"Go your ways," replied Judith, "and think no more about her. All shall
be done that you require. I claim as my reward the contents of that
chest."
"Your reward shall be the gallows," rejoined the earl, indignantly. "I
reject your proposal at once. Begone, wretch! or I shall forget you are
a woman, and sacrifice you to my fury. Begone!"
"As your lordship pleases," she replied; "but first, the Countess of
Rochester shall be made acquainted with her rights." So saying, she
broke from him, and rushed to the bed.
"What are you about to do?" he cried.
"Waken her," rejoined Judith, slightly shaking the sleeper.
"Ah!" exclaimed Amabel, opening her eyes, and gazing at her with a
terrified and bewildered look.
"His lordship is returned," said Judith.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Amabel, raising herself in the bed. "Where is
he?--Ah, I see him.--Come to me, my dear lord," she added, stretching
out her arms to him, "Come to me."
But evil thoughts kept Rochester motionless. "Oh! come to me, my lord,"
cried Amabel, in a troubled tone, "or I shall begin to think what I have
dreamed is true, and that I am not wedded to you."
"It _was_ merely a dream, your ladyship," observed Judith. "I will bear
witness you are wedded to his lordship, for I was present at the
ceremony."
"I did not see you," remarked Amabel.
"I was there, nevertheless," replied Judith.
"I am sorry to hear it," replied Amabel.
"Your ladyship would rejoice if you knew all," returned Judith,
significantly.
"Why so?" inquired the other, curiously.
"Because the clergyman who married you is dead of the plague," was the
answer; "and it may chance in these terrible times that the two
gentlemen who were present at the ceremony may die of the same
distemper, and then there will be no one left but me and another person
to prove that your marriage was lawful."
"But its lawfulness will never be questioned, my dear lord, will it?"
asked Amabel, looking beseechingly at Rochester.
"Never," replied Judith, producing a small piece of parchment, "while I
hold this certificate."
"Give me that document," said the earl, in an undertone, to her.
Judith directed her eyes towards the chest. "It is yours," said the
earl, in the same tone as before.
"What are you whispering, my lord?" inquired Amabel, uneasily.
"I am merely telling her to remove that chest, sweetheart," he replied.
"Do not send it away," cried Amabel. "It contains all the ornaments and
trinkets you have given me. Do you know," she added in a whisper, "I
caught her looking into it just now, and I suspect she was about to
steal something."
"Pshaw!" cried the earl, "she acted by my directions. Take the chest
away," he added to Judith.
"Has your lordship no further orders?" she rejoined, significantly.
"None whatever," he replied, with a frown.
"Before you go, give me the certificate," cried Amabel. "I must have
it."
Judith pretended not to hear her. "Give it her," whispered the earl, "I
will remove it when she falls asleep."
Nodding acquiescence, Judith took the parchment from her bosom, and
returned with it to the bed. While this was passing, the earl walked
towards the chest, and cast his eye over such of its contents as were
scattered upon the floor. Judith watched him carefully, and when his
back was turned, drew a small lancet, and affecting to arrange her
dress, slightly punctured Amabel's neck. The pain was trifling, but the
poor girl uttered a cry.
"What is the matter?" cried the earl, turning suddenly round.
"Nothing--nothing," replied Judith; "a pin in my sleeve pricked her as I
was fastening her cap, that was all. Her death is certain," she added to
herself, "she is inoculated with the plague-venom."
She then went to the chest, and replacing everything within it, removed
it, by the help of the Earl of Rochester, into the adjoining room. "I
will send for it at midnight," she said.
"It shall be delivered to your messenger," rejoined the earl; "but you
will answer for Chowles's secrecy?"
"I will," returned Judith, with a meaning smile. "But you may take my
word for it you will not be troubled long with your wife. If I have any
judgment respecting the plague, she is already infected."
"Indeed!" cried Rochester--"then--" but he checked himself, and added,
"I do not believe it. Begone."
"He _does_ believe it for all that," muttered Judith, as he slunk away.
Rochester returned to Amabel, and sat by her until she fell asleep, when
he took the parchment from beneath the pillow where she had placed it.
