Betrayal (The Fenland Series Book 2)

by Ann Swinfen

  Torn between Kitty and my mother, I went to the bottom of the stairs and listened. My mother was moving about in her room. I had best see to her first, then perhaps she would settle. I heated some of the thick soup Kitty had made earlier in the day and took a bowl of it, with some bread and a cup of warm milk sweetened with honey, up to my mother on a tray. She was fretting about the room, hunting for something.

  ‘Come, Mama, I have brought your supper.’

  I set a candle lantern on the mantelpiece and persuaded her to sit in her chair beside the small table which held her Bible. I put it aside and began spooning up the soup for her, until she took the spoon from me and began to feed herself. You could never be sure. Sometimes she needed to be fed like a baby, sometimes she would eat normally, and sometimes she would hurl the dish across the room.

  In my anxiety to return to Kitty, I could hardly bear to wait while she ate, crumbling the bread into the last of her soup and scooping up soup and bread together. She seemed to enjoy the warm milk and honey, though she said never a word to me all the time she was eating. When at last she was done, I persuaded her back into bed and retreated downstairs, hoping she would sleep, at least for a little while. I made sure the chairs were in place at the top of the stairs before fetching a bowl of cold water and some clean cloths into the small chamber.

  Kitty seemed almost on fire. She was such a slender little thing, I feared the fever would burn away what little flesh there was on her bones. I knew she must drink. Hannah had taught me that. Anyone in a high fever must drink as much as possible, to douse the fire burning within. Wiping over the sweating body with cold wet cloths would also help to fight off the fever.

  I did my best to get Kitty to drink. The water from our well is very pure and sweet, and I could see that she was eager for it, but she seemed hardly in control of her body, which was seized by convulsive jerking. I was terrified that she might fall into a fit. Little by little I managed to pour the water down her throat and she gulped at it desperately, though a good deal poured over me and soaked the front of her shift. I had turned back the bedclothes and once she had drunk I peeled off her night shift, which was sodden with sweat, and began to bathe her all over with cold water. I could hardly believe that a body could be so hot and yet live. If it was the marsh fever, then she would soon be shivering uncontrollably again. I had no way of knowing how long each phase would last, and I feared trying to cool her when she had already turned cold again.

  I dried her gently, then left her lying naked while I fetched another night shift. There was no sound from my mother’s chamber, so I prayed that this night she would not wander. Back in Kitty’s chamber, I dressed her in the clean, fresh shift. She seemed calmer now and even came to herself enough to speak.

  ‘I am so sorry, Mistress Mercy. I am such a trouble to you.’

  ‘Hush,’ I said. ‘You are no trouble. You must rest and get better soon.’

  I hugged her gently and kissed her forehead, feeling a painful twist in my heart. Kitty meant more to me than a maidservant. She was as precious as a small sister and I loved her dearly. She had come to us as a parish foundling when she was seven and I was only thirteen. Our lives had been twined together ever since. I would fight this illness with every scrap of knowledge I had.

  She slipped down into the bed again.

  ‘I’m feeling cool now,’ she whispered. ‘Almost, I am feeling cold.’ She shuddered.

  ‘I will warm the stone for you again,’ I said. I gathered up the basin and cloths, and the discarded shift, and carried them through to the kitchen.

  ‘Mercy!’ It was a thin cry. ‘Don’t leave me! It’s dark and I’m afraid.’

  ‘I am just here in the kitchen, Kitty. I will bring you a candle and the stone to warm you. Never fear. I’ll not leave you.’

  With the hot stone at her feet and two extra blankets, Kitty was not shivering constantly, but from time to time her whole body would begin to shudder convulsively. Her eyes were wide and frightened, so that I put my arms around her, blankets and all, and held her close, hoping that the warmth of my body and my closeness would reassure her. I sat with her all night, though I must have slipped into a shallow sleep from time to time, for like Nehemiah I had spent many wakeful hours with the labouring ewes.

