Petals in the Ashes (3 page)

‘It is certain that at least one of them will have plague, whatever he says,' Sarah warned me as he left us. ‘We must keep apart from those abed as much as we can.'

‘Of course,' I said. I surveyed the grim scene before me and then sat down on the bed which had been allotted to me, for I suddenly felt very weary and tearful and wanted nothing more than to lie and weep a while.

Sarah immediately hauled me to my feet. ‘The person who was lying on this bed before you looked like to die at any time!' she scolded me. ‘We must gather some fresh straw to stuff our mattresses before we lie on them.'

I sighed, for I felt so careworn that right then I did not give a jot what infections I caught. I felt, too, that niceties such as fresh straw were useless, for I knew already that the plague respected neither person nor precaution, and would touch or leave whomever it pleased at its whim. However, on Sarah's insistence, we took our mattresses outside and emptied their contents on to a pile of refuse just by the door, which stank very badly and was buzzing with all manner of flies. The soiled covers we could do nothing about, but we shook them in the air and then filled them with dried grasses and heather (for the pesthouse was built on a common and there was much of this type of material around) before taking them back inside.

By the time we'd finished these tasks, Grace was crying fit to raise the Devil and this led us to a new dilemma, for the flask of milk we'd obtained from the
inn where we'd stayed the previous night was now empty. On applying to Mr Beade, however, and emphasising to him how important it was that Lady Jane's niece should thrive, he sent his wife to a house on the other side of the common and, quite soon (while Sarah and I took it in turns to try and pacify Grace by walking round and round outside the pesthouse with her), a young girl came up leading an ass, which she proceeded to milk into an enamel jug.

Thus provided, we fed Grace using the same method that Abby had employed – trickling the milk down our fingers and letting it drop into her mouth – and left the rest of the milk, covered, in a shady place for later. We then took Grace inside and changed her undercloth, using another strip of the sheet, and made her as comfortable as possible on a nest made of hay in the drawer. As we were monstrous hungry ourselves by this time (for we'd not eaten since breaking our fast at the inn that morning) I went to find Mr Beade to ask how we got on for food, and what time it would be supplied.

The man fell to laughing in an uncivil way. ‘'Tis not a tavern!' he said. ‘Do you think then to order yourself a dish of roasted pigeons or some grouse soup?'

‘But how do we eat?' I asked him.

‘My patients have food sent in by kindly neighbours living hereabouts,' he said. ‘I'm sure Lady Jane will have something sent over in good time. In the meantime you may help yourselves to the leavings of what's already been provided.'

I went to tell Sarah this, and she pointed to a sturdy deal table at one end of the room. ‘I think there are
some scraps there,' she said. ‘See what's left for us.'

I went to look and, shuddering, reported to Sarah that there was a small piece of green cheese, two hunks of hard bread and some dried-up cooked potatoes.

Sarah looked at me ruefully.

‘But we cannot eat any of that!' I said, looking over to the table in disgust. ‘We will starve.'

‘No, indeed we will not,' Sarah said. ‘We have two gold coins left, and if no food arrives from Lady Jane, we will ask Mr Beade to purchase food for us.'

‘But what about today …'

‘Today we will have to eat the potatoes and the bread,' Sarah said. ‘It is not what we're used to but it will not harm us.'

I shuddered again.

‘We must keep our strength up and our hopes,' she went on. She sat down on the bed and took my hands in hers. ‘For didn't your sweetheart tell us that a merry heart does good like a medicine?'

I could not but smile at this, for it warmed me to hear Tom referred to as my sweetheart again and to remember what his master, the apothecary Doctor da Silva, had told him at the height of the plague.

We did not have to force down the stale bread, however, for as I turned to go back to the table and select the least objectionable items, a woman's voice called, ‘Young ladies! I have a nicer loaf and would be glad to share it with you.'

This call, I was relieved to see, did not come from one of the half-dead who were lying prone, but from a woman who had just entered the pesthouse. She came over holding a loaf wrapped in a cloth, and I glanced
over at Sarah, for I didn't know if I should accept it or not. The woman pressed it into my hands before I could decline, however. ‘My family are nearby and keep me well supplied with food while I am here,' she said in a soft country voice. ‘I can easily spare you this.'

