Mompesson took several steps backward. He knew the disease was spread by contact, and he understood plague’s contagious nature. His mind raced, shifting from the events of the present, to a bleak and terrifying future. He had to take preventive measures. There would be panic; there would be fear. Since his tenure in Eyam as rector had not encompassed even one year’s time, there would be those who challenged his decisions, and his authority. He could not afford to worry about that now. Without swift and decisive action, the scourge would spread. Like a wildfire across dry, sun-baked earth, the Black Plague would consume everyone in its path. To save the neighboring villages of the Derbyshire, he would impose a quarantine. The citizens of Eyam must make a stand. Together and alone.
“Come closer,” Vicars whimpered.
“I cannot.”
“Help me.”
“Your fate rests in God’s hands now. Pray with me, brother,” Mompesson said. He bowed his head. “May the Lord forgive thee thy trespasses in life, and remember instead the times thou showed kindness, prudence, and generosity. May the Lord bless thee, takest thee into his arms, and welcome thee into his eternal kingdom of peace and love. Amen.”
The room was silent for several long seconds, then Vicars spoke in choking gasps.
“Tell Kathryn that … I love her. She has my blessing … to marry whom she will. Love is all that matters. On the dining table … you’ll find a letter … please give it to her.”
Tears pooled in the corners of Mompesson’s eyes.
“I will give her your message and the letter. You have my word. Rest now, George. You have made peace with God.”
Mompesson shut the bedroom door and crossed himself. He grabbed the wax-sealed letter on Vicars’ dining table, tucked it in his coat breast pocket, and with great haste ran from the tailor’s cottage.
First, he would bathe. Then, burn his clothes.
And after … there was much to do.
CHAPTER 5
“I’m so nervous, Paul,” Kathryn said, in a diminutive voice, barely audible over the grind of the carriage wheels on dirt and pebbles. “What if Papa won’t speak to me?”
“Of course he’ll speak to you. You’re his only daughter, and he adores you. Besides, what choice does he have? He can’t stay angry at us forever,” Paul said, feigning confidence. But he was nervous too. His thoughts were consumed by what his own father would say. He had abandoned the family right before the autumn harvest; they would be angry and disappointed with him. Luckily, Fosters were not opposed to forgiveness, provided that sufficient supplication was involved. He wouldn’t be surprised if he and Kathryn were forced to sleep in the barn for a fortnight as punishment.
“I hope you’re right,” she said, wringing her hands. “How do you think he’ll take the news that we’re married?”
“I’m sure he suspects as much. He will have made peace with the idea by now. And Cromwell too.”
She smiled a tenuous smile, but said nothing else.
Paul guided the carriage horse — the mare he had borrowed from his father’s stable — into town and onto Church Street.
“Paul, what is going on?” she asked gravely, pointing to a bright red cross painted on the wooden door of the Hancock cottage, as the carriage rolled past.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Look, there’s another … on the cottage across the street.”
She gripped his hand. A bitter November wind snapped at their cheeks and caused their eyes to tear. The overcast sky, grey and nebulous, reinforced the listless, somber atmosphere that hung over the village. The Eyam they held fondly in memory — the one from that sunny day in August — was like a sparkling diamond that someone had tossed to the bottom of a murky lake. Dread crept into their minds.
When they reached the Vicars’ cottage, Kathryn gasped.
A red cross emblazoned the front door.
Paul hopped down from his perch, and extended his hand to Kathryn, helping her down from the bench seat. He gave the grey mare a pat on the neck, and then he escorted her to the door. He knocked. After thirty seconds elapsed with no reply, he knocked again.
“Papa! Papa, it’s me, Kathryn. Please open the door!” she bellowed. Then, with her jaw clenched, she pushed past Paul, intent on barreling into the door. He caught her by the wrist and stopped her dead in her tracks. She glared at him, taken aback by the power of his grip.
“No, Kathryn. We dare not open this door,” he scolded.
“But Papa!” she cried.
“Your father is not inside. That much I’m certain of. We should go to the farm. My parents can tell us what is going on.”
“Okay,” she whimpered. “But Paul … I’m scared.”
Alice Foster had prepared for this moment, but now that the moment was upon her, she fumbled the delivery of her speech.
“You see, Kathryn, your father didn’t know … er, what I mean to say … ‘twas not his fault that he brought the Plague from London. He fell ill so swiftly. Had we known where you and Paul had gone, Henry would have sent word … but, of course, there is nothing you could have done.”
“What are you saying, Mrs. Foster? What happened to my father?”