At the Sign of the Sugared Plum

by Mary Hooper

  Tom disappeared for a moment or two to do this, and while he was out of view my mind was a perfect whirlpool of fear. He then reappeared with Grace naked within the basket. Lifting this into the air, he tested the rope that held it, and then Sarah and I stood with arms outstretched as he carefully lowered the precious bundle to the ground.

  I took little Grace out – and indeed she did look healthy, with plump pink limbs and a fine head of hair – and as we wrapped her in the clean sheet she looked so pretty and innocent that Sarah and I both fell to weeping at her sad destiny in being orphaned so young.

  Tom, watching from above, asked us what the matter was. ‘Have you seen some mark on her body?’ he said anxiously.

  I shook my head. ‘We are just weeping for . . .’ I began, but found I could not explain why.

  ‘For the sadness of the occasion,’ Sarah finished with a sigh.

  Tom said he was mighty relieved that the babe was well and had no marks on her, and told us that he had a mind to remove Abby’s corpse from the stairs, and not leave it in such disarray. He disappeared to do this, but a moment later, to our great horror, we heard a shout inside the house, and the face of the watchman appeared at the same window.

  ‘What mischief are you doing?’ he yelled to us. And then he saw the basket and the rope, and Grace in my arms, and began roaring at us to stop, saying he would call the magistrates and have us locked up as kidnappers and common thieves.

  We were in a terrible confusion then, for we did not know what to do for the best. I felt that we could not just run off leaving Tom in the plague-torn house, for it would be known that he’d had a part in our stealing of Grace.

  Sarah picked up our bundles and pulled my arm, though. ‘We must go! If we want to get away, we must go now!’

  And I knew she was right. Holding the babe tightly, cradling her head, I began to run with Sarah towards our coach. Mr Carter was still sitting atop in the driver’s seat, and reaching it, Sarah opened the door and clambered in, then turned to take Grace from me.

  Panting and shaking with fright, I handed the babe to her. I then climbed in myself as quickly as I was able, calling to Mr Carter to drive off with all speed.

  As we started off and the carriage turned into the main street, my attention was caught by a blur of movement as Tom came running from the house, sprinted across the roadway and arrived on the corner just as our horses galloped past him.

  We had time for just one thing: to blow a kiss to each other.

  I leaned forward in my seat, trying to see Tom until the last possible moment, and in this way saw the watchman run out of the house and stare after our coach. Tom ran off, and it looked as if the watchman was hesitating, wondering whether to go after him. He chose us to chase, however, and began to run down the centre of the road ringing a bell and shouting.

  This did not alarm us unduly, for within no time at all the horses had gathered speed and we had left him behind. We were going at a goodly pace now, swaying and bumping on the uneven cobbles, and found we had to sit well back, bracing our legs, to enable us to keep our positions. We sat on opposite seats, gazing at each other in a mixture of excitement and fear.

  ‘Close the curtains,’ Sarah said. ‘A lady and her maid would not allow the common people to gaze in on them.’

  I did so, then begged Sarah to let me hold Grace. Smiling, we had a small dispute about who should nurse her, but Sarah at last agreed that it would be more usual for the babe to be held by the maid rather than the lady, and passed her to me. Grace was quiet, the movement of the carriage having almost sent her off to sleep again.

  We galloped and jolted through the streets, twisting and turning down narrow passageways, and found out later that Mr Carter had taken us a complex way around in case the watchman found means to follow us. Peeping through a crack in the curtain, I saw few passers-by, and none who looked at us with any interest, for people were very much keeping within their houses now and only going out to buy what food was necessary to keep them alive. After some minutes of fast, jolting driving, we heard Mr Carter shout at the horses and rein them in. They fell into a walk.

  Sarah pulled the curtain to one side. ‘Mr Carter,’ she said, ‘can you not maintain the speed?’

  ‘I can, Ma’am,’ he said, ‘but we are approaching the gate on London Bridge and I do not think it meet that we should arrive there all of a hugger-mugger.’

