchanging bawdy pleasantries with the guard below, until Amber rushed in from the kitchen in a blazing anger.
"Don't you dare open that window again!" she cried, and slammed it shut and locked it. Spong jumped. "What are you trying to do?"
"Lord, mam, I wasn't doin' the gentleman no harm."
"Do as I say and keep the window closed—or I'll make you sorry for it! Filthy old sot!" she muttered beneath her breath, and went back to finish washing the dishes and putting her kitchen in order. Sarah Goodegroome had been a meticulous housekeeper, and now that Amber had the work to do herself again she intended to have her rooms spotless if it meant working eighteen hours a day—which it probably would.
Bruce was increasingly restless and violent, which Spong informed her was most likely the effect of the rising carbuncle. Two of her patients, she said placidly, had been unable to stand the pain and had gone mad and killed themselves.
To watch him suffer and to be unable to help or ease his pain was an agony. She hung over him constantly, trying to anticipate his every need. She replaced the blankets each time he flung them off and put the mustard-plaster back again and again—once, as she bent above him, he struck out violently at her with his clenched fist, and if she had not moved quickly the blow would have knocked her down. The plague-boil had risen steadily out of his groin until now it was the full size of a tennis-ball and the taut-stretched skin over it had thickened and turned dark.
Spong sat humming or chanting to herself, softly beating her thigh with an empty wine-bottle. Most of the time Amber was so busy, or so haunted with worry over Bruce, she forgot that she was there—and
otherwise she ignored her.
But at eleven o'clock, when she had everything clean for the night and was herself undressed and washed, she turned to the old woman. "I only got about three hours sleep last night, Mrs. Spong, and I'm tired as a dog. If you'll watch his Lordship for three or four hours you can call me and then I will. We'll have to take turns, because someone's got to be with him every moment. Will you cover him again if he throws the blankets off?"
"Aye, mam," agreed Mrs. Spong, and as she nodded her head the wig slipped, showing some of her own thin dirty grey hair. "Ye can count on me, mam. I warrant you."
Amber pulled out the trundle on the opposite side of the bed and lay down on her stomach, wearing her dressing-gown but otherwise uncovered, for the room was still hot and close. She did not want to sleep—she was afraid to leave him—but she knew that she must, and she could not help herself. In only a few seconds she had lost consciousness.
Sometime later she was wakened by a sudden stunning blow across the face and the weight of a heavy body falling over her. Involuntarily she screamed, a wild terrible sound that filled the night; and then she realized what had happened and began to struggle fiercely to free herself. Bruce, in his restless agony, had gotten out of bed again and stumbled across her; he lay there now, a massive, inert weight.
She shouted for Spong but got no answer. And as she pulled herself out and saw the old woman just lifting her head and opening one eye something seemed to swell and explode inside her. Swiftly she rushed around the bed, slapped her furiously across the face, and grabbed hold of one flabby arm.
"Get up!" she yelled at her. "Get up! you miserable old slut and help me!"
Shocked wide awake, Spong hoisted herself out of the chair much faster than she usually did. It took them several minutes, but at last they got him back into the bed and he lay stretched out, perfectly quiet, collapsed. Amber bent anxiously over him, putting her hand to his heart, pressing her fingers against his wrist—the pulse beat there, faintly.
And then she heard a whine from Spong. "Oh, Lord! What've I done! I touched 'im and now I'll get the—"
Amber whirled around furiously. "What've you done!" she cried. "You pot-bellied old bawd! You fell asleep and let him get out of bed! You may've killed him! But by Jesus, if he dies you'll wish you had the plague! I'll strangle you, God help me, with my own two hands!"
Spong started back, quivering. "Oh, Lord, mam! I'd but dozed off that instant. I vow and swear! Please, for God's sake, mam, don't hit me—"
Amber's clenched fists dropped and she turned away in disgust. "You're no damned good. I'm going to get another nurse tomorrow."
"Ye can't do it, mum. Ye can't turn out a nurse. The parish-clerk sent me here and he said to stay till all of you was dead."
Amber blew out her cheeks in a sigh of utter exhaustion, throwing the hair back from her face with the back of one hand. "Very well. Go to sleep, I'll watch him. There's a bed in there." She pointed toward the nursery.
Through the rest of the long night she stayed beside him. He was quieter than he had been and she did not want to disturb him to make him eat, but she prepared some black coffee to keep herself awake and now and then she took a swallow of cherry-brandy, but she was so tired that it made her dizzy and she dared not drink much. In the next room Spong lay spewing and hawking; an occasional late coach rattled by, the horses' hoofs clopping rhythmically on the pavement; and the night guard stamped wearily up and down. Somewhere a cat squalled in nocturnal ecstasy. The passing-bell tolled three separate times and the watchman went by with his musical call:
"Take heed to your clock, beware your lock,
Your fire and your light, and God give you good-night.
One o'clock!"
Chapter Thirty-five
Morning came at last, the sun rising bright and hot in a cloudless sky. Amber, looking out, wished desperately for fog. The brilliant joyous sunlight seemed a cruel mockery of the sick and dying who lay in a thousand rooms all over the city.
