"The sickness in the town! Alackaday! Woe betide us all! It will be next
within our very walls. Holy St. Catherine protect us! May all the Saints
have mercy upon us! In Guildford! why, that is scarce five short miles
away! And all the men and the wenches are flying as for dear life,
though if what men say be true there be few enough places left to fly
to! Why, Joan, why answerest thou not? I might as well speak to a block
as to thee. Dost understand, girl, that the Black Death is at our very
doors -- that all our people are flying from us? And yet thou sittest
there with thy book, as though this were a time for idle fooling. I am
fair distraught -- thy father and brother away and all! Canst thou not
say something? Hast thou no feeling for thy mother? Here am I nigh
distracted by fear and woe, and thou carriest about a face as calm as if
this deadly scourge were but idle rumour."
Joan laid down her book, came across to her mother, and put her strong
hand caressingly upon her shoulder. Poor, weak, timid Lady Vavasour had
never been famed for strength of mind in any of the circumstances of
life, and it was perhaps not wonderful that this scare, reaching her
ears in her husband's absence, should drive her nearly frantic with terror.
For many days reports of a most disquieting nature had been pouring in.
Persons who came to Woodcrych on business or pleasure spoke of nothing
but the approach of the Black Death. Some affected to make light of it,
protested that far too much was being made of the statements of ignorant
and terrified people, and asserted boldly that it would not attack the
well-fed and prosperous classes; whilst others declared that the whole
country would speedily be depopulated, and whispered gruesome tales of
those scenes of death and horror which were shortly to become so common.
Then the inhabitants of isolated houses like Woodcrych received visits
from travelling peddlers and mountebanks of all sorts, many disguised in
Oriental garb, who brought with them terrible stories of the spread of
the distemper, at the same time offering for sale certain herbs and
simples which they declared to be never-failing remedies in case any
person were attacked by the disease; or else they besought the credulous
to purchase amulets or charms, or in some cases alleged relics blessed
by the Pope, which if always worn upon the person would effectually
prevent the onset of the malady. After listening greedily (as the
servants in those houses always loved to do) to any story of ghastly
horror which these impostors chose to tell them, they were thankful to
buy at almost any price some antidote against the fell disease; and even
Lady Vavasour had made many purchases for herself and her daughter of
quack medicines and talismans or relics.
But hitherto no one had dared to whisper how fast the distemper was
encroaching in this very district. Men still spoke of it as though it
were far off, and might likely enough die out without spreading, so that
now it was with terror akin to distraction that the poor lady heard
through her servants that it had well-nigh reached their own doors. One
of the lackeys had had occasion to ride over to the town that very day,
and had come back with the news that people there were actually dying in
the streets. He had seen two men fall down, either dead or stricken for
death, before he could turn his beast away and gallop off, and the shops
were shut and the church bell was tolling, whilst all men looked in each
other's faces as if afraid of what they might see there.
Sir Hugh and his son were far away from Woodcrych at one of their newer
possessions some forty miles distant, and in their absence Lady Vavasour
felt doubly helpless. She shook off Joan's hand, and recommenced her
agitated pacing. Her daughter's calmness was incomprehensible apathy to
her. It fretted her even to see it.
"Thou hast no feeling, Joan; thou hast a heart of stone," she cried,
bursting into weak weeping. "Why canst thou not give me help or counsel
of some sort? What are we to do? What is to become of us? Wouldst have
us all stay shut up in this miserable place to die together?"
Joan did not smile at the feeble petulance of the half-distracted woman.
Indeed it was no time for smiles of any sort. The peril around and about
was a thing too real and too fearful in its character to admit of any
lightness of speech; and the girl did not even twit her mother with the
many sovereign remedies purchased as antidotes against infection, though
her own disbelief in these had brought down many laments from Lady
Vavasour but a few days previously.
