Deliver us from Evil (31 page)

'Then there is all the more urgency that you find an abiding happiness before you kill the prospect dead. You must leave London at once - you must redeem Mistress Vaughan.' As he said this, Lord Rochester gazed around impatiently. They had returned to the Milford Stairs, where the boat they had arrived in was still bobbing upon the tide. Lord Rochester approached the boatman; he whispered in his ear, then took his place upon the cushions in the prow. Robert joined him. At the same moment, the boatman shouted orders: the moorings were slipped; the boat drifted out into the darkness of the Thames. 'Mortlake!' Lord Rochester directed. He turned back to Robert. 'For who better to direct you on your journey than
Madame la Marquise?’
As he spoke, the boat began to turn; and the oarsmen to strain as they rowed against the tide.

III

The fashion has ever been, for old women and maids to tell fabulous stories at the night-time, of sprights and walking of Ghosts.'

John Aubrey,
The Natural History of Wiltshire

T
he militiaman stirred and rose from his fire. As he did so, there was a crackling of sparks, so that he almost sat down beside it again, convinced that it must have been the spitting he had heard; for he could not imagine who might be abroad at such an ungodly hour, in such weather, and upon such a lonely and ill-omened road. But he supposed it was his duty to make certain; and so he reached for his sword. He swung open the stable door. He could make out nothing through the gale-lashed sleet. He shuddered. It was on just such a night as this before, he thought, that the dead man had been seen; and he would not be surprised, so terrible was the storm, to see any number of demons risen from their graves.

Reluctantly, he gathered his cloak about him, then slithered down the muddy bank to where the barricades had been raised. Again he peered into the darkness, and again could see nothing but the icy rain. He turned, about to hurry back to his shelter, when he heard a sudden splashing from the road ahead. 'Who goes there?' he shouted, his voice raw and hoarse with fear and the cold. The splashing was unmistakable now: someone - or something - was approaching through the mud.

The militiaman cowered behind the barricade, his sword shaking as he held it aloft. He could see a form through the sleet now, and then a second - horsemen, cloaked and hooded against the screaming of the gale. The first reined in his horse by the barricade; and the

militiaman, gazing up in terror, could see nothing of his face but the gleaming of his eyes.

The horseman leaned forward in his saddle. 'Raise the barrier,' he commanded, 'we wish to pass.'

The voice had seemed young, and the militiaman felt some of his courage return. He tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. 'There has been plague in the village,' he announced.

'Plague?' The horseman seemed to frown. 'Is it abated now?'

'Praise be to God, it does appear to be dying.'

'Then let us pass.'

'
I
have my orders not to allow anyone through.'

The horseman turned in his saddle and glanced at his companion, who had ridden up to join him at the barricade. 'We are seeking shelter.' A woman's voice. The militiaman stared up at her in surprise. Her eyes were brighter and colder than her companion's, and even the pallor of her face appeared to gleam like snow. 'Do not hinder us,' she whispered. She paused. 'It would not be wise.'

Bitter the storm had been all night, and icy the wind; but the militiaman had not imagined that his blood might feel so frozen until that moment, so deathly seemed her voice. Despite himself, he lowered his sword. '
I
shall have to inform my commanding officer,' he muttered as he began to fumble with the lock on the barricade.

'Do as you must,' the woman said.

The militiaman shuddered again beneath her stare, and hurried to swing open the gates. He paused as the horsemen prepared to ride through. 'There is a dead man abroad,' he stammered suddenly. 'The man who brought the plague, he has risen from his grave.'

The riders glanced at each other. 'This report is certain?' the young man asked.

The militiaman choked back his emotions, and nodded violently. 'My friend was on duty last night. He was surprised by the man, attacked, and is even now grievous sick. You may discover your own fate if you wish to seek my friend out, for he lies confined to his room in the village ahead. But if you know what is best for you, you will leave here now and never come back.'

The two travellers did not reply, but shook out their reins, and began to continue along the track which led into the village. The militiaman watched them until they had been swallowed again by the sleet; then he turned and began slithering in the opposite direction happy for the chance to seek his officers out.

'This is truly all the food you have?' Robert asked.

The tiny servant girl shook, and wrung her hands. '
I
am sorry, sir,' she stammered, 'but we have had no travellers here, not since the plague was arrived. And we had no men in the fields to gather the corn, and all the shepherds are dead, and all the herdsmen too .
..'
Her voice trailed away.

Robert studied her. She seemed as bare of flesh as the plate of bones was before him. He reached out to calm the writhing of her hands; they felt impossibly thin. 'It is no matter,' he said. 'Please .
..'
He pushed the plate forward. 'Eat it yourself.'

The girl stared at him uncertainly while, from beside him, his companion snorted. Robert turned to face her. 'You have no objection,
I
assume, Madame - seeing as how you refreshed yourself - what? -no more than two hours ago.'

The Marquise smiled faintly. 'No objection at all,' she murmured. She watched as the girl, hesitantly at first and then with increasing desperation, sucked on the bones. 'It is best, after all, she be fattened up.'

At the same moment there came the sudden sound of hooves from the yard outside, and the jingling of spurs. The girl wiped at her mouth and rose hurriedly to her feet. She stared nervously at the door as the sound of footsteps began to splash towards it through the mud. 'These past months,' she whispered, 'we have had no travellers, and now all this number on the single night
..."
She scurried across the room, but before she could reach the door it was swung open by a man with an upraised sword, and a cloth bound fast across his nostrils and mouth.

