tied the packet to it, it was instantly drawn up. Notwithstanding his
anxiety to ascertain the fate of Amabel, Mr. Bloundel would not touch
the packet until he had guarded against the possibility of being
infected by it. Seizing it with a pair of tongs, he plunged it into a
pan containing a strong solution of vinegar and sulphur, which he had
always in readiness in the chamber, and when thoroughly saturated, laid
it in the sun to dry. On first opening the shutter to answer Leonard's
summons, he had flashed off a pistol, and he now thought to expel the
external air by setting fire to a ball composed of quick brimstone,
saltpetre, and yellow amber, which being placed on an iron plate,
speedily filled the room with a thick vapour, and prevented the entrance
of any obnoxious particles. These precautions taken, he again addressed
himself, while the packet was drying, to Leonard, whom he found gazing
anxiously at the window, and informed him that all his family had
hitherto escaped contagion.
"A special providence must have watched over you, sir," replied the
apprentice, "and I believe yours is the only family in the whole city
that has been so spared. I have reason to be grateful for my own
extraordinary preservation, and yet I would rather it had pleased Heaven
to take me away than leave me to my present misery."
"You keep me in a frightful state of suspense, Leonard," rejoined the
grocer, regarding the packet wistfully, "for I dare not open your
letters till they are thoroughly fumigated. You assure me my child is
living. Has she been attacked by the plague?"
"Would she had!" groaned Leonard.
"Is she still at Ashdown?" pursued the grocer. "Ah! you shake your head.
I see!--I must be beside myself not to have thought of it before. She is
in the power of the Earl of Rochester."
"She is," cried Leonard, catching at the angle of the shed for support.
"And I am here!" exclaimed Mr. Bloundel, forgetting his caution, and
thrusting himself far out of the window, as if with the intention of
letting himself down by the rope--"I am here, when I ought to be near
her!"
"Calm yourself, I beseech you, sir," cried Leonard; "a moment's rashness
will undo all you have done."
"True!" replied the grocer, checking himself. "I must think of others as
well as of her. But where is she? Hide nothing from me."
"I have reason to believe she is in London," replied the apprentice. "I
traced her hither, and should not have desisted from my search if I had
not been checked by the plague, which attacked me on the night of my
arrival. I was taken to the pesthouse near Westbourne Green, where I
have been for the last three weeks."
"If she was brought to London, as you state," rejoined the grocer, "I
cannot doubt but she has fallen a victim to the scourge."
"It may be," replied Leonard, moodily, "and I would almost hope it is
so. When you peruse my letters, you will learn that she was carried off
by the earl from the residence of a lady at Kingston Lisle, whither she
had been removed for safety; and after being taken from place to place,
was at last conveyed to an old hall in the neighbourhood of Oxford,
where she was concealed for nearly a month."
"Answer me, Leonard," cried the grocer, "and do not attempt to deceive
me. Has she preserved her honour?"
"Up to the time of quitting Oxford she had preserved it," replied the
apprentice. "She herself assured me she had resisted all the earl's
importunities, and would die rather than yield to him. But I will tell
you how I obtained an interview with her. After a long search, I
discovered the place of her concealment, the old hall I have just
mentioned, and climbed in the night, and at the hazard of my life, to
the window of the chamber where she was confined. I saw and spoke with
her; and having arranged a plan by which I hoped to accomplish her
deliverance on the following night, descended. Whether our brief
conference was overheard, and communicated to the earl, I know not; but
it would seem so, for he secretly departed with her the next morning,
taking the road, as I subsequently learnt, to London. I instantly
started in pursuit, and had reached Paddington, when I fell ill, as I
have related."
"What you tell me in some measure eases my mind," replied Mr. Bloundel,
after a pause; "for I feel that my daughter, if alive, will be able to
resist her persecutor. What has become of your companions?"
"Nizza Macascree has met with the same fate as Amabel," replied Leonard.
"She was unfortunate enough to attract the king's attention, when he
visited Ashdown Lodge in company of the Earl of Rochester, and was
conveyed to Oxford, where the court is now held, and must speedily have
fallen a victim to her royal lover if she had not disappeared, having
been carried off, it was supposed, by Sir Paul Parravicin. But the
villain was frustrated in his infamous design. The king's suspicion
falling upon him, he was instantly arrested; and though he denied all
knowledge of Nizza's retreat, and was afterwards liberated, his
movements were so strictly watched, that he had no opportunity of
visiting her."