Brought face to face with the reality of the peril, these wonderful
medicines did not inspire the confidence the sanguine purchasers had
hoped when they spent their money upon them. Lady Vavasour's hope seemed
now to lie in flight and flight alone. She was one of those persons
whose instinct is always for flight, whatever the danger to be avoided;
and now she was eagerly urging upon Joan the necessity for immediate
departure, regardless of the warning of her calmer-minded daughter that
probably the roads would be far more full of peril than their own house
could ever be, if they strictly shut it up, lived upon the produce of
their own park and dairy, and suffered none to go backwards and forwards
to bring the contagion with them.
Whether Joan's common-sense counsel would have ever prevailed over the
agitated panic of her mother is open to doubt, but all chance of getting
Lady Vavasour to see reason was quickly dissipated by a piece of news
brought to the mother and daughter by a white-faced, shivering servant.
The message was that the lackey who had but lately returned from
Guildford, whilst sitting over the kitchen fire with his cup of mead,
had complained of sudden and violent pains, had vomited and fallen down
upon the floor in a fit; whereat every person present had fled in wild
dismay, perfectly certain that he had brought home the distemper with
him, and that every creature in the house was in deadly peril.
Lady Vavasour's terror and agitation were pitiful to see. In vain Joan
strove to soothe and quiet her. She would listen to no words of comfort.
Not another hour would she remain in that house. The servants, some of
whom had already fled, were beginning to take the alarm in good earnest,
and were packing up their worldly goods, only anxious to be gone. Horses
and pack horses were being already prepared, for Lady Vavasour had given
half-a-dozen orders for departure before she had made up her mind what
to do or where to go.
Now she was resolved to ride straight to her husband, without drawing
rein, or exchanging a word with any person upon the road. Such of the
servants as wished to accompany her might do so; the rest might do as
they pleased. Her one idea was to be gone, and that as quickly as possible.
She hurried away to change her dress for her long ride, urging Joan to
lose not a moment in doing the same; but what was her dismay on her
return to find her daughter still in her indoor dress, though she was
forwarding her mother's departure by filling the saddlebags with
provisions for the way, and laying strict injunctions upon the trusty
old servants who were about to travel with her to give every care to
their mistress, and avoid so far as was possible any place where there
was likelihood of catching the contagion. They were to bait the horses
in the open, and not to take them under any roof, and all were to carry
their own victuals and drink with them. But that she herself was not to
make one of the party was plainly to be learned by these many and
precise directions.
This fact became patent to the mother directly she came downstairs, and
at once she broke into the most incoherent expression of dismay and
terror; but Joan, after letting her talk for a few minutes to relieve
her feelings, spoke her answer in brief, decisive sentences.
"Mother, it is impossible for me to go. Old Bridget, as you know, is
ill. It is not the distemper, it is one of the attacks of illness to
which she has been all her life subject; but not one of these foolish
wenches will now go near her. She has nursed and tended me faithfully
from childhood. To leave her here alone in this great house, to live or
die as she might, is impossible. Here I remain till she is better. Think
not of me and fear not for me. I have no fears for myself. Go to our
father; he will doubtless be anxious for news of us. Linger not here.
Men say that those who fear the distemper are ever the first victims.
Farewell, and may health and safety be with you. My place is here, and
here I will remain till I see my way before me."
Lady Vavasour wept and lamented, but did not delay her own departure on
account of her obstinate daughter. She gave Joan up for lost, but she
would not stay to share her fate. She had already seen something of the
quiet firmness of the girl, which her father sometimes cursed as
stubbornness, and she felt that words would only be thrown away upon
her. Lamenting to the last, she mounted her palfrey, and set her train
of servants in motion; whilst Joan stood upon the top step of the flight
to the great door, and waved her hand to her mother till the cortege
disappeared down the drive. A brave and steadfast look was upon her
face, and the sigh she heaved as she turned at last away seemed one of
relief rather than of sorrow.
Lonely as might be her situation in this deserted house, it could not
but be a relief to her to feel that her timid mother would shortly be
under the protection of her husband, and more at rest than she could
ever hope to be away from his side. He could not keep the distemper at
bay, but he could often quiet the restless plaints and causeless terrors
of his weak-minded spouse.
As she turned back into the silent house she was aware of two figures in
the great hall that were strange there, albeit she knew both well as
belonging to two of the oldest retainers of the place, an old man and
his wife, who had lived the best part of their lives in Sir Hugh's
service at Woodcrych.