Examining it, he found it, as Judith had stated, a certificate of his
marriage, signed by Mark Vincent, the clergyman who had officiated, and
duly attested. Having carefully perused it, he held it towards the
taper, with the intention of destroying it. As he was about to
perpetrate this unworthy action, he looked towards the bed. The soft
sweet smile that played upon the sleeper's features, turned him from his
purpose. Placing the parchment in his doublet, he left the room, and
summoning a female attendant, alleged some reason for his unexpected
return, and ordered her to watch by the bedside of her mistress. Giving
some further directions, he threw himself upon a couch and sought a few
hours' repose. At daybreak, he repaired to Amabel's chamber, and finding
her wrapped in a peaceful slumber, he commended her to the attendant,
and departed.
On awaking, Amabel complained of an uneasy sensation on her neck, and
the attendant examining the spot, found, to her great alarm, a small red
pustule. Without making a single observation, she left the room, and
despatched a messenger after the Earl of Rochester to acquaint him that
the countess was attacked by the plague. Such was the terror inspired by
this dread disorder, that the moment it was known that Amabel was
attacked by it, the whole household, except an old woman, fled. This old
woman, whose name was Batley, and who acted as the earl's housekeeper,
took upon herself the office of nurse. Before evening, the poor
sufferer, who had endured great agony during the whole of the day,
became so much worse, that Mrs. Batley ran out in search of assistance.
She met with a watchman, who told her that a famous apothecary, from
Clerkenwell, named Sibbald, who was celebrated for the cures he had
effected, had just entered a neighbouring house, and offered to await
his coming forth, and send him to her. Thanking him, Mrs. Batley
returned to the house, and presently afterwards, Sibbald made his
appearance. His looks and person had become even more repulsive than
formerly. He desired to be led to the patient, and on seeing her, shook
his head. He examined the pustule, which had greatly increased in size,
and turning away, muttered, "I can do nothing for her."
"At least make the attempt," implored Mrs. Batley. "She is the Countess
of Rochester. You shall be well rewarded--and if you cure her, the earl
will make your fortune."
"If his lordship would change stations with me, I could not cure her,"
replied Sibbald. "Let me look at her again," he added, examining the
pustule. "There is a strange appearance about this tumour. Has Judith
Malmayns attended her?"
"She was here yesterday," replied Mrs. Batley.
"I thought so," he muttered. "I repeat it is all over with her." And he
turned to depart.
"Do not leave her thus, in pity do not!" cried the old woman, detaining
him. "Make some effort to save her. My lord loves her to distraction,
and will abundantly reward you."
"All I can do is to give her something to allay the pain," returned
Sibbald. And drawing a small phial from his doublet, he poured its
contents into a glass, and administered it to the patient.
"That will throw her into a slumber," he said, "and when she wakes, she
will be without pain. But her end will be not far off."
Mrs. Batley took a purse from a drawer in one of the cabinets, and gave
it to the apothecary, who bowed and retired. As he had foretold, Amabel
fell into a heavy lethargy, which continued during the whole of the
night. Mrs. Batley, who had never left her, noticed that an
extraordinary and fearful change had taken place in her countenance, and
she could not doubt that the apothecary's prediction would be realized.
The tumour had increased in size, and was surrounded by a dusky brown
circle, which she knew to be a bad sign. The sufferer's eyes, when she
opened them, and gazed around, had a dim and glazed look. But she was
perfectly calm and composed, and, as had been prognosticated, free from
pain. She had, also, fully regained her faculties, and seemed quite
aware of her dangerous situation.
But the return of reason brought with it no solace. On the contrary, the
earl's treachery rushed upon her recollection, and gave her infinitely
more anguish than the bodily pain she had recently endured. She bedewed
the pillow with her tears, and fervently prayed for forgiveness for her
involuntary fault. Mrs. Batley was deeply moved by her affliction, and
offered her every consolation in her power.
"I would the plague had selected me for a victim instead of your
ladyship," she said. "It is hard to leave the world at your age,
possessed of beauty, honours, and wealth. At mine, it would not
signify."
"You mistake the cause of my grief," returned Amabel; "I do not lament
that my hour is at hand, but--" and her emotion so overpowered her that
she could not proceed.
"Do not disturb yourself further, dear lady," rejoined the old woman.