"You do not mention Blaize," said Mr. Bloundel. "No ill, I trust, has
befallen him?"
"I grieve to say he has been attacked by the distemper he so much
dreaded," replied Leonard. "He accompanied me to London, but quitted me
when I fell sick, and took refuge with a farmer named Wingfield,
residing near Kensal Green. I accidentally met Wingfield this morning,
and he informed me that Blaize was taken ill the day before yesterday,
and removed to the pest-house in Finsbury Fields. I will go thither
presently, and see what has become of him. Is Doctor Hodges still among
the living?"
"I trust so," replied Mr. Bloundel, "though I have not seen him for the
last ten days."
He then disappeared for a few minutes, and on his return lowered a small
basket containing a flask of canary, a loaf which he himself had baked,
and a piece of cold boiled beef. The apprentice thankfully received the
provisions, and retiring to the hutch, began to discuss them, fortifying
himself with a copious draught of canary. Having concluded his repast,
he issued forth, and acquainting Mr. Bloundel, who had at length
ventured to commence reading the contents of the packet by the aid of
powerful glasses, that he was about to proceed to Dr. Hodges's
residence, to inquire after him, set off in that direction.
Arrived in Great Knightrider-street, he was greatly shocked at finding
the door of the doctor's habitation fastened, nor could he make any one
hear, though he knocked loudly and repeatedly against it. The shutters
of the lower windows were closed, and the place looked completely
deserted. All the adjoining houses were shut up, and not a living being
could be discerned in the street from whom information could be obtained
relative to the physician. Here, as elsewhere, the pavement was
overgrown with grass, and the very houses had a strange and melancholy
look, as if sharing in the general desolation. On looking down a narrow
street leading to the river, Leonard perceived a flock of poultry
scratching among the staves in search of food, and instinctively calling
them, they flew towards him, as if delighted at the unwonted sound of a
human voice. These, and a half-starved cat, were the only things living
that he could perceive. At the further end of the street he caught sight
of the river, speeding in its course towards the bridge, and scarcely
knowing whither he was going, sauntered to its edge. The tide had just
turned, and the stream was sparkling in the sunshine, but no craft could
be discovered upon its bosom; and except a few barges moored to its
sides, all vestiges of the numberless vessels with which it was once
crowded were gone. Its quays were completely deserted. Boxes and bales
of goods lay untouched on the wharves; the cheering cries with which the
workmen formerly animated their labour were hushed. There was no sound
of creaking cords, no rattle of heavy chains--none of the busy hum
ordinarily attending the discharge of freight from a vessel, or the
packing of goods and stores on board. All traffic was at an end; and
this scene, usually one of the liveliest possible, was now forlorn and
desolate. On the opposite shore of the river it appeared to be the
same--indeed, the borough of Southwark was now suffering the utmost
rigour of the scourge, and except for the rows of houses on its banks,
and the noble bridge by which it was spanned, the Thames appeared as
undisturbed as it must have been before the great city was built upon
its banks.