"Why, Betty -- and you also, Andrew -- what do ye here?" asked Joan,
with a grave, kindly smile at the aged couple.
With many humble salutations and apologies the old folks explained that
they had heard of the hasty and promiscuous flight of the whole
household, headed by the mistress, and also that the "sweet young lady"
was left all alone because she refused to leave old Bridget; and that
they had therefore ventured to come up to the great house to offer their
poor services, to wait upon her and to do for her all that lay in their
power, and this not for her only, but for the two sick persons already
in the house.
"For, as I do say to my wife there," said old Andrew, though he spoke in
a strange rustic fashion that would scarce be intelligible to our modern
ears, "a body can but die once; and for aught I see, one might as easy
die of the Black Death as of the rheumatics that sets one's bones afire,
and cripples one as bad as being in one's coffin at once. So I be
a-going to look to poor Willum, as they say is lying groaning still upon
the kitchen floor, none having dared to go anigh him since he fell down
in a fit. And if I be took tending on him, I know that you will take
care of my old woman, and see that she does not want for bread so long
as she lives."
Joan put out her soft, strong hand and laid it upon the hard, wrinkled
fist of the old servant. There was a suspicious sparkle in her dark eyes.
"I will not disappoint that expectation, good Andrew," she said. "Go if
you will, whilst we think what may best be done for Bridget. Later on I
will come myself to look at William. I have no fear of the distemper;
and of one thing I am very sure -- that it is never kept away by being
fled from and avoided. I have known travellers who have seen it, and
have been with the sick, and have never caught the contagion, whilst
many fled from it in terror only to be overtaken and struck down as they
so ran. We are in God's hands -- forsaken of all but Him. Let us trust
in His mercy, do our duty calmly and firmly, and leave the rest to Him."
Later in the day, upheld by this same lofty sense of calmness and trust,
Joan, after doing all in her power to make comfortable the old nurse,
who was terribly distressed at hearing how her dear young lady had been
deserted, left her to the charge of Betty, and went down again through
the dark and silent house to the great kitchen, where William was still
to be found, reclining now upon a settle beside the glowing hearth, and
looking not so very much the worse for the seizure of the afternoon.
"I do tell he it were but the colic," old Andrew declared, rubbing his
crumpled hands together in the glow of the fire. "He were in a rare
fright when I found he -- groaning out that the Black Death had hold of
he, and that he were a dead man; but I told he that he was the liveliest
corpse as I'd set eyes on this seventy years; and so after a bit he
heartened up, and found as he could get upon his feet after all. It were
naught but the colic in his inside; and he needn't be afraid of nothing
worse."
Old Andrew proved right. William's sudden indisposition had been but the
result of fright and hard riding, followed by copious draughts of hot
beer taken with a view to keeping away the contagion. Very soon he was
convinced of this himself; and when he understood how the whole
household had fled from him, and that the only ones who had stayed to
see that he did not die alone and untended were these old souls and
their adored young lady, his heart was filled with loving gratitude and
devotion, and he lost no opportunity of doing her service whenever it
lay in his power.
Strange and lonely indeed was the life led by those five persons shut up
in that large house, right away from all sights and sounds from the
world without. The silence and the solitude at last became well-nigh
intolerable, and when Bridget had recovered from her attack of illness
and was going about briskly again, Joan took the opportunity of speaking
her mind to her fully and freely.
"Why do we remain shut up within these walls, when there is so much work
to be done in the world? Bridget, thou knowest that I love not my life
as some love it. Often it seems to me as though by death alone I may
escape a frightful doom. All around us our fellow creatures are dying --
too often alone and untended, like dogs in a ditch. Good Bridget, I have
money in the house, and we have health and strength and courage; and
thou art an excellent good nurse in all cases of sickness. Thou hast
taught me some of thy skill, and I long to show it on behalf of these
poor stricken souls, so often deserted by their nearest and dearest in
the hour of their deadliest peril. If I go, wilt thou go with me? I trow
that thou art a brave woman --"
"And if I were not thou wouldst shame me into bravery, Sweetheart,"
answered the old woman fondly, as she looked into the earnest face of
her young mistress. "I too have been thinking of the poor stricken
souls. I would gladly risk the peril in such a labour of love. As old
Andrew says, we can but die once. The Holy Saints will surely look
kindly upon those who die at their post, striving to do as they would
have done had they been here with us upon earth."
