At The Sign Of The Sugared Plum Part 2

I thanked him kindly for his advice, and for the leaf, curtseyed, and went to leave. On opening the door of the shop, though, I had to tussle with a great black-and-white hog which tried to push me back in. While I was engaged in pus.h.i.+ng it out several chickens ran in, for there was a market at the end of the street that day and a greater variety of animals than usual were sniffing and grunting and trotting around outside. I caught two chickens but another ran towards the doctor, its claws skittering on the marble tiles, but the doctor roared at it so that it turned tail immediately and ran out squawking, its tawny feathers flying. I could not help but laugh.

Once outside in the street, I blinked against the strong sunlight. It was another very hot day and the air felt clammy. Smoke and fumes curled out of the leather tanners in the next street, a soap chandler was boiling stinking bones in a cauldron at the front of his shop and there was a disgusting smell coming from the piles of human refuse which had been sc.r.a.ped into a heap by the night-soil men.

The runaway hog had been claimed and was now being used as a pony by two of the children playing nearby. These two young boys, d.i.c.kon and Jacob, lived in an alley near us and often hung about our shop, hoping that (as occasionally happened) a comfit or two would turn out to be misshapen and either Sarah or I would throw it to them. They were about five or six years old and worked as errand boys, taking messages between shops and their customers, sweeping a path through the muck for well-to-do visitors or obtaining a sedan chair for people who wearied of shopping and wished for someone else's legs to carry them to their next appointment. They asked me if I would like a ride home on the hog and though I was tempted a in Chertsey I would have hitched up my petticoats and ridden him as if he were the king's nag a in London I was different, and I laughingly refused and went on.

Now I was out and once again surrounded by London life, by busy folk going about their business, all felt normal. Already the horror of the story the doctor had told me was receding. Seven were dead a but High Holborn was a way off, and possibly the plague would be stopped in its tracks by the efforts of the French doctor. Mother had always taught us never to worry about something before we had to.

When I got back to the shop, Sarah was weighing out a quant.i.ty of crystallised violets to a customer. As I bobbed a curtsey to the young woman, she was speaking of how the violets revived her spirits and freshened her breath, and said that the ladies she worked with enjoyed them, too.

I looked at our customer with interest. She was dressed in a low-cut, primrose-yellow silk dress, ruched up all round the bottom (as was the latest fas.h.i.+on) to expose a yellow and red spotted petticoat. On her head was a little velvet cap embroidered all over with coloured beads, and under this a how I stared! a her hair was as red as mine.

She and I smiled at each other and it seemed to me that, as well as the hair, we matched each other in age as well. The pity was that I couldn't see whether she had freckles because she had some whitening on her face, and several black heart-shaped patches.

Sarah coughed. *Will there be anything else?' she asked, and I glanced at her, wondering why she sounded so cold and remote.

*Not at all, thank you kindly!' the young lady said, seeming not to notice Sarah's tone. She paid, tucked the paper cone of violets into her yellow silk m.u.f.f and went off, smiling at me again. She stood at the doorway of the shop for a moment, attracting stares and a murmur of appreciation from a pa.s.sing gallant, all of which she ignored. Suddenly, she put her fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. A sedan chair came up, the door was opened for her and she got in and went off. As she climbed in the sedan I noticed that her shoes were spotted yellow and red to match her petticoat.

*Oh, who was that?' I asked Sarah breathlessly.

Sarah sniffed. *That was Nelly Gwyn.'

*But who is she?'

*Well, she used to be an orange-seller at the playhouse, but now I believe she calls herself an actress.'

*An actress!' I'd heard, of course, that women and girls were appearing on the stage, but I'd never ever seen an actress before.

*You needn't sound so impressed,' Sarah said, *for she's as common as kennel dirt. Her mother is famous for being drunk, and no one ever knew her father.'

*Well, whatever she is, she must be a very good actress to be able to afford clothes like that,' I said (and I spoke enviously, for I was still wearing cast-offs from the vicar's daughter).

*Oh, it's not acting that brings in the money,' Sarah said with an edge to her voice. *It's something else.'

I looked at my sister. *You mean . . . you mean she's a wh.o.r.e?' I said daringly a for although I'd already heard this word used several times in London, such language was forbidden to us in the country.

Sarah gave me the faintest of nods.

*I see,' I said. *But anyway, she's very pretty. Can we go some time?' I asked suddenly. *Can we go to a playhouse and see her?'

*Well,' Sarah said, and she frowned. *I don't know that we should.'

*Oh, please!' I said. *It's quite all right to go now a even polite company attend playhouses, don't they? Even the king goes!'