The apprentice viewed this scene with a singular kind of interest. He
had become so accustomed to melancholy sights, that his feelings had
lost their acuteness, and the contemplation of the deserted buildings
and neglected wharves around him harmonized with his own gloomy
thoughts. Pursuing his walk along the side of the river, he was checked
by a horrible smell, and looking downward, he perceived a carcass in the
last stage of decomposition lying in the mud. It had been washed ashore
by the tide, and a large bird of prey was contending for the possession
of it with a legion of water-rats. Sickened by the sight, he turned up a
narrow thoroughfare near Baynard's Castle, and crossing Thames-street,
was about to ascend Addle-hill, when he perceived a man wheeling a
hand-barrow, containing a couple of corpses, in the direction of the
river, with the intention, doubtless, of throwing them into it, as the
readiest means of disposing of them. Both bodies were stripped of their
clothing, and the blue tint of the nails, as well as the blotches with
which they were covered, left no doubt as to the disease of which they
had died. Averting his gaze from the spectacle, Leonard turned off on
the right along Carter-lane, and threading a short passage, approached
the southern boundary of the cathedral; and proceeding towards the great
door opposite him, passed through it. The mighty lazar-house was less
crowded than he expected to find it, but its terrible condition far
exceeded his worst conceptions. Not more than half the pallets were
occupied; but as the sick were in a great measure left to themselves,
the utmost disorder prevailed. A troop of lazars, with sheets folded
around them, glided, like phantoms, along Paul's Walk, and mimicked in a
ghastly manner the air and deportment of the gallants who had formerly
thronged the place. No attempt being made to maintain silence, the noise
was perfectly stunning; some of the sick were shrieking--some laughing
in a wild unearthly manner--some praying--some uttering loud
execrations--others groaning and lamenting. The holy building seemed to
have become the abode of evil and tormented spirits. Many dead were
lying in the beds--the few attendants who were present not caring to
remove them; and Leonard had little doubt, that before another sun went
down the whole of the ghastly assemblage before him would share their
fate. If the habitations he had recently gazed upon had appeared
plague-stricken, the sacred structure in which he was now standing
seemed yet more horribly contaminated. Ill-kept and ill-ventilated, the
air was loaded with noxious effluvia, while the various abominations
that met the eye at every turn would have been sufficient to produce the
distemper in any one who had come in contact with them. They were,
however, utterly disregarded by the miserable sufferers and their
attendants. The magnificent painted windows were dimmed by a thick
clammy steam, which could scarcely be washed off--while the carved oak
screens, the sculptured tombs, the pillars, the walls, and the flagged
floors were covered with impurities.
Satisfied with a brief survey of this frightful scene, Leonard turned to
depart, and was passing the entrance to Saint Faith's, which stood open,
when he caught sight of Judith standing at the foot of the broad stone
steps, and holding a lamp in her hand. She was conversing with a tall
richly-dressed man, whose features he fancied he had seen before, though
he could not at the moment call them to mind. After a brief
conversation, they moved off into the depths of the vault, and he lost
sight of them. All at once it occurred to Leonard that Judith's
companion was the unfortunate stranger whose child he had interred, and
who had been so strangely affected at the sight of Nizza Macascree.
Determined to ascertain the point, he hurried down the steps and plunged
into the vault. It was buried in profound darkness, and he had not
proceeded far when he stumbled over something lying in his path, and
found from the groan that followed that it was a plague-patient. Before
he could regain his feet, the unfortunate sufferer whom he had thus
disturbed implored him, in piteous accents, which, with a shudder, he
recognised as those of Blaize, to remove him. Leonard immediately gave
the poor porter to understand that he was near him, and would render him
every aid in his power.
"Your assistance comes too late, Leonard," groaned Blaize--"it's all
over with me now, but I don't like to breathe my last in this dismal
vault, without medicine or food, both of which I am denied by that
infernal hag Mother Malmayns, who calls herself a nurse, but who is in
reality a robber and murderess. Oh! the frightful scenes I have
witnessed since I have been brought here! I told you I should not escape
the plague. I shall die of it--I am sure I shall."
"I thought you were at the pest-house in Finsbury Fields," said Leonard.
"I was taken there," replied Blaize; "but the place was full, and they
would not admit me, so I was sent to Saint Paul's, where there was
plenty of room. Yesterday I did pretty well, for I was in the great ward
above, and one of the attendants obeyed my directions implicitly, and I
am certain if they had been fully carried out, I should have got well. I
will tell you what I did. As soon as I was placed on a pallet, and
covered with blankets, I ordered a drink to be prepared of the inner
bark of an ash-tree, green walnuts, scabious vervain, and saffron,
boiled in two quarts of the strongest vinegar. Of this mixture I drank
plentifully, and it soon produced a plentiful perspiration. I next had a
hen--a live one, of course--stripped of the feathers, and brought to me.
Its bill was held to the large blotch under my arm, and kept there till
the fowl died from the noxious matter it drew forth. I next repeated the
experiment with a pigeon, and derived the greatest benefit from it. The
tumour had nearly subsided, and if I had been properly treated
afterwards, I should now be in a fair way of recovery. But instead of
nice strengthening chicken-broth, flavoured with succory and marigolds;
or water-gruel, mixed with rosemary and winter-savory; or a panado,
seasoned with verjuice or wood-sorrel; instead of swallowing large
draughts of warm beer; or water boiled with carduus seeds; or a posset
drink, made with sorrel, bugloss, and borage;--instead of these
remedies, or any other, I was carried to this horrible place when I was
asleep, and strapped to my pallet, as you perceive. Unloose me, if you
can do nothing else."
