A Plague of Sinners

When Hedges fell face first into his dinner after giving birth to an almighty sneeze, the rest of us just sat and stared at the gravy dripping down the backs of his ears. We watched in silence, gaping at the back of his large unmoving head and the pieces of lamb and fish stuck in his hair. His mouth gaped open and a thin stream of sauce dribbled from one corner. Still we waited, willing him to blink, sit up again and wipe the food from his forehead.

I dined at the house of Oliver Willis and his glorious daughter Elizabeth. Why Willis invited Nathaniel Hedges to dinner was a mystery, for Hedges was not a popular man despite his virtue. He was a member of London’s College of Physicians, a prestigious body of wise men who admired themselves very much. Most medics had left London weeks
before; only he remained behind, an act of bravery for which he needed regular watering.

The four of us sat together at one end of a table that could take eight. The table heaved beneath the weight of a plethora of steaming dishes: carp, lobster, salmon, rabbit, chicken and lamb. Long candles lit up bright new tapestries hung from the walls, country scenes full of yellows, reds and greens.

Elizabeth Willis sat straight-backed in a luminous dark-blue dress with fine silver braiding, bodice pulled tight, breasts perked up like little puddings. Her nose was small and straight, ears perfectly formed that a man might want to tickle them gently. She tended to Hedges’ thirst by asking if he did not fear contracting the disease himself. Shallow lines of concern writ clear upon her forehead and I desired to smooth them out with my manly fingers.

Hedges smiled toothily out of the left side of his face. ‘I take great care, madam. I place a nutmeg in my mouth as soon as I wake up and suck upon lozenges all day. I have a lozenge in my mouth right now.’ Which explained why the right side of his mouth did not move.

‘That is sufficient to protect you?’ asked Liz.

‘Also I take about with me a scuttle of coals onto which I throw quicklime, herbs and spices when I visit sick houses. This disperses the miasma.’ He nodded brightly, keen to dispense further wisdoms. ‘And in the evening I have a glass of sack to defeat any infection that may have penetrated my defences, and a plate of boiled meat and pickles to fortify my system for the next day.’

Liz opened her innocent eyes wider and sucked in her lower lip. ‘So, if every man in London were to suck nutmegs and lozenges, drink sack and eat boiled meat and pickles, then the plague would be thwarted?’

Hedges shook his fleshy head regretfully. ‘Coal is expensive these days. Not every man can afford it, nor nutmeg, sack nor boiled meat. The wealthy can, but the wealthy have gone. The poor cannot, but the poor remain.’

Liz’s speckled green eyes stayed wide. I took a slow, deep breath, for this was the mask behind which she cultivated private and mischievous thoughts, before releasing them upon unsuspecting recipients with brutal savagery.

Oliver Willis studied her closely from above his jutting chin. He changed the subject before his daughter could speak again. ‘Are you not contemplating leaving London, Harry?’

Not I. The plague raged rampant outside the city walls, not inside, and I wished to get to know Liz better. I pulled a sad face and attended to my plate. ‘The city’s finances are in a perilous state following the hard winter. The parishes have insufficient funds to support the sick and all depend on the guilds.’

Hedges scowled so hard I could barely see his eyes beneath his hirsute brow. I had unwittingly deprived him of his eminence. ‘You work for Sir Thomas Player?’ he growled.

‘I work for the King,’ I replied carefully, ‘and for Lord Arlington, and for the moment for Sir Thomas, aye, at Lord Arlington’s request.’

Hedges placed his hands flat on the table and pushed down hard. ‘Might you then remind Sir Thomas I have not been paid since I was appointed?’

‘He has a fine eye for detail,’ I said, ‘and juggles the city finances with sensitivity and wise judgement. What funds he collects he dispenses to those cases most needy.’

‘Aye, so,’ Hedges blustered, torn now between the role of munificent saviour of London’s poorest, and that of harshly
treated creditor. He sat back and shrugged his shoulders like it was no matter.

Liz turned her sharp senses upon me, the clearing of her throat a sure sign her curiosity was pricked. ‘And what role, Harry, do you play in executing such important affairs?’