*It's not how it would look,' Sarah said, *for we are known to so few people in London, that would hardly matter. No, I'm thinking of the plague. People are saying that you shouldn't attend any large gatherings, and the n.o.bility are already leaving London for the country.'

*But there's nothing official, is there?' I said, and was glad that I'd not yet told her about the seven dead in High Holborn.

*We'll ask someone's advice,' Sarah said. *We'll ask one of the clerks at the church whether it would be wise to attend a play at the moment.'

I said I would go to ask at St Dominic's, for I meant to couch my question to the clerk in such a way that his answer a the one I would bring back to Sarah a would allow us to attend. I very much wanted to see a play and, now that I'd met her, I especially wanted to see a play with Nelly Gwyn in it.

However, before I could go to the church a in fact, that very evening a a crier came round the streets. After ringing his bell so loudly that Mew fled into a box under the bed, he called that, by order of the Lord Mayor and because of the feared visitation of plague, all playhouses were to be shut up forthwith, and drinking hours in taverns were to be restricted.

I was bitterly disappointed, for I'd heard so much of what went on in the theatre a the shouting and singing and throwing of tomatoes by the groundlings if they did not approve, and of how the great ladies and gentlemen vied, like peac.o.c.ks, to outdo each other in gaiety of dress. Now I'd have to wait until the scare was over before I could see it all.

And only Heaven knew when that would be, because the following Thursday, when the Bills of Mortality were published, it was found that there had been one hundred deaths of plague that week in London. And at this figure, the authorities declared that the plague had begun.

That afternoon Sarah sent me out for water. She gave me leave to take as long as I wished and make an outing of it, for we had stayed up late the previous night, working by candlelight to blanch and pound a goodly quant.i.ty of almonds to a fine powder, and she'd told me I had worked excellently and she couldn't think how she'd ever managed without me. While we'd worked we'd discussed the plague and told ourselves that it might not be as bad as people feared. For good or ill, however, Sarah could not send me back to Chertsey, because, as our neighbour in the parchment shop had told us, the magistrates were restricting travel out of London for fear that infection would spread to the provinces. This same neighbour, Mr Newbery, a short, stout man with a merry smile who loved nothing better than morbid gossip, had also said there was little hope of escape anyway, for if you had been chosen by the Grim Reaper then he would just come along with his scythe and cut you down.

I went to draw my water from Bell Courtyard. Although there were closer watering places, I favoured this one because it was a fine, paved area with trees and seats, and was much frequented by maids and apprentices from nearby houses. Also, the water there came from the New River and was judged to be pure.

The queue to draw water being quite long, I put down my bucket and enamel jug and waited patiently, looking around me at what the others were wearing (all were more fas.h.i.+onable than I) and wondering when Sarah would have time to take me to the clothes market.

As I waited, amused by a pedlar selling mousetraps with a monkey on his shoulder, there was a sudden burst of laughter from the front of the queue, and a hand waved madly.

*Hannah!' a girl's voice called. I saw to my great delight that it was my friend Abigail Palmer from home.

*There was no mistaking that hair!' she said, coming up and hugging me.

*Indeed not,' I said, for though I'd bought a lead comb and had been stroking it through my hair night and morning, it didn't seem to be making my curls any darker. My freckles, too, were just as bright and, as a result of the continual sunny days, now seemed to crowd across my nose and cheeks jostling for place.

Abigail had put on weight and it suited her. She was pretty, with dark curly hair which had sparks of copper in it, deep brown eyes and a curving mouth. She had on a black fustian dress cut up the front to show a lacy white petticoat, and looked very neat and comely.

*How long have you been in London?' she asked.

I told her, and said where I was living.

*And are you still in your position?' I asked.

She nodded. *With Mr and Mrs Beauchurch.' She was about to say more when a cry came up from the front of the queue. *Maid! Will you come to take your place?'

Abigail waved her hand. *No, everyone can step up,' she said. *I'll wait in line here with my friend.'

*And a pretty sight you will look,' the youth's voice replied. *Two fair maids together!' The rest of the queue laughed, for a musical entertainment of the same name had recently been on at one of the playhouses.

Abigail blew a kiss to the youth who'd spoken, and linked her arm with mine. *Now Hannah, tell me every piece of news from Chertsey, for I swear I have not heard a word of gossip from my mother or sisters since I came here.'

By the end of an hour, Abby a for that was how she was known in London a and I had caught up with everything that had happened to each other. I'd told her of the small goings-on in Chertsey, and about Sarah's shop and Nelly Gwyn coming in to buy sweetmeats, and I'd also told her about Tom, for though there was but a little to tell, Abby had a sweetheart herself and I didn't want to be thought backward.