  After the shivering came the sweats again, sometime in the dead hours of the night. The pain in Kitty’s limbs must have grown worse, for she began to sob with it, though she strove valiantly to endure. During those dark times, she mumbled incoherently, about the work she thought she should be doing, about Tom and his lost leg, and other things that made no sense. When she calmed a little, she lay slack in my arms.

  ‘Mercy?’ she whispered.

  ‘Aye, my pet, I am here.’

  ‘It is the marsh fever, is it not?’

  There was no point in lying to her. ‘I fear that it is.’

  ‘Am I going to die?’ Her voice was choked with a sob. ‘I thought I was dead already and gone to Hell. The flames of Hell were burning me up and the devils were stabbing me with their pitchforks.’

  Inwardly I damned the Reverend Edgemont and his like for terrifying children with their horrific visions of what awaited us hereafter, we who were not amongst the company of the Chosen, the Puritan Saints.

  ‘That is all nonsense,’ I said firmly. ‘Our Lord has promised Heaven to all who believe in him, as you do. That burning Hell, peopled by devils, is an invention of cruel and evil minds, meant to frighten people into submission to those who set themselves up as our masters.’

  ‘Rector Gideon does not believe in Hell?’

  ‘He does not.’

  I felt her body relax slightly, but she was still tense.

  ‘So I will be safe from Hell, if I die?’

  ‘Quite safe. But you are not going to die.’

  ‘People do die of the marsh fever, Mercy,’ she said, ‘I know it.’ And tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

  I took a corner of a blanket and wiped them away.

  ‘Only those who are old or sickly already. Not great strong girls of nearly thirteen.’

  She did not feel like a great strong girl, there in my arms. Already the fever was wasting her away.

  ‘Aye,’ she said, with a valiant attempt at a smile. ‘I am nearly thirteen. When shall I be old enough to wed?’

  What had put that into her head? ‘Not yet a while,’ I said with a laugh. ‘Wait until you are fully a woman grown. Once you are married there will be no time for play. Besides, you have not even made a start on your dower chest.’

  She brightened a little at this. ‘Can we make a start? I can weave now, and I can sew and knit and embroider.’

  ‘Once you are well again, we will see. First, you must try hard to get better. I want you to try to sleep now. Sleep is the best healer.’

  Obediently, she slid down under the bedclothes. She still had a high fever, but I had dosed her again and she said that her head did not hurt quite as much. Gradually her breathing slowed and she slept, but I kept up my vigil at her bedside until the morning dawned.

  With the new day, Kitty seemed a little better. She was feverish, but it did not seem as high as it had during the night. She drank all the water I brought her as eagerly as if she were stranded in a desert, but she refused to eat.

  ‘I know I should be sick,’ she said, turning her head away and pulling a face. ‘Please do not make me eat.’

  I thought she probably knew what was best for her. She admitted that she had eaten nothing the day before, after vomiting her breakfast. I had been too preoccupied with the lambing to notice. I would not force her to eat today, but that would mean two whole days without food, it could not continue much longer. I would try to persuade her to take a hot beer toddy in the evening, for they say that beer feeds you as surely as bread. Wheat and barley are the great sustainers of life. Which naturally reminded me that we had been unable to plant either as yet this year.

  When I had made Kitty as comfortable as I could, and
set my mother to her spinning, after she had breakfasted, I fed the hens and let them out into the run before I took bread, ale and cheese out to Nehemiah, who had stayed all night in the barn. I found him carrying the last of the morning’s milk through into the dairy.

  ‘I must set about some butter and cheese making,’ I said. ‘The cows are giving generously and it must not be wasted.’

  ‘You do that, Mistress Mercy,’ he said. ‘There is but one ewe restless this morning. I can deal with her on my own. Did you speak to Master Jack?’

  ‘I did. It seems we are not alone in being afflicted. The whole village is losing stillborn lambs.’

  I watched the look of relief wash over his face. Like me, he had been blaming himself.

