Читать книгу Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire - Ainsworth William Harrison - Страница 7

"And so my husband has got the plague," muttered Mother Malmayns, as she hastened towards Saint Paul's, after the reproof she had received from Doctor Hodges. "Well, it's a disorder that few recover from, and I don't think he stands a better chance than his fellows. I've been troubled with him long enough. I've borne his ill-usage and savage temper for twenty years, vainly hoping something would take him off; but though he tried his constitution hard, it was too tough to yield. However, he's likely to go now. If I find him better than I expect, I can easily make all sure. That's one good thing about the plague. You may get rid of a patient without any one being the wiser. A wrong mixture—a pillow removed—a moment's chill during the fever—a glass of cold water—the slightest thing will do it. Matthew Malmayns, you will die of the plague, that's certain. But I must be careful how I proceed. That cursed doctor has his eye upon me. As luck would have it, I've got Sibbald's ointment in my pocket. That is sure to do its business—and safely."

Thus ruminating, she shaped her course towards the southwest corner of the cathedral, and passing under the shrouds and cloisters of the Convocation House, raised the latch of a small wooden shed fixed in the angle of a buttress. Evidently well acquainted with the place, she was not long in finding a lantern and materials to light it, and inserting her fingers in a crevice of the masonry, from which the mortar had been removed, she drew forth a key.

"It has not been stirred since I left it here a month ago," she muttered. "I must take care of this key, for if Matthew should die, I may not be able to enter the vaults of Saint Faith's without it; and as I know all their secret places and passages, which nobody else does, except my husband, I can make them a storehouse for the plunder I may obtain during the pestilence. If it rages for a year, or only half that time, and increases in violence (as God grant it may), I will fill every hole in those walls with gold."

With this, she took up the lantern, and crept along the side of the cathedral, until she came to a flight of stone steps. Descending them, she unlocked a small but strong door, cased with iron, and fastening it after her, proceeded along a narrow stone passage, which brought her to another door, opening upon the south aisle of Saint Faith's.

Pausing for a moment to listen whether any one was within the sacred structure—for such was the dead and awful silence of the place, that the slightest whisper or footfall, even at its farthest extremity, could be distinguished—she crossed to the other side, glancing fearfully around her as she threaded the ranks of pillars, whose heavy and embrowned shafts her lantern feebly illumined, and entering a recess, took a small stone out of the wall, and deposited the chief part of the contents of her pocket behind it, after which she carefully replaced the stone. This done, she hurried to the charnel, and softly opened the door of the crypt.

Greatly relieved by the operation he had undergone, the sexton had sunk into a slumber, and was, therefore, unconscious of the entrance of his wife, who, setting down the lantern, advanced towards the pallet. His mother and the young man were still in attendance, and the former, on seeing her daughter-in-law, exclaimed, in low but angry accents—"What brings you here, Judith? I suppose you expected to find my son dead. But he will disappoint you. Doctor Hodges said he would recover—did he not Kerrich?" she added, appealing to the young man, who nodded acquiescence. "He will recover, I tell you."

"Well, well," replied Judith, in the blandest tone she could assume; "I hope he will. And if the doctor says so, I have no doubt of it. I only heard of his illness a few minutes ago, and came instantly to nurse him."

"You nurse him?" cried the old woman; "if you show him any affection now, it will be for the first time since your wedding-day."

"How long has he been unwell?" demanded Judith, with difficulty repressing her anger.

"He was seized the night before last," replied the old woman; "but he didn't know what was the matter with him when it began. I saw him just before he went to rest, and he complained of a slight illness, but nothing to signify. He must have passed a frightful night, for the vergers found him in the morning running about Saint Faith's like a madman, and dashing his spades and mattocks against the walls and pillars. They secured him, and brought him here, and on examination, he proved to have the plague."

"You surprise me by what you say," replied Judith. "During the last month, I have nursed more than a dozen patients, and never knew any of them so violent. I must look at his sore."