"Let the worst happen, I am sure you are well prepared to meet your
Maker."
"I once was," replied Amabel in a voice of despair, "but now--Oh, Heaven
forgive me!"
"Shall I fetch some holy minister to pray beside you, my lady?" said
Mrs. Batley; "one to whom you can pour forth the sorrows of your heart?"
"Do so! oh, do!" cried Amabel, "and do not call me lady. I am not worthy
to be placed in the same rank as yourself."
"Her wits are clean gone," muttered Mrs. Batley, looking at her
compassionately.
"Heed me not," cried Amabel; "but if you have any pity for the
unfortunate, do as you have promised."
"I will--I will," said Mrs. Batley, departing.
Half an hour, which scarcely seemed a moment to the poor sufferer, who
was employed in fervent prayer, elapsed before Mrs. Batley returned. She
was accompanied by a tall man, whom Amabel recognised as Solomon Eagle.
"I have not been able to find a clergyman," said the old woman, "but I
have brought a devout man who is willing to pray with you."
"Ah!" exclaimed the enthusiast, starting as he beheld Amabel. "Can it be
Mr. Bloundel's daughter?"
"It is," returned Amabel with a groan. "Leave us, my good woman," she
added to Mrs. Batley, "I have something to impart to Solomon Eagle which
is for his ear alone." The old woman instantly retired, and Amabel
briefly related her hapless story to the enthusiast.
"May I hope for forgiveness?" she inquired, as she concluded.
"Assuredly," replied Solomon Eagle, "assuredly! You have not erred
wilfully, but through ignorance, and therefore have committed no
offence. _You_ will be forgiven--but woe to your deceiver, here and
hereafter."
"Oh' say not so," she cried. "May Heaven pardon him as I do. While I
have strength left I will pray for him." And she poured forth her
supplications for the earl in terms so earnest and pathetic, that the
tears flowed down Solomon Eagle's rough cheek. At this juncture, hasty
steps were heard in the adjoining passage, and the door opening,
admitted the Earl of Rochester, who rushed towards the bed.
"Back!" cried Solomon Eagle, pushing him forcibly aside. "Back!"
"What do you here?" cried Rochester, fiercely.
"I am watching over the death-bed of your victim," returned Solomon
Eagle. "Retire, my lord. You disturb her."
"Oh, no," returned Amabel, meekly. "Let him come near me." And as
Solomon Eagle drew a little aside, and allowed the earl to approach, she
added, "With my latest breath I forgive you, my lord, for the wrong you
have done me, and bless you."
The earl tried to speak, but his voice was suffocated by emotion. As
soon as he could find words, he said, "Your goodness completely
overpowers me, dearest Amabel. Heaven is my witness, that even now I
would make you all the reparation in my power were it needful. But it is
not so. The wrong I intended you was never committed. I myself was
deceived. I intended a feigned marriage, but it was rightfully
performed. Time will not allow me to enter into further particulars of
the unhappy transaction, but you may credit my assertion when I tell you
you are indeed my wife, and Countess of Rochester."
"If I thought so, I should die happy," replied Amabel.
"Behold this proof!" said Rochester, producing the certificate.
"I cannot read it," replied Amabel. "But you could not have the heart to
deceive me now."
"I will read it, and you well know _I_ would not deceive you," cried
Solomon Eagle, casting his eye over it--"His lordship has avouched the
truth," he continued. "It is a certificate of your marriage with him,
duly signed and attested."
"God be thanked," ejaculated Amabel, fervently. "God be thanked! You
have been spared that guilt, and I shall die content."
"I trust your life will long be spared," rejoined the earl. Amabel shook
her head.
"There is but one man in this city who could save her," whispered
Solomon Eagle, and I doubt even his power to do so.'
"Who do you mean?" cried Rochester, eagerly.
"Doctor Hodges," replied the enthusiast.
"I know him well," cried the earl. "I will fly to him instantly. Remain
with her till I return."
"My lord--my dear lord," interposed Amabel, faintly, "you trouble
yourself needlessly. I am past all human aid."
"Do not despair," replied the earl. "Many years of happiness are, I
trust, in store for us. Do not detain me. I go to save you. Farewell for
a short time."