  ‘No. Indeed!’ Sarah said hastily, and she sank back once more on to her seat. We shared an anxious glance and composed ourselves as best we could.

  After a moment we heard a ‘Whoa!’ from Mr Carter and the carriage came to a standstill.

  ‘Be calm, Hannah,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘Remember that everything depends on us being who our Certificates say we are.’

  I nodded but could not reply, for my throat felt tight and constricted. I put out a finger and stroked little Grace’s cheek, praying that things would go well.

  Mr Carter was hailed by a rough-sounding voice and someone asked his business. In reply, we heard him explain that he was taking a lady of high breeding to stay with her sister in the country. ‘As she has a new-born infant, I wish to make good time and proceed with speed,’ he finished.

  The curtain was then pulled aside and a dishevelled, bearded fellow looked in on us. He carried a blunderbuss in his hand and did not look as if he’d hesitate to use it.

  ‘Your name?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘I am Mistress Beauchurch,’ Sarah replied haughtily. ‘My infant daughter is Grace Beauchurch and my maid here is Abigail Palmer.’

  ‘Your certificates to travel?’ the fellow asked, and Sarah drew our passes from the canvas bag and handed them over.

  ‘Is there not one for the child?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘She is but newly-born. We were told she wouldn’t require one.’

  His brawny hand plucked at the covering which held Grace and as he looked at her, frowning, I was thankful that Grace was small for her weeks, and that the fellow apparently did not know what size a newborn child should have been.

  Losing interest in Grace, he held our certificates up to the light. ‘There have been forgeries.’

  ‘Those are no forgeries,’ Sarah said with spirit. ‘Sir John signed these himself in my presence.’

  The fellow spat on them, then rubbed at the ink signature with a grimy finger until it smudged. He thrust them back at Sarah, looking her up and down searchingly.

  ‘And you are Mistress Beauchurch, are you?’

  ‘I am,’ Sarah’s voice rang out like a true aristocrat and I looked at her admiringly.

  ‘First lady I’ve seen with rough hands,’ the man said. ‘Looks more like you’ve been in charge of the washhouse.’

  Sarah looked at him witheringly. ‘My good man,’ she said, ‘the plague is rife and most of my servants are fled. A lady must learn to fend for herself – and besides, I do not trust anyone except myself to wash and tend to my precious child’s needs.’

  The man gave a bitter laugh. ‘Oh, ’tis right, the plague is a great leveller. Even a great lady has to stoop to the washtub nowadays.’ He still did not move out of the roadway, but stood there looking at us through narrowed eyes. I felt a cold trickle of sweat begin its journey down my back and was mighty scared.

  He brought his face to the carriage window. ‘Would you risk anything to get out of London?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t . . . I don’t know what you mean,’ Sarah said.

  ‘What is it worth to you, lady?’

  Sarah quivered. ‘How dare you!’ she said. ‘I should have you birched for such impudence.’

  ‘Call the other guard, then, if you’ve a mind to,’ the fellow said easily. ‘He’d be interested to see someone like you – someone who is only play-acting a fine lady. There are strict laws against what you’re doing.’

  Sarah was transfixed and I could not contain a gasp of horror. Did he actually know something, or was he just trying his luck?

  ‘Althou
gh, if you were to grease my palm a little—’

  ‘Wh . . . what?’ Sarah faltered.

  ‘He wants money!’ Mr Carter barked from above. ‘Give him what you have and let’s be on our way.’

  Sarah started, then rummaged in the canvas holdall for the little bag of gold coins we’d been given. Taking out three of these, she thrust them at the fellow.

  He looked at the coins, then at us. He seemed astounded, but still he did not move. Panicking now, not really knowing whether what had been given was enough, I snatched the bag from Sarah and pushed another two gold angels into his palm.

  ‘Drive on!’ I called to Mr Carter, and as he whipped up the horses the fellow staggered back, staring at the coins he held as if they were stars fallen from the skies.

