Witch of the Plague

Witch of the Plague - Day 6

On the 6th August, things took a turn for the worst…

As I walked to work, the children did not chant. The atmosphere was bad because all of Margaret Moor’s family had departed from us last night. I did not feel as scared as when the Cavendishes and Butterworths died because they lived on the other side of town. However, at Henwick Manor, Jane took it very seriously since she lived next door to her. Work was tiresome, as we could not stare out at the lush meadows, for the windows were all steamed up.

All around us, we were losing loved ones. We needed to be strong to get through this. Except we couldn’t, for the bells tolled more than five times a day. The village had definitely changed since the Black Death had arrived, for no-one stopped to talk in the streets, which were mainly quite empty, apart from yellow puddles where chamber pots had been emptied out of the houses on the main street. My life was going to change, for when I arrived home Elizabeth was sat by herself in bed. She sniffed into a tissue.

“Hello, Rose,” she croaked, and that is when I knew.

I sat by her bedside all night, fetching water and more cloth tissues to snivel into. She moaned how much her head hurt.

“Hush, it will all be over soon,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to die!” she lisped, but she looked so pale and fragile. She grabbed the side of her bed and vomited, then started sobbing. I rushed over to my side of the room, taking in deep breaths. I had to be strong for Elizabeth.

“How do you think you came to be afflicted?” I questioned slowly.

“Those flowers I was given from the little boy- he was found dead in the street today, of the Black Death,” Elizabeth told me hoarsely. This aching pain began to beat in my body. I had given Elizabeth those flowers.

Grandmamma and Mama came in after putting Robert and John to bed in the small room. I had by then fetched a bucket and flannel because Elizabeth had developed a fever.  Her forehead glistened with sweat. Later into the night, the buboes burst and a foul-smelling black liquid spilled out all over the blankets and floorboards. Elizabeth’s face, all red from fever, creased up in pain. She was in pain because her nervous system had been attacked, perhaps, for I am not an expert on the plague. Grandmamma screamed with joy:

“The buboes have burst-you live, you live!” So much relief washed over me, but I was confused, as I thought the buboes burst on the 5th day you were afflicted. I asked Elizabeth this, and she fell silent.

“I’ve had the Black Death all week, you just didn’t notice,” she finally told me.

“I gave the Cavendish babe the curse, I visited her that day. ‘Twas me that brought the Black Death to Henwick," she babbled, sobbing despairingly.

"Hush, hush, you're talking nonsense," I cried, eyes widening.

“You do not know that for sure,” Grandmamma reminded her optimistically.

“But I do,” Elizabeth whispered, “Promise you’ll remember me?” I frowned. What did she mean? Elizabeth got out of bed. She opened the window. She climbed onto the grimy windowsill.

“No!” I screeched wildly, but she had already jumped out the window. Her body lay spread-eagled on the ground, lit up by the moon that shone in mockery.