No Shame, No Fear

by Ann Turnbull

  The Quakers acknowledged him but shook their heads.

  I saw Daniel Kite, and Judith beside him, and ran downstairs and out into the street to speak to them. Both looked thin, but in good spirits. Susanna had told me that they loved each other, and I guessed that suffering together had helped to strengthen the bond between them.

  “We are all going to the Stonegate,” Daniel said, “across town. The constables said we might take ourselves there, since they know we won’t try to escape.”

  I wished them courage, and left them.

  It was late that evening, after supper, that I slipped out again and hurried to the Mintons’ house, intent on seeing Susanna.

  Tom answered the door, with Abigail hovering behind him, but when I asked for Susanna they told me she was not there.

  Susanna

  In the early evening of the day our friends appeared in court, there came a knocking at the Mintons’ shop door.

  Hester and I were preparing supper. She stopped work and went downstairs. I heard a boy’s voice, urgent, then Hester’s panting breath as she hurried back up.

  At once I was alarmed. I ran to the top of the stairs, where the children were already gathering.

  “A message from the prison,” Hester said. “Nat Lacon is ill with jail fever, and cannot stand. He’s to be released, and Mary Faulkner with him. Thou’ll be needed, Susanna.”

  “I’ll go at once.”

  “And I’ll come with thee; help prepare the sickroom.”

  Quickly we made arrangements.

  I told Isaac to take care of Deb and on no account to come to Mary’s house, for fear of contagion. “And tell Will.” I turned to Tom and Abigail. “If Will comes here, don’t let him follow me. He must stay away. You’ll tell him?”

  They promised. “And I’ll look after Deb,” said Abigail.

  As we hurried downstairs Hester said, “Mary fears for the lad’s life. She’s sent for Simon Race to bring the money for their release and says she will nurse Nat herself. The fever has taken hold at the Castlegate. Two more died this afternoon, but the boy could not give me names… Hast thou herbs back there? Feverfew? And rosemary? There’s plenty in our garden…”

  Her voice ran on, but all I could think was that Nat was ill and might die. The horror of it was like a cold pit opening at my feet.

  When we reached the shop in Broad Street we found it closed. Simon must already have gone to the prison. Hester set about laying a fire in the kitchen while I took a broom and a dust-cloth and went up to Nat’s room.

  The cleaning had been neglected of late, with so much happening and Mary not around to remind me of my duties. I knocked down cobwebs, dusted the bed hangings and the chair and washstand, and swept the floor.

  All the time I was thinking, selfishly, not of Nat, but of Will. I had not seen him since we were separated on first-day. And now it would be a week or more before we could meet, and who knew but that Mary might also be carrying the sickness. Common sense told me that I was in danger, that I could sicken and die within days. I’d seen it happen to a young girl at the farm where I’d worked last year; a strong young lass, fit and cheerful at evening milking, sickened the next day, and dead before the week was out. But I did not believe I could die; I felt so much alive. All my fear was for Will, who had been in court, close to prisoners who might at any time collapse with the fever. If Will fell sick and died, I thought, then I should die.

  Hester came puffing upstairs. “Water’s heating,” she said.

  A large wooden chest on the landing held all the sheets and pillow covers and towels, stored between layers of lavender. Together we made up the bed with clean sheets, then closed the windows and drew the curtains. Hester brought towels and a wash-ball scented with sage and laid them ready.

  When the kitchen fire was well alight I put some red-hot embers in a metal dish and took it upstairs and burned rosemary in the room to clean the air. The smoky scent was strong and comforting.

  Soon we heard them coming.

  They brought Nat home on a pallet, Simon and a neighbour holding either end and trying not to jolt him as they hurried over the cobbles. Mary walked alongside, and as they came in through the side door I thought she looked weak and pale. But the sight of Nat shocked me. He was burning hot, tossing from side to side, and crying out words that made no sense. He seemed not to know any of us. I looked at him with pity and terror, and silently begged his forgiveness, and God’s, for having thought more of Will’s safety when it was Nat who needed my care.