"Farewell, for ever, my lord," she said, gently pressing his hand. "We
shall not meet again. Your name will be coupled with my latest breath."
"I shall be completely unmanned if I stay here a moment longer," cried
the earl, breaking from her, and rushing out of the room.
As soon as he was gone, Amabel addressed herself once more to prayer
with Solomon Eagle, and in this way an hour passed by. The earl not
returning at the end of that time, Solomon Eagle became extremely
uneasy, every moment being of the utmost consequence, and summoning Mrs.
Batley, committed the patient to her care, and set off in search of
Hodges. He hastened to the doctor's house--he was absent--to Saint
Paul's--he was not there, but he learnt that a person answering to the
earl's description had been making similar inquiries after him.
At last, one of the chirurgeon's assistants told him that he thought the
doctor was gone towards Cornhill, and hoping, accidentally, to meet with
him, the enthusiast set off in that direction. While passing near the
Exchange, he encountered Leonard, as before related, but did not think
fit to acquaint him with more than Amabel's dangerous situation; and he
had reason to regret making the communication at all, on finding its
effect upon the poor youth. There was, however, no help for it, and
placing him in what appeared a situation of safety, he left him.
Rochester, meanwhile, had been equally unsuccessful in his search for
Hodges. Hurrying first in one direction and then in another, at the
suggestion of the chirurgeon's assistant, he at last repaired to the
doctor's residence, determined to await his return. In half an hour he
came, and received the earl, as the old porter stated to Thirlby and
Leonard, with angry astonishment. As soon as they were alone, the earl
told him all that had occurred, and besought him to accompany him to the
poor sufferer.
"I will go to her," said Hodges, who had listened to the recital with
mixed feelings of sorrow and indignation, "on one condition--and one
only--namely, that your lordship does not see her again without my
permission."
"Why do you impose this restriction upon, me sir?' demanded Rochester.
"I do not think it necessary to give my reasons, my lord," returned
Hodges; "but I will only go upon such terms."
"Then I must perforce submit," replied the earl; "but I entreat you to
set forth-without a moment's delay, or you will be too late."
"I will follow you instantly," rejoined Hodges. "Your lordship can wait
for me at the Southwark side of the bridge." He then opened the door,
reiterating the terms upon which alone he would attend, and the earl
departed.
Shortly afterwards he set out, and making the best of his way, found
Rochester at the appointed place. The latter conducted him to the
entrance of the habitation, and indicating a spot where he would remain
till his return, left him. Hodges soon found his way to the chamber of
the sufferer, and at once perceived that all human aid was vain. She
exhibited much pleasure at seeing him, and looked round, as if in search
of the earl. Guessing her meaning, the physician, who now began to
regret the interdiction he had placed upon him, told her that he was the
cause of his absence.
"It is well," she murmured--"well." She then made some inquiries after
her relatives, and receiving a satisfactory answer, said, "I am glad you
are come. You will be able to tell my father how I died."
"It will be a great comfort to him to learn the tranquil frame in which
I have found you," replied Hodges.
"How long have I to live?" asked Amabel, somewhat quickly. "Do not
deceive me."
"You had better make your preparations without delay," returned Hodges.
"I understand," she replied; and joining her hands upon her breast, she
began to murmur a prayer.
Hodges, who up to this moment had had some difficulty in repressing his
emotion, withdrew to a short distance to hide his fast-falling tears. He
was roused shortly after, by a sudden and startling cry from the old
woman.
"Oh, sir, she is going! she is going!" ejaculated Mrs. Batley. He found
the exclamation true. The eyes of the dying girl were closed. There was
a slight quiver of the lips, as if she murmured some name--probably
Rochester's--and then all was over.
Hodges gazed at her sorrowfully for some time. He then roused himself,
and giving some necessary directions to the old woman respecting the
body, quitted the house. Not finding the earl at the place he had
appointed to meet him, after waiting for a short time, he proceeded,
towards his own house. On the way he was net by Thirlby and Parravicin,
as previously related, and conducted to the house in Nicholas-lane. It
will not be necessary to recapitulate what subsequently occurred. We
shall, therefore, proceed to the point of time when he quitted his new
patient, and entered the room where Thirlby and Leonard were waiting for
him. Both, as has been stated, rushed towards him, and the former
eagerly asked his opinion respecting his daughter.
