Page 43 of The Lovers (Echoes from the Past #1)
THIRTY-ONE
By the time Elise returned to the house, she felt marginally better.
They’d spent an hour in the garden, and despite her sour mood, the sight of colorful blooms and the heady fragrance of primroses lifted her spirits.
Barbara drifted off to the parlor as soon as they came back in, intent on returning to her crewelwork, but Elise decided to stop by the kitchen for a cool drink.
She was suddenly very thirsty. Elise walked along the passage, acutely aware of the silence enveloping the house.
The only place bustling with activity was the kitchen, where Cook and several kitchen maids worked all day long to bake bread, roast meat, and prepare numerous side dishes that were hardly touched unless Edward came home.
She supposed the servants ate well these days since all the leftovers went straight back to the kitchen for their own dinner.
Elise stopped just outside the kitchen when she heard Cook’s cry of dismay. She sounded unusually upset, her voice trembling with unchecked panic. She was normally a level-headed woman who ran her kitchen as a captain would his ship, so her distress was alarming.
“We must double our order of flour. Or even triple it. We don’t know ’ow long it’ll last this time,” Cook exclaimed. “And take stock of all our stores.”
“Come now, Bess, don’t ye despair. We’ve weathered it afore, and we will again,” a calm male voice said. It was the gardener, Cook’s husband, who’d come in for a cup of ale before returning to his work.
“Nay, John, I refuse to sit idly by,” Cook screeched.
“We ought to prepare. There’ve already been several deaths in St. Giles, St. Clement Danes, and St. Andrew.
A dwellin’ ’ad been sealed up in St. Giles, but a riot broke out and they freed the condemned, those soft-’earted fools.
Don’t they know what will ’appen?” Cook wailed.
“Bess, this ’appens every year,” her husband tried to soothe her. “We are safe ’ere in ’is lordship’s ’ouse. ’Tis the poor that ’ave to worry, living in such close quarters as they do. We’re well removed from the city gates and slums.”
“Not far enough,” Cook retorted. “What’ya think, ye daft fool, that no people of quality die from the plague? Why, the king himself could be in danger. ’E’ll be off to the country, ye mark my words, leaving the common folk to die.”
Cook sounded quite hysterical, and Elise was suddenly no longer thirsty.
She turned and fled, going back up to her bedroom.
This was terrible news indeed. She’d been so wrapped up in her own feelings that she hadn’t paid much heed to what was happening outside.
There were deaths from the plague every year, but having lived in Southwark, Elise and the rest of the family felt relatively safe.
The first plague deaths each year were reported in areas close to the docks, having been brought to London aboard ships from Europe.
Measures, in the form of a quarantine, had been instituted by the Privy Council.
Ships from infected areas were required to dock at Hole Haven at Canvey Island for a period of forty days before entering the Thames Estuary.
Only ships with a certificate of health were allowed to proceed upriver, and they had to pass another checkpoint at Tilbury or Gravesend.
Elise could understand Cook’s distress, but she thought the older woman was overreacting.
Most deaths occurred in poor, overcrowded areas where people lived in squalor and filth.
Those areas were found closest to the city gates and beyond city limits, in the Liberties.
They were quite safe here; there was no need for panic.
Besides, Edward was always at Whitehall Palace.
He was privy to the latest news and would look after them should the need arise.
Elise kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed. Sunlight flooded the room, but she didn’t bother to draw the bed hangings. She was suddenly very tired and was asleep within minutes.