  Mary led the way upstairs and I followed with a bowl of warm water, which I placed on the wash-stand.

  “Leave me with him,” Mary said. She was panting and grasped the rail as she reached the top of the stairs.

  “Thou’rt sick too,” I said.

  “No. It’s jail weakness only – we all had it – and lack of sleep.”

  “I’ll help thee. Hester is making a draught of feverfew.”

  I laid a spare sheet over the bed and the men gently lifted Nat and placed him on it and then withdrew downstairs. Nat was dirty from lying on the prison floor. Bits of mucky straw clung to his hair and clothes, and his face had a shining film of grime. Mary dampened a cloth and wiped his face and began picking out dirt and lice from his hair. Nat moaned and flung himself from side to side. Suddenly he reared up, shouting, “They’re here! They’re here!” and tried to stand. It took the two of us to hold him down, and I felt a terrifying strength in him. His eyes glittered and he stared at an empty corner of the room. “Here! All! They’re here – see!”

  He stared so fixedly at the empty space that I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. When his gaze switched to me I could endure no more and cried out in terror, “He’s possessed!”

  But Mary pushed him gently down, soothed him, and said, “Never fear. Never fear.” I was not sure if she was talking to him or to both of us. But then she looked at me and said, “God is over all. No demons can hurt thee.”

  “But he – something is here … in the room,” I whimpered.

  “It can’t hurt thee,” Mary repeated. She turned practical, nodded towards Nat’s clothes chest. “Fetch a clean nightshirt. If we can get him out of these foul clothes it will be better for him.”

  It took all my courage to cross the room. With the curtains drawn it was shadowy, and I sensed the presence of unholy things in every darkened space, every fold of cloth. Nat continued to moan and jabber. But Mary was waiting. I opened the lid – thanked God a nightshirt lay on top and I need not rummage – and closed the chest quickly.

  By this time Mary had got Nat’s shirt off. “Help me with these breeches and stockings,” she said.

  His skin was hot like fire to the touch, and I saw a faint red rash rising all over his body. I had never been close to a naked man before, except my brother when he was little, and despite my fear I looked with interest, and thought of Will and imagined him naked, and then felt ashamed for having done so; I was relieved when we had Nat covered to the knees in the nightshirt. Mary helped me pull out the soiled sheet, and I busied myself making a bundle of it with Nat’s dirty clothes and took it out to the landing to await fumigation and washing.

  Hester came up at that moment with a drink of tea made with feverfew.

  “I doubt he’ll take it,” I said, and heard the tremor still in my voice. “He fights us.”

  “Try him,” she said.

  Mary had by now got Nat covered up in the bed. I gave her the cup, and she lifted his head and shoulders and tried to persuade him to sip. He took a little.

  “Sit with him a while,” she said, “and I’ll clean myself. I stink of prison.” And she added, seeing my look of fear, “Would thou rather I asked Hester?”

  “No!” I said. I wouldn’t let her think me a coward. So I sat and watched, and from time to time I bathed his forehead with cool water, and helped him to drink. He was hot and glassy-eyed but no longer raving. When Mary reappeared in clean clothes I left her with him and took the
dirty linen downstairs.

  Hester was still at work in the kitchen.

  “Thou should go now,” I said. “Don’t risk contagion.”

  “I will, shortly.”

  She was bruising some leaves in a mortar.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Feverfew and sage, and some pepper. It’s to lay on him when he’s quiet, before the fit comes again. Fetch me some soot from the fireplace. It must be fine and powdery.”

  “How much?”

  She passed me a small spoon. “To fill this.”

  I scooped up the soot, and she tipped it into the mixture; then separated an egg and dropped in some of the white, stirring it all together.

  “Thou’ll need some strips of cloth,” she said, “to bind it in place. Tell thy mistress to lay this on his wrist and it should ease the fever. I’ll go back to the Mintons’ now and not return. I won’t risk infecting the children.”