Toward dawn the look of angry worry which had been on Brace's face, from the first morning she had seen him at the wharf, changed to one of listlessness and apathy. He seemed to have no consciousness whatever of his surroundings or of his own actions. When she put a glass of water to his mouth he swallowed involuntarily, but his eyes stared dully, seeing nothing. His quietness encouraged her and she thought that perhaps he was better.
She got into the dress she had worn yesterday and began to clean up the night's accumulated filth. Her movements were slow, for her muscles felt heavy and aching and the rims of her eyeballs burned. She carried the slopjars—all but that which Mrs. Spong had used—down to the courtyard privy and there she had to stand and wait, for there was a man inside and he seemed leisurely.
At six she went to wake Spong, shaking her roughly by the shoulder. The old woman smacked her lips together and looked up at Amber with one eye. "How now, mam? What happened?"
"Get up! It's morning! Either you'll help me or I'll lock the food away and you can starve!"
Spong looked at her resentfully, her feelings hurt. "Lord, mam! How was I to know it's mornin'?"
She flung back the quilt and got out of bed, fully dressed but for her shoes. She buttoned the front of her gown, pulling and twisting at the skirt, and cocked her wig back to approximately where it had been. She leaned backward, stretching and yawning noisily, massaging her fat belly, and she stuck one finger into her mouth to pick out some shreds of meat, wiping what she extracted on the soiled front of her gown.
Amber stopped her as she was going through the bedroom on her way to the kitchen. "Come here! What d'you think? He's quieter now—does he look better?"
Spong came back to look at him, but she shook her head. "He looks bad, mam. Mighty bad. I've seen 'em like that not a half-hour before they're dead."
"Oh, damn you! You think everyone's going to die! But he isn't, d'ye hear me? Go on—get out of here!"
Spong went. "Lord, mam—ye but asked me and I told ye—"
An hour later, when she had finished cleaning the bedroom and had fed him the rest of the soup, Amber told Spong that she was going to a butcher-shop for a piece of beef and would be gone perhaps twenty minutes. There was one, she knew, not a quarter of a mile away near Lincoln's Inn Fields. She fastened her gown as high as she could and filled in the neckline with a scarf. It was too hot to wear a cloak but she took a black-silk hood out of the chest and tied it beneath her chin.
"The guard won't allow ye to go, mam," predicted Spong.
"I think he will. You let me alone for that. Now listen to what I say: Watch his Lordship and watch him close, because if I come back to find you've let him harm himself in any way or so much as thrown off the blankets—believe me, I'll slit your nose for it!" Her tawny-coloured eyes glared, the black centers swelling, and her lips drew tight against her teeth. Spong gasped, scared as a rabbit.
"Lord, mam, ye can trust me! I'll watch 'im like a witch!"
Amber went through the kitchen, down the back staircase, and started off along the narrow little alley that ran behind the house. She had not gone twenty yards when there was a shout, and she turned to see the guard running toward her.
"Escaping, eh?" He seemed pleased. "Or maybe ye didn't know the house is locked?"
"I know it's locked and I'm not escaping. I've got to buy some food. Will a shilling let me out?"
"A shilling! D'ye think I can be bribed?" He lowered his voice. "Three shillings might do it."
Amber took the coins from inside her muff and flipped them to him—he did not venture to step up close and he had a pipe of tobacco in his mouth, for that was thought a plague preventive. She walked swiftly down the lane and turned into a main street. There seemed to be even fewer people out today than yesterday and those who were did not loiter or stop to gossip but moved along briskly, pomanders held to their noses. A. coach followed by a train of loaded wagons went by and several heads turned wistfully; it was only the prosperous ones who could affo
rd to leave, the others must stay and take their chances, put their faith in amulets and herbs. And there were several houses shut up along the way.
At the butcher's stall she bought a good-sized chunk of beef, taking the meat from the hooks on which he extended it to her and dropping the money into a jar of vinegar. She put the meat, wrapped in a towel, into her market-basket and on the way back she stopped to buy a couple of pounds of candles, three bottles of brandy and some coffee. Coffee was so expensive that it was not hawked on the streets and while Amber did not drink it often she hoped that it would help her get through the day.
She found Bruce just as she had left him, and though Spong protested that she had not so much as taken an eye off him Amber strongly suspected that she had been foraging, at least in the bedroom, for money or jewels. But it was all locked up behind a secret panel, where Spong nor anyone else was likely to find it without a long search.
Spong would have followed her to the kitchen to find out what she had bought, but Amber sent her back to stay with Bruce. She locked the brandy away, for she knew that otherwise it would disappear, but first she took a good swallow herself. Then she tied back her hair, pushed up her sleeves and went to work. Into a great blackened kettle full of hot water went the meat, cut up in cubes, and some of the bacon she had bought the day before. She split the bones with a heavy cleaver and added them with the marrow and when the vegetables were ready they went in too: a quartered cabbage, leeks, carrots, peas and a handful of crumbled herbs, and she ground in some rock-salt and peppercorns.
The soup had to be cooked for several hours until it was boiled down and thickened, and meanwhile she prepared a caudle of sack, spices, sugar and eggs for him to drink. She crushed each eggshell to tiny bits, remembering the old country belief that otherwise a witch would write your name on it. She had trouble enough now, without inviting more.
Forever Amber Page 55