She stared up, trembling. “Is it always death we have to face then? First Peter. Then the fire. Now this. And yesterday there was the darkness – the eclipse – the warning.”
He brought her to him, both hands firm to her shoulders. “Listen, little one. You showed great courage during the fire. Now you’ll do as I tell you, and find the courage to leave this place, and quickly. I won’t risk danger again if I can help it, and having found you, I won’t risk losing you.”
“I wasn’t lost.”
“In a way, my love, you were. I didn’t want you. You didn’t want me.” He grinned suddenly. “But we’ve changed our minds. So now we need to stay alive.” He pulled on his hose and braies as he spoke, hooking the codpiece and then climbing into his boots. “What – too proud to run? I hope this is nothing more than a handful of servants frightened of the stomach ache. But I’m getting you out until I’m sure. And you’ll obey me, my dear, or I’ll carry you out over my shoulder.”
The flurry and desperation seemed unreal. She whispered, “It’s not pride, and I’m frightened too. But you’re still too weak from the fire. You can barely ride, let alone run.”
“With the pestilence at our heels, I can outrun a fox.” He shrugged into his shirt. “I mean it, Emma. Have you never heard of outbreaks, and the desolation they leave behind them? It’s not just death, it’s agony and there’s no husband will subject his wife to that if he can help it. I can help it, so we’re getting out. Fast.”
Chapter Twelve
They were already slipping away, the scullions and the laundry maids, the cook, his assistant and the steward with his wife, two by two like ghosts in the moonlight, through the pantries into the small hedged gardens, through the back door into the lane, through the courtyard into the shadows of the stables and beyond. The ostlers were wakened, jumping up in alarm from the straw, scared and confused by the noise and the midnight bustle.
Aunt Elizabeth stood trembling as Adrian shoved his bundled clothes into a saddle bag, and ordered the horses saddled. “The pack horses too, and two carts,” he told them. “Then I give you leave to get out yourselves if there’s no one already sick. Get off back to your wives and mothers but be quiet about it. Alarm will alert the city, and I’ll not have them try and lock the gates in my face.”
“And what if we’re wrong?” ventured Sysabel. “What if it isn’t the Great Death?”
“Then we’ll look like fools,” said Nicholas. “But happy fools, and can ride back home in a week.”
“I am not in the habit of looking a fool,” Adrian said, turning briefly aside from the organisation of the carts and baggage. “If this was an enemy, I would face him, but no sensible man flails uselessly against disease.”
“We’re leaving our people,” Sysabel whispered.
Nicholas shook his head. “Most have left already. The pestilence moves fast, and respects neither title nor virtue. You can’t help the dead.”
Adrian interrupted. “You should know better, Sysabel, as if I would ever desert our household if they had need of me. It’s high time you realised I know best.”
Nicholas said, “Those still able are running quicker than we are, and the rest are beyond help.”
Adrian turned to him. “You said the Cock Robin out on the west road? But that’s a small place with little more than two extra rooms and one spare stall for the horses.”
“Then I’ll take Emma on further,” said Nicholas. “You’ll be recognised at the local inns, and be taken in more readily. I’ll bear south, and send a message back in a day or two. Take Sissy and get out now while I hurry up my own people. I won’t leave any of them behind. We’ll meet up again when all this is over.”
The Lady Elizabeth shivered, confused, shaking her head, pins dropping from a headdress she had not been able to adjust. “You say our own people are already leaving? I have barely had time to dress. I called for my maid, but she never came to my call.”
“Rats running from a sinking ship.”
“The rats die too,” said Nicholas, helping the widow up onto the front bench of the cart. “I passed through a village once where the dead outnumbered the living. Every shed was full of rats’ corpses.”
The larger of the carts was already filled, clothes and baskets thrown in as Adrian’s secretary clambered to the driving bench. “Get moving,” Adrian called, slapping the sumpter’s rump. Then he and his sister were mounted and left at once, Sysabel waving frantically as they thundered across the courtyard cobbles and through to the road beyond.
Nicholas bundled his wife up onto the saddle of her part bridled palfrey. The four guards who had accompanied them from the castle were already waiting in silence, and the two outriders, bridles in hand, stood at the main gates, holding them open. David Witton was still absent. Nicholas said, “One moment only, my love, while I chase the last of our people.”
The house was dark and no candles had been left alight downstairs. Nicholas called, quickly mounting the main staircase. His squire had been housed in the small closet room next to the bed chamber, and Nicholas went there first, striding down the corridor, calling as his own echoes followed him. The principal chamber lay in dishevelled gloom. Nicholas pushed open the door to the annexe beyond. “My lord?” David Witton was leaning over the narrow pallet but looked up, startled.
“Without speed,” Nicholas said quickly, “escape becomes pointless. We are waiting.” He stared at the shadows moving in the bed. “Who is that?” he demanded.
“My lord, forgive me.” David shook his head. “Her ladyship’s women took the back stairs some minutes past and will already be at the stables. I was at the moment of leaving – but forgive me – against orders, my lord, I stayed only to see these children – two kitchen boys who came searching for help. It was Martha, her ladyship’s nursemaid, brought them here. They are – very sick, my lord.”
“Sweet heaven,” Nicholas muttered, “do you choose infection, man?” He stepped forwards and crouched over the pallet, peering at the two children curled there. One did not move but moaned very quietly like the distant wail of a water bird. The other was flushed, tossing violently. Over his shoulder Nicholas said, “Light candles then, for pity’s sake. I cannot help if I cannot see.”
David said, “My lord, this is dangerous work. I would never have stayed had I not believed myself safe and my death not yet destined.” But he lit two candles, and brought them to his master’s side.
The children lay half entwined on the narrow mattress, the sheet in disarray, the straw dishevelled and tossed to the floor. One boy now lay still. The other flung off his covers, his body contorted as he cried out. They wore only their shirts, skinny legs bare grimed beneath. Nicholas sighed, and lifted the quiet child’s shirt, uncovering him up to his waist. The buboes were visible both sides of the groin. Great dark uneven swellings shone glossy in the candlelight, and one pulsed as if living, more alive than the child whose scrotum it devoured. Nicholas whispered, “It is the pestilence without doubt, and I have no means of easing it. I am no doctor, but I’ve seen this before. David, get wine. There’s a jug in the chamber next door, for I left it there myself.”
The man returned immediately with the jug and two cups. “Is this for yourself, my lord, or for medicine?”