  ‘We gave him far too much!’ Sarah said as we galloped across London Bridge.

  ‘Never mind!’ I said. ‘We’re on our way.’

  Leaning forward slightly, I pulled back the curtains a little so I could see out. We had crossed the bridge now – that same London Bridge I had approached with such anticipation and excitement only a few months before. The traitors’ heads were still there on their spikes over the gateway, but I also saw the desolate sight of a newly-hung corpse, a man who – no doubt having contracted the sickness and despairing – had made away with himself.

  How green I’d been when I’d arrived. I knew now that it was not only cut-throats and villains that one should be wary of in London, but something far more deadly, something unseen and altogether more terrible.

  I looked down at the face of little Grace and breathed out a sigh. She must live on, for her survival was all I could do for Abby.

  Abby. My friend. I would think about her later, and would earnestly try to think of the sunny, joyful girl who’d been my sweet companion, and not the pitiful wraith I’d last seen at the window.

  I leaned against Sarah for comfort and her head inclined towards mine. We were well on the road now, and I felt we would reach Dorchester and survive, for we had not come this far to be overtaken by man or plague. London would survive, too, and I would return to it, and to Tom, and I knew I would not die unkissed.

  Glossary

  atonement being in harmony with God, from the 16th-century phrase at onement.

  cabalistic sign a sign used in a secret or occult doctrine or science.

  cambric a fine white linen or cotton fabric.

  charnel deathlike.

  charnel house a building or vault in which bones or corpses are kept.

  cony rabbit.

  cutpurse a thief or pickpocket who stole by cutting the drawstrings of money purses.

  electuary a purgative medicine mixed with honey or sugar syrup in some sweet confection.

  fustian a hard-wearing fabric with short velvety nap (pile); made of twilled cotton, or cotton mixed with linen or wool.

  groundlings those who stood on the ground, the cheapest part of a playhouse, to watch a theatrical performance.

  haberdashery small items for the dressmaker, such as ribbons, laces and silks, as well as hats and caps, and fabric articles for the household.

  halberd a weapon which combined a spear and battleaxe on a pole of up to about two metres in length.

  marchpane an archaic word for marzipan, the main ingredients of which are ground almonds and sugar.

  meet an archaic word meaning proper, fitting, or correct.

  milch-ass an ass, or donkey, whose milk was sold by its owner.

  patch Through the 17th and 18th centuries fashionable men and women wore patches, like beauty spots, on their face and/or visible parts of the upper body to make them look more attractive and often to cover blemishes.

  patten a wooden-soled over-shoe raised up on a circular metal frame and worn to keep one’s shoes and long skirts above the muck on the ground.

  periwig In the 1660s, a periwig of false hair hanging in curls from a central parting was an essential part of a fashionable man’s attire and often disguised a lack of his own hair.

  pesthouse a hospital that cared for people with an infectious disease.

  poultice a moist and often heated mixture of substances applied to sore or inflamed parts of the body to improve blood circulation and reduce inflammation.

  Puritan In the 16th and 17th centuries the more extreme English Protestants aimed to purify the Church of England of most of its ceremony and other aspects they deemed to be Catholic. Adhering to strict moral and religious principles, the Puritans were opposed to luxury and sensual enjoyment.

  quarantine enforced isolation, usually of people and animals who have an infectious disease or who may be carriers of it.

  swaddle In the 16th century it was thought beneficial to swaddle a new-born baby by wrapping it tightly in linen or other cloth.

  worsted a fabric with a hard, smooth, close-textured surface, made from a closely twisted woollen yarn.

  Notes on London’s Plague, 1665

  All the quotations at the chapter headings are from Pepys’s Diary, which I used for background information. I also used a book published in 1926 called The Great Plague of London by W. G. Bell, where I found most of the stories of ordinary people. Restoration London by Liza Picard was also invaluable. The idea for Sarah’s sweetmeat shop came to me when I read in seventeenth-century Court Records a young girl’s answer to the question of what she did for a living: ‘I make sweetmeats and chocolett cakes for persons of quality and gentlemen’s houses . . .’

