A Plague of Sinners (20 page)

‘What then?’

‘What then – nothing!’ he cried, leaning forwards. ‘Since then I have not seen my son.’

He sat tight a few moments longer, staring at me like
I
killed his son, afore slumping back. He closed his eyes and waved a bony hand. ‘I have told you all I know. If you would know more, go back and talk to William Perkins, since he has knowledge of others.’

‘Thank you,’ I mumbled, standing.

I looked upon the mirror one more time, wondering of its history, wondering where Cline’s wife was these days, if she remained alive. But that was all none of my business.

I had to see Jane.

Arms folded, Hearsey leant against the wall of my house like he owned it. A small knot of hatred pulled tight in my gut.

‘Forgive men their trespasses, and your heavenly Father will also forgive you,’ Dowling warned. ‘He will tell you nothing if you threaten him.’

Which advice was unnecessary, for I had plans for Hearsey I would discharge another day. He pushed himself off the wall when he saw us coming and squared his shoulders, unnerved by Dowling’s imposing bulk.

‘Has the medic been?’ I demanded.

‘The other medic, you mean?’ Hearsey leered. ‘Aye, so he has.’ He folded his arms again, shrugged and pursed his lips. ‘The old woman will likely die. Your maidservant is sick, but
he said he lanced her buboes. The nurse may also be sick, for she has a fever.’

‘Will they send another nurse?’ I asked, fearful.

‘The medic said he would come again tomorrow.’ Hearsey spoke clear beneath Dowling’s imposing stare. ‘I think he would wait and see how she fares.’

‘You are providing them with food and water?’

‘So I am,’ he pouted. ‘And wood besides, and whatever provisions they request.’

I sighed and peered through my front window. Would that I could enter mine own house again.

Hearsey smirked. ‘I have one key, Alderman Fuller has the other, so don’t you be thinking about trying to enter. If it were me then you’d be locked up in there now.’

‘And if it were me,’ I replied, jabbing a finger at his chest, ‘I would wait for you to fall asleep and lower a rope about your neck.’ Which is what happened to several watchers already, so they said.

Hearsey’s ugly grin disappeared. I contemplated breathing hard in his face in case I did have plague, but felt guilty straightaways, then depressed.

‘I must visit Alderman Fuller a minute, Davy,’ I muttered. ‘Wait here and I’ll return soon.’

Dowling retired to his wagon while I walked the short journey to Bow Lane. Fuller’s house was not so busy as it had been the last times I visited. The alderman himself sat scratching at the same vast ledger while another man counted coins. Upon the wall hung a panel of wood with hooks. Upon each hook was a key.

Fuller looked up, eyes curious. ‘Harry.’ The man counting coins looked up.

‘I wish to lodge a complaint.’ I clenched my jaw. ‘About
that man Hearsey.’ I pointed to his ledger. ‘Write it down.’

Fuller leant back in his chair and rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘What is this complaint?’

‘Yesterday, when he brought me here, he struck me forcibly and kicked my legs as I tried to walk, he and his friend.’ I leant down and tapped my finger upon his desk. ‘Also I heard he was a watcher before in Bishopsgate-Without. I heard he entered houses during the night and stole things.’

Fuller sighed. ‘Who told you that?’

I moved to lean against the wall, key hooks to my right. ‘Write it down and I will tell you.’ I met the eye of the curious man who placed coins into piles and stared with withering ferocity until he looked away.

Fuller fetched in his drawer for a smaller journal, opened it to the first page and dipped his quill in the inkpot.

‘The fellow’s name is John James Meredith,’ I recited slowly. Fuller scratched out the name with due diligence, squinting with old eyes at his own writing.

‘Hounsditch,’ I continued, watching his slow scratching. ‘At Bishopsgate-Without.’

It took him a minute or more to write the address. He raised his brows. ‘What would you have me do now?’

‘Investigate it.’ I marched towards the door and returned to Bread Street with mine own key tucked safely in my pocket.

Dowling sat already in the cart. ‘Are you ready?’ he called, impatient.

‘Aye.’ I hopped up beside him. ‘Why the hurry?’

‘That great oaf tells me there is plague at Ludgate.’ Dowling tossed his head in the direction of Hearsey. ‘If we would save Henry Burke we must get there before they close it up.’

Two wooden boxes lay outside Ludgate Gaol, each the size of a man’s body, one stacked untidily atop the other. A rank odour lurched sluggishly upon a slight breeze from the direction of the bars above, a stench of necrosis and contagion.