  ‘Jack is separating the ewes who have borne dead lambs from the others, in case the disease is spreading among them. I think we should do the same.’

  ‘That’s a canny idea,’ he said. ‘Shall us do it now, before you start in the dairy?’

  ‘Aye. Best do it soon. We’ll take Jasper and drive the ewes who have lost lambs up to the medland where the drainers were last year. That is where Jack has put his. We’ll have the rest in the barn for now, where we can keep a watch on them. Perhaps we should separate the ewes with lambs from the gravid ewes, in case there are more affected ones amongst them. We can fence off two folds.’

  It took some time to sort out the sheep, but the ewes driven out to the medland seemed glad to be out on the fresh grass. The abundance of flood waters meant that the grass was grown thick and juicy, so that they were soon tearing at it enthusiastically. Separating the flock in the barn was more trying, but we accomplished it at last, with a delay while one more lamb was born, this time a healthy one.

  ‘It is time the cows were turned out as well,’ I said, ‘but I do not think between the two of us we can be fetching them in twice a day, not until the lambing is done. By then the calves will be due.’

  ‘No need to fret about that,’ he said. ‘Calves usually come without much fuss outside.’

  I nodded. ‘We will turn them out as soon the lambing is done.’

  Before I went to the dairy, I returned to the kitchen. I had left both my mother and Kitty too long. My mother was still spinning, a task which was so familiar to her that even in her present state she could produce a fine, even thread. Kitty was restless, but her fever was still lower than it had been the previous night. I knew that meant little, for the heat of a fever builds up during the day to break out in sweats during the evening and night, though no one has ever been able to tell me why. I gave Kitty another dose of feverfew and poppy syrup, for I could think of nothing that would serve her better. If she grew worse, I would need to send for an apothecary, though there was none nearer than Peterborough, and he might be unwilling to travel so far from home.

  In the past, Hannah had ministered to the sick in the village. Her knowledge had been extensive and there were few cases where she could not provide some relief. Her friend Agnes Pettifer had done the same for the people of Crowthorne. Both had been accused of witchcraft by Matthew Hopkins, and both had hanged for it. We had a midwife, Meg Waters, a cousin of the labourer Joseph Waters, a woman with hands like hams and a rough way with her. She was not known for any skill in treating sickness.

  For the moment I must hope my homemade remedies would give Kitty some ease from her pain and the fever. She swore that her head did not hurt her so much, but I suspected that she was being brave and trying to spare me.

  ‘I have drawn this jug of water fresh from the well,’ I said to her. ‘I will put it on the table here beside the bed, with a cup. Drink as much as you can. There is a piss pot under the bed.’

  She flushed. ‘You cannot be emptying piss pots for me, Mistress Mercy.’

  We were back to ‘Mistress Mercy’ again, I noticed.

  ‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘I did worse when I worked as a maid at the manor house. Now you must sleep and drink, both as much as you can. I am going out to the dairy, but I will be back at midday.’

  ‘What of the lambing?’

  ‘There is a pause at the moment, and Nehemiah will deal, but if he needs me I am but a few steps away. Now, try to rest.’

  Obediently she lay down and closed her eyes. I envied her the chance to sleep, though not the fever, for I could not remember when I had last had an unbroken night.

  I had set the curds to drain for the cheese making and I was sitting on a stool at the door of the dairy, working the butter churn, when I saw two figures approaching along the lane from the village. The butter was just beginning to come, for I could hear the difference in the sound of the milk slapping against the sides of the churn, so I must not stop. It was Alice and Griet, both carrying large baskets.

  ‘Griet,’ I said, as they stopped in front of me, both smiling broadly, ‘it is good to see you. Alice, I told you not to come near Kitty. You must not risk it.’

  I gave her what I hoped was a meaningful look, for I was not sure how far she had shared the news that she was carrying another child.

  Alice laughed. ‘Never fear, Mercy. I shall pay heed. And Griet has been told my news.’