"That I will readily do," replied Leonard; "but I must first procure a
light." With this, he groped his way among the close ranks of ponderous
pillars, but though he proceeded with the utmost caution, he could not
avoid coming in contact with the beds of some of the other patients, and
disturbing them. At length he descried a glimmer of light issuing from a
door which he knew to be that of the vestry, and which was standing
slightly ajar. Opening it, he perceived a lamp burning on the table, and
without stopping to look around him, seized it, and hurried back to the
porter. Poor Blaize presented a lamentable, and yet grotesque
appearance. His plump person was greatly reduced in bulk, and his round
cheeks had become hollow and cadaverous. He was strapped, as he had
stated, to the pallet, which in its turn was fastened to the adjoining
pillar. A blanket was tightly swathed around him, and a large cloth was
bound round his head in lieu of a nightcap. Leonard instantly set about
releasing him, and had just unfastened the straps when he heard
footsteps approaching, and looking up, perceived the stranger and Judith
Malmayns advancing towards him.
II. THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT.
Judith, being a little in advance of her companion, took Leonard in the
first instance for a chirurgeon's assistant, and called to him, in a
harsh and menacing voice, to let her charge alone. On drawing near,
however, she perceived her mistake, and recognising the apprentice,
halted with a disconcerted look. By this time, the stranger had come up,
and remarking her embarrassment, inquired the cause of it.
"Look there," cried Judith, pointing towards the apprentice. "Yonder
stands the very man you seek."
"What! Leonard Holt," cried the other, in astonishment.
"Ay, Leonard Holt," rejoined Judith. "You can now put any questions to
him you think proper."
The stranger did not require the suggestion to be repeated, but
instantly hastened to the apprentice. "Do you remember me?" he asked.
Leonard answered in the affirmative. "I owe you a large debt of
obligation," continued the stranger, "and you shall not find me slow in
paying it. But let it pass for the moment. Do you know aught of Nizza
Macascree? I know she was taken to Oxford by the king, and subsequently
disappeared."
"Then you know as much as I do of her, sir," rejoined Leonard.
"I was right, you see, Mr. Thirlby," interposed Judith, with a malicious
grin. "I told you this youth would be utterly ignorant of her retreat."
"My firm conviction is, that she is in the power of Sir Paul
Parravicin," observed Leonard. "But it is impossible to say where she is
concealed."
"Then my last hope of finding her has fallen to the ground," replied
Thirlby, with a look of great distress. "Ever since my recovery from the
plague, I have been in search of her. I traced her from Ashdown Park to
Oxford, but she was gone before my arrival at the latter place; and
though I made every possible inquiry after her, and kept strict and
secret watch upon the villain whom I suspected, as you do, of carrying
her off, I could gain no clue to her retreat. Having ascertained,
however, that you were seen in the neighbourhood of Oxford about the
time of her disappearance, I had persuaded myself you must have aided
her escape. But now," he added, with a groan, "I find I was mistaken."
"You were so," replied Leonard, mournfully; "I was in search of my
master's daughter, Amabel, who was carried off at the same time by the
Earl of Rochester, and my anxiety about her made me neglectful of
Nizza."
"I am not ignorant of your devoted attachment to her," remarked the
stranger.
"You will never find Amabel again," observed Judith, bitterly.
"What mean you woman?" asked Leonard.
"I mean what I say," rejoined Judith. "I repeat, you will never see her
again."
"You would not speak thus positively without some motive," returned
Leonard, seizing her arm. "Where is she? What has happened to her?"
"That you shall never learn from me," returned Judith, with a triumphant
glance.
"Speak, or I will force you to do so," cried Leonard, furiously.
"Force me!" cried Judith, laughing derisively; "you know not whom you
threaten."
"But _I_ do," interposed Thirlby. "This young man _shall_ have an answer
to this question," he continued, addressing her in an authoritative
tone. "Do you know anything of the girl?"
"No," replied Judith; "I was merely jesting with him."
"Shame on you, to trifle with his feelings thus," rejoined Thirlby.
"Step with me this way, young man, I wish to speak with you."
