A Plague of Sinners (13 page)

‘Pull harder,’ Judkins replied, impatient.

I passed the torch to Dowling and knelt down to guide the head, for now it started to move. If we were not careful it would catch beneath the jetty. I leant backwards on the wood and pushed the body off the edge of the jetty with my feet as it rose slowly from the depths. First the chest and then the legs slid onto the boards. Chains tied the body’s ankles to some heavy weight.

I stared down into the water as Dowling pored over the drenched body.

‘It’s a barrel!’ I declared, watching it rise slowly from the gloom below. ‘A wine barrel.’

It broke the surface of the water with a heavy splash and, with one last effort from Judkins and his friends, rolled sideways upon the landing next to Famine. Someone had wound the chains about the barrel and bolted them in place.

‘No surprise.’ Dowling appeared at my side. ‘No doubt one of Burke’s.’

‘I reckon I know him,’ said one of Judkins’ deputies, stood over Famine’s long body. ‘Don’t know his name, but he was a sailor, I reckon.’ He screwed up his face and stared at Judkins.

Judkins peered at the body like it was a puzzle. ‘Where did he live?’

‘Can’t tell ye.’ The man shook his head. ‘Reckon he turned up a few months ago. I seen him maybe twice. He worked over other side of the bridge.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘Couldn’t tell ye.’ The man shook his head again and grimaced. ‘Only saw him walk that way in the morning and walk back in the evening.’

‘Every little helps,’ Judkins pronounced. ‘As the wren said when she pissed in the sea. Now.’ He looked towards the palace. ‘Let’s see what’s happening on Clink Street.’

He took back his torch and headed off towards the palace, followed by his deputies. I hesitated a moment, as did Dowling, before considering there were now six of us altogether and only two of them remaining.

Clink Street was black as pitch. The flame of the torch lit up the way only a few strides at a time, but Judkins strode forwards with confidence, leading us quick to the prison door. He held up the torch and pulled at the door handle. ‘Locked.’ He turned to me, chin jutting.

‘Look, though,’ I pointed to the torch holder above the door. A torch sat in the hook, tiny spots of orange still burning. ‘This torch is still hot.’

Judkins placed his hand about the burning tip. ‘Well, I’ll be hanged!’

I stared out into the darkness and imagined what lurked there, watching. I recalled the fury in War’s eyes when recounting the killing of Death. He would be doubly furious now, and if still he suspected Arlington, doubly determined to extract from us whate’er he thought we might know. I pricked my ears, but could hear only the gentle splash of the water against the river’s edge, voices shouting faint, a long way away.

‘Time for us to leave,’ I decided, suddenly afraid. ‘We might return in the morning and find out what else there is to know.’

‘A grand notion.’ Judkins scratched his head. ‘Meantime
we will see if we can’t find out who this Famine really was.’ He slapped his colleague about the shoulder. ‘Need to know where to take the body.’

As we hurried back to the stairs, I considered. Three dead in three days. If we could survive the rest of the week, then at least these Four Horsemen might all be disposed of, and who would mourn them? Yet who was it that picked off these great brutes with such casual assurance? I shivered, though the night was warm, and prayed the boatman hadn’t left us behind.

If Fuller wouldn’t find Jane a medic, then I’d do it myself. No medics to be found for a few days, Fuller had said. What use was that? The plague could kill a man in a day.

I was up early next morning, promising Dowling I would return within the hour. With Forman, Withypoll, War and Pestilence all against us, it was foolhardy to walk the streets alone, yet I had an agenda Dowling would want no part of.

Though hawkers and criers were prohibited, a new form of trade flourished: the selling of pills, potions and other concoctions as cure for plague. Whilst I would not consider lancing a bubo myself, nor did I much believe in bleeding or purging, I could gather what remedies seemed most likely from the apothecaries.

Theriac was reckoned to be the most powerful antidote; a mixture of garlic, vinegar, walnuts, onion and the flesh of a poisonous snake. The poison of the snake was supposed to
suck out the poison of the plague. Many other drugs were but variations of theriac, such as Venice treacle and London treacle. Unlikely remedies included unicorn horn and phoenix-egg yolk. I was not so foolish to suppose they were real, but bought a small bottle of each besides, together with sea holly. I purchased onion and lily root to make a poultice and sweet-smelling herbs to spread about the house. By the time I finished I spent nearly three pounds. Now I just needed a medic.

Whilst medics were scarce, the City seemed as good a place as any to hunt them, for it was safest. Moreover they were easy to spot, marching the streets in their sinister attire; thick, waxed over-jackets, leather masks and glass eyes. They resembled nothing less than giant carrion, stalking the streets in search of weakened prey. The wax upon the jackets stopped the sticky atoms from sticking, and perfume-soaked linen packed into the long beaks of the heavy masks acted as barrier to any atoms that might penetrate nevertheless. An ingenious costume, I mused, and a guarantee of gaining entry to an infected household. I needed to acquire one.

