At the Sign of the Sugared Plum (17 page)

The man gave a bitter laugh. ‘Oh, ’tis right, the plague is a great leveller. Even a great lady has to stoop to the washtub nowadays.’ He still did not move out of the roadway, but stood there looking at us through narrowed eyes. I felt a cold trickle of sweat begin its journey down my back and was mighty scared.

He brought his face to the carriage window. ‘Would you risk anything to get out of London?’ he asked.

‘I don’t . . . I don’t know what you mean,’ Sarah said.

‘What is it worth to you, lady?’

Sarah quivered. ‘How dare you!’ she said. ‘I should have you birched for such impudence.’

‘Call the other guard, then, if you’ve a mind to,’ the fellow said easily. ‘He’d be interested to see someone like you – someone who is only play-acting a fine lady. There are strict laws against what you’re doing.’

Sarah was transfixed and I could not contain a gasp of horror. Did he actually know something, or was he just trying his luck?

‘Although, if you were to grease my palm a little—’

‘Wh . . . what?’ Sarah faltered.

‘He wants money!’ Mr Carter barked from above. ‘Give him what you have and let’s be on our way.’

Sarah started, then rummaged in the canvas holdall for the little bag of gold coins we’d been given. Taking out three of these, she thrust them at the fellow.

He looked at the coins, then at us. He seemed astounded, but still he did not move. Panicking now, not really knowing whether what had been given was enough, I snatched the bag from Sarah and pushed another two gold angels into his palm.

‘Drive on!’ I called to Mr Carter, and as he whipped up the horses the fellow staggered back, staring at the coins he held as if they were stars fallen from the skies.

‘We gave him far too much!’ Sarah said as we galloped across London Bridge.

‘Never mind!’ I said. ‘We’re on our way.’

Leaning forward slightly, I pulled back the curtains a little so I could see out. We had crossed the bridge now – that same London Bridge I had approached with such anticipation and excitement only a few months before. The traitors’ heads were still there on their spikes over the gateway, but I also saw the desolate sight of a newly-hung corpse, a man who – no doubt having contracted the sickness and despairing – had made away with himself.

How green I’d been when I’d arrived. I knew now that it was not only cut-throats and villains that one
should be wary of in London, but something far more deadly, something unseen and altogether more terrible.

I looked down at the face of little Grace and breathed out a sigh. She must live on, for her survival was all I could do for Abby.

Abby. My friend. I would think about her later, and would earnestly try to think of the sunny, joyful girl who’d been my sweet companion, and not the pitiful wraith I’d last seen at the window.

I leaned against Sarah for comfort and her head inclined towards mine. We were well on the road now, and I felt we would reach Dorchester and survive, for we had not come this far to be overtaken by man or plague. London would survive, too, and I would return to it, and to Tom, and I knew I would not die unkissed.

Glossary

atonement
being in harmony with God, from the 16th-century phrase
at onement.

cabalistic sign
a sign used in a secret or occult doctrine or science.

cambric
a fine white linen or cotton fabric.

charnel
deathlike.

charnel house
a building or vault in which bones or corpses are kept.

cony
rabbit.

cutpurse
a thief or pickpocket who stole by cutting the drawstrings of money purses.

electuary
a purgative medicine mixed with honey or sugar syrup in some sweet confection.

fustian
a hard-wearing fabric with short velvety nap (pile); made of twilled cotton, or cotton mixed with linen or wool.

groundlings
those who stood on the ground, the cheapest part of a playhouse, to watch a theatrical performance.

haberdashery
small items for the dressmaker, such as ribbons, laces and silks, as well as hats and caps, and fabric articles for the household.

halberd
a weapon which combined a spear and battleaxe on a pole of up to about two metres in length.

marchpane
an archaic word for marzipan, the main ingredients of which are ground almonds and sugar.

meet
an archaic word meaning proper, fitting, or correct.

milch-ass
an ass, or donkey, whose milk was sold by its owner.

patch
Through the 17th and 18th centuries fashionable men and women wore patches, like beauty spots, on their face and/or visible parts of the upper body to make them look more attractive and often to cover blemishes.

patten
a wooden-soled over-shoe raised up on a circular metal frame and worn to keep one’s shoes and long skirts above the muck on the ground.

periwig
In the 1660s, a periwig of false hair hanging in curls from a central parting was an essential part of a fashionable man’s attire and often disguised a lack of his own hair.

pesthouse
a hospital that cared for people with an infectious disease.

poultice
a moist and often heated mixture of substances applied to sore or inflamed parts of the body to improve blood circulation and reduce inflammation.