  “I’m afraid Deb’ll fret for me,” I said, “but I can’t have her brought here, into a house of sickness.”

  “I’ll take care of her, the poppet. I like having a little one around.”

  “Deb’s no poppet,” I warned, but she laughed and went out.

  After a while Nat’s fit passed, and he lapsed into calmer sleep. Mary laid on the poultice, and we both waited on God in silence.

  Later, when we were downstairs, eating a bite of supper, she said, “Well, thou seest how all my principles come to naught?”

  I didn’t understand, and said so.

  “Most Friends won’t leave prison,” she said, “even to die. I thought to be the same. But when the boy fell sick… I could not let him die there, in that foul place. And I could not let anyone else care for him. So I have paid the fines, his and mine. But others will do their three months.”

  I thought of Abigail Minton, crying to her mother to let the fines be paid. Who was right? Mary or Elinor?

  “I would do the same,” I said, “for someone I loved.”

  She was silent a while. Then she said, “I never had a child. Other women seemed to have them – and lose them – so easily. I believe that God gave me my barrenness so that I could use it in his service – preaching, and printing… Well, I have bought my time, and must use it. I’ll start the works up again; print some pamphlets. Thou can help me, if thou hast a mind to it.”

  “Oh, yes! I’ve done some printing with Nat. And I still practise writing – and reading.” I thought of the poems of George Herbert and how I’d wanted to talk to her about them.

  “We will print, then, when this crisis is past. And, God willing, Nat will recover.”

  Next morning Hester came to the back door with news from the prison. Her eyes were brimful of tears. “Hannah Davies is dead – and her so young and leaving a child not five months old. Last night we lost our friends Edward Beale and Luke Evans. And others falling sick all the time. No one wants to be in court today – judges, jury or ushers. They’re saying it’s a black assize and will spread sickness through the town…”

  I thought of Will, and my fears for him returned. Would he be in court again?

  “There’s my mistress sick with the fever,” Hester went on, “and now my master has it too; and our neighbours willing to pay the fines, but they won’t have it. I’ve said to my mistress: think of thy children. She says the Lord’s will is clear to her, but it seems to me if the Lord gives you children you should care for them. And with the weather so hot, and the overcrowding, it breeds sickness…”

  When I went up later to the sickroom, Mary was sitting beside Nat with her eyes closed. I thought at first they were both asleep, but Mary opened her eyes and said, “Has Hester gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank the Lord. She runs on so, and her voice carries through the floor…”

  “She’s been kind,” I said, “and helped me with the work.”

  She gave a weary smile. “Oh, I know, she’s a good soul. But I never could abide her endless chatter.”

  That night Nat’s fever rose again. The rash was bright red now. He tossed and turned, only half-conscious, and felt burning hot. Mary refused to leave his side. She did not cry or say she wished things had been otherwise, but occupied herself bathing his forehead or encouraging him to drink sips of the herbal tea. Often she simply sat in silence with her eyes closed.

  I cleaned and tidied the kitchen, then took down Mary’s Bible and sat reading by candlelight until my eyes grew tired. The house was quiet; I missed Nat’s teasing and laughter. Alone, by the embers of the fire, I prayed for his recovery.

  With jail fever in the house I would not go to the conduit in the morning, but Em, who had heard of our trouble, took my pails and fetched water for me.

  “They’re saying in town that the Quakers will spread sickness,” she said.

  “Only because they are so crowded in prison!”

  She ignored my logic, and glanced at our house with a disapproving look which seemed to include my mistress, the sick man and the entire business.

  “You’d be best out of this, Su. Find another employer. The tailors would have you; they’re looking for a girl.”

  “I would not desert Mary!”

  But she was no longer listening. Something had caught her eye. “Here comes your young man,” she said.

  “Will!”

  I darted outside, causing Em to step back.

  He was down the street, heading my way. The joy of seeing him overcame my fear.

  “I’ll leave you two together,” said Em, with a knowing smile. She lifted her yoke.