I walked for almost an hour before I spotted my quarry. He crossed Old Fish Street twenty paces afore me, heading down Dowgate Hill. I hurried to catch him, unworried that he might hear me, his ears hidden beneath leather. He turned left onto Thames Street and stopped afront of Cold Harbour.

Cold Harbour once stood a great mansion, the pride and joy of Lady Margaret Beaufort – mother to Henry VII. That was two centuries ago. It was still the most magnificent building on the river, tall and palatial, towering over all about. But now the splendid exterior was but a shell, the inside a rotten maze of poor tenements piled six storeys high.

The medic paused to scrutinise the facade, neck craned like
a great heron contemplating flapping to the roof to build a nest. Then he disappeared inside. A wave of fear washed through me. I hadn’t realised Cold Harbour was infected. If one in there was afflicted then the rest would follow, and they would spread it about this whole parish afore it was recognised. And to the next parish, and the next. I cursed myself anew, felt metallic fingers of self-loathing wrap about my throat. How could I have thought we were safe?

I waited on the street, fear of being stalked outweighed by my determination to see Jane. An hour later the medic emerged, hot and bothered, pulling the mask from his head to reveal a wet, scarlet face plastered with thick plaits of soaking hair. Lines etched his eyes and pulled down the edges of his mouth. He trudged back to Dowgate, mask hanging from his hand like the head of a dead bird.

I followed him to a large house on Poultry. He pushed open the door and went inside. I waited about the mouth of Grocers Alley, standing well back in the shadow. I waited there for more than an hour, as if I waited for an acquaintance, before he left again, this time without the costume. As soon as he was out of sight I ran across the street and knocked on the door.

An old face peered out and whispered, eyes bright and questioning. ‘What do you want?’

‘I am here on an important errand,’ I replied, quiet for fear of frightening her.

She squinted at me. ‘The master of the house is out. You can return later if you will.’

I pulled a face. ‘Madam, it is more urgent.’

She looked me up and down as if afraid I would try and sell her something. The door began to close. ‘You can return later if you will.’

I kept my voice calm and body still. ‘It is your own safety at stake, madam.’

The door stopped closing.

‘You and all who bide here are in great danger, but I can save you.’

The door opened again. She startled, half afraid and half curious.

‘The costume your master wears when he tends to the afflicted.’

She continued to stare.

‘It is covered in wax so the sticky atoms do not stick.’ I paused for theatrical effect. ‘The fellow who waxed your master’s costume did not apply enough wax. I am sent to fetch it so I can take it away and apply sufficient quantity.’

She looked as though she would cry. ‘You can return later if you will.’

‘Madam, you don’t understand. Your master has worn the attire this day. It is possible it carries the sticky atoms upon it now, which I must remove, else you and all in the house may suffer the plague afore the day is out. The atoms will fall off if I don’t remove them, all over the house.’

She blinked, then disappeared. Within a minute I had the medic’s mask and jacket in my possession. She closed the door in my face before I could thank her. I hurried west down Cheapside, searching a quiet place. I stopped on the corner of Watling Street to don the jacket, which was most unpleasant, since it still hung heavy, wet and sodden. The mask was worse.

Fortunately it was not far to Bread Street, for the air I breathed stank, an acrid brew of garlic and grease. Though the glass eyes in the mask were thick and the view distorted, still I recognised the steady figure of John Hearsey sat outside
my house, sober and watchful. He stood when he saw me, scratched his head and came walking over. He put his mouth against my ear. ‘I didn’t know a medic was coming.’

‘Talk to Fuller,’ I shouted through the mask. ‘Now open the door.’

He shrugged, dug in his pocket for my key and did as asked.

The first thing I saw upon entering the house was a strange woman sat in my chair, head flung backwards, snoring loudly. It was not Jane’s aunt. I heard stories of nurses neglecting their patients, taking money to tend for the sick yet fearing to go near them. Was this one of those, Fuller’s appointment? Was she lazy, or so diligent she exhausted herself? I removed the mask for a moment so I could smell the air. Cheap wine hung in a low cloud about her figure, billowing out of her open mouth each time she exhaled. I poked her in the stomach, but she barely noticed, just slurred something that made little sense. Drunk.

I stared at her miserable form with disgust and contempt. Time to deal with her later. I climbed the stairs, trying to walk quiet for fear of scaring Jane and her aunt. I went first to Jane’s room and pushed the door open, unable to free myself of the fear it would suddenly slam closed, for I had been forbidden to enter this room since Jane arrived. It was simply furnished; a bed, a table and a chest. She lay upon the bed, eyes closed, face flushed and swollen, red hair wet and limp. The sheet beneath her was soiled and stinking. She slowly rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, arms clutching at her stomach. She opened her eyes and looked towards me, but it seemed she saw nothing. I felt tears in my eyes, horrified she succumbed so quick.

I took off the mask so I could see clear and knelt at her side to peer at her pale skin, in search of tokens and buboes. None that I could see, yet it was little satisfaction, for if the
aunt visited yesterday and brought the sickness with her, then Jane could only just have been infected. The first signs were fevers, headaches and vomiting; the tokens and the buboes would not appear for at least three days. I saw no sign she had been tended to. Anger trembled all parts of my body. I went immediate to the linen cupboard and took a new sheet.