I met her gaze for a moment before allowing my attention to wander to those wicked sweet lips. How to answer her question? I had not made the best impression upon Thomas Player, since he was very punctual and I arrived thirty minutes late for our first appointment. Since then he entrusted me only with the auditing of the churchwardens’ account books, a tedious task indeed. Yet I did my best, for this plague represented an opportunity to advance my cause, a chance to secure a position of real importance at long last. I turned up every morning on time and kept my eyes open until day’s end.

‘I do as I must.’ I waved a nonchalant hand. ‘But now is not the time to talk of rank nor status.’ I looked to Hedges for help.

‘Aye.’ He seized upon my olive branch and proceeded to wax lyrical about his own humble function. Meanwhile Liz bestowed upon me her melting gaze, a faint smile about the ends of her rose-crayoned lips. It was like bathing in warm honey. Oliver watched us, sharp-eyed.

Hedges coughed loudly, for no one listened. ‘Should you have the misfortune to become infected, or any of your household, then I hope you will consider calling upon me for help, Mr Lytle.’ He leant over and placed his hand uncomfortably close to mine.

‘What about you, Oliver?’ I asked, denying Hedges once more the attention he craved. The hand withdrew. ‘Will you stay?’

‘I still have the house at St Albans,’ he muttered.

‘We will stay too, Harry,’ Liz said, watching her father. ‘May God keep us from the plague.’ Two hot little circles burnt newly bright upon her cheeks and the muscles about her jaw tightened. Oliver Willis looked away. Strange.

‘I will visit often.’ Hedges leant towards Liz with a lopsided smile. ‘To ensure your health.’

Liz glared as if she would slap his face.

Oliver Willis contemplated a bottle of sack stood upon the dresser. ‘Thank you, Nathaniel. You are a good friend. I hope you can stay awhile betimes. I would talk to you of business.’

Hedges smiled widely, grease glistening upon his thick lips. ‘I should be delighted.’ He clapped his hands together in a show of unconvincing bonhomie. ‘How wonderful that we are all committed to remain. The pest is the judgement of God, as all men know. If your soul be clean and your conscience clear – then fear not!’ He laughed loud and a piece of salmon shot out of his nose. He snorted and rubbed his nostrils vigorously.

I wanted to lean over and poke him in the eye. John Foster, a friend of mine, had died the week before at Newgate Market. He was not a bad man; he visited church regularly, which was more than I did. Now his wife and three children were left to survive without him. How dare this preening pillicock imply it was deserved?

‘An interesting perspective, Mr Hedges,’ Liz said quietly, her temple pumping as it always did when she was angry.

‘If you be so godly, then why the elaborate precautions? Why not trust in him to protect you?’ I demanded to know.

Hedges arched his hairy brows, placed his hands on his inflated belly and stared at me like I was an evil sinner.

‘Aye, Mr Hedges,’ Liz echoed, ‘why does a man need lozenges and nutmeg if he has God’s blessing?’

Hedges gathered his shirt about his neck with stubby fingers. ‘God-fearing people need not fear the pestilential streams.’ His brow shone with a wet film of sweat. ‘The miasmatic air affects only those engaged in sluttish behaviour. Those that flee it invite God’s close inspection, for He will wonder why.’

I leant over and pointed my fork at him. ‘Outside the walls many good men have died who lived their lives meticulously.’

Hedges wrinkled his nose as if he detested the smell of his own top lip. ‘Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most high, thy habitation; there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.’ He licked his chops and rubbed his gushing brow, looking most uncomfortable. The price of wearing too many clothes on a hot summer evening, I supposed.

‘Mr Hedges!’ Liz said, stern. ‘If the godly are protected then why have all the godly men fled?’

‘Enough!’ Oliver Willis held up a weary hand. ‘I have not asked Nathaniel to dine with us that we might question his faith.’

Hedges watched us from above his pile of chins. Water poured from his head as though he were dissolving. It was then, as I searched for words that might restore his humour, he sneezed and fell into his dinner.

‘Nathaniel?’ Oliver Willis broke the silence.

‘I fear he is dead, sir.’ The servant Edward’s face stretched taut, eyes wide like little bowls.

Oliver stared with open jaw. All mischief vanished from Liz’s fair face, leaving only bare shock. For the sneeze was the sound of plague.

I craned over to see his neck, looking for a bubo. Most of his neck hid beneath three layers of clothes.