I jumped down onto the cobbles just as the jail door burst open. A man strode out, a tall, strong fellow wearing the clothes of a workman. He carried his hat in his hand and marched up the hill towards St Paul’s, head down. I called after him, but he took no notice, so I hurried after, urging him to wait. He was reluctant to stop, reluctant to slow even.

‘Wait now.’ I struggled to breathe. His legs stretched longer than mine. ‘I am a King’s agent and I demand you stop a brief moment.’

At that he stayed. His long face was drawn and dried hard, like it might never smile again. ‘King’s agent?’

‘Aye,’ I panted. ‘What business do you have in Ludgate?’

‘They imprisoned my father, accused him of not paying a debt.’ The acid in his voice spoke of grave injustice, real or imagined.

‘He is no longer imprisoned?’

‘He is dead!’ the man snapped, cheeks flushed.

As I feared.

‘What’s it like in there now?’ I asked.

‘Go in and see for yourself.’

Which was my plan. ‘The smell of the pest is strong.’

He nodded. ‘And many times stronger inside. If you would truly know, then go inside yourself. It is difficult to describe Hell.’

‘I am sorry,’ I said inadequately. He turned away and strode off.

It would be sensible to follow him up the hill, away from
the prison, I reflected. Instead I returned to where Dowling waited.

I poked my head inside the door to the tower and listened to the shouting, loud and frantic, coming from the top of the stairs.

I returned to the cart. ‘I will go in by myself.’ I grabbed the hated cloak and mask. ‘Then I will be able to go as I please, find Burke and perhaps bring him out.’

Dowling stood awkward, grunting to himself as though he would object. Yet the medic’s clothes were too small for him, and if he were to accompany me then the Assistant would realise who I was.

I marched towards the open door and climbed the stairs, wondering what lunacy awaited. As I emerged into the quadrant I found all the prisoners sat huddled together against one wall, while three guards, the Assistant and Master-of-the-Box besides, staggered about the room shouting slurred protests at each other.

‘What is happening?’ I shouted at the Assistant, his long body waving like a sapling in the wind as he lurched from foot to foot.

He waved a hand at my beak as though he thought to catch it. ‘The plague is happening.’ He staggered. ‘Have ye been asleep this month?’

‘How many dead?’

‘Five so far,’ he slurred, before tripping over his feet and cracking his head against the stone floor.

Against the wall to my right slumped a man by himself, avoided by all others, grey-faced and foggy-eyed. His legs lay straight afore him, his arms limp in his lap. He didn’t blink.

The Assistant climbed to his feet and rubbed a finger
gingerly against his forehead. ‘We have them locked in the cells upstairs.’ He pointed to the corpse. ‘That one is dead, so we fetched him down.’

‘You touched the body?’

‘Ha!’ he spluttered. ‘You cannot leave dead men with living men, and you cannot leave plague in the middle of a prison, else men will break out of their cells with their heads. We have a box downstairs and will move him soon.’

‘Are you not afraid of contracting the sickness yourself?’

He shook his head, pulled a bottle from the pocket of his coat and offered it to me. ‘I have had the pox already and we drink sack to kill any poison that would try to infect us.’

‘You know the door stands open downstairs?’

‘Aye, as I said.’ He pointed again at the dead man. ‘We must take him out.’

‘I will help you then.’ I walked towards the corpse and knelt, probing with my fingers to check he was truly dead.

The Assistant drew close and I bid him take the feet while I took the shoulders. I looked into his face and saw James, smiling and excited. ‘Lift!’ I cried, and we carried the corpse easily, for it was light.

I walked backwards down the stairs, afraid the Assistant would fall over. As it was he tripped over his feet twice and almost stumbled.

Out on the street Dowling’s cart was gone.

I laid the body on the ground and scanned both directions while the Assistant removed the lid from a box. I thought to ask the guards where Dowling went, but then I saw Withypoll stood with Forman up in the shadow of the cathedral. Dowling must have ridden away when he saw them.

‘Hurry,’ I urged the Assistant. ‘I have others to visit as well.’

We placed the dead man inside the coffin and replaced the lid. Then I climbed the stairs two at a time, praying Forman and Withypoll didn’t know I had the medic’s uniform. I wondered if there was another door out. There must be.

The Master-of-the-Box stood with eyes closed in the middle of the room. I grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and shook. ‘How long has the pest been here?’