I think Sarah might have wanted to keep both the woman and her bread at some distance, but it did not seem kindly to do this (and besides, I was very hungry), so, thanking her heartily, I bade her sit down beside us.

Our benefactor was a woman of perhaps thirty, with a round, honest face and a bird's nest of hair on which a battered white cap was perched. She was rather grubby and her apron was stained, but this was not surprising, for I did not anywhere see a wash bowl or any water where she could have cleaned herself.

‘I'm Martha Padget,' she said, ‘and I came from London some three weeks ago.'

I told her our names and said that we had just arrived from London that day. ‘And the babe here is named Grace,' I said.

‘She is your child?' Martha asked Sarah with some curiosity.

‘No, indeed not!' Sarah said hastily. ‘She is an orphan and the niece of Lady Jane Cartmel, who lives nearby.'

‘Lady Jane!' Martha said, her eyes round.

‘You know of her?'

‘Of course,' Martha said. ‘She is a great lady and known to everyone in Dorchester.'

‘She may be a great lady,' I said bitterly, ‘but she made us come to
this
foul and stinking place!'

‘Hush!' Sarah said to me, and then added to Martha, ‘We thought to be staying with Lady Jane – and indeed we might in the future, but first we have to live out forty days here.'

‘As I do,' Martha said. She sighed. ‘But tell me, does the plague rage in London as fiercely?'

‘Ever worse,' Sarah nodded. ‘The death cart is never absent from the streets.'

Martha shook her head. ‘I fear London may become completely abandoned. All in my house perished: master, mistress, children and servants too. I was the cook – and thanks be to God that I was spared! I obtained a Certificate of Health and travelled back to Dorchester, for this is my home town and where my sister lives.'

‘And how do you fare here in the pesthouse?' I asked.

She gave a shudder. ‘I speak to no one, eat nothing that my sister does not provide and keep apart from those who have any fever. I have nineteen days to go before I can be released.' Grace murmured in her sleep and Martha got up to look at her, smiling kindly on her repose as people do with a babe. ‘But what of you?' she asked.

I hesitated and Sarah gave me a warning look, but of course I would not say that we had travelled on false Certificates. ‘When Grace's mother died, my friend Abby had care of the babe,' I said, ‘but then she … she too was taken ill of the sickness, and she bade us take Grace away. We obtained Health Certificates, had a carriage to convey us, and arrived at Highclear House just this morning.'

‘Were you in service in London?' Martha asked.

Sarah shook her head. ‘We have a sweetmeat shop at the sign of the Sugared Plum in Crown and King Place.'

‘We sell frosted rose petals and sugared fruits.' I looked around. ‘It is different indeed from this frowsy place!' All the time I'd been speaking I had, unthinkingly, been breaking the soft bread between my fingers and putting small chunks in my mouth. Normally I would not have dreamed of eating bread without a preserve on it, or at least dipping it in sugar water, but being starving I found I did not miss these garnishings at all. Indeed, I think I might have eaten the whole of it, but I suddenly remembered Sarah and, with an apology, hastily passed her the rest.

Sarah, after thanking Martha for her kindness in supplying us with the bread, asked in a low voice if anyone in the pesthouse had died in the time she had been living here.

‘Two,' Martha said. ‘A week apart. And it was the plague that took them, for sure. I know the signs as well as anyone who has been in London. An old crone came in, however, one who had been employed as a searcher of the dead, and gave out that the first had died of French pox and the second of the bloody flux.'

‘Why was this?' Sarah asked.

‘Because Mr Beade would not have it any other way,' Martha said, after looking over her shoulder to make sure that he was not nearby. ‘He is employed to keep the plague out of Dorchester, and that is what he does. He keeps out the plague by not allowing any mention of it.'

‘So – forgive me – but why have you not caught it?' Sarah asked.

Martha shrugged. ‘Why not indeed? I spend most of my days out of doors – but if I knew why some catch plague and some do not I would bottle it and make myself a fortune!'

