Circle of Pearls

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘Where has she been staying?’ He had a sudden illogical hope that she might have been cared for at the Hall, but that vanished as soon as Mary told him where she was and the reason for her being there. ‘Why didn’t she come home earlier in the day?’

  ‘She could have, but she had worked out her quarantine to the hour, and wanted to be conscientious about it. Katy has been with us for nearly two weeks now.’

  At the mention of her name Katy took Mary’s hand. ‘I want Julia to come soon.’

  Adam ruffled the fair curls. ‘Don’t worry, Katy. I’m fetching her now.’ Then to Mary he added, ‘I’ll take a short cut through the east side-gate and go across the meadows.’

  ‘Take a lantern with you. It will be dark on your way home again.’

  He did not light the lantern before he left, having no need of it to guide his way, for as yet the sky was still bathed in gold from the sunset, the dusk hovering feather-soft. In the meadows the dandelion down flew up about him and clung to his velvet breeches. When he sighted the little cottage it had a candle alight within and he increased his pace, leaping a stream and running on. A curtain was drawn across the window and he could not see in as he made for the door. Then he saw a red cross smeared on it with a carmine lip salve. He sent the door crashing open.

  In the candle-glow she sat on the edge of the bed in her petticoats, the top of her undershift about her waist, and she was bathing her neck and breasts from a bowl of water placed on a stool beside her. Her face was flushed and there was a hollow look to her eyes. In her fever she showed no surprise at seeing him.

  ‘Don’t come near me, Adam!’ she cried out warningly. ‘The plague is upon me! I have all the first symptoms. My body is burning and full of pain. Just when I thought I was free.’

  ‘My love! Do you think I would leave you now?’ He set down the lantern on the table and she crouched back as he approached.

  ‘Stay away! Please! I know what to do. I was told.’

  He came nearer. ‘Who told you?’

  ‘A parson’s wife who has saved many lives. I must bathe myself with cold water and exercise that part of myself wherever the swelling should appear. No poultices until it is full grown.’

  ‘I can do that for you.’

  ‘No! How can I care for you if I’m sick myself?’

  ‘I don’t intend to become ill.’ He kept his voice low and reassuring, wanting to lull her into submission to his charge without a struggle that could further exhaust her.

  ‘Don’t you?’ She seemed almost convinced, the fever diminishing her power to reason, her eyes bright as diamonds from it. He reached the bedside and as he took off his jacket some of the dandelion seeds detached themselves and drifted up into the air. A sneeze shook her. She went rigid with terror, closing her eyes tightly and unable to look at herself for dread. ‘Are the roses appearing on my body?’

  ‘There’s not a mark on you.’

  ‘Sometimes the blains show first on the inner thighs!’ She dropped the sponge and began tearing off her petticoats.

  He reassured her. ‘There is nothing. It must have been a dandelion seed that made you sneeze. Lie back and I will bathe you.’ He tossed her discarded petticoats and shift into a corner and, after rolling up his sleeves, he retrieved the sponge from the floor and dipped it into the water. Since all the other nursing methods he had heard of seemed to lose more victims than save them, he saw no reason why he should not carry out the treatment in which she had shown such faith.

  She sank back against the pillows and spoke in a faraway voice. ‘When I kissed Christopher at Versailles I must have known I was coming home to die.’

  ‘You’re not going to die!’ he shouted brokenly. Whatever happened between her and Christopher was of no importance now. All that mattered was bringing her through the plague alive. Matters could be sorted out afterwards. If he had finally lost her through that sojourn in Paris it would have to be faced, but in the meantime he had a battle for her life on his hands that he did not mean to lose. ‘You must fight this sickness with me! Darling! Do you hear me?’

  ‘What are all those circles?’ she asked, staring at the ceiling of the box-bed with glazed eyes. Then he knew the fever had overcome her senses and she could no longer hear him. Sweat was running from her body as fast as he sponged it away. He poured water from a pitcher into a glass, which he held to her lips, raising her head at the same time. She drank and then began tossing her head as the fever racked her, and most of the water was split. It was not long afterwards when he rested her hand on his to bathe her arm that he saw her wince. Then as he bent her elbow and raised her arm he saw the first redness of the swelling that was to come there. He knew his adversary at last. Keeping her arm bent, he began to rotate it in exercise as she had told him.

  All through the night he alternately bathed her and kept her arm moving. Nobody came near to find out why they had not returned to Sotherleigh together, and he could only guess that Mary supposed them to be having a night of love in this quiet place after all their time apart. He wanted fresh linen and another feather bed, for everything was soaked from spilt water. Now he had mastered the sponging, having used too much water at first, and had acquired the knack of getting her to drink. He was anxious to get some nourishing liquid to spoon into her mouth. A cry of pain had replaced her wincing and, from what he had heard of the plague, it could be days before the swelling broke. At all costs her strength must be kept up.

  Nobody came near the cottage until after noon the next day. Then he heard children’s voices and went quickly to the door. Tired, he leaned a hand on each post and saw Mary coming across the meadow with Patience and Katy playing about her.