Puritan
In the 16th and 17th centuries the more extreme English Protestants aimed to purify the Church of England of most of its ceremony and other aspects they deemed to be Catholic. Adhering to strict moral and religious principles, the Puritans were opposed to luxury and sensual enjoyment.

quarantine
enforced isolation, usually of people and animals who have an infectious disease or who may be carriers of it.

swaddle
In the 16th century it was thought beneficial to swaddle a new-born baby by wrapping it tightly in linen or other cloth.

worsted
a fabric with a hard, smooth, close-textured surface, made from a closely twisted woollen yarn.

Notes on London’s Plague, 1665

All the quotations at the chapter headings are from Pepys’s
Diary,
which I used for background information. I also used a book published in 1926 called
The Great Plague of London
by W. G. Bell, where I found most of the stories of ordinary people.
Restoration London
by Liza Picard was also invaluable. The idea for Sarah’s sweetmeat shop came to me when I read in seventeenth-century Court Records a young girl’s answer to the question of what she did for a living: ‘I make sweetmeats and chocolett cakes for persons of quality and gentlemen’s houses . . .’

During September, after Hannah and Sarah had left London, the numbers of people dying of plague continued to rise. Over 8,000 people died every week in September. Following this, as the weather became colder, the numbers on the Bills of Mortality slowly began to fall. The end of the Great Plague was at last in sight. By the following February, the city was deemed to be free enough of plague for the king and his court to return.

Although London was far and away the largest city in Britain, it was small compared to the size it is now. It is thought that about 300,000 people lived in it – and that one third of those (that is, more than 100,000) perished during the Great Plague. Most of these were the poor, who could not get away from the city.

Accounts have been found for the killing of as many
as 4,380 dogs in the city alone and probably three times as many cats. This was, of course, misguided, because the animals may have been controlling the very vermin that are thought to have spread the plague.

Nell Gwyn, the orange seller who rose to become a mistress to King Charles II, was fifteen in 1665. She is depicted in records as merry, witty and lovable as well as strikingly attractive. Pepys was an admirer, referring to her as ‘pretty, witty Nelly’.

The plague was a terrifying and mystifying disease and people were prepared to try anything to avoid catching it. Everyone was very superstitious – even Pepys carried a ‘lucky rabbit’s foot’ in his pocket. People saw what they thought were portents of death in the form the clouds took, or in natural but inexplicable phenomena like comets. They sometimes carried a piece of paper with the word ABRACADABRA written in a triangle, thus:

A
AB
ABR
ABRA
ABRAC
ABRACA
ABRACAD
ABRACADA
ABRACADAB
ABRACADABR
ABRACADABRA

They took all the conconctions mentioned in this book and many more. One of these recipes begins: ‘Take black snails and cut and gash them with your knife, then take the liquor which comes from them and add it to a goodly quantity of wine . . .’ It was also thought to be beneficial to drink your medicine from a hanged man’s skull.

It is now known that the plague was spread by rat fleas carrying the plague bacilli and jumping from their hosts, the rats, to humans. The bacilli attacked the body’s lymphatic system, causing inflamed and painful swellings in the lymph glands, called ‘buboes’. No one knows exactly why or how it died out, but bubonic plague never again hit this country quite as badly as it did in 1665. It was feared that it would return as the weather grew warmer in 1666, but it did not, and although the rest of the country was hit, London remained relatively free of the plague. On 2 September, 1666, however, another terrible disaster occurred: The Great Fire.

Note on the author

Mary Hooper has been writing books for young adults for over twenty years and has amassed a stunning collection of historical and contemporary novels to her name, each with unforgettable heroines and breathtaking plots. Mary lives in Henley-on-Thames.

Also by Mary Hooper

Historical fiction

Petals in the Ashes
The Fever and the Flame
(a special omnibus edition of the two books above)
The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose
At the House of the Magician
By Royal Command
The Betrayal
Fallen Grace

Contemporary fiction

Megan
Megan 2
Megan 3
Holly
Amy
Chelsea and Astra: Two Sides of the Story
Zara

Recipes from
the Seventeenth Century

Sugared plums

Sugared orange peel

Candied angelica

Marchpane fruits

Frosted rose petals

Sugared plums

Place about twelve firm, pitted plums in sufficient water to cover and cook gently until just tender. Strain the liquid, keep back about half a pint in a jug and add 6 oz sugar. Boil this up and pour over fruit.

Leave for two days, then drain off water into a saucepan and add another two ounces of sugar. Boil up and pour over fruit.

Repeat this process every day for eight to twelve days, until the liquid is as thick as honey. Leave the plums soaking in this for a further three to ten days, according to how sweet you want them to be.

Remove and place the plums in a very low oven or airing cupboard until thoroughly dry, then dip each fruit quickly into boiling water, drain off excess moisture and roll in caster sugar. Pack in greaseproof paper until needed.