‘We try to chew a sprig of rosemary every day – and we each have a talisman in our pockets and took a cordial when we were in London,' I said, ‘but which of these helped us we don't know.'

While we were speaking we became aware that Mr Beade was outside, speaking to someone and employing a good deal of bluster and affability. A bit after this he called to me and Sarah, saying that a small crate had arrived for us from Lady Jane, with a message that the rest of the pesthouse was to benefit from anything that we didn't require.

In some excitement, Sarah and I took in the crate and, lifting the lid, discovered some linen sheets, patched but very clean and soft, a quilt, some gloves, three dresses (which were rather out of fashion but, judging by the quality of the lace, her Ladyship's own) and several cotton smocks and petticoats, as well as face cloths, a towel and a small bar of soap. Grace was supplied with some two dozen napkins, a quantity of smocked and tucked gowns, two loosely-knitted shawls and some pretty bonnets with ribbons. As well as these things, there was a basket containing two fresh loaves of bread, some wine, a whole round cheese and some fruit: one orange and a great many apples and plums.

The note with the crate said:

Mistress Hannah and Mistress Sarah. Lady Jane has bade me send you these items which she hopes will
go some way towards making your stay at the pesthouse a less irksome one. I will ensure you receive adequate amounts of food, and please apply to me at any time if I may supply further items for your needs, and be assured that I am your diligent and faithful servant,
R. Black,
Housekeeper to Lady Jane Cartmel

Even the fact that we had heard Mr Beade exclaiming over the crate a while before and were certain that he had already helped himself to a few items, did not detract from our pleasure. We immediately set to changing into the clean undersmocks and dresses (for we had travelled four days in the same things) and asked Mr Beade for a washing bowl, that we might wash both ourselves and our undergarments. Before we did these things, we pinned up one of the sheets across the end of Sarah's bed so none could see us undressing. We must preserve our modesty, Sarah said, adding, ‘Although the rest of the inmates look half dead, you cannot be too sure.'

Although the ordeal to be endured in the pesthouse still seemed very wearisome, we felt a deal better after the supply of these items and the knowledge that we would receive regular food. We knew our friendship with Martha would help, too, for she was a good source of information both on pesthouse conduct and on Mr Beade.

Over the next few days, with our new friend's help, we began to clean up the ill-smelling place. Already there was a nurse of a kind who called daily to see
how the bedridden fared, but now we asked that a maid be sent in to keep the floor swept clean, and also to wash the mattress covers and change their contents regularly so that the air would smell sweeter. We had the pile of refuse moved from outside the front door to a good way off, strewed herbs on the floor and indeed employed most of the methods that had been decreed in London to prevent the plague from spreading. We asked that, unless a person was on the verge of death, everyone should go outside and use the privy for their business, for it was not at all decent that chamberpots be used and left under the beds for days on end, especially as the weather continued very warm.

The weather, indeed, was a blessing to us, for if it had rained we would have been forced to stay inside the pesthouse amid the foul vapours and humours. As it was, though, we spent a good deal of our time in the walled garden which surrounded it, separating it from the hamlet beyond. We asked for paper and pencils to be sent and amused ourselves by gathering herbs and any flowers we could find and pressing and naming them, and also taught Martha the basics of the alphabet and how to form her name, for she had never been to school.

We kept Grace outside as much as possible, and she thrived on country air and grew plump on fresh ass's milk, especially when a bone feeding-cup with spout arrived in one of the regular deliveries from Highclear House. This enabled her to drink more milk and at her own pace, for she quickly learned to gulp from it and bang it on the floor when she wanted it refilled. Sarah had more patience with Grace than I and spent
longer in her company for, although I loved her dearly, to tell the truth I had seen rather too much of my three little brothers mewling and puking to have any great affection for infants. One of the inmates of the pesthouse carved a little wooden poppet for her, and Sarah and I made dresses and bonnets for it from scraps of sheeting (although Grace, who was teething, ignored these coverings and just gnawed at the dolly's head).