his daughter had been recently subjected was brought forward. Mr.
Bloundel could not reprobate the earl's conduct more strongly than his
guest did; and he assailed himself with such virulence that, in spite of
her uneasiness, Amabel could not repress a smile. In short, he so
accommodated himself to the grocer's opinion, and so won upon his
regard, that the latter offered him an asylum in his house during the
continuance of the pestilence. This was eagerly accepted, and the earl,
hazarding a look at Amabel at the moment, perceived her change colour
and become greatly agitated. Mrs. Bloundel also noticed her confusion,
but attributing it to any other than the right cause, begged her, in a
low tone, to control herself.
At length, the opportunity for which the earl had been secretly sighing
occurred. Mr. Bloundel called his wife out of the room for a moment, and
as their eldest son, Stephen, was in the shop, and the two other
children upstairs, Amabel was left alone with her lover. The door was no
sooner closed than he sprang towards her and threw himself at her feet.
"Shall I avail myself of your father's offer, sweetheart?" he cried.
"Shall I remain here with you--the happiest of prisoners--or will you
once more accompany me? This time, our marriage shall not be
interrupted."
"Perhaps not, my lord," she replied, gravely; "but it will be a mock
ceremonial, like the last. Do not attempt to deceive me. I am fully
aware of your intentions, and after the awful fate of the wretched
instrument of your purposed criminality, you will not readily get
another person to tempt in like manner the vengeance of Heaven. I have
had a severe struggle with myself. But at length I have triumphed over
my irresolution. I will not disguise from you that I love you
still,--and must ever, I fear, continue to love you. But I will not be
yours on the terms you propose. Neither will I leave this house with
you, nor suffer you to remain in it, in any other than your proper
character. On my father's return I will disclose all to him. If your
designs are honourable, I am sure he will no longer oppose my union with
you. If not, we part for ever."
"Be prudent, sweet girl, I entreat of you," cried the earl imploringly.
"Your indiscretion will ruin all. There are a thousand reasons why your
father should not be consulted on the matter."
"There are none that weigh with me," she interrupted, decidedly. "I have
been bewildered--beside myself,--but, thank Heaven, I have recovered
before it is too late."
"You are beside yourself at this moment," cried Rochester, unable to
control his anger and mortification, "and will bitterly repent your
folly. Neither your supplications nor my rank will have any weight with
your father, prejudiced as he is against me. Fly with me, and I swear to
make you mine, without a moment's loss of time. Will not my plighted
word content you?"
"No, my lord, you have broken it already," returned Amabel. "My father
shall know the truth."
A dark shade passed over Rochester's countenance, and a singular and
most forbidding expression, which Amabel had once before noticed, took
possession of it. His love for her seemed changed to hate, and she
tremblingly averted her gaze. At this juncture, the door opened, and the
grocer and his wife entered the room. The former started, on seeing
Amabel and the supposed preacher in such close propinquity, and a
painful suspicion of the truth crossed his mind. He was not, however,
kept long in suspense. Throwing off his wig, and letting his own fair
ringlets fall over his shoulders, the earl tore open his cassock, and
disclosed his ordinary rich attire. At the same time, his face underwent
an equally striking change,--each feature resuming its original
expression; and the grocer, though he witnessed the whole
transformation, could scarcely believe that the same individual he had
recently beheld stood before him.
"You now know who I am, Mr. Bloundel, and what brought me hither," said
Rochester, with a haughty salutation.
"I do, my lord," replied the grocer, "and I give you full credit for
your daring and ingenuity. After the manner in which I have been imposed
upon myself, I can make allowance for others." He then turned to Amabel,
and said, in a severe tone, "You are no longer my daughter."
"Father!" she cried, rushing towards him and throwing herself at his
feet, "do not cast me off for ever. I am not now to blame. It is owing
to my determination to disclose all to you that the earl has thus
revealed himself. I might have deceived you further--might have fled
with him."