We touched on the plague and she said that her master and mistress would have left the city already, except that eight weeks ago Mrs Beauchurch had given birth to a daughter and, due to childbed fever, was not yet strong enough to travel any distance.

*Do you think the plague will be really bad?' I asked.

She shrugged. *It is bad every twenty years, they say. And I have seen some portents myself.'

*Which ones?'

*I saw the angel in the clouds with the flaming sword,' she said, and then she frowned. *At least, they said that's what it was, though to tell the truth I could not make it out to be a figure at all. I have seen something else, though a the children playing at funerals. It seems that all over London they are playacting the same thing.'

*I've seen them too!'

*Mr Beauchurch told us that children discern things because they are close to nature. They can foretell the future.'

I s.h.i.+vered. *Pray it isn't so.'

Abby gave my arm a squeeze. *Even if the plague does come, you and I are of healthy stock and as sound as 'roaches. We've nothing to fear!'

At home that night, Sarah and I stayed up late sh.e.l.ling and skinning more almonds while I told her all about Abby, and it was midnight before we went to bed, which was the latest I was ever up in my life. Just before we went to sleep we heard the night watchman on his rounds: *Twelve o'clock Look well to your lock, Your fire and your light And so good-night!'

Chapter Four.

The last week of June.

*This day much against my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors and "Lord have mercy Upon us" writ there . . .'

The gown being held aloft by the aged stallholder was of pale green taffeta. It had full sleeves and a round neck, the bodice was boned, had narrow tucks all down the front and went into a point in the middle. The skirt was set in pleats and its front edges were drawn open to show a dark green silk lining and matching ruffled under-skirt.

*Oh, this one!' I said, taking it from her and holding it to me. I looked at my sister pleadingly. *Please, Sarah!'

It was Sunday morning and Sarah and I had already walked the length of Houndsditch market where we had easily sold both the vicar's daughter's skirt and blouse and my own drab brown gown. With the money from these I'd bought a dark blue cambric dress, and Sarah had offered to advance my wages so I could have another.

*You'll find no lice or bugs in my clothes,' the toothless stallholder told us. *This very elegant gown once belonged to a countess.'

Sarah didn't take any notice of this, though I was quite willing to believe it, for I liked the idea of having a dress that had been owned by someone t.i.tled.

*It's rather grand but it does look well on you,' Sarah said. *The green suits your colouring.'

*It doesn't make my hair look more red, does it?' I asked anxiously, and Sarah a.s.sured me that it didn't.

*That gown is only two seasons old,' the old woman went on. *The countess brings all her clothes for me to sell.'

*What else of hers do you have, then?' I asked.

The woman hesitated, then from an old trunk behind the stall she brought out a clover-pink velvet cloak with black silk lining and matching velvet hat with pink curled feathers.

*Oh!' I gasped, and I put out my hand to stroke the velvet. *It is most beautiful. May I have this as well, Sarah?'

*Of course not!' my sister said. *It's much too grand for the likes of us. And, anyway, it's far too warm at the moment for such a covering.'

*I could keep it until I needed it,' I said longingly, for it seemed to me that the pink velvet cloak was the finest and most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.

Sarah frowned. *You wouldn't get the wear out of something like that. Besides, pink with your hair-' She shook her head at me and said no more.

I wondered afterwards whether she'd spoken about the colour of my hair just to put me off the cloak, but anyway, I settled on the green taffeta and was mighty pleased with it.

As we left the market a street-seller called to us, bidding us to buy her fresh gooseberry syllabub, and we did so, sharing a dish between us and finding it most refres.h.i.+ng, for it was again very hot. On the way home we also bought some gay coloured-paper parasols against the sun, and some new pattens to wear over our shoes. They made us seem very tall, but Sarah said they needed to, for when it rained the waste would wash along the street outside the shop to a depth of several inches. In view of their height, though, we decided to practise walking in them at home before we went out in them.

Throughout the trip to Houndsditch we had not seen nor heard one mention of the plague, apart from a poster on the door of the Green Dragon Tavern which read: A most efficacious cordial against the plague may be obtained at the Green Dragon. The only true guard against infection at six pence a pint'.

Because we were in a happy mood, talking of home and our brothers and sisters, Sarah and I both affected not to see this notice.

Back in our room, I tried on the green dress, patted my curls down as much as possible and tied them back with a green ribbon. I then put a few drops of orange water behind my ears and, feeling very fine, my skirts rustling about me, I walked up and down outside the shop to take the air, hoping that someone might come along and see me. I suppose the *someone' I was thinking about was Tom, but my friend Abby would have done nearly as well.

