Three painful days passed, and I was alive on the 12th of August…
I lived those days in pure hell. Black patches appeared all over my skin. I had the most awful spasms where I screeched and roared and banged, pulling at my lank, greasy hair. I finished the bread and milk. I think ‘tis that that kept me going at the end. I knew I was so lucky when I reached the 5th day of having been contaminated. I cried, I am not sure whether of joy or sadness, when the buboes burst and although the liquid was a most dreadful smell, I danced up and down with glee like a mad witch. I decided to plan what I would do next, but my life was already planned ahead of me.
The cupboard door banged open, and I jumped to my feet, fearful. The man stood before me was Lord Broughton! His chest wasn’t puffed out as usual, and pink circles rimmed his eyes. We both stared at each other.
“I am very sorry, sir, for trespassing! Although I do, well did, work here. In fact sir, this may sound terribly cheeky but why did you employ me when my reputation is most dreadful?” I gabbled all in a hurry. Lord Broughton’s reaction was most surprising: he started to cry.
“Lady Rose Broughton,” he sniffed. I blinked.
“You want me to marry you?” I gasped, clapping my hand to my mouth. He snorted with sad laughter.
“I employed you because you’re my dear sweet child,” he cried, throwing his arms out. My dear sweet child…“Oh, oh!” I realised, throwing myself at him in a sobbing fit, “My Papa, my Papa!”
YOU ARE READING
Witch of the Plague
Historical FictionEvery day as she walks to work, Rose Marshall is tormented by the village children for being the daughter of a witch. Soon, they will cease their chants, because the year is 1348, and the Black Death is coming to Henwick village, and will claim as...