‘What will we do?’ exclaimed Oliver Willis, arms held out
sideways like a little crab. Edward stood immovably stiff, eyes transfixed upon the dead medic.

I approached Hedges closer and attempted to see beneath his shirt with a knife from the table. Would I could see the plague and stab it.

‘You must inform the Examiner of Health,’ Liz finally replied in shocked whisper. ‘The master of the house must report it within two hours.’

Willis looked at his daughter, pleading. ‘Then they will lock us up here for forty days.’

‘What else is there?’ she demanded, face contorting in terrified spasm. ‘Else we will be punished by the alderman and be disgraced.’

Though the prospect of being locked up in the same house as Liz for forty days was enticing, I could not tarry here. ‘I have a notion,’ I said.

Everyone except Hedges turned to look at me.

‘Hedges lives at Fenchurch Street,’ I thought aloud.

Oliver Willis nodded.

‘Might he not have died while on his way home?’

Oliver and Liz regarded me as if
I
were the plague.

‘He has not been here long,’ I argued. ‘It is unlikely others of us are infected. In any case, we may take what precautions we may while we have the choice.’

‘If he died on his way home, Harry, then they shall lock us up in any case.’ Liz spoke slowly and carefully, still watching her agitated father.

‘Then we found him dead outside the door before he arrived.’

Oliver Willis looked hopefully at his daughter. More silent communication.

Tears welled in Liz’s eyes. ‘What of his wife, Harry?’

‘His wife has lost her husband,’ I answered. ‘Someone must tell her it kindly and allow her to bury him where she would see him buried.’

‘Who will tell her?’

‘The churchwardens will tell her so long as they have the opportunity,’ I replied.

Oliver Willis’ mouth hung open and his eyes glistened with hope, like a dog that has not eaten for a week. At that moment I perceived his reluctance to leave London. He had laboured hard these last five years, ambitious to succeed. I suspected he had borrowed more than he could afford. With London emptying, so his trade would fast disappear. By the time forty days passed he would be destitute.

‘We take him out respectfully, and lay him down upon the road. Then I visit the churchwardens and say I saw him there as I arrived,’ I offered.

Liz put her hands to her mouth as if she prayed. Oliver appeared as though a great weight fell from his shoulders, and the two servants in the room looked like they would die of fright.

‘All we need do is move him,’ I pointed out. ‘If Edward can help me then we will do the job now.’

‘Edward’s back is weak,’ Liz objected.

‘Then James can help,’ Oliver Willis countered impatiently. ‘Let’s to it.’

I turned back to Hedges, this foolish man who ventured beyond the city wall with his nutmegs and his lozenges. ‘He no longer breathes, so he is not contagious. If a man had gloves we could move him without exposure to the sticky atoms that may sit upon his clothing.’

‘I have gloves,’ Oliver Willis exclaimed eagerly. ‘Go fetch them, Liz.’

Liz hesitated a moment before doing as he bid. When she returned she hovered, uncertain to whom she should give them. Since it was my grand scheme, I took them. I bid my face look happier than my soul, put on the gloves and turned back to Hedges. I did not want to touch him, even with the gloves.

His face had slowly slid sideways in the buttery garlic sauce. I considered closing his eyes, but his eyelids were too greasy.

‘Put this in your mouth.’ Oliver Willis handed me a sprig of mint.

Though Hedges was but a short man, his top half burgeoned formidably large. I stood behind him, placed my hands above his shoulders and pulled hard. His plate travelled with him a short distance before it clattered back upon the table. His mouth sneered like he had not yet finished the sneeze. Rich currant sauce coated his face.

Liz looked angrily at her father. ‘We must clean him up if it is to be believed he has not dined here.’

‘Aye,’ Willis nodded eagerly, ‘and clear away the table as if we have not eaten.’

The searchers would arrive quick once news of his death became public. Outside the wall, searchers were forced to live with the gravediggers, away from the general population, and many took to drink. Here the plague was still new and the searchers more alert.

As I grabbed him beneath the armpits I could not help but wonder whether buboes lay beneath my fingers, ready to explode, so I attempted to lift him only by the tops of his arms. As a consequence he slid from my grasp. His head bounced on the floor and gravy from his hair splashed over the wall. Liz
gasped and clasped her hands before her nose like he was a fragile piece of porcelain.