  During September, after Hannah and Sarah had left London, the numbers of people dying of plague continued to rise. Over 8,000 people died every week in September. Following this, as the weather became colder, the numbers on the Bills of Mortality slowly began to fall. The end of the Great Plague was at last in sight. By the following February, the city was deemed to be free enough of plague for the king and his court to return.

  Although London was far and away the largest city in Britain, it was small compared to the size it is now. It is thought that about 300,000 people lived in it – and that one third of those (that is, more than 100,000) perished during the Great Plague. Most of these were the poor, who could not get away from the city.

  Accounts have been found for the killing of as many as 4,380 dogs in the city alone and probably three times as many cats. This was, of course, misguided, because the animals may have been controlling the very vermin that are thought to have spread the plague.

  Nell Gwyn, the orange seller who rose to become a mistress to King Charles II, was fifteen in 1665. She is depicted in records as merry, witty and lovable as well as strikingly attractive. Pepys was an admirer, referring to her as ‘pretty, witty Nelly’.

  The plague was a terrifying and mystifying disease and people were prepared to try anything to avoid catching it. Everyone was very superstitious – even Pepys carried a ‘lucky rabbit’s foot’ in his pocket. People saw what they thought were portents of death in the form the clouds took, or in natural but inexplicable phenomena like comets. They sometimes carried a piece of paper with the word ABRACADABRA written in a triangle, thus:

  A

  AB

  ABR

  ABRA

  ABRAC

  ABRACA

  ABRACAD

  ABRACADA

  ABRACADAB

  ABRACADABR

  ABRACADABRA

  They took all the conconctions mentioned in this book and many more. One of these recipes begins: ‘Take black snails and cut and gash them with your knife, then take the liquor which comes from them and add it to a goodly quantity of wine . . .’ It was also thought to be beneficial to drink your medicine from a hanged man’s skull.

  It is now known that the plague was spread by rat fleas carrying the plague bacilli and jumping from their hosts, the rats, to humans. The bacilli attacked the body’s lymphatic system, causing inflamed and painful swellings in the lymph glands, called ‘buboes’. No one knows exactly why or how it died out, but bubonic plague never again hit this country quite as ba
dly as it did in 1665. It was feared that it would return as the weather grew warmer in 1666, but it did not, and although the rest of the country was hit, London remained relatively free of the plague. On 2 September, 1666, however, another terrible disaster occurred: The Great Fire.

  Note on the author

  Mary Hooper has been writing books for young adults for over twenty years and has amassed a stunning collection of historical and contemporary novels to her name, each with unforgettable heroines and breathtaking plots. Mary lives in Henley-on-Thames.

  Also by Mary Hooper

  Historical fiction

  Petals in the Ashes

  The Fever and the Flame

  (a special omnibus edition of the two books above)

  The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose

  At the House of the Magician

  By Royal Command

  The Betrayal

  Fallen Grace

  Contemporary fiction

  Megan

  Megan 2

  Megan 3

  Holly

  Amy

  Chelsea and Astra: Two Sides of the Story

  Zara

  Recipes from

  the Seventeenth Century

  Sugared plums

  Sugared orange peel

  Candied angelica

  Marchpane fruits

  Frosted rose petals

  Sugared plums

  Place about twelve firm, pitted plums in sufficient water to cover and cook gently until just tender. Strain the liquid, keep back about half a pint in a jug and add 6 oz sugar. Boil this up and pour over fruit.

  Leave for two days, then drain off water into a saucepan and add another two ounces of sugar. Boil up and pour over fruit.

  Repeat this process every day for eight to twelve days, until the liquid is as thick as honey. Leave the plums soaking in this for a further three to ten days, according to how sweet you want them to be.