And when William heard what his young mistress was about to do, he
declared that he too would go with her, and assist with the offices to
the sick or the dead. He still had a vivid recollection of the moments
when he had believed himself left alone to die of the distemper; and
fellow feeling and generosity getting the better of his first
unreasoning terror, he was as eager as Joan herself to enter upon this
labour of love. Bridget, who was a great botanist, in the practical
fashion of many old persons in those days, knew more about the
properties of herbs than anybody in the country round, and she made a
great selection from her stores, and brewed many pungent concoctions
which she gave to her young mistress and William to drink, to ward off
any danger from infection. She also gave them, to hang about their
necks, bags containing aromatic herbs, whose strong and penetrating
odour dominated all others, and was likely enough to do good in
purifying the atmosphere about the wearer.
There was no foolish superstition in Bridget's belief in her simples.
She did not regard them as charms; but she had studied their properties
and had learned their value, and knew them to possess valuable
properties for keeping the blood pure, and so rendering much smaller any
chance of imbibing the poison.
At dusk that same evening, William, who had been out all day, returned,
and requested speech of his young mistress. He was ushered into the
parlour where she sat, with her old nurse for her companion; and
standing just within the threshold he told his tale.
"I went across to the town today. I thought I would see if there was any
lodging to be had where you, fair Mistress, might conveniently abide
whilst working in that place. Your worshipful uncle's house I found shut
up and empty, not a soul within the doors -- all fled, as most of the
better sort of the people are fled, and every window and door fastened
up. Half the houses, too, are marked with black or red crosses, to show
that those within are afflicted with the distemper. There are watchmen
in the streets, striving to keep within their doors all such as have the
Black Death upon them; but these be too few for the task, and the
maddened wretches are continually breaking out, and running about the
streets crying and shouting, till they drop down in a fit, and lie
there, none caring for them. By day there be dead and dying in every
street; but at night a cart comes and carries the corpses off to the
great grave outside the town."
"And is there no person to care for the sick in all the town?" asked
Joan, with dilating eyes.
"There were many monks at first; but the distemper seized upon them
worse than upon the townfolks, and now there is scarce one left. Soon
after the distemper broke out, Master John de Brocas threw open his
house to receive all stricken persons who would come thither to be
tended, and it has been full to overflowing night and day ever since. I
passed by the house as I came out, and around the door there were scores
of wretched creatures, all stricken with the distemper, praying to be
taken in. And I saw Master John come out to them and welcome them in,
lifting a little child from the arms of an almost dying woman, and
leading her in by the hand. When I saw that, I longed to go in myself
and offer myself to help in the work; but I thought my first duty was to
you, sweet Mistress, and I knew if once I had told my tale you would not
hold me back."
"Nay; and I will go thither myself, and Bridget with me," answered Joan,
with kindling eyes. "We will start with the first light of the new-born
day. They will want the help of women as well as of men within those walls.
"Good Bridget, look well to thy store of herbs, and take ample provision
of all such as will allay fever and destroy the poison that works in the
blood. For methinks there will be great work to be done by thee and me
ere another sun has set; and every aid that nature can give us we will
thankfully make use of."
"Your palfrey is yet in the stable, fair Mistress," said William, "and
there be likewise the strong sorrel from the farm, whereupon Bridget can
ride pillion behind me. Shall I have them ready at break of day
tomorrow? We shall then gain the town before the day's work has well begun."
"Do so," answered Joan, with decision. "I would fain have started by
night; but it will be wiser to tarry for the light of day. Good William,
I thank thee for thy true and faithful service. We are going forth to
danger and perchance to death; but we go in a good cause, and we have no
need to fear."
And when William had retired, she turned to Bridget with shining eyes,
and said:
"Ah, did I not always say that John was the truest knight of them all?
