by Mary Hooper
‘How long have you been in London?’ she asked.
I told her, and said where I was living.
‘And are you still in your position?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘With Mr and Mrs Beauchurch.’ She was about to say more when a cry came up from the front of the queue. ‘Maid! Will you come to take your place?’
Abigail waved her hand. ‘No, everyone can step up,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait in line here with my friend.’
‘And a pretty sight you will look,’ the youth’s voice replied. ‘Two fair maids together!’ The rest of the queue laughed, for a musical entertainment of the same name had recently been on at one of the playhouses.
Abigail blew a kiss to the youth who’d spoken, and linked her arm with mine. ‘Now Hannah, tell me every piece of news from Chertsey, for I swear I have not heard a word of gossip from my mother or sisters since I came here.’
By the end of an hour, Abby – for that was how she was known in London – and I had caught up with everything that had happened to each other. I’d told her of the small goings-on in Chertsey, and about Sarah’s shop and Nelly Gwyn coming in to buy sweetmeats, and I’d also told her about Tom, for though there was but a little to tell, Abby had a sweetheart herself and I didn’t want to be thought backward.
We touched on the plague and she said that her master and mistress would have left the city already, except that eight weeks ago Mrs Beauchurch had given birth to a daughter and, due to childbed fever, was not yet strong enough to travel any distance.
‘Do you think the plague will be really bad?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘It is bad every twenty years, they say. And I have seen some portents myself.’
‘Which ones?’
‘I saw the angel in the clouds with the flaming sword,’ she said, and then she frowned. ‘At least, they said that’s what it was, though to tell the truth I could not make it out to be a figure at all. I have seen something else, though – the children playing at funerals. It seems that all over London they are playacting the same thing.’
‘I’ve seen them too!’
‘Mr Beauchurch told us that children discern things because they are close to nature. They can foretell the future.’
I shivered. ‘Pray it isn’t so.’
Abby gave my arm a squeeze. ‘Even if the plague does come, you and I are of healthy stock and as sound as ’roaches. We’ve nothing to fear!’
At home that night, Sarah and I stayed up late shelling and skinning more almonds while I told her all about Abby, and it was midnight before we went to bed, which was the latest I was ever up in my life. Just before we went to sleep we heard the night watchman on his rounds:
‘Twelve o’clock
Look well to your lock,
Your fire and your light
And so good-night!’
Chapter Four
The last week of June
‘This day much against my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors and “Lord have mercy Upon us” writ there . . .’
The gown being held aloft by the aged stallholder was of pale green taffeta. It had full sleeves and a round neck, the bodice was boned, had narrow tucks all down the front and went into a point in the middle. The skirt was set in pleats and its front edges were drawn open to show a dark green silk lining and matching ruffled under-skirt.
‘Oh, this one!’ I said, taking it from her and holding it to me. I looked at my sister pleadingly. ‘Please, Sarah!’
It was Sunday morning and Sarah and I had already walked the length of Houndsditch market where we had easily sold both the vicar’s daughter’s skirt and blouse and my own drab brown gown. With the money from these I’d bought a dark blue cambric dress, and Sarah had offered to advance my wages so I could have another.
‘You’ll find no lice or bugs in my clothes,’ the toothless stallholder told us. ‘This very elegant gown once belonged to a countess.’
Sarah didn’t take any notice of this, though I was quite willing to believe it, for I liked the idea of having a dress that had been owned by someone titled.
‘It’s rather grand but it does look well on you,’ Sarah said. ‘The green suits your colouring.’
‘It doesn’t make my hair look more red, does it?’ I asked anxiously, and Sarah assured me that it didn’t.
‘That gown is only two seasons old,’ the old woman went on. ‘The countess brings all her clothes for me to sell.’
‘What else of hers do you have, then?’ I asked.
The woman hesitated, then from an old trunk behind the stall she brought out a clover-pink velvet cloak with black silk lining and matching velvet hat with pink curled feathers.
‘Oh!’ I gasped, and I put out my hand to stroke the velvet. ‘It is most beautiful. May I have this as well, Sarah?’
‘Of course not!’ my sister said. ‘It’s much too grand for the likes of us. And, anyway, it’s far too warm at the moment for such a covering.’
‘I could keep it until I needed it,’ I said longingly, for it seemed to me that the pink velvet cloak was the finest and most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.
Sarah frowned. ‘You wouldn’t get the wear out of something like that. Besides, pink with your hair—’ She shook her head at me and said no more.
I wondered afterwards whether she’d spoken about the colour of my hair just to put me off the cloak, but anyway, I settled on the green taffeta and was mighty pleased with it.
As we left the market a street-seller called to us, bidding us to buy her fresh gooseberry syllabub, and we did so, sharing a dish between us and finding it most refreshing, for it was again very hot. On the way home we also bought some gay coloured-paper parasols against the sun, and some new pattens to wear over our shoes. They made us seem very tall, but Sarah said they needed to, for when it rained the waste would wash along the street outside the shop to a depth of several inches. In view of their height, though, we decided to practise walking in them at home before we went out in them.
