Plague (5 page)

The woman seized him. She shook him and shouted in a language he didn't understand, and Sam cried out, “Sorry! I'm sorry! Please, I'm so hungry…” while Budge barked and the girl glared at Sam and said, “Dirty little ragamuffin! We'll call the constable –”

“Please –” Sam was almost crying now as he reached out for the bread.

The woman stopped shaking him, and looked him over with angry eyes. Then something in her face softened.

“
Il a faim
,” she said, “
voilà tout
.” She took a bowl from a shelf and went to the pot over the fire.

Sam, watching her, thought:
I've seen her before.
But he couldn't think where.

She put the full bowl down on the table, set a spoon beside it, and picked up the loaf from the ground. She cut a thick slice, then gestured to Sam to sit down.

“Eat,” she said. “Eat, and then we talk.”

9
Changes

Sam gobbled the stew so fast it burned his mouth. Budge found the cat's bowl and swallowed its contents in one gulp.

A lot of talk in two languages was going on over Sam's head. More people had come into the room, but it was only when he had finished the last crumb of bread that he raised his head and looked at them all. Apart from the woman and the angry girl, there
was a man, two younger girls – and a boy he recognised with a shock as the lame French boy he had bullied in Watling Street. And now he knew why the woman had looked so familiar. She used to bring the boy – her son – to the shoemaker's to be fitted.

The mother sent the children out, back into the inner room. She sounded anxious, and he caught the word “pestilence”.

“I don't have the pestilence!” he said indignantly.

The man faced him. “You are sure?”

“Yes! My master –” The thought of Master Kemp and how happy he'd been at the shop in Friday Street brought a lump to Sam's throat; it was hard to talk. “My master died of it weeks ago. But I am well. Only… now I have nowhere to go.”

“You have no family?”

Sam shook his head. “There was Alice, our maid. But she left us. Please – don't
call the constables! They'll take me to the Bridewell. And then my dog…” He felt tears rising again.

“Don't be afraid,” said the French woman gently. “Tell us how you came to be here.”

And so Sam told them everything.

Afterwards, the woman cut another slice of bread and some cheese, and Sam wolfed it down while Budge was backed into a corner by the outraged cat. The adults talked together in French. Sam could tell that they were sad to hear of Master Kemp's death.

At last, the man turned to Sam and said, “You need a new home.”

Sam nodded.

“Your master made shoes for our family. We liked him. He was always kind and patient with our son, who has suffered much because he is lame.”

At this Sam felt ashamed, thinking of his own disgraceful behaviour towards the French boy.

“In return for your master's kindness, we want to help you,” the man went on. “Now, we had a servant – a boy a little older than you. He left us in the spring. If you agree, we could take you in his place –”

“Oh, yes! Thank you!” cried Sam.

“It would be a trial period at first. We'd expect you to work hard –”

“I can work, sir! You'll be pleased with me, I promise!”

The man smiled. “Good. Then it is agreed. What is your name, boy?”

“Sam Maylam, sir.”

“And I am Paul Giraud. I'm a jeweller and have my workshop here. This is my wife, and my daughter, Thérèse. Also you saw my son, André, and the little girls.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Sam again and again.

He felt a huge sense of relief and gratitude. But he also felt anxious about André, the man's son. He knew that, as a servant, he would be under André's control,
and he was sure the French boy would find ways of taking revenge. But the thought of being looked after, and fed, and of sleeping indoors overcame his fears. No longer would he have to beg or steal. And the food here was excellent.

“You must wash, Sam,” said Mistress Giraud, interrupting his thoughts. “And I will find clean clothes…”

“Wait!” cried Sam.

He'd forgotten all about Budge!

“My dog…” he began, his voice shaking.

They all looked at Budge, who edged away from the cat and wagged his tail.

Husband and wife exchanged glances.
Master Giraud raised his eyebrows in enquiry. Mistress Giraud shrugged her shoulders.

“He can stay,” said Sam's new master. And he smiled.

* * *

“You!” André glared at Sam. “You dare to come here…”

They were in the back yard, where Sam had washed first himself and then Budge, and was now drying the dog with an old cloth. Sam stood up. This was just what he had feared.

He knew he was in the wrong. He'd been
cruel to this boy, mocking his lameness. He felt sorry, but it came out badly as he tried to excuse himself. “It was just a game – a laugh,” he said.

“A laugh?” yelled André.

Budge was looking from one to the other of them, wagging his tail uncertainly. André patted him. “Pity we can't just keep the dog,” he said.

“Well, you can't! He's mine!” Sam felt a sudden fear of losing everything. “Have you told your father what I did?”

“I don't tell tales,” said André scornfully. “But remember: I belong here and you are just a pauper my mother felt sorry for. Any
trouble from you, and they'll throw you out on the streets.”

He turned his back on Sam and went indoors.

Sam couldn't blame André. He put his arms around Budge and the dog licked him.

“I must work hard and please Master and Mistress Giraud,” he said. “We have a new home here, Budge. A new chance to make a life for ourselves. And we'll stay together, no matter what.”

Copyright © 2013 A & C Black

This electronic edition published in April 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing

Text copyright © 2013 Ann Turnbull
Illustrations copyright © 2013 Akbar Ali

First published 2013 by A & C Black
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square,
London, WC1B 3DP
www.bloomsbury.com

The rights of Ann Turnbull and Akbar Ali to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages

A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

eISBN 978-1-4081-8817-0 (e-book)

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