"Forgive her! oh, forgive her!" cried Mrs. Bloundel--"or, if any ill
happens to her, you will be answerable for it."
"Is this the truth, my lord?" asked the grocer.
Rochester bowed stiffly in acquiescence.
"Then you are again my child," said Bloundel, raising her, and pressing
her to his bosom. "What are your intentions towards her?" he continued,
addressing the earl.
"They may be readily surmised," replied Rochester, with a scornful
laugh.
"Will you wed her, if I agree to the union," asked Bloundel, trembling
with concentrated rage.
Amabel looked at her lover as if her life hung on his answer.
Rochester affected not to hear the question, but, as it was repeated
still more peremptorily, he repeated carelessly,--"I will consider of
it."
"Deceived! deceived!" cried Amabel, falling on her mother's neck, and
bursting into tears.
"This outrage shall not pass unpunished," cried Bloundel. And before the
earl could draw his sword or offer any resistance, he threw himself upon
him, and hurling him to the ground, set his foot upon his bosom.
"Do not kill him," shrieked Amabel, terrified by the stern expression of
her father's countenance.
"What are you about to do?" gasped Rochester, struggling ineffectually
to get free.
"Bid Stephen bring a cord," cried the grocer.
"You are not going to hang him?" inquired Mrs. Bloundel.
"Do as I bid you," rejoined her husband, "and lose no time."
As she was about to leave the room, the door opened, and Doctor Hodges
entered, followed by Leonard and Stephen.
"Mercy on us! what's the matter?" cried the former, in astonishment.
"You are just arrived in time to prevent mischief," replied Mrs.
Bloundel. "Pray interfere between them. My husband will attend to you."
"Arise, my lord," said Mr. Bloundel, removing his foot from the
prostrate nobleman; "you are sufficiently punished by being found in
this disgraceful condition. Remember that your life has been at my
disposal."
Thus liberated, Rochester sprang to his feet, and regarding the group
with a menacing and disdainful look, walked up to Amabel, and saying to
her, "You shall yet be mine," strode out of the room. He then marched
along the passage, and called to Pillichody, who instantly answered the
summons. Accompanied by Hodges, the grocer followed them to the shop,
where the bully not departing so quickly as he desired, and refusing to
be more expeditious, he kicked him into the street. This done, and the
door fastened, he tarried only till he had received all needful
explanations from the friendly physician, and then returning to the
inner room, warmly greeted Leonard, and congratulated him on his
extraordinary recovery from the plague.
Happiness was thus once more restored to every member of the grocer's
family, except Amabel, who still continued downcast and dejected, and
entreated permission to retire to her own room. A cheerful evening was
then passed by the others, and the doctor did not offer to take his
departure till the clock struck eleven.
"It is the last night I shall spend here for some months," he said;
"perhaps the last I shall ever spend here, and I have stayed longer than
I intended, but I did not like to abridge my enjoyment." After shaking
hands cordially with the whole party, he added in an under tone, as he
took leave of Leonard, "Do not forget Nizza Macascree."
On the following day the grocer nailed up the shutters, and locked and
barred the doors of his house.
BOOK THE THIRD.
JUNE, 1665.
I. THE IMPRISONED FAMILY.
The first few days of their confinement were passed by the grocer's
family in a very uncomfortable manner. No one, except Mr. Bloundel,
appeared reconciled to the plan, and even he found it more difficult of
accomplishment that he had anticipated. The darkness of the rooms, and
the want of ventilation caused by the closed windows and barred doors,
gave the house the air of a prison, and occasioned a sense of oppression
almost intolerable. Blaize declared it was "worse than being in Newgate,
and that he must take an additional rufus to set right his digestion;"
while Patience affirmed "that it was like being buried alive, and that
she would not stand it." Mr. Bloundel paid no attention to their
complaints, but addressed himself seriously to the remedy. Insisting
upon the utmost attention being paid to cleanliness, he had an abundant
supply of water drawn, with which the floors of every room and passage
were washed down daily. By such means the house was kept cool and
wholesome; and its inmates, becoming habituated to the gloom, in a great
degree recovered their cheerfulness.