The stranger bowed to the Marquise. 'Madam.' Then to Robert. 'Sir. You will oblige me, please, by rising to your feet and going promptly on your way.'

The Marquise remained perfectly still; Robert, however, slowly pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. 'Why,' he asked, after a pause, 'do you not recognise me, Colonel Sexton?'

The Colonel narrowed his eyes, then took a step forward, in the name of our dear Saviour,' he whispered, lowering both the cloth and his sword, 'it is not
...
it cannot be .
..
not )ohn Foxe's boy?'

Robert inclined his head. 'The very same,' he replied.

'But . . .' Colonel Sexton studied him more closely, then shook his head. 'You are wondrously changed.'

'You, however,
I
perceive, are not.'

The Colonel gazed down at his militiaman's sash. 'It is true,' he nodded wryly, '
I
have survived in my post, despite the restoration of His Majesty.'

'
I
am very glad to hear it. My father did not.'

'No.' Colonel Sexton bowed his head. 'He was one of the first to die,
I
believe, of the plague?'

'Plague?' Robert asked, startled.

'When it first broke out in Woodton.'

'Who told you such a thing?'

'Why, Sir Henry Vaughan.'

Robert smiled grimly. 'Did he indeed?'

'What, you mean
...
he did not tell the truth?'

Robert did not answer. 'The plague?' he asked, after a pause. 'When is it supposed to have arrived?'

'It was brought by that foreigner, Faustus, or so
I
was told - from Bohemia. So it would have been in Woodton - oh - these past four years.'

'And you are certain it was plague?'

Colonel Sexton frowned with puzzlement. '
I
have not been into the village myself, it is true, for there is a quarantine practised there - set in place by request of Sir Henry. But
I
see no reason why it would not be the plague.'

'Was there any proof given of it?'

'Indeed, yes.' Colonel Sexton lowered himself on to the bench and, as he did so, instinctively raised the cloth up to his mouth. 'Some months ago,' he said, in a low, urgent voice, 'a man escaped Woodton, and fled as far as here. He never travelled further, for he was laid low, and soon all this village too was infected by his sickness. And that is why - with all respect -
I
must ask you to leave, for if you do not
I
shall be compelled to include you in the quarantine.'

'We have a pass,' said Robert, reaching inside his cloak.

Colonel Sexton took it; his frown deepened as he studied it. 'It is signed in the name of the King,' he said. He tossed it back across the table. '
I
am certain your father would have been very pleased, Robert, to know in what high circles you would grow up to mix.'

Robert smiled faintly, but did not reply.

'Very well,' said Colonel Sexton, rising again to his feet, 'since
I
cannot prevent you, you may continue on your way. But
I
would advise you not to linger here for long, nor to visit Woodton. The plague, it would seem, is not finished yet.'

'One of your own soldiers,
I
believe, fell sick with it last night?'

'As you say,' nodded the Colonel, pausing by the door, 'one of my own soldiers.'

'And is it true,' asked Robert, 'that he saw that man from Woodton, who first brought the plague here?'

Colonel Sexton paused. 'That man has long been dead,' he replied at length.

'Your soldiers told me he had been seen risen from his grave.' 'My soldiers have been on duty in this place of death too long.' 'You do not believe their testimony, then?'

Colonel Sexton swung open the door. He stood for a moment in silence, then inclined his head. 'Goodnight, my boy,' he said. 'Madam.' He turned, and left; and his footsteps were soon lost upon the screaming of the wind. There was a brief splashing of horse's hooves -and then nothing but the gale and the drumming of the sleet.

'This vile weather,' shivered the Marquise. 'Who would be out on such a night?'

'Who, indeed? Only monsters and ghouls.'

The Marquise smiled faintly as she rose to her feet,
I
shall not be long.'

Robert nodded,
I
shall wait for you in our room.' He watched the Marquise glide out into the yard; then he rose and asked the servant girl to lead him to his bed. She nodded wordlessly. Her arms were shaking, Robert saw, as she lifted up the torch and began to creep like a mouse along a dark, unlit corridor. He wondered what was scaring her; but then he looked about him and realised that the girl had been speaking the simple truth, that the inn must indeed have been empty for months. Cobwebs hung everywhere, compounded with the mould; doors were bolted and boarded across; many of the floorboards were rotten through,
I
have given you the only fit room,' said the servant girl timidly as she climbed up the stairs, it looks out over the yard. That way you may see if anyone
...'
Her voice, as it always seemed ready to do, trailed away. She paused by a door. It was shiny with rottenness. The room beyond it too smelt strongly of mould, but the bed had been prepared and the sheets looked clean; and Robert had been riding since early that day.

'Will it serve, sir?'

Robert nodded. He reached into hi
s purse, and tossed the servant
girl a coin. For he did not doubt that he had, as she had claimed, the best room in the inn.

The girl took the coin. She curtsied, and turned, then lingered by the door. 'The . . .

Robert looked up at her. 'Yes?' he asked. 'You have something to say?'

The girl swallowed and tried to speak again. 'The man
..."
she stammered at last. 'The man
...
who had the plague
...
he
is
risen from the dead. The Colonel - he would not admit it
..
. but it is true
...
I
saw him
..
.' She shuddered, and rocked herself to and fro. '
I
saw him last night.'