"The doctor has just dressed it," observed the old woman.

"I don't mind that," rejoined Judith, turning down the blanket, and examining her husband's shoulder. "You are right," she added, "he is doing as well as possible."

"I suppose I shan't be wanted any more," observed Kerrich, "now you're come back to nurse your husband, Mrs. Malmayns? I shall be glad to get home to my own bed, for I don't feel well at all."

"Don't alarm yourself," replied Judith. "There's a bottle of plague vinegar for you. Dip a piece of linen in it, and smell at it, and I'll insure you against the pestilence."

Kerrich took the phial, and departed. But the remedy was of little avail. Before daybreak, he was seized with the distemper, and died two days afterwards.

"I hope poor Kerrich hasn't got the plague?" said the old woman, in a tremulous tone.

"I am afraid he has," replied the daughter-in-law, "but I didn't like to alarm him."

"Mercy on us!" cried the other, getting up. "What a dreadful scourge it is."

"You would say so, if you had seen whole families swept off by it, as I have," replied Judith. "But it mostly attacks old persons and children."

"Lord help us!" cried the crone, "I hope it will spare me. I thought my age secured me."

"Quite the reverse," replied Judith, desirous of exciting her mother-in-law's terrors; "quite the reverse. You must take care of yourself."

"But you don't think I'm ill, do you?" asked the other, anxiously.

"Sit down, and let me look at you," returned Judith.

And the old woman tremblingly obeyed.

"Well, what do you think of me—what's the matter?" she asked, as her daughter-in-law eyed her for some minutes in silence. "What's the matter, I say?"

But Judith remained silent.

"I insist upon knowing," continued the old woman.

"Are you able to bear the truth?" returned her daughter-in-law.

"You need say no more," groaned the old woman. "I know what the truth must be, and will try to bear it. I will get home as fast as I can, and put my few affairs in order, so that if I am carried off, I may not go unprepared."

"You had better do so," replied her daughter-in-law.

"You will take care of my poor son, Judith," rejoined the old woman, shedding a flood of tears. "I would stay with him, if I thought I could do him any good; but if I really am infected, I might only be in the way. Don't neglect him—as you hope for mercy hereafter, do not."

"Make yourself easy, mother," replied Judith. "I will take every care of him."

"Have you no fears of the disorder yourself?" inquired the old woman.

"None whatever," replied Judith. "I am a safe woman."

"I do not understand you," replied her mother-in-law, in surprise.

"I have had the plague," replied Judith; "and those who have had it once, never take it a second time."

This opinion, entertained at the commencement of the pestilence, it may be incidentally remarked, was afterwards found to be entirely erroneous; some persons being known to have the distemper three or four times.

"You never let us know you were ill," said the old woman.

"I could not do so," replied Judith, "and I don't know that I should have done if I could. I was nursing two sisters at a small house in Clerkenwell Close, and they both died in the night-time, within a few hours of each other. The next day, as I was preparing to leave the house, I was seized myself, and had scarcely strength to creep up-stairs to bed. An old apothecary, named Sibbald, who had brought drugs to the house, attended me, and saved my life. In less than a week, I was well again, and able to move about, and should have returned home, but the apothecary told me, as I had had the distemper once, I might resume my occupation with safety. I did so, and have found plenty of employment."

"No doubt," rejoined the old woman; "and you will find plenty more—plenty more."

"I hope so," replied the other.

"Oh! do not give utterance to such a dreadful wish, Judith," rejoined her mother-in-law. "Do not let cupidity steel your heart to every better feeling."

A slight derisive smile passed over the harsh features of the plague-nurse.

"You heed me not," pursued the old woman. "But a time will come when you will recollect my words."

"I am content to wait till then," rejoined Judith.

"Heaven grant you a better frame of mind!" exclaimed the old woman. "I must take one last look of my son, for it is not likely I shall see him again."