The daily routine of the establishment was as follows. The grocer arose
at dawn, and proceeded to call up the whole of his family. They then
assembled in a large room on the second story, where he offered up
thanks that they had been spared during the night, and prayed for their
preservation during the day. He next assigned a task to each, and took
care to see it afterwards duly fulfilled; well knowing that constant
employment was the best way to check repining and promote contentment.
Heretofore the servants had always taken their meals in the kitchen, but
now they always sat down to table with him. "I will make no distinction
at this season," he said; "all shall fare as I fare, and enjoy the same
comforts as myself. And I trust that my dwelling may be as sure a refuge
amid this pestilential storm as the ark of the patriarch proved when
Heaven's vengeance was called forth in the mighty flood."
Their devotions ended, the whole party repaired to one of the lower
rooms, where a plentiful breakfast was provided, and of which they all
partook. The business of the day then began, and, as has just been
observed, no one was suffered to remain idle. The younger children were
allowed to play and exercise themselves as much as they chose in the
garret, and Blaize and Patience were occasionally invited to join them.
A certain portion of the evening was also devoted to harmless recreation
and amusements. The result may be anticipated. No one suffered in
health, while all improved in spirits. Prayers, as usual, concluded the
day, and the family retired to rest at an early hour.
This system of things may appear sufficiently monotonous, but it was
precisely adapted to the exigencies of the case, and produced a most
salutary effect. Regular duties and regular employments being imposed
upon each, and their constant recurrence, so far from being irksome,
soon became agreeable. After a while the whole family seemed to grow
indifferent to the external world--to live only for each other, and to
think only of each other--and to Leonard Holt, indeed, that house was
all the world. Those walls contained everything dear to him, and he
would have been quite content never to leave them if Amabel had been
always near. He made no attempt to renew his suit--seldom or never
exchanging a word with her, and might have been supposed to have become
wholly indifferent to her. But it was not so. His heart was consumed by
the same flame as before. No longer, however, a prey to jealousy--no
longer apprehensive of the earl--he felt so happy, in comparison with
what he had been, that he almost prayed that the term of their
imprisonment might be prolonged. Sometimes the image of Nizza Macascree
would intrude upon him, and he thought, with a feeling akin to remorse,
of what she might suffer--for he was too well acquainted with the pangs
of unrequited love not to sympathise deeply with her. As to Amabel, she
addressed herself assiduously to the tasks enjoined by her father, and
allowed her mind to dwell as little as possible on the past, but
employed all her spare time in devotional exercises.
It will be remembered that the grocer had reserved a communication with
the street, by means of a shutter opening from a small room in the upper
story. Hither he would now frequently repair, and though he did not as
yet think it necessary to have recourse to all the precautionary
measures he intended eventually to adopt--such as flashing a pistol when
he looked forth--yet he never opened the shutter without holding a phial
of vinegar, or a handkerchief wetted with the same liquid, to his face.
Before closing his house he had hired a porter, who occupied the hutch
at his door, and held himself in readiness to execute any commission, or
perform any service that might be required. Fresh vegetables, poultry,
eggs, butter, and milk, were brought by a higgler from the country, and
raised by means of a basket or a can attached to the pulley. Butcher's
meat was fetched him from Newgate-market by the porter. This man, whose
name was Ralph Dallison, had been formerly in the employ of the grocer,
who, knowing his character, could place entire reliance on him. Dallison
reported the progress of the pestilence daily, and acquainted him with
the increasing amount of the bills of mortality. Several houses, he
said, were infected in Cheapside, and two in Wood-street, one of which
was but a short distance from the grocer's habitation. A watchman was
stationed at the door, and the red cross marked upon it, and on the
following night the grocer heard the sound of the doleful bell
announcing the approach of the pest-cart.
