Witch of the Plague

Witch of the Plague - Day 1

My name is Rose. This is my story. I have conquered the Black Death. The reason: I am the daughter of a witch.

My story begins on the 1st August 1348…

“Rosey-posey Marshall, daughter of a witch!” Every single day as I ambled to work the children of the village taunted me. ‘Twas best to ignore them than to start a brawl, whereby the consequences may’ve led me then to look unpresentable to Lord and Lady Broughton. I worked for them at Henwick Manor, which was a fine position when most of Henwick village thought I was a most deadly omen.

‘Twas not my fault that my Mama, Annie Marshall, was somewhat peculiar in the mind. Also, it did not help that her black cat Thomas followed her just about everywhere. My Grandmamma’s reputation had been dragged down because of her ‘strange witch of a daughter’. She lived with me and my Mama and my cousins in a quaint cottage, on the edge of the olde woods.

My walk to and from work was most pleasant, apart from the children's chants. I would pass the baker’s and smell sweet loaves of bread, and the blacksmith’s and feel the heat of the hot red irons on my high forehead. I would skip along the lanes with the milkmaids who wore crowns of buttercups and the seamstresses waggling fingers peppered with needle pricks.

As I reached the gates of Henwick Manor, I was somewhat confused to why everyone entering was being thoroughly scrutinized by the guards. I tried to push past, anxious to be on time, for if I lost this position it would be most difficult to get another.

“Hold on there, missy.” The guard stopped me in my attempt.

“Pardon me, sir, but I work here,” I proclaimed haughtily. He laughed as if I was some oddity.

“Anyone entering must be searched for signs of the Black Death.” The moment he spoke those last two words, my whole body froze. I was gripped with nausea. I grabbed hold of the gate, eyes filled with fear. I spoke my next words in barely a whisper:

“Surely not that the Black Death would come to England?”

The day continued as usual, but there were many rumours about the Black Death reaching Melbourne, down in Dorset. When I reached home and told Mama what the gossiping washerwomen had told me, she laughed and proclaimed ‘twas nonsense. Her laugh was most eerie, and I was not assured of our safety, even though Melbourne was many miles away.

At supper, my twin cousins Robert and John were exchanging many grizzly stories about the various plagues, until Grandmamma told them wearily to hush. Our meal continued in awkward silence- but then something pierced through it. The most awful, ear-shattering scream cracked through the air. The glass my cousin Elizabeth was drinking from smashed to the floor in harmony with the never-ending scream.