"Not in this world," thought Judith.

"I conjure you, by all that is sacred, not to neglect him," said the old woman.

"I have already promised to do so," replied Judith, impatiently.

"Good-night, mother."

"It will be a long good-night to me, I fear," returned the dame. "Doctor Hodges promised to send some blankets and medicine for poor Matthew. The doctor is a charitable man to the poor, and if he learns I am sick, he may, perhaps, call and give me advice."

"I am sure he will," replied Judith. "Should the man bring the blankets, I will tell him to acquaint his master with your condition. And now take this lantern, mother, and get home as fast as you can."

So saying, she almost pushed her out of the vault, and closed the door after her.

"At last I am rid of her," she muttered. "She would have been a spy over me. I hope I have frightened her into the plague. But if she dies of fear, it will answer my purpose as well. And now for my husband."

Taking up the lamp, and shading it with her hand, she gazed at his ghastly countenance.

"He slumbers tranquilly," she muttered, after contemplating him for some time, adding with a chuckling laugh, "it would be a pity to waken him."

And seating herself on a stool near the pallet, she turned over in her mind in what way she could best execute her diabolical purpose.

While she was thus occupied, the messenger from Doctor Hodges arrived with a bundle of blankets and several phials and pots of ointment. The man offered to place the blankets on the pallet, but Judith would not let him.

"I can do it better myself, and without disturbing the poor sufferer," she said. "Give my dutiful thanks to your master. Tell him my husband's mother, old widow Malmayns, fancies herself attacked by the plague, and if he will be kind enough to visit her, she lodges in the upper attic of a baker's house, at the sign of the Wheatsheaf, in Little Distaff-lane, hard by."

"I will not fail to deliver your message to the doctor," replied the man, as he took his departure.

Left alone with her husband a second time, Judith waited till she thought the man had got out of the cathedral, and then rising and taking the lamp, she repaired to the charnel, to make sure it was untenanted. Not content with this, she stole out into Saint Faith's, and gazing round as far as the feeble light of her lamp would permit, called out in a tone that even startled herself, "Is any one lurking there?" but receiving no other answer than was afforded by the deep echoes of the place, she returned to the vault. Just as she reached the door, a loud cry burst upon her ear, and rushing forward, she found that her husband had wakened.

"Ah!" roared Malmayns, raising himself in bed, as he perceived her, "are you come back again, you she-devil? Where is my mother? Where is Kerrich? What have you done with them?"

"They have both got the plague," replied his wife. "They caught it from you. But never mind them. I will watch over you as long as you live."

"And that will be for years, you accursed jade," replied the sexton; "Dr. Hodges says I shall recover."

"You have got worse since he left you," replied Judith. "Lie down, and let me throw these blankets over you."

"Off!" cried the sick man, furiously. "You shall not approach me. You want to smother me."

"I want to cure you," replied his wife, heaping the blankets upon the pallet. "The doctor has sent some ointment for your sore."

"Then let him apply it himself," cried Malmayns, shaking his fist at her. "You shall not touch me. I will strangle you if you come near me."

"Matthew," replied his wife, "I have had the plague myself, and know how to treat it better than any doctor in London. I will cure you, if you will let me."

"I have no faith in you," replied Malmayns, "but I suppose I must submit. Take heed what you do to me, for if I have but five minutes to live, it will be long enough to revenge myself upon you."

"I will anoint your sore with this salve," rejoined Judith, producing a pot of dark-coloured ointment, and rubbing his shoulder with it. "It was given me by Sibbald, the apothecary of Clerkenwell He is a friend of Chowles, the coffin-maker. You know Chowles, Matthew?"

"I know him for as great a rascal as ever breathed," replied her husband, gruffly. "He has always cheated me out of my dues, and his coffins are the worst I ever put under ground."

"He is making his fortune now," said Judith.