  ‘Don’t come any nearer!’ he shouted. ‘Julia has the plague and I intend to bring her through it. But I need food and linen and a change of clothes for myself.’

  Mary had gathered the two children to her, holding them by the hand. ‘What else?’ she called out in a practical manner, wasting no time in expressing the distress that showed on her face. When he had listed all he could think of, she nodded and hurried away.

  There were moments for Julia when the fever made her believe she had been caught up in her childhood dream again, except that this time she felt frightened, unable to find Adam in all the strange circles and patterns that formed and dissolved again in such a bewildering way. Christopher had never failed her in the past and she called on him to help in her search for Adam, but he was always walking away from her and out of earshot, for however much she called he never turned his head. Then such pain swallowed her up that she had no way of telling whether hours or days or years were passing.

  The supplies for the cottage were left daily where they had been for Julia and Katy. Wood was also supplied for a bonfire on which Molly burnt soiled bed linen, his changes of clothing and anything else discarded that might harbour infection. After her childhood experiences in the pest house, Molly was convinced she was immune to the plague and insisted on being the only member of the household to approach the cottage. Even then she changed her clothes in an outhouse whenever she returned to the big house and used a hay-rake to move the discarded materials on to the bonfire.

  It was the only chore Adam would allow her to do, although she had originally arrived at the same time as the daily supplies, advancing upon the cottage with an armful of blankets in which to sweat the patient and poultices to be boiled up and applied. He had refused her entry, certain she would try her own treatment should he leave Julia with her, and he was determined to keep to that which his wife had wanted.

  A truckle bed was brought for him, but although he moved it into the cottage he never used it. He snatched sleep sitting on a stool with his head resting on Julia’s bed whenever she slept. Sometimes it was only a few minutes, because she had only to stir and he was wide awake, quick to exercise her arm again or to sponge her down. Many times the tears coursed down his face without his knowing, for Julia screamed now with agony and her head thrashed from side to s
ide as if she fought to escape from all that was torturing her. In the earlier stages she had cried out for Christopher so desperately and heart-renderingly that Adam had been torn for another reason. Never once in her delirium had she called for him. He no longer felt jealousy. He was beyond that in a sorrow the extent of which he was not fully aware, for everything had narrowed down to the terrible treatment that he never allowed to cease.

  He was terrified that she would die. It seemed impossible she could continue to endure such suffering and he was ceaseless in his care, folding cool damp clouts across her burning forehead, spooning nourishment into her mouth and trying to appease her endless thirst with sips of barley water. Then it came to a time when she could no longer take anything, her physical torment too great, and he knew he must take a knife to the swelling, whether it was ready or not, if she was to have any chance of surviving.

  She was trying to throw herself from the bed, not knowing what she was doing, and her hair whirled about her demented face. He gripped her arm with a force that made a bruise rise and tried to keep the knife steady as he held it poised. Then he drove in the point of the blade, piercing the hideous swelling.

  Her whole body convulsed, her knees drawing up and then her legs flying out again as she arched and fell back, blood and pus pouring from the wound until both of them were spattered by it. The scene was like a corner of a battlefield. He did not try to stem the flow, knowing it must drain, and he leaned over to look down at her, smoothing her hair back from her face.

  ‘It’s over, my darling. All over.’

  ‘Adam?’ she whispered, her eyes still closed.

  ‘Yes, my love.’ He found her hand and held it.

  ‘Why couldn’t I find you?’

  He could have answered that she had been calling for someone else, but that had been in her delirium when she had given herself away in a manner she would never suspect and which he would never reveal to her. ‘I was here.’ Then he saw she had fallen into a sleep of exhaustion and doubted that she had heard what he had said.

  When she awoke some while later, she was in a fresh nightgown and lying between clean sheets that smelt of lavender. She tried to sit up, but her physical weakness defeated her and there was an acute soreness under her right arm that was swathed in linen bindings up over her shoulder. From the pillows she could see the cottage was spick and span with the addition of a truckle bed that had not been there before. She supposed Molly had been nursing her. How long had she been here since Katy had been passed into Mary’s care? And Adam? Was he home and waiting to see her? Once in her fever she thought she had heard his voice, but that could only have been an illusion.

  ‘Molly!’ she called, her voice faint.

  Immediately a shadow fell across the floor through the open door and Adam came in. He looked thin in the face and weary across the eyes, but he was fresh-shaven and smiling. ‘So you are awake.’

  ‘Adam!’ Joy flooded through her. He was with her. It had been his voice she had heard and he must have been with her throughout her ordeal.

  ‘So you are awake. How do you feel?’

  ‘Thankful to see you.’ She summoned up her strength to hold a hand out to him, but he did not appear to notice, his thumbs remaining firmly hooked in his belt. Her hand fell back on the bed. ‘I believe you have been caring for me.’

  He gave a nod. ‘I was anxious when I returned from France to find you ill here.’

  ‘I don’t remember that.’

  ‘No matter. All that remains now is for you to get strong again. When you called I was outside watching for dinner to come from the house. I want you to try to eat something.’