‘It came sudden.’ He gazed upon my chest. ‘Six men were brought here late yesterday and taken to the cells. By this morning five were dead. Now more are infected.’ He puffed out his cheeks and took a swig at his bottle. ‘I can’t remember how many.’

‘Who brought them in?’

‘Floor-man and Lily-pole,’ he stuttered. ‘King’s men, so they say. Insisted.’ He shrugged. ‘I told ’em they was sick. Told ’em, I did.’

‘One wore a beaver hat, the other a fine suit?’

He rocked back on his heels. ‘That’s them. Knew they were sick, I reckon. Wouldn’t touch ’em.’ He sunk to the floor where he squatted, looking as though he would vomit. ‘Just poked them with a stick.’ He put a finger in his ear and spoke louder. ‘That stick.’ He pointed at a long rod about the height of a man, leaning against the wall.

‘Am I the first medic to visit?’

‘No.’ His eyes wandered. ‘Other fellow told us to put the infected all together in the same cell. Keep them away from the rest.’ He pursed his lips. ‘King’s men said they were debtors, see. Told us we has to keep them here until they dead.’

‘So now they are isolated?’

‘Nope!’ He shook his head so hard his hair flew about. ‘King’s men came in after and told us we couldn’t put five men in one cell. Said it was inhospitable.’

‘I see.’ Which meant they might be back soon to check. ‘I will go and look upstairs.’

The Master-of-the-Box pulled his head back into his neck and stared at my costume. ‘Are you a medic too?’

‘Aye, a medic too.’ I put out my hand. ‘Give me the keys.’

He obliged, eventually, and I climbed the stairs. All was quiet. I approached the passageway leading to Burke’s cell and unlocked the door.

I walked straight into a wall of foul sickness, sweet and cloying, penetrating even the ball of herbs in my mask. Each small cell was full, three men in each. In the first cell to the left nothing moved. Two bodies lay prone on the floor and another sat with its back to the wall, all clothed, none moving. Flies scuttled unmolested over all three, wandering in all directions as though they searched for something, fat, blue flies scavenging off grey, dying skin. I assumed all three were dead until one moved. Another groaned.

In the second cell were three more men. One stood on a florin in one corner and two sat shivering on the floor. The one standing was Burke, eyes dull, face swollen, head pouring with sweat. He clutched himself about the chest, legs close together as if he stood on top of a tall building, terrified to move. The three men in the cell to the right lay motionless.

I tried talking to Burke, but he showed no signs of hearing. I lifted the hood high enough to speak. Another wave of fetid air engulfed my moist head. ‘What are you doing in there, Burke?’ I called.

He held his hands to his head and stared at the men afore him. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Yesterday you had a cell to yourself.’

‘I did, aye. Then they brought six men in here, all of them
diseased, and Forman and Withypoll ordered the Master-of-the-Box to lock them up with me.’ Burke clenched his fists and held them to his temples. ‘They wouldn’t let me out.’

So that was it. Dispose of Burke discreetly. Lock him up in a small prison with plague victims.

‘This is murder,’ I reflected. ‘Forman and Withypoll brought the plague here to kill you. Kill you so none might know you have been killed.’

‘In truth?’ he said, eyes filling with tears.

‘Aye.’ My own heart filled with misery. ‘No need for a trial, no need for a hanging.’

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

I tried unlocking his cell, but no key would fit.

‘Withypoll took the key from the Master-of-the-Box and kept it for himself,’ Burke sobbed. ‘I don’t feel well.’ He held a hand to his chest.

I pulled at the bars, but the door was locked. I watched him weep, saw the terror in his eyes, the trembling of his legs. ‘I don’t know how to help you, Burke.’

He watched one of the men dying at his feet, lain prone now, eyes closing. ‘I am already infected, I know it.’ I saw in his eyes the certainty of his own suffering, the death of all prospect and hope. Then the man dying on the floor let forth a weary sigh, followed by a great sneeze, and then was still.

Burke shook his head. ‘You should not be here, not without that hood upon your head.’

He spoke wise, I reflected. I had to be out of this place afore I got shivery myself.

‘Is there anything I might fetch you?’ I asked.

He didn’t reply, just raised his face, eyes so wet they might swim out of his head.

‘Tell me who Forman and Withypoll work for.’

He nodded, all hope of salvation extinguished. ‘Lord Chelwood,’ he said.

‘Say it again.’ I wanted to be sure I heard well.