At the Sign of the Sugared Plum by Mary Hooper

Author:Mary Hooper [Hooper, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2003-09-02T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The fourth week of July

‘And they tell me that in Westminster there is never a Physician and but one Apothecary, all others being dead.’

Out of the darkness of Doctor da Silva’s shop a monstrous figure came towards me, causing me to scream aloud. The creature was broad and imposing, its head was that of a great bird of prey, with a tiny shining eye and a great hooked beak, and its breathing as it lumbered towards me was hoarse and rasping.

‘Keep away!’ I screamed. I backed away, trembling, feeling behind me for the door through which I’d just entered. I tried to recall some holy words to banish such an evil and unearthly creature, but in my panic could not think of any.

There was the sound of running feet across the shop and Tom’s voice called, ‘It’s all right, Hannah!’ he said. ‘It’s just Doctor da Silva.’

I burst into tears of fright and relief and Tom put his arms around me. ‘It’s the doctor in the outfit he uses to visit the stricken.’

I drew in a shuddering breath, peering through my fingers at the figure. Now that I could see more clearly in the dim light I discerned that it was, indeed, only a man in a strange headdress and covering gown of heavy waxed material, and not a creature from hell at all. ‘Is it truly him?’ I asked, for I felt comforted in Tom’s arms and did not want to stir myself from them.

‘Doctor, will you take off your head?’ Tom asked, and the frightening creature lifted his arms and pulled off the leathery headdress of his outfit, beak and all, revealing himself indeed as the doctor.

‘Yes, it is I,’ he said, trying to flatten his tangled grey hair. ‘I am dressed to go and treat plague victims.’

My fright disappearing, I thought I had better let my arms fall from Tom’s shoulders, for I did not wish to appear too forward. ‘And is this what you have to wear?’ I asked breathlessly.

The doctor nodded. ‘All the apothecaries and the doctors – that is, those who are still in London and have not gone away to the country with their wealthy patrons – have them now.’

‘The thick gown prevents any infection touching the doctor’s skin, and the beak contains strong herbs,’ Tom said. ‘Every breath he takes will come through these herbs and be cleansed.’

‘And the herbs are . . .?’ Doctor da Silva asked of Tom.

‘Alehoof, ivy, sage, chervil and scabious, sire,’ he answered, and the doctor nodded. He looked at me. ‘And how are you and your sister, and how do you find yourself in your shop? Do you have good health?’

‘We are doing quite well, I thank you,’ I said. ‘Though we have . . .’ My voice choked in my throat and I had to pause a moment. ‘We have lost some of our neighbours to the sickness.’

The doctor shook his head reflectively. ‘It is said that Thursday’s Bills will contain some 2,000 deaths.’

I gasped.

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