  “I thank thee, Em.” I said it absently, all my attention on Will, who had seen me and was hurrying towards me.

  “I told thee not to come!”

  “I had to. How is Nat?”

  “Sleeping now; the fever comes and goes. He’s—” My voice broke and I choked back sudden tears that were perhaps as much to do with Will as with Nat. “He’s in God’s hands.”

  “I had to see thee. We’ve not spoken since first-day.”

  He reached out to me, but I stepped back over the doorstep. “No! Don’t touch me. I may carry the fever on my clothes.”

  “If there’s danger, I’ll share it with thee.”

  “No!” He seemed to me reckless, childish even. “Folk are dying, Will. If thou should die, can’t thou see it would break my heart? Thy father’s, too. He must love thee, in spite of all.”

  “Susanna! Let me come in! I’ve told my father I mean to marry thee. I’ll leave home, find work. We’ll be together, man and wife – if thou’ll have me?”

  His eyes searched my face, warm and eager. I felt such a rush of longing for him that it was all I could do not to run into his arms.

  “Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes! I’ll marry thee – if God wills it.” He let out a breath and stepped forward – and at once I put my arms out, straight and stiff, to keep him off. “But stay back now! Be safe.”

  “Susanna.” He was smiling. “I’ll come tomorrow. No, don’t argue. I’ll come. Here on thy doorstep. Every day until I can hold thee again. And I’ll pray for Nat. For all of you. I love thee, Su.”

  “I love thee,” I said. “Now go.” And I closed the door.

  Without stopping to pick up the pails of water, I ran along the passage, upstairs, and into the room I shared with Mary. I opened the window wide and leaned out and watched him walking away up the street, hidden for a moment behind the jettied storey of the next house, then in view again, his tall figure moving quickly between groups of maidservants and carts and early-morning traders, until I could see no further, and he was gone.

  I drew the window back, and sat down on my bed.

  Married. We would be married! I wanted to tell the world, to share my joy. But I could not leave the house; and Mary was sleeping, exhausted, in a chair by Nat’s bed. And perhaps, I thought, as soberness returned, the news should wait. Everything must wait until Nat was well and the house clear of sickness. I could hold my secret until then.
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  Susanna Heywood. William and Susanna Heywood. The names had a good sound.

  William

  I walked home as jaunty as if I had won a prize. The day seemed to sparkle and I smiled at everyone I met. It was only later, when I reached home, that I realized what a long way I still was from achieving that independence I had promised Susanna.

  My father kept me busy in the shop and warehouse all week. The court sessions had finished after two days, and the justices went home – thankful, no doubt, to be away from the risk of jail fever. Several prisoners had collapsed in court, and the lawyers and councillors had sat through the proceedings with posies of herbs at hand. A woman outside the court-house had done a brisk trade selling them.

  True to my word, I went every morning to see Susanna. Nat’s fever raged all week, but on sixth-day Susanna told me, “He’s weak, his heartbeat faint. But the fever is going down.”

  “God be thanked.” But I had heard that people who survived the fever sometimes died soon after from weakness or from inflammation of the lungs. I knew Nat was not out of danger. And neither was Susanna. I feared for her in that house of sickness.

  I visited the Mintons several times. Susanna had asked me to check on Deb, and I found the child much indulged by Hester and Abigail, and was able to make Susanna happy with news of her.

  But there was no news of Judith or her parents since no one was allowed to visit any of the prisons while the sickness continued. Meanwhile, Sam Minton’s business was suffering.

  “Judith and our mother did most of the glove-stitching,” Tom told me. “With them in prison, and our father too, there is only the apprentice and me to cut out, and Abby to stitch.”

  “And I’m not near as neat and quick as Judith,” said Abigail.

  I thought of the loss of trade and goodwill, and the fines which might amount to a month’s pay for a working man.

  “At least we are a family business,” said Tom. “Isaac’s father works alone, and now there is nothing coming in, except what Susanna can earn. And there’s the rent to pay if they are to keep their home.”