Witch of the Plague

Witch of the Plague - Day 3

On the 3rd of August, Henwick was mourning…

Elizabeth insisted she walk with me to work, so that she could pay a visit on the Cavendish family. I was anxious for her not to, for I was fearful she could catch symptoms. There was no need to worry; there were no symptoms to catch. I held Elizabeth in my arms as she sobbed. The Cavendish house was boarded up, and passers-by hurried on quickly, keeping their heads low. Mr Butterworth next door told us ‘twas the reason the bells tolled last night. Elizabeth, brushing back her tears, cried:

“Do you not think we presume that already?” Mr Butterworth went quite pink, lifting his head up and crossing his beefy arms. ‘Tis then that I noticed the buboes formed on his neck! I screamed, and instantaneously grabbed Elizabeth.

“Rose, whatever ‘tis the-” Elizabeth stopped to also screech. I could feel her body next to me, shaking.

“The Black Death, the Black Death, ‘tis truly here in Henwick!” she yelled, running through the streets. Mr Butterworth went inside with a slam of his front door.

“God have mercy on you,” I muttered, then hastened after Elizabeth as the bell tolled again.

I arrived at work late, and feeling undignified because I had been searched again at the gates. No-one listened to my apologies for my lateness, because they were all in the middle of a tremendous quarrel. I eavesdropped, for ‘twas unfair if I slaved away whilst they had their little hoity-toitys!

“No, you are wrong. The plague is always caused by our own sins, this Black Death is no different.”

“Nay, that cannot be the cause, for all here are devout churchgoers, and our sins would have been forgiven there,” Jane argued. There was some murmur of agreement. The door of the room opened, and Mrs Smythe, the head washerwoman, told us to hush. She scanned the stiflingly hot room with her squinty black eyes.

“Where is Margaret?” she snapped tiredly.

“Miss, if you please, Margaret is staying indoors for her belief is the air is the source of contamination,” Jane piped up while we all set to fetching buckets of water and scrubbing brushes.

“Very well then. No more debating about the Black Death now, save that for the meeting at church later,” Mrs Smythe sighed, while some exchanged triumphant looks about the meeting. Others worked diligently, dressed in black, a mark to show the Black Death had arrived.

Almost everyone went to the meeting later that day, apart from my Mama and a few others.

“’Tis stupid to discuss the Black Death whilst you may sit there catching it,” Mama said when I told her. I sat alone by myself at the meeting, listening. Father Thomas led the meeting, but seemed against any other source of contamination except God’s punishment for our sins, for of course that would be his belief since he was the most religious person in Henwick. I listened to each point carefully, deciding to go with the well-argued point.

First to speak was Martha Butterworth. I scanned her closely for buboes like her father, but she wore a high-necked green gown on so ‘twas near impossible to tell.

“My belief is that the Jews have contaminated the water.” I heard someone snort unkindly. Father Thomas asked why this would be the cause.

“Because everyone drinks water, it would be such an easy aspect to contaminate,” Martha explained, rubbing her nose quickly. ‘Tis the signs of early Black Death to have a runny nose! If the Cavendishes and Butterworths both died- would it be us Marshalls next? I could feel my heart thumping.

The next idea was hard to understand, for apparently Jesus had actually sent invisible arrows of plague at us! Father Thomas pointed out that a lethal arrow would kill instantly, whereas the Black Death developed until you were such agony you were begging for mercy. The gravedigger thought:

“Fish are the cause because the Cavendish family had half-eaten fish on their table.”

“Are you suggesting, Mr Brown, we should not eat the food provided by God?” Father Thomas questioned.

“Nay, ‘tis not God’s fault! The fish have suffered from the bad air- which is also contaminated with the Black Death,” Mr Brown explained further. The congregation’s heads all turned as Mrs Smythe, feistily agreed with this proposition, hands on her large hips.

“’Tis the most sensible thing I have heard! We all breathe in air- it must be something everyone in Europe shares.”

“Water.”

“Food.”

“Clothes?” Various people shouted out other things we all share.

“It must be the air, for even high-born people are dying and they have much better food than us! Besides, his majesty King Edward supports this idea,” someone else yelled out. Then a most unseemly brawl started, for someone had noticed black patches over someone’s body. The black patches formed because there was bleeding under the skin. I slipped away, no more certain of the source of contamination than I was when I entered.