However, the only persons around whom I knew were young Jacob and d.i.c.kon, who engaged me in a game of gleek. This was easier played sitting on the ground, but as I was not willing to kneel on the dirt in my finery, I let d.i.c.kon play my turn for me. Pretty soon, a minister of the church came by and chastised us for playing a gambling game on a Sunday, and though the boys protested that we were not playing for tokens or money, he bade us put away the counters and act in a way which was more suited to the Lord's Day.

I went indoors a little later, musing on the fact that I had not been to a church service at all since coming to London. This was not because of a sudden turning away from the teachings, but because (and I must confess I was not displeased at this) there always seemed something else to do: cooking or cleaning, was.h.i.+ng or repairing our clothes. And with the shop open all the other days of the week, there was only Sunday to do these things. Sarah told me it wasn't just us who did not keep the Lord's Day, for since King Charles had been restored to the throne in 1660, far fewer people went to church on a regular basis. The ministers blamed the king himself for this, for they said that he and his court were a byword for gaiety and freedom and did not set an example to the people by leading pious and G.o.dly lives as the n.o.bility were supposed to do.

Indoors, I found Sarah was starting to make marchpane fruits. It was for this sweetmeat that we'd prepared all the almonds a day or so before and, as I was anxious to learn all the secrets of our trade, I changed out of my new gown and hung it in our room with a sheet over it against the dust.

The marchpane mixture was made by blending the ground almonds with sugar and rose water and dividing it into several portions. Each portion was then coloured by Sarah with either red, green, pink, or orange tinctures, and a little extra was made brown with cinnamon. Once divided, we took a portion each and stirred and pounded until it came together in a stiff dough.

The miniature fruits were to be strawberries, oranges, apples and plums, and Sarah took the utmost trouble with these, using a paring knife and other small instruments a which she said grand ladies used on their nails a to carve their shape. The strawberries were especially pleasing, being the rightful size and plump triangular shape with tiny indentations, as the fruit truly has, and a green leaf and stalk atop of them. I was allowed to make the apples on my own, and I did them green, with a dimple on top from which protruded a cinnamon-brown stalk. When the little fruits were completed Sarah instructed me to take a fine paint brush and give each apple a blush of pink on its side, then roll it in ground sugar.

To make the fairy fruits took us several hours altogether, but it was a most enjoyable task and, once finished, they looked pretty and delicate enough to tempt any pa.s.sing elfin. We placed them on white paper and gave them another frosting of sugar before putting them in trays to harden slightly overnight and be ready for sale the following day.

The next morning I woke early to the usual cry of a milkmaid calling, *Fresh milk! Fresh new milk!' and Sarah bade me take the jug to the door and buy some. After we'd drunk well of the foaming liquid a and Mew had her portion, too, with some bread in it left from the day before a we washed and dressed and tidied the shop ready for that day's trade.

At seven-thirty, as I opened up the shop, a town crier announced that certain Orders had been issued on behalf of the Lord Mayor and were being posted at every main water conduit and well. Every citizen was asked to take note of these and do as they commanded.

Sarah, who was arranging our marchpane fruits under muslin cloths to keep off the flies, looked at me in concern. *That's sure to be news about the plague,' she said. *Run and get some water and find out what it's about.'

I was pleased to do this, for I was wearing my new blue cambric dress and was mighty keen to give it an outing. Going to Bell Court I found Abby just about to leave there with a full pail and an enamel jug of water. She looked pleased to see me and put her containers down to give me a hearty kiss on the cheek.

*I've come up to read the Orders,' I said. *What do they say?'

*Oh, 'tis just about the plague,' she said. *Beggars must stay within their parish, and everyone is to water, sweep and cleanse the street in front of their door every morning and dispose of any slops in a clean manner . . . 'tis not very interesting and just means more work for us maids.'

*But how is your mistress?' I asked.

*Middling well,' Abby said. Her face brightened. *But she has bid me go to the Exchange tomorrow morning on an errand. Why don't you ask your sister if you can have leave to go, and we can meet up.'

*Where's that?' I asked, puzzled.

*You goose!' she said. *Have you not heard of the Royal Exchange? 'Tis the most fas.h.i.+onable meeting place in the city! At least, it is apart from the coffee houses a and no decent girl would be seen in one of those without a gentleman.'

I tried to cover my ignorance by a.s.suring her that I had heard of the Royal Exchange, but wanted to know exactly where it was.

*'Tis at Cornhill. But I'll meet you here about midday.'

I said I would do my best to be there, and went to read the Orders, which were just a list of rules and instructions for the prevention of further contagion. They included directions for medicines to be prescribed against the sickness a different ones according to whether you were rich or poor a the banning of all needless gatherings of people and a ruling that beggars must not be allowed to go about from parish to parish in case this spread the disease.