Winsor, Kathleen (76 page)

The
red crosses had now entered the gates of the City.

Nan
came in a few days later with a bill-of-mortality in her hand. "Mam!"
she cried. "Mam! There was 112 died last week of the sickness!"

Amber
was entertaining Lord Buckhurst and Sir Charles Sedley who—along with the other
gentlemen—had just returned from sea, all of them sunburnt heroes. Nan stopped
on the threshold in surprise to find them there.

"Oh,"
she said. "I'm sorry, gentlemen." She made a curtsy.

"Never
mind, Mrs. Nan. Damn me, Sedley! She's as pretty as ever, isn't she? But what's
this? Sure
you're
not worried about the plague?"

"Oh,
but I
am,
sir! I'm scared out of my wits! And all these other things
they've got marked! I'll warrant you at least
half
of 'em died of the
plague!" She began to read from the fresh-printed bill, for they were
scarcely
off
the press before Nan had one. "Griping of the guts—3! Worms—5! Fits—2! How
do we know those weren't all the plague too and not reported by the searcher
because somebody greased 'em in the fist to give another cause of the
death!"

Amber
and the two men laughed but Nan was so excited she began to choke on the
gold-piece she had in her mouth and ran out of the room. Only nine days later,
however, the Queen and her ladies set out for Hampton Court, and the gentlemen
intended to follow very shortly. Buckhurst and some of the others who had heard
of her inheritance tried to persuade Amber to go along, but she refused.

Then
at last, very much to Nan's relief, she began to make preparations for leaving
town herself. She had the maids begin packing her clothes, and most
of her jewellery
she took to Shadrac Newbold, for she did not want to carry it about the
countryside with her and had no idea as to where she would go. She found the
street before his house crowded with carts and wagons and all the household in
a turmoil.

"It's
fortunate you came today, Mrs. Dangerfield," he told her. "I'm leaving
town tomorrow myself. But I had assumed you were in the country with the rest
of the family. They left at least a fortnight ago." The Dangerfields had a
country home in Dorsetshire.

"I
don't live at Dangerfield House any more. I think I'll take just a hundred
pounds. That should be enough, don't you think?"

"I
think so. The ways will be more crowded than ever with highwaymen. And the
plague must be near spent by now. Excuse me a moment, madame."

While
he was gone Amber sat fanning herself. The day was hot and she could feel her
high-necked black-satin gown sticking to her skin; her silk stockings, moist
with perspiration, clung tight to her legs. Presently he returned and sat down
to count out the pieces of gold and silver for her, stacking them in piles on
the table while she watched him drowsily.

"That
was a fine boy little Mrs. Jemima had, wasn't it?" he said
conversationally.

Amber
had not known that Jemima's child was born, but now she said sarcastically:
"So soon? She was only married last October."

He
gave her a glance of surprise, and then smiled, shrugging his shoulders.
"Well, yes, perhaps it is a little early. But you know how young people
are—and a contract is as binding as the ceremony, they say."

He
scooped the money into a purse and handed it to her as she got up to go. At the
door she turned. "Any word of Lord Carlton?"

"Why,
yes, as it happens, I have. Some ten days ago one of his ships put into port
and a man came to tell me that his Lordship would be here soon. I've waited for
him now longer than I'd intended, but I can't wait any longer. Perhaps he's
heard of the sickness and decided not to come. Good-day, madame, and the best
of luck to you."

"Thank
you, sir. And to you."

Everyone
was wishing everyone else good luck these days.

She
drove immediately down to the wharves and sent Jeremiah to inquire for Lord
Carlton. After half-an-hour or so he returned to say that he had found a man
who had been on the ship which had come in and that he was expected at any
time. The men who had manned the first ship were all waiting impatiently, for
they wanted their shares of the venture.

Back
home she saw that several carts piled with her own gilt leather trunks and
boxes stood before the house, and Nan came running down the stairs to meet her.
"A man died this morning only four doors up the street!" she cried.
"I've got everything ready! We can leave this instant, mam! Can't we,
please?"

Amber
was annoyed: "No, we can't! I've just heard that Lord Carlton is expected
in port any day and I'm not going till I've seen him! Then we'll all go
together."

Suddenly
Nan began to cry. "Oh, we're all going to catch it and die! I know we are!
That's what happened to a family in Little Clement's Lane—every one of 'em
died! Why can't you meet his Lordship in the country? Leave 'im a
message!"

"No.
He might not come at all then. Oh, Nan! For Heaven's sake! Stop your blubbering
then. You can go tomorrow."

Nan
set out very early the next morning with the baby, her nurses, Tansy, two of
the maids, and Big John Waterman— who had come with them from Dangerfield House
because he was in love with Nan. She was to go to Dunstable and wait there or,
if there was plague in the town, to continue on until she found a safe place
and sent back a message. Amber gave them a great many instructions and
admonitions regarding the care of the baby and protection of her belongings and
they rattled off, waving back at her. Then she sent Jeremiah back to the
wharves—but Bruce had not come.

London
was emptying rapidly now.

Trains
of coaches and carts started out early every morning: twenty-five hundred had
died the week before. The sad faces of the plague prisoners—shut in with the
sick—appeared at many windows, and bells tolled from almost every parish church
in the city. People held their noses when they passed a cross-marked house.
Some families were storing their cellars with great supplies of food and then
sealing the house, stuffing
every crack and keyhole, boarding the doors and
windows to keep out the plague.