How to clean her up? For this was not an art I had experience of. However I went about the task I would need to place my hands upon her, which meant risk of contact. I had no wish to carry the disease out of the house, nor indeed contract it myself, so I placed the mask back on my head and endeavoured to do of my best.

First I placed my arms about her sides and persuaded her to step weakly from the bed, whereupon she sank slowly to the floor and lay there instead. No matter. I changed the sheet without difficulty. How then to change her fouled nightdress, for I had no wish to compromise her dignity. If ever she thought I had seen her naked she would gouge out my eyes with burning pokers. Yet what else could I do? I was not about to entrust her to the muddled crone below. Also I would need water and a cloth. I found a new nightdress in the chest and applied myself to the task, relieved to see no sign of swelling about the rest of her body, especially about her groin. Once finished I opened the window so the smell might dissipate and placed herbs about the room. I lay a blanket at her feet and left her uncovered, given the rising heat of the day. I thought to kiss her gently upon the forehead, but forced myself to leave, shaken by the strange thought.

Now to find the aunt. I went to my room first, since it was the only other place with a bed. I opened the door slowly and peered in. I heard myself utter a stifled shriek, for she stood in the corner, staring at me with terrible red eyes, glaring out of a grey,
worn face. Death’s wife come a-visiting, ghostly and cadaverous, thin and hungry, salivating at the prospect of tearing me to pieces. I stood paralysed, waiting to see what she would do next. She breathed hard and sagged, and I realised how weak she was.

The bed was a mess, sheets and blankets tossed about the floor, mattress pushed askew and curtains pulled loose from the tester. How quickly the disease took her, I reflected, for if she had visited only yesterday, then she must have seemed well. Surely she would not have come if she knew she carried infection.

I withdrew gently, again with plans to clean the room and restore some order. The moment I moved she lifted her hand and pointed straight at me and laughed, a tight, frenzied laughter that racked her body and caused her to grimace in pain. Then she stopped, stared blankly and fell to the floor.

I repaired the bed as I had done before, then stripped the old woman naked upon the floor, preparing to wash her. My heart pounded in my ears and blood pumped in my temples at the sight of her naked flesh. It was all I could do not to run straight down to the river and jump in it, for the disease embraced her completely.

Small, round spots covered her chest, hard and red. These were the tokens that condemned her. Worse, cradled in the damp warmth of her armpits and between her legs, nestled evil swellings, risen like flat mountains. Swellings that stretched from beneath her breast round to her back, purple and angry, peaking in dull blackness. These were the buboes, huge sacks of poison to be broken if the victim was to live. Yet these burrowed deep, untouchable in their current state. If she were to have any chance at all of living then she would need constant attention. But the nurse slept.

I descended to the kitchen and poked the grate. Cold and
dusty. No one had cooked, no one had eaten and no one had attempted fumigation. Again, all chores for the drunken harridan across the hall. Little wood remained, which task I resolved to nail upon Hearsey’s forehead.

I used what fuel there was to start a small fire. I found a knife and board, peeled and chopped six onions and placed them in a dish. Once the fire caught, I placed the dish above it so they would roast. I took the piece of lily root from my bag and pestled it into a fine mash with the cooked onions. I took the mixture upstairs, still warm, and spread it upon the older woman’s buboes, in and around her armpits. Then I screwed my courage to the sticking place and did the others besides. I left her naked so the poultice might do its work and watched her breathe a while, shallow, as though her chest was crushed and tender.

I went back to Jane, who appeared to be asleep. Unsettling to watch her in this gentle stillness. I laid a hand upon her shoulder and saw her wince. She grimaced again and whimpered. Sweat trickled from her forehead and down her temples. Someone should be mopping her brow. I pulled the mask back down over my head and marched downstairs, furious.

The nurse had fallen down my chair another degree. Saliva dribbled slowly from the corner of her open mouth, from which continued to rumble a deep, bellowing snore. I poked her again, this time in the shoulder, but she slept, oblivious. So I tipped up the chair and she fell in a heap on the floor.

She pushed herself up onto all fours and looked up through narrow slits, eyes struggling to manage the bright sun shining through the window. I offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. She attempted to right herself by placing her hands upon my shoulders, but I stood back, unwilling. She continued to stagger around the room, senseless and unaware. Poor useless creature
that she was, I found my anger redirect itself towards Fuller, he who assured me he knew a woman who wanted a job as nurse.

I opened the front door and directed her by the scruff of the neck out onto the street. She muttered and cursed, and put her hands up to protect her eyes against the daylight.

I turned to Hearsey. ‘Did it not occur to you that there is no smoke coming from the chimney, that she asked you for no provisions?’

He held his arms down by his sides and licked his lips.

I pointed at the woman who had slumped now to the ground and sat against my wall with head sunk upon her chest. ‘Both the women inside this house are sick and yet she has done nothing. You will acquire tar, pitch and frankincense and ensure the house is fumigated.’