I flushed slightly and that annoyed me, because I was finding that Carleton’s remarks often discountenanced me. He knew this and revelled in it.
“Don’t get too friendly, will you?” he said and moved off. It was an irritating habit of his that he would make some remark like that and before I had time to challenge it be gone.
It was he who told me that the theatres had been closed. I thought at once of Harriet and so did he. She was, of course, the reason he mentioned it.
He came close to me—he had made a habit of doing that and it angered me—and he gripped my arm tightly. “Don’t worry about that woman,” he said. “She will always find some way out of a difficult situation, no matter where and when.”
“Like you,” I replied.
“Yes, there is a similarity. I’ll wager that whatever happens to anyone else, she’ll come through safely.”
But I was not sure of that and I worried about her.
That was an eventful time. While the plague was raging in the cities, England was at war with the Dutch and there was great rejoicing over a victory at sea off Harwich when the King’s brother, the Duke of York, became the hero of the day, having blown up Admiral Opdam, all his crew and fourteen of his ships, and capturing eighteen more.
In London there was a thanksgiving service to commemorate the victory and immediately afterwards a fast was ordered because of the plague for the first Wednesday in every month. Money was raised to help young children who had lost their parents, to set up centres where the infected could be cared for and to make every effort to stop the spread of the scourge. All those who could retire to the country were advised to do so, and the holding of fairs or any such gatherings where disease could spread was prohibited.
The heat was great that summer and people saw in this a reason for the spread of the plague. In the gutters the filth stank and rotted and the rats multiplied. The city was the scene of desolation; the shops closed, the streets emptied except for the pest carts and those who were dying on the cobbles. Orders were given that fires should be lighted in the streets for three days and nights in succession in the hope of destroying the rotting rubbish and purifying the air. The deaths, which in the beginning had been one thousand a week, were reaching ten thousand. The King and the Court had moved to Salisbury, but when the plague reached that town they adjourned to Oxford.
At Eversleigh we were ever on the alert. I was terrified that some harm would come to my son. Every morning, as soon as I arose, I would hurry to the nursery to assure myself that he was in perfect health.
Sir Geoffrey stayed on. We impressed on him that it would be folly to return to London just yet. He seemed very willing to agree to this and interested himself in the estate and made himself useful in several ways. He himself had estates much closer to London and he told me that he really should be there. However, it was pleasant to linger and his affairs were in the best of hands.
“It has been so pleasant here,” he went on. “I have grown so fond of the little boys. I always wanted a boy of my own and I would have liked him to be just like Edwin.”
Nothing he said could have pleased me more. He had made me see too how fortunate I was. I had lost my husband, but fate had been kind in giving me my son.
What a relief it was when September came and the weather turned cold. The good news came that the number of deaths in the capital had dropped considerably. There was no doubt that the excessively hot weather had been in some respects responsible. Rain came and that was a further help and gradually parishes began to be declared free of the plague.
There was great rejoicing throughout the country and those who had left London were now eager to return.
Geoffrey went, declaring he would soon be back. We must visit him, he said. He would enjoy riding round his land and showing it to young Edwin. We missed him when he had gone, and this applied particularly to my son. We all said we must meet again soon. The kind of experience we had had was a firm foundation for friendship.
It was disconcerting to hear that ninety-seven thousand people were known to have died from the plague but, as Carleton pointed out, many deaths would not have been recorded. One hundred and thirty thousand was more like the number.
It was a sobering thought.
“There is too much filth in the streets of big cities,” he said. “They are saying that the rats carry the plague and where they are this will be. We could clean up our streets and then perhaps we should not be cursed with this periodic plague.”
We were all greatly relieved to have come through safely. Uncle Toby said what a delight it would be to visit London and the Court again. He was fascinated by the theatres which had improved considerably since the King had come home.
“The King loves the play,” said Carleton, “and since the fashionable world will follow its king, we have improved playhouses.”
“Very different from what they were when I went away,” agreed Uncle Toby. “Though we had the apron stage then.”
“Ah,” said Carleton, “but not the proscenium arch with the window opening onto a music room and the shutters which can be open and shut, thus make a change of scene.”
“A great improvement!” agreed Toby enthusiastically. “But I’ll tell you what is best on the stage today, Carl, my boy.”
“Don’t tell me, I know,” said Carleton. And they said simultaneously: “The women players.”
“Think of it!” went on Uncle Toby. “We used to see a delicious creature on the stage and just as we were getting interested we’d remind ourselves that it was a boy, not the pretty lady it seemed.”
“There is nothing to compare with the real thing,” said Carleton. “The King is all for the playhouses. He thinks they make his capital gay. The people need to laugh, he says. Odds fish, they’ve been solemn enough for too long. He won’t have them taxed, although some of our ministers have tried to make it difficult for them. The answer was that the players were the King’s servants and part of his pleasure.”
“Was it right,” asked Uncle Toby, “that Sir John Coventry asked whether the King’s pleasure lay with the men or the women?”
“He did, the fool,” replied Carleton, “and for once His Majesty did not appreciate the joke. Nor did others, for Coventry was set on in Suffolk Street and ever after bears the mark of a slit nose for that bit of foolery.”
“It seems a harsh punishment for a remark which might be considered reasonable,” I put in.
“Dear Cousin, have a care,” said Carleton lightly. “What a tragedy if that charming little nose of yours should suffer the same treatment.”
I put my hand to my nose protectively and Carleton was at my side. “Have no fear. I would never permit it. But it is a fact that even the most good-natured kings can now and then give sharp rejoinders.”
“I’ll swear the theatres will soon be full again,” said Uncle Toby.
“You can be sure that Killigrew and Davenant are rubbing their hands with glee at the prospect,” said Carleton. “When we are absolutely sure that it is safe, you must visit a theatre again, Cousin. I wonder if the handsome Mistress Harriet Main is still about. You would be interested to see her, Uncle Toby, I don’t doubt.”
“Always like to see a handsome woman, my boy.”
“You shall, Uncle. You shall.”
By the following February the King had returned to Whitehall with the Duke of York, and the courts of justice were once more sitting in Westminster. Carleton went to London and was away some weeks and it was while he was away that Tamsy Tyler came to Eversleigh.
I knew Tamsy before, because when Barbary had come to Eversleigh, she had brought Tamsy with her as her personal maid. Tamsy had been adept at hairdressing and adding the right touch of colour to cheeks and knew exactly where to apply a patch or a black spot to enhance a particular feature. She had been a plump and rather pretty creature and I had had no doubt that she shared her mistress’s pleasure in the opposite sex.