The others have won their spurs; they have won the applause of men. They
have all their lives looked down on John as one unable to wield a sword,
one well-nigh unworthy of the ancient name he bears. But which of yon
gay knights would have done what he is doing now? Who of all of them
would stand forth fearless and brave in the teeth of this far deadlier
peril than men ever face upon the battlefield? I trow not one of them
would have so stood before a peril like this. They have left that for
the true Knight of the Cross!"
At dawn next day Joan said adieu to her old home, and set her face
steadily forward towards Guildford. The chill freshness of the November
air was pleasant after the long period of oppressive warmth and
closeness which had gone before, and now that the leaves had really
fallen from the trees, there was less of the heavy humidity in the air
that seemed to hold the germs of distemper and transmit them alike to
man and beast.
The sun was not quite up as they started; but as they entered the silent
streets of Guildford it was shining with a golden glory in strange
contrast to the scenes upon which it would shortly have to look. Early
morning was certainly the best time for Joan to enter the town, for the
cart had been its round, the dead had been removed from the streets, and
the houses were quieter than they often were later in the day. Once in a
way a wild shriek or a burst of demoniacal laughter broke from some
window; and once a girl, with hair flying wildly down her back, flew out
of one of the houses sobbing and shrieking in a frenzy of terror, and
was lost to sight down a side alley before Joan could reach her side.
Pursuing their way through the streets, they turned down the familiar
road leading to John's house, and dismounting at the gate, Joan gave up
her palfrey to William to seek stabling for it behind, and walked up
with Bridget to the open door of the house.
That door was kept wide open night and day, and none who came were ever
turned away. Joan entered the hall, to find great fires burning there,
and round these fires were crowded shivering and moaning beings, some of
the latest victims of the distemper, who had been brought within the
hospitable shelter of that house of mercy, but who had not yet been
provided with beds; for the numbers coming in day by day were even
greater than the vacancies made by deaths constantly occurring in the
wards (as they would now be called). Helpers were few, and of these one
or another would be stricken down, and carried away to burial after a
few hours' illness.
Of the wretched beings grouped about the fires several were little
children, and Joan's heart went out in compassion to the suffering
morsels of humanity. Taking a little moaning infant upon her knee, and
letting two more pillow their weary beads against her dress, she signed
to Bridget to remove her riding cloak, which she gently wrapped about
the scantily-clothed form of a woman extended along the ground at her
feet, to whom the children apparently belonged. The woman was dying
fast, as her glazing eyes plainly showed.
Probably her case was altogether hopeless; but Joan was not yet seasoned
to such scenes, and it seemed too terrible to sit by idle whilst a
fellow creature actually died not two yards away. Surely somewhere
within that house aid could be found. The girl rose gently from her
seat, and still clasping the stricken infant in her arms, she moved
towards one of the closed doors of the lower rooms.
Opening this softly, she looked in, and saw a row of narrow pallet beds
down each side of the room, and every bed was tenanted. Sounds of
moaning, the babble of delirious talk, and thickly-uttered cries for
help or mercy now reached her ears, and the terrible breath of the
plague for the first time smote upon her senses in all its full
malignity. She recoiled for an instant, and clutched at the bag around
her neck, which she was glad enough to press to her face.
A great fire was burning in the hearth, and all that could be done to
lessen the evil had been accomplished. There was one attendant in this
room, which was set apart for men, and he was just now bending over a
delirious youth, striving to restrain his wild ravings and to induce him
to remain in his bed. This attendant had his back to Joan, but she saw
by his actions and his calm self possession that he was no novice to his
task; and she walked softly through the pestilential place, feeling that
she should not appeal to him for help in vain.
As the sound of the light, firm tread sounded upon the bare boards of
the floor, the attendant suddenly lifted himself and turned round. Joan
uttered a quick exclamation of surprise, which was echoed by the person
in question.
"Raymond!" she exclaimed breathlessly.
"Joan! Thou here, and at such a time as this!"
And then they both stood motionless for a few long moments, feeling that
despite the terrible scenes around and about them, the very gates of
Paradise had opened before them, turning everything around them to gold.