The weather still continued as serene and beautiful as ever, but no
refreshing showers fell--no soft and healthful breezes blew--and it was
now found to be true, what had been prognosticated--viz, that with the
heats of summer the plague would fearfully increase. The grocer was not
incommoded in the same degree as his neighbours. By excluding the light
he excluded the heat, and the care which he took to have his house
washed down kept it cool. The middle of June had arrived, and such
dismal accounts were now brought him of the havoc occasioned by the
scourge, that he would no longer take in fresh provisions, but began to
open his stores. Dallison told him that the alarm was worse than
ever--that vast numbers were endeavouring to leave the city, but no one
could now do so without a certificate, which was never granted if the
slightest suspicion was attached to the party.
"If things go on in this way," said the porter, "London will soon be
deserted. No business is conducted, as it used to be, and everybody is
viewed with distrust. The preachers, who ought to be the last to quit,
have left their churches, and the Lord's day is no longer observed. Many
medical men even have departed, declaring their services are no longer
of any avail. All public amusements are suspended, and the taverns are
only open to the profane and dissolute, who deride God's judgments, and
declare they have no fear. Robberies, murders, and other crimes, have
greatly increased, and the most dreadful deeds are now committed with
impunity. You have done wisely, sir, in protecting yourself against
them."
"I have reason to be thankful that I have done so," replied Bloundel.
And he closed his shutter to meditate on what he had just heard.
And there was abundant food for reflection. Around him lay a great and
populous city, hemmed in, as by a fire, by an exterminating plague, that
spared neither age, condition, nor sex. No man could tell what the end
of all this would be--neither at what point the wrath of the offended
Deity would stop--nor whether He would relent, till He had utterly
destroyed a people who so contemned his word. Scarcely daring to hope
for leniency, and filled with a dreadful foreboding of what would ensue,
the grocer addressed a long and fervent supplication to Heaven,
imploring a mitigation of its wrath.
On joining his family, his grave manner and silence showed how
powerfully he had been affected. No one questioned him as to what had
occurred, but all understood he had received some distressing
intelligence.
Amid his anxiety one circumstance gave him unalloyed satisfaction. This
was the change wrought in Amabel's character. It has been stated that
she had become extremely devout, and passed the whole of the time not
appointed for other occupations, in the study of the Scriptures, or in
prayer. Her manner was extremely sedate, and her conversation assumed a
tone that gave her parents, and especially her father, inexpressible
pleasure. Mrs. Bloundel would have been equally delighted with the
change, if it had tended to forward her own favourite scheme of a union
with Leonard; but as this was not the case, though she rejoiced in the
improvement, she still was not entirely satisfied. She could not help
noting also, that her daughter had become pale and thin, and though she
uttered no complaint, Mrs. Bloundel began to fear her health was
declining. Leonard Holt looked on in wonder and admiration, and if
possible his love increased, though his hopes diminished; for though
Amabel was kinder to him than before, her kindness seemed the result
rather of a sense of duty than regard.
Upon one occasion they were left alone together, and instead of quitting
the room, as she had been accustomed, Amabel called to Leonard, who was
about to depart, and requested him to stay. The apprentice instantly
obeyed; the colour forsook his cheek, and his heart beat violently.
"You desire to speak with me, Amabel," he said:--"Ha! you have
relented?--Is there any hope for me?"
"Alas! no," she replied; "and it is on that very point I have now
detained you. You will, I am sure, rejoice to learn that I have at
length fully regained my peace of mind, and have become sensible of the
weakness of which I have been guilty--of the folly, worse than folly, I
have committed. My feelings are now under proper restraint, and viewing
myself with other eyes, I see how culpable I have been. Oh! Leonard, if
you knew the effort it has been to conquer the fatal passion that
consumed me, if I were to tell you of the pangs it has cost me, of the
tears I have shed, of the heart-quakes endured, you would pity me."
"I do, indeed, pity you," replied Leonard, "for my own sufferings have
been equally severe. But I have not been as successful as you in
subduing them."