  ‘I will,’ she vowed, but slept again in the same breath. The next time she opened her eyes it was dark and he sat at the table in candlelight, reading a book. Now that she was looking at him again it seemed to her that it was not so much weariness as sadness that shadowed his eyes. It struck a responsive chord in her and her eyes filled with tears without her understanding why. Somehow he was not quite the same. She could not define the difference, but it was there. He glanced across and saw the glitter in her eyes. Instantly he was on his feet and across to her.

  ‘Does your arm pain you?’

  ‘It’s sore, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m afraid it will be for a while.’ Carefully he propped her pillows to raise her a little. ‘While you eat a little supper, I’ll tell you of my adventures. I heard about your going to London and bringing your weavers and embroiderers to cottages near here.’

  ‘Have any of them or the coachman fallen sick?’

  ‘None. Everyone is well, as you soon will be. Molly has kept me informed, although our conversations at a distance have been brief through my not wanting to leave you for more than a minute or two, and not at all when your illness was reaching its crisis. You can be certain that you saved the lives of some if not all of those women, because the plague is said to be worse than ever in London. Carts have begun to collect by day as well as by night due to numbers mounting.’

  ‘You have saved my life.’

  He grinned wryly at her. ‘It was in my own interests. What would my life be without you?’

  ‘Or mine if you were not with me.’

  He gave her an indulgent look as if she had conjured up a remark without substance especially to please him. Turning to the table, he removed a linen napkin from a cup and bowl on a tray there. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to feed her with spoonfuls of beef jelly and sips of egg-wine while he told her of his incarceration at Dieppe and Michael’s rescue and how he had lost no time in returning to Sotherleigh. ‘I followed the directions you gave me as to how you should be nursed and they worked well.’

  ‘I don’t think I caught the plague from Katy’s house, but from our London home.’

  ‘How could that be?’

  She told him about the dead looter and how her garments might have gathered up some infection. His concern was only that she should have had to face such a situation alone and he complimented her on how she dealt with it.

  ‘You have a fount of courage in you, Julia.’

  She dismissed his words with a shake of her head, one wish uppermost in her mind. ‘I pray that you haven’t caught the contagion from me!’

  Again there was wry ness in his expression, ‘It lies in the hands of fate. We must wait and see.’

  ‘I’d never forgive myself if — ’

  He silenced her jokingly by popping a spoonful of jelly in her mouth. ‘Let’s have no talk of it.’ His shrug was cynical, ‘I feel immune. In any case, it fades in importance beside all that really matters to me.’

  She expected him to elaborate, to speak of love to her, but that was not forthcoming. After giving her the last sip of egg-wine that drained the glass, he wiped her lips with the napkin, kissed her on the brow and bade her sleep again. Her troubled gaze followed him as he took hot water from a cauldron over the hearth and washed up the glass and bowl with some of his own supper things. The same precaution of not returning crockery from the infected cottage was being maintained by him as it had by her while she and Katy were here. When the task was done he glanced towards the bed and saw she was still awake.

  ‘Sleep now, my love.’

  It was the first endearment he had uttered since she had come to herself again. She turned her head away on the pillow, stricken in the belief that it had been said automatically. Something had happened during the weeks they had been apart. Had he met another woman? She could think of no other reason why he had set up this barrier between them. Yet he had risked his life for her, cared for her tirelessly through Mrs Webb’s treatment, which was so exhausting for patient and nurse alike, and carried out every kind of intimate duty that a sick-room demanded, all of which could have been left to an underling. She had planned to greet him at their London home with an outpouring of her heart that he had never heard from her before, but that opportunity had been lost. Yet if it had come about and she had met him as he was now, her words of
love would not have been spoken, stemmed by that withdrawn air of his that was something new and strange and frightening. Her eyelids closed of their own volition, but her night was restless.

  Day by day she became stronger and still he showed no sign that he would succumb to the infection. Their hours passed peacefully. At first, leaning on his arm, she reached the door and sat outside in the shade of a tree with him. Soon afterwards they took short walks together and Mary brought the children to wave to them from a safe distance. Every one of the women from the cottages came in pairs or groups, all calling out that they would be glad to get back to work again. They had enjoyed being in the country, but they missed London and were not used to being idle. Since they were now out of quarantine, she asked Mary to find them some work at Briar House. The next day it was reported to her that all the women had cheered up and were glad to be earning money again.

  In the evenings Julia and Adam played chess or cards, or read. There were times when his gaze would leave his book and settle on her, she unknowing as she sat reading herself. He knew the distancing between them was of his making, but it was not through loving her less; quite the contrary. She had cried out only for Christopher when she had been at death’s door, but it had not been proof of unfaithfulness, simply an unconscious utterance of caring until her last breath. It was during those horrifying moments when the plague had almost snatched her from him that he had experienced a new dimension of love sweeping through him to eliminate all that had ever seemed important before. In that instant he had accepted the compromise that she had created for herself as if somehow it might give her the extra strength to sustain her in her tenacious fight for life.

  He looked back at his book without taking in what was printed there. Let her have unchallenged what she wanted most. Never again would he question the allegiance of her most tender feelings to her life-long love, for that sentimental yearning had no realism and in their living together they had far more than most couples ever glimpsed.