The
weather continued hot and there was no fog; it had not rained for almost a
month. The flowers down in the courtyard, roses and stocks and honeysuckle,
were wilting and the meadows about the town were beginning to dry up and turn
brown. Street vendors hawked cherries and apples and early pears, though
oranges were scarce since the war had begun, and everyone who could afford it
bought ice—cut off the lakes and rivers in the winter and stored underground
packed in straw— to cool their wine and ale. They talked almost as much about
the heat as they did about the war or the plague.

Amber
was finally beginning to feel nervous herself. The long funeral processions,
the red crosses on every hand, the tolling bells, the people passing with their
noses buried in a pomander or bottle of scent had at last made her uneasy. She
wanted to get away, but she was sure that if she left, Bruce would arrive the
same day. And so she waited.

Tempest
and Jeremiah were complaining about being kept so long in town and did not like
being sent to the wharves. Jane—the serving-girl who had stayed with
Amber—whined and wanted to go to her father's home in Kent and so Amber let
her. When Nan had been gone four days she asked Tempest and Jeremiah to look
for Lord Carlton once more and told them that if they found him she would give
them each a guinea. But for the money, she knew, they would merely drive around
or go to a tavern for a couple of hours and then come back. By noon they were
home again. Lord Carlton had come in the night before and they had just seen
him down at the wharves, unloading his ships.

The
wharves were busy as an ant hill.

Ships
with their gilded hulls gleaming, their tall masts mere bare skeletons, lay on
the quiet waters in great numbers. Many of them were men-of-war back from
fighting the Dutch and in the process of being overhauled and cleaned. Broken
seams were being mended with boiling-pitch, and the ropes bound with
tarpaulins. Sailors and porters were everywhere, unloading the plundered
treasure which had recently been seized, while captured Dutch flags snapped out
bravely from the tower. But there were also great numbers of crippled and
wounded men, hobbling about, sitting, lying flat on their backs, all reaching
out their hands to beg. For the most part they were ignored. The navy had not
been paid and already some of the seamen were starving.

Amber
got out of her coach and walked along the wharf between Tempest and Jeremiah,
one hand shading her eyes against the hot sun. The beggars tried to touch her
as she passed and some of the sailors whistled or made audible comments, but
she was too absorbed in looking for Bruce even to hear them.

"There
he is!" She started to run and the sound of her high heels on the boards
made him turn. "Bruce!"

She
came up to him, smiling eagerly and out of breath, expecting to be kissed. But
instead he looked down at her with a scowl and she saw that his face was tired
and his skin wet with sweat.

"What
the devil are you doing down here?"

As
he spoke he glanced around truculently at the men who were staring at her for
her cloak was opened over her black-satin gown and emeralds sparkled in her
ears and on her fingers. Disappointed, offended by his surly tone, she had an
instant of angry self-pity. But his look of exhaustion was real and her eyes
went over him anxiously, tender as a mother's caress. She had seldom seen him
tired and now she longed to take him into her arms, kiss away the scowl and the
weariness—her love for him rose up like a painful throbbing ache.

"Why,
I came to see you, darling," she answered softly.

"Aren't
you glad?"

He
gave a faint smile, as though ashamed of his ill temper, and ran the back of
one hand across his moist forehead. "Of course I am." His eyes went
down over her figure. "The baby's been born?"

"Yes—a
little girl. I named her Suzanna— Oh!" she remembered with a sudden sense
of guilt. "Samuel's dead."

"I
know. I heard about it this morning. Why aren't you out of town?"

"I
waited for you."

"You
shouldn't have—it's not safe in London. Where's the baby?"

"I
sent her and Nan and Tansy into the country. We can go too—and meet them—"
She looked at him questioningly, afraid he might tell her that he already had
other plans.

Bruce
took her arm and they started back toward the coach. As they went he began
talking in an undertone. "You've got to get away from here, Amber. You
shouldn't have come down at all. Ships carry disease, you know."

"Oh,
I'm not worried about that. I've got a unicorn's horn."

He
laughed, but without much humour. "Unicorn's horn— my God! A cuckold's
horn would do you as much good."

They
reached the coach and he handed her in. Then he braced one foot on the step,
rested his arms on his knees and as he leaned forward to talk to her his voice
was no more than a murmur. "You've got to get away from here as fast as
you can. Some of my men are sick of the plague."

Amber
gasped in horror, but he made her a quick negative motion with his head.
"But Bruce!" she whispered.
"You
might catch it
too!"

"There've
only been three cases. There was sickness on some of the Dutch ships we took
and when we found it we sank them with everyone on board—but three of my own
sailors have fallen sick since. They were moved off the ships last night and
there haven't been any new cases so far today."

"Oh,
Bruce! You can't stay here! You've got to come away— Oh, darling, I'm scared!
Have you got an amulet or something to protect yourself?"

He
gave her a look of exasperated impatience, and ignored the last question.
"I can't leave now—I can't leave until everything's been unloaded and
stored. But you've got to go. Please, Amber, listen to me. I've heard a rumour
they're going to lock the gates and forbid anyone's leaving. Get out while
there's still time."

She
looked at him stubbornly. "I won't go without you."

"Holy
Jesus, Amber, don't be a fool! I'll meet you somewhere later."

"I'm
not afraid of the plague—I never get sick. When will you be through
unloading?"

"Not
before night."

"Then
I'll come back here for you at sundown. Nan and the baby are at Dunstable and
we can meet them there. I'm not
living at Dangerfield House any more—I've got
lodgings in St. Martin's Lane."

"Then
go there and stay. Keep off the streets and don't talk to anyone."

He
turned away and then, as she watched anxiously, her face wistful as a child's,
he looked around and gave her a smile and a slow weary wave of his hand. He
walked off down the wharf and disappeared into the crowds.

But
she did not stay at home as he had told her to do.