"My opinion is positive," replied Hodges. "With care, she will
undoubtedly recover."
"Heaven be thanked!" cried Thirlby, dropping on his knees.
"And now, one word to me, sir," cried Leonard. "What of Amabel?"
"Alas!" exclaimed the doctor, "her troubles are ended."
"Dead!" shrieked Leonard.
"Ay, dead!" repeated the doctor. "She died of the plague to-night."
He then proceeded to detail briefly all that had occurred. Leonard
listened like one stupefied, till he brought his recital to a close, and
then asking where the house in which she had died was situated, rushed
out of the room, and made his way, he knew not how, into the street. His
brain seemed on fire, and he ran so quickly that his feet appeared
scarcely to touch the ground. A few seconds brought him to London
Bridge. He crossed it, and turning down the street on the left, had
nearly reached the house to which he had been directed, when his career
was suddenly checked. The gate of the court-yard was opened, and two
men, evidently, from their apparel, buriers of the dead, issued from it.
They carried a long narrow board between them, with a body wrapped in a
white sheet placed upon it. A freezing horror rooted Leonard to the spot
where he stood. He could neither move nor utter a cry.
The men proceeded with their burden towards the adjoining habitation,
which was marked with a fatal red cross and inscription. Before it stood
the dead-cart, partly filled with corpses. The foremost burier carried a
lantern, but he held it so low that its light did not fall upon his
burden. Leonard, however, did not require to see the body to know whose
it was. The moon was at its full, and shed a ghastly light over the
group, and a large bat wheeled in narrow circles round the dead-cart.
On reaching the door of the house, the burier set down the lantern near
the body of a young man which had just been thrust forth. At the same
moment, Chowles, with a lantern in his hand, stepped out upon the
threshold. "Who have you got, Jonas?" he asked.
"I know not," replied the hindmost burier. "We entered yon large house,
the door of which stood open, and in one of the rooms found, an old
woman in a fainting state, and the body of this young girl, wrapped in a
sheet, and ready for the cart. So we clapped it on the board, and
brought it away with us."
"You did right," replied Chowles. "I wonder whose body it is."
As he spoke, he held up his lantern, and unfastening it, threw the light
full upon the face. The features were pale as marble; calm in their
expression, and like those of one wrapped in placid slumber. The long
fair hair hung over the side of the board. It was a sad and touching
sight.
"Why, as I am a living man, it is the grocer's daughter,
Amabel,--somewhile Countess of Rochester!" exclaimed Chowles.
"It is, it is!" cried the earl, suddenly rushing from behind a building
where he had hitherto remained concealed. "Whither are you about to take
her? Set her down--set her down."
"Hinder them not, my lord," vociferated another person, also appearing
on the scene with equal suddenness. "Place her in the cart," cried
Solomon Eagle--for he it was--to the bearers. "This is a just punishment
upon you, my lord," he added to Rochester, as his injunctions were
obeyed--"oppose them not in their duty."
It was not in the earl's power to do so. Like Leonard, he was transfixed
with horror. The other bodies were soon placed in the cart, and it was
put in motion. At this juncture, the apprentice's suspended faculties
were for an instant--and an instant only--restored to him. He uttered a
piercing cry, and staggering forward, fell senseless on the ground.
BOOK THE FIFTH.
DECEMBER, 1665.
I. THE DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE.
More than two months must be passed over in silence. During that time,
the pestilence had so greatly abated as no longer to occasion alarm to
those who had escaped its ravages. It has been mentioned that the
distemper arrived at its height about the 10th of September, and though
for the two following weeks the decline was scarcely perceptible, yet it
had already commenced. On the last week in that fatal month, when all
hope had been abandoned, the bills of mortality suddenly decreased in
number to one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four. And this fortunate
change could not be attributed to the want of materials to act upon, for
the sick continued as numerous as before, while the deaths were less
frequent. In the next week there was a further decrease of six hundred;
in the next after that of six hundred; and so on till the end of
October, when, the cold weather setting in, the amount was reduced to
nearly one thousand.