Throughout the trip to Houndsditch we had not seen nor heard one mention of the plague, apart from a poster on the door of the Green Dragon Tavern which read:
A most efficacious cordial against the plague may be obtained at the Green Dragon. The only true guard against infection at six pence a pint’.
Because we were in a happy mood, talking of home and our brothers and sisters, Sarah and I both affected not to see this notice.
Back in our room, I tried on the green dress, patted my curls down as much as possible and tied them back with a green ribbon. I then put a few drops of orange water behind my ears and, feeling very fine, my skirts rustling about me, I walked up and down outside the shop to take the air, hoping that someone might come along and see me. I suppose the ‘someone’ I was thinking about was Tom, but my friend Abby would have done nearly as well.
However, the only persons around whom I knew were young Jacob and Dickon, who engaged me in a game of gleek. This was easier played sitting on the ground, but as I was not willing to kneel on the dirt in my finery, I let Dickon play my turn for me. Pretty soon, a minister of the church came by and chastised us for playing a gambling game on a Sunday, and though the boys protested that we were not playing for tokens or money, he bade us put away the counters and act in a way which was more suited to the Lord’s Day.
I went indoors a little later, musing on the fact that I had not been to a church service at all since coming to London. This was not because of a sudden turning away from the teachings, but because (and I must confess I was not displeased at this) there always seemed something else to do: cooking or cleaning, washing or repairing our clothes. And with the shop open all the other days of the week, there was only Sunday to do these things. Sarah told me it wasn’t just us who did not keep the Lord’s Day, for since King Charles had been restored to the throne in 1660, far fewer people went to church on a regular basis. The ministers blamed the king himself for this,
for they said that he and his court were a byword for gaiety and freedom and did not set an example to the people by leading pious and godly lives as the nobility were supposed to do.
Indoors, I found Sarah was starting to make marchpane fruits. It was for this sweetmeat that we’d prepared all the almonds a day or so before and, as I was anxious to learn all the secrets of our trade, I changed out of my new gown and hung it in our room with a sheet over it against the dust.
The marchpane mixture was made by blending the ground almonds with sugar and rose water and dividing it into several portions. Each portion was then coloured by Sarah with either red, green, pink, or orange tinctures, and a little extra was made brown with cinnamon. Once divided, we took a portion each and stirred and pounded until it came together in a stiff dough.
The miniature fruits were to be strawberries, oranges, apples and plums, and Sarah took the utmost trouble with these, using a paring knife and other small instruments – which she said grand ladies used on their nails – to carve their shape. The strawberries were especially pleasing, being the rightful size and plump triangular shape with tiny indentations, as the fruit truly has, and a green leaf and stalk atop of them. I was allowed to make the apples on my own, and I did them green, with a dimple on top from which protruded a cinnamon-brown stalk. When the little fruits were completed Sarah instructed me to take a fine paint brush and give each apple a blush of pink on its side, then roll it in ground sugar.
To make the fairy fruits took us several hours altogether, but it was a most enjoyable task and, once finished, they looked pretty and delicate enough to tempt any passing elfin. We placed them on white paper and gave them another frosting of sugar before putting them in trays to harden slightly overnight and be ready for sale the following day.
The next morning I woke early to the usual cry of a milkmaid calling, ‘Fresh milk! Fresh new milk!’ and Sarah bade me take the jug to the door and buy some. After we’d drunk well of the foaming liquid – and Mew had her portion, too, with some bread in it left from the day before – we washed and dressed and tidied the shop ready for that day’s trade.
At seven-thirty, as I opened up the shop, a town crier announced that certain Orders had been issued on behalf of the Lord Mayor and were being posted at every main water conduit and well. Every citizen was asked to take note of these and do as they commanded.
Sarah, who was arranging our marchpane fruits under muslin cloths to keep off the flies, looked at me in concern. ‘That’s sure to be news about the plague,’ she said. ‘Run and get some water and find out what it’s about.’
I was pleased to do this, for I was wearing my new blue cambric dress and was mighty keen to give it an outing. Going to Bell Court I found Abby just about to leave there with a full pail and an enamel jug of water. She looked pleased to see me and put her containers down to give me a hearty kiss on the cheek.
‘I’ve come up to read the Orders,’ I said. ‘What do they say?’
‘Oh, ’tis just about the plague,’ she said. ‘Beggars must stay within their parish, and everyone is to water, sweep and cleanse the street in front of their door every morning and dispose of any slops in a clean manner . . . ’tis not very interesting and just means more work for us maids.’
‘But how is your mistress?’ I asked.
‘Middling well,’ Abby said. Her face brightened. ‘But she has bid me go to the Exchange tomorrow morning on an errand. Why don’t you ask your sister if you can have leave to go, and we can meet up.’
‘Where’s that?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘You goose!’ she said. ‘Have you not heard of the Royal Exchange? ’Tis the most fashionable meeting place in the city! At least, it is apart from the coffee houses – and no decent girl would be seen in one of those without a gentleman.’
I tried to cover my ignorance by assuring her that I had heard of the Royal Exchange, but wanted to know exactly where it was.