  Griet touched her lightly on the arm. ‘Alice comes with gifts, but she will not enter the house. Me, I am here to help you.’

  ‘But you have children too.’ I was distracted, for I could feel that the butter was nearly ready.

  ‘We will go into the dairy,’ Alice said, ‘for we are hot from walking. Perhaps with this sun the fields will dry enough at last for the planting. Bring the butter when it is done.’

  They stepped inside the dairy, which was on the north side of the farm and designed to stay as cool as possible. I soon followed with the churn.

  ‘Let me.’ Alice took the paddle from me and began scraping the butter off on to the butter trough, where she could work it and squeeze it until any remaining butter milk was pressed out. I would give Kitty some of the butter milk, for it is easily digested.

  Griet had set their baskets on a shelf at the back of the dairy and was examining the draining curds.

  ‘We have been busy making provisions for you,’ Alice said, as she worked the butter. ‘Some pies and a large pottage, which, I may say, was very heavy. Mistress Sawyer has sent you some of her preserves and sausages. We thought it would save you some cooking. Griet is going to stay here tonight, and as long as you need her.’

  ‘But Margit and Maarten!’ I protested.

  ‘All the children are with Mistress Sawyer now. When I go back, I shall look after Griet’s children as well as Huw until Hans has finished work in his vegetable garden. He will put them to bed and I will have them again tomorrow.’

  ‘I shall stay as long as you need me,’ Griet said.

  ‘You are both of you so kind,’ I said, sinking down on a stool and rubbing my hands over my face. My skin felt sore, as though I were the one scorched by fever.

  ‘How is Kitty?’ Alice asked.

  ‘She was bad in the night, very bad. This morning the fever is down a little, but that means nothing. I know it will rise again in the evening. Last night she was burning up, then she was so cold she could not stop shaking.’

  Alice looked worried. We all knew of people who had died of marsh fever, but we did not speak our fears out loud.

  ‘Here is your butter finished,’ she said. ‘Shall I put it in this crock?’

  ‘Aye. Then you must go back to the village. You had best not come into the house. Griet, I am not sure that you should come near Kitty. What if you should take the fever yourself? Or carry it to the children?’

  She took both my hands in hers. ‘You have helped us find a home here. What a small thing it is, to help you now. I will be careful. I too do not want to make my children ill.’

  When Alice had set off back to the village, I looked into the barn, and explained to Nehemiah that Griet was come to share my work. ‘I shall care for Kitty and help with the lambing, while Griet looks after the cooking and my mother.’

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sp; He nodded. ‘They are not such bad folks, some of those foreigners.’

  ‘Any more lambs?’

  ‘Not yet, mistress, but there be two likely to drop tonight, I’m thinking.’

  ‘I will come out again, when I have seen to Kitty.’

  Griet had already gone into the house carrying one of the baskets. I followed with the other.

  The next four days fell into a pattern. Griet managed the house and cared for my mother, who seemed to make no distinction between the two of us. Griet was no more a stranger to her in her confused state than I was. Nehemiah took charge of all the night-time lambing and slept during the day, while I milked and delivered any lambs who arrived by day, although he always came to help me towards evening.

  During the day, Kitty lay quiet, still suffering from alternating bouts of fevers and chills, but I managed to persuade her to take a little broth and then some buttered eggs. At night I sat beside her bed and then the illness took a different turn, as though it had waiting mockingly during the daylight hours, holding itself in readiness to leapt out again in the darkness and seize the child in its claws as surely as any of those devils who had tormented her imagination.

  On the third night, I came close to losing her. The fever mounted higher and higher. It seemed her body might burst spontaneously into flames. She could not bear anything to touch her, throwing off the blankets, ripping at her shift until I peeled it over her head. She even fought me when I tried to bathe her burning skin with cooling water, shrieking and babbling incoherently as though she was possessed. It woke Griet, who was sleeping in my chamber. She came creeping down to the kitchen, shielding her candle with her hand.