"By the plague, eh?" replied Matthew. "I don't envy him. Money so gained won't stick to him. He will never prosper."

"I wish you had his money, Matthew," replied his wife, in a coaxing tone.

"If the plague hadn't attacked me when it did, I should have been richer than Chowles will ever be," replied the sexton,—"nay, I am richer as it is."

"You surprise me," replied Judith, suddenly pausing in her task. "How have you obtained your wealth?"

"I have discovered a treasure," replied, the sexton, with a mocking laugh,—"a secret hoard—a chest of gold—ha! ha!"

"Where—where?" demanded his wife, eagerly.

"That's a secret," replied Matthew.

"I must have it from him before he dies," thought his wife. "Had we better not secure it without delay?" she added, aloud. "Some other person may find it."

"Oh, it's safe enough," replied Matthew. "It has remained undiscovered for more than a hundred years, and will continue so for a hundred to come, unless I bring it forth."

"But you will bring it forth, won't you?" said Judith.

"Undoubtedly," replied Matthew, "if I get better. But not otherwise.

Money would be of no use to me in the grave."

"But it would be of use to me," replied his wife.

"Perhaps it might," replied the sexton; "but if I die, the knowledge of the treasure shall die with me."

"He is deceiving me," thought Judith, beginning to rub his shoulder afresh.

"I suspect you have played me false, you jade," cried Malmayns, writhing with pain. "The stuff you have applied burns like caustic, and eats into my flesh."

"It is doing its duty," replied his wife, calmly watching his agonies.

"You will soon be easier."

"Perhaps I shall—in death," groaned the sufferer. "I am parched with thirst. Give me a glass of water."

"You shall have wine, Matthew, if you prefer it. I have a flask in my pocket," she replied. "But what of the treasure—where is it?"

"Peace!" he cried. "I will baulk your avaricious hopes. You shall never know where it is."

"I shall know as much as you do," she rejoined, in a tone of incredulity. "I don't believe a word you tell me. You have found no treasure."

"If this is the last word I shall ever utter, I have," he returned; —"a mighty treasure. But you shall never possess it—never!—ah! ah!"

"Nor shall you have the wine," she replied; "there is water for you," she added, handing him a jug, which he drained with frantic eagerness. "He is a dead man," she muttered.

"I am chilled to the heart," grasped the sexton, shivering from head to foot, while chill damps gathered on his brow. "I have done wrong in drinking the water, and you ought not to have given it me."

"You asked for it," she replied. "You should have had wine but for your obstinacy. But I will save you yet, if you will tell me where to find the treasure."

"Look for it in my grave," he returned, with a hideous grin.

Soon after this, he fell into a sort of stupor. His wife could now have easily put a period to his existence, but she still hoped to wrest the secret from him. She was assured, moreover, that his recovery was hopeless. At the expiration of about two hours, he was aroused by the excruciating anguish of his sore. He had again become delirious, and raved as before about coffins, corpses, graves, and other loathsome matters. Seeing, from his altered looks and the livid and gangrenous appearance which the tumour had assumed, that his end was not far off, Judith resolved not to lose a moment, but to try the effect of a sudden surprise. Accordingly, she bent down her head, and shouted in his ear, "What has become of your treasure, Matthew?"

The plan succeeded to a miracle. The dying man instantly raised himself.

"My treasure!" he echoed with a yell that made the vault ring again. "Well thought on! I have not secured it. They are carrying it off. I must prevent them." And throwing off the coverings, he sprang out of bed.

"I shall have it now," thought his wife. "You are right," she added,—"they are carrying it off. The vergers have discovered it. They are digging it up. We must instantly prevent them."

"We must!" shrieked Malmayns. "Bring the light! bring the light!" And bursting open the door, he rushed into the adjoining aisle.

"He will kill himself, and discover the treasure into the bargain," cried Judith, following him. "Ah! what do I see! People in the church. Curses on them! they have ruined my hopes."