‘’Tis at Cornhill. But I’ll meet you here about midday.’
I said I would do my best to be there, and went to read the Orders, which were just a list of rules and instructions for the prevention of further contagion. They included directions for medicines to be prescribed against the sickness – different ones according to whether you were rich or poor – the banning of all needless gatherings of people and a ruling that beggars must not be allowed to go about from parish to parish in case this spread the disease.
Several folk were gathered about the poster and many of them, not being readers, begged me to impart its contents. As more people arrived I was asked to do this several times over, until I almost knew the words off by heart. As I read them once again it came to me that those who surrounded me did not seem overly worried about them. They made good-humoured comments about the contents, laughing and saying it would be more work for death-mongering coffin makers, and naming doctors and apothecaries as quacks and charlatans.
‘They would as soon kill you as cure you – for they get paid either way,’ one woman said to me cheerfully, and again I could not bring myself to believe that these Orders – this plague – was any great matter. The sun was shining, the day was fair and the people around me were bonny and of good heart. Perhaps the authorities had just been thrown into a panic by a few deaths.
Returning home, however, I was given some cause to change my mind, for I blundered unawares into the very heart of the dread plague-land. Going the long way back – for I was trying to make my journey lead me past Doctor da Silva’s shop – I found myself approaching the parish of St Giles. Sarah had told me this was a disreputable area and that many derelicts and paupers had made their homes amongst its slums. It being daylight, however, and the streets being busy, I did not worry about entering. As I ventured further into the mean and shabby streets though, I began to feel considerable unease, for in some passageways shops were closed up and there were few people about, almost as if it was a holy day. I pressed on, for though I had never been this way before, being a country girl I knew by the position of the sun in the sky that I was going in the right direction.
After a few moments I reached Cock and Ball Alley and judged I should turn left into it. But a man lounging by the first house held his hand up to bar my way. He held a sharpened halberd aloft and was a dirty and ugly-looking fellow with a red, sweaty face and several teeth missing at the front.
‘I need to get along here,’ I said, somewhat nervously.
‘No, you don’t,’ he said, and he pointed to the door of the house behind him.
This was a stout oak door, cast all about with heavy chains and locks, and as I stared at it my heart seemed to contract, for it had a great painted red cross on it and a written notice saying: LORD, HAVE MERCY ON US.
I gasped, my stomach lurching. I knew already, of course, what these signs meant, but the ill-favoured fellow was eager to explain further. ‘Four dead of plague in there and the rest shut up for forty days!’ he said. He pointed with his halberd. ‘And further down Cock and Ball Alley two more houses are enclosed.’
I stared up at the house before me. One small window was open on the second floor, but apart from that it was shuttered and silent.
‘But . . . but how do they eat? Who gets their provisions?’ I asked.
‘I does their errands,’ the fellow said, ‘and buys their milk and bread.’
‘But how do they get on, shut up all that time? How do they take the air?’
‘They don’t take no air,’ he said. ‘The only time that door will be opened is to bring out a body.’ He scratched his head and I saw something – some small insect – dart along his greasy scalp. ‘Four dead so far and two more expected before nightfall.’
As I stood there, horrified, staring at the shuttered windows and trying to imagine how the people fared inside the house, there came from within a sudden wailing, turning to a high-pitched scream which went on and on without any end. There was the sound of running feet and another scream joined the first.
I stare
d at the man waiting for confirmation, for I was rooted to the spot and felt unable to leave until I knew the worst. He looked at me and shrugged. ‘’Tis another,’ was all he said.
A woman walking by us on the other side of the road crossed herself and hurried away. As several others gathered outside a shop and spoke together, looking with frightened eyes towards the house, I began to back away, going home the way I’d arrived, getting out of St Giles with all haste. Before I’d got very far, I heard the bells of the parish church, tolling mournfully to tell of that latest death.
Chapter Five
The first week of July
‘Asking how the Plague goes, the Parish Clerk tells me that it increases much, and much in our Parish . . .’
Sarah, being pleased with the way I was working, gave me permission to take an excursion with Abby, and the following day we met at midday as planned.
‘Well, the plague cannot be that far advanced,’ said Abby as we walked through the vast stone pillars into the Royal Exchange, ‘for the king and his courtiers are still in London. They would surely have left if there was any chance of the pestilence coming near to his royal person.’
I shrugged, not knowing the answer to this.
Abby lowered her voice. ‘Although I’ve heard that the royal person is not that fussy about who he does get near. The likes of actresses and whores . . .’ Here she paused and we looked at each other gleefully. ‘. . . have had bastard children by him.’
‘Have they really?’ I said, and I would have asked more except that I was entranced and amazed and distracted on all sides by the scene before me.
The Royal Exchange was a great blackened stone building, open in the centre, with a gallery around each of its two floors. Small, alluring, candlelit shops lined these galleries, each with its own bright metal sign hanging over its doorway proclaiming its wares. Groups of young men gathered in the centre court, looking intently at the women who passed – who, in turn, affected not to see them at all. Occasionally, I heard a long low whistle or a comment of, ‘By gad!’ or ‘Look at that filly!’