"Do not leave me here, Leonard," cried Blaize, "or I shall die before
you come back."
"I have no intention of leaving you," rejoined Leonard. "Are you aware
whether Doctor Hodges is still alive, sir?" he added to Thirlby. "I have
just been to his residence in Great Knight-rider-street, and found it
shut up."
"He has removed to Watling-street," replied the other; "but I have not
seen him since my return to London. If you wish it, I will go to his
house at once, and send him to look after your poor friend."
Leonard was about to return thanks for the offer, when the design was
frustrated by Blaize himself, who was so terrified by Judith's looks,
that he could pay no attention to what was going forward; and fearing,
notwithstanding Leonard's assurance to the contrary, that he should be
left behind, he started to his feet, and wrapping the blanket about him,
ran up the steps leading to the cathedral. Leonard and Thirlby followed,
and seeing him dart into the southern aisle, would have pursued him
along it, but were afraid of coming in contact with the many sick
persons by whom it was thronged. They contented themselves, therefore,
with watching his course, and were not a little surprised and alarmed to
find the whole troop of lazars set off after him, making the sacred
walls ring with their cries. Frightened by the clamour, Blaize redoubled
his speed, and, with this ghastly train at his heels, crossed the lower
part of the mid-aisle, and darting through the pillars, took refuge
within Bishop Kempe's Chapel, the door of which stood open, and which he
instantly closed after him. Judith, who had followed the party from the
subterranean church, laughed heartily at the chase of the poor porter,
and uttered an exclamation of regret at its sudden conclusion. Leonard,
however, being apprehensive of mischief from the crowd of sick persons
collected before the door, some of whom were knocking against it and
trying to force it open, addressed himself to a couple of the
attendants, and prevailed on them to accompany him to the chapel. The
assemblage was speedily dispersed, and Blaize hearing Leonard's voice,
instantly opened the door and admitted him; and, as soon as his fears
were allayed, he was placed on a pallet within the chapel, and wrapped
up in blankets, while such remedies as were deemed proper were
administered to him. Committing him to the care of the attendants, and
promising to reward them well for their trouble, Leonard told Blaize he
should go and bring Doctor Hodges to him. Accordingly, he departed, and
finding Thirlby waiting for him at the south door, they went forth
together.
"I am almost afraid of leaving the poor fellow," said Leonard,
hesitating as he was about to descends the steps. "Judith Malmayns is so
cunning and unscrupulous, that she may find some means of doing him an
injury."
"Have no fear," replied Thirlby; "she has promised me not to molest him
further."
"You appear to have a strange influence over her, then," observed
Leonard. "May I ask how you have attained it?"
"No matter," replied the other. "It must suffice that I am willing to
exercise it in your behalf."
"And you are not disposed to tell me the nature of the interest you feel
in Nizza Macascree?" pursued Leonard.
"Not as yet," replied Thirlby, with a look and tone calculated to put a
stop to further inquiries.
Passing through Saint Austin's Gate, they approached Watling-street, at
the corner of which stood the house where Doctor Hodges had taken up his
temporary abode, that he might visit the sick in the cathedral with
greater convenience, and be more readily summoned whenever his
attendance might be required. Thirlby's knock at the door was answered,
to Leonard's great satisfaction, by the old porter, who was equally
delighted to see him.
It did not escape Leonard that the porter treated the stranger with
great respect, and he inferred from this that he was a person of some
consideration, as indeed his deportment bespoke him. The old man
informed them that his master had been summoned on a case of urgency
early in the morning, and had not yet returned, neither was he aware
whither he was gone. He promised, however, to acquaint him with Blaize's
condition immediately on his return--"and I need not assure you," he
added to Leonard, "that he will instantly go to him." Thirlby then
inquired of the porter whether Mike Macascree, the blind piper, was
still at Dame Lucas's cottage, in Finsbury Fields, and was answered in
the affirmative by the old man, who added, however, in a voice of much
emotion, that the good dame herself was no more.
"She died about a fortnight ago of the plague," he said, "and is buried
where she desired to be, beneath an old apple-tree in her garden."
"Alas!" exclaimed Leonard, brushing away a tear, "her own foreboding is
too truly realised."
"I am about to visit the old piper," observed Thirlby to the apprentice.
"Will you go with me?"