"Because you have not pursued the right means, Leonard," she rejoined.
"Fix your thoughts on high; build your hopes of happiness on Heaven;
strengthen your faith; and you will soon find the victory easy. A short
time ago I thought only of worldly pleasures, and was ensnared by vanity
and admiration, enchained to one whom I knew to be worthless, and who
pursued me only to destroy me. Religion has preserved me from the snare,
and religion will restore you to happiness. But you must devote yourself
to Heaven, not lightly, but with your whole soul. You must forget
me--forget yourself--forget all but the grand object. And this is a
season of all others, when it is most needful to lead a life of piety,
to look upon yourself as dead to this world, and to be ever prepared for
that to come. I shudder to think what might have been my portion had I
perished in my sin."
"Yours is a most happy frame of mind," returned Leonard, "and I would I
had a chance of attaining the same tranquillity. But if you have
conquered your love for the earl,--if your heart is disengaged, why deny
me a hope?"
"My heart is _not_ disengaged, Leonard," she replied; "it is engrossed
by Heaven. While the plague is raging around us thus--while thousands
are daily carried off by that devouring scourge--and while every hour,
every moment, may be our last, our thoughts ought always to be fixed
above. I have ceased to love the earl, but I can never love another, and
therefore it would be unjust to you, to whom I owe so much, to hold out
hopes that never can be realized."
"Alas! alas!" cried Leonard, unable to control his emotion.
"Compose yourself, dear Leonard," she cried, greatly moved. "I would I
could comply with your wishes. But, alas! I cannot. I could only give
you," she added, in a tone so thrilling, that it froze the blood in his
veins--"a breaking, perhaps a broken heart!"
"Gracious heaven!" exclaimed Leonard, becoming as pale as death; "is it
come to this?"
"Again, I beg you to compose yourself," she rejoined, calmly--"and I
entreat you not to let what I have told you pass your lips. I would not
alarm my father, or my dear and anxious mother, on my account. And there
may be no reason for alarm. Promise me, therefore, you will be silent."
Leonard reluctantly gave the required pledge.
"I have unwittingly been the cause of much affliction to you," pursued
Amabel--"and would gladly see you happy, and there is one person, I
think, who would make you so--I mean Nizza Macascree. From what she said
to me when we were alone together in the vaults of Saint Faith's, I am
sure she is sincerely attached to you. Could you not requite her love?"
"No," replied Leonard. "There is no change in affection like mine."
"Pursue the course I have advised," replied Amabel, "and you will find
all your troubles vanish. Farewell! I depend upon your silence!"
And she quitted the room, leaving Leonard in a state of indescribable
anxiety.
Faithful, however, to his promise, he made no mention of his uneasiness
to the grocer or his wife, but indulged his grief in secret. Ignorant of
what was passing, Mr. Bloundel, who was still not without apprehension
of some further attempt on the part of the earl, sent Dallison to make
inquiries after him, and learnt that he was at Whitehall, but that the
court had fixed to remove to Hampton Court at the end of June. The
porter also informed him that the city was emptying fast--that the Lord
Mayor's residence was literally besieged with applications for bills of
health--that officers were stationed at the gates--and that, besides
these, barriers and turnpikes were erected on all the main roads, at
which the certificates were required to be exhibited--and that such
persons as escaped without them were driven back by the inhabitants of
the neighbouring villages, who refused to supply them with necessaries;
and as they could not return home, many had perished of want, or perhaps
of the pestilence, in the open fields. Horses and coaches, he added,
were not to be procured, except at exorbitant prices; and thousands had
departed on foot, locking up their houses, and leaving their effects
behind them.
"In consequence of this," added Dallison, "several houses have been
broken open; and though the watch had been trebled, still they cannot be
in all places at once; and strong as the force is, it is not adequate to
the present emergency. Bands of robbers stalk the streets at night,
taking vehicles with them, built to resemble pest-carts, and beating off
the watch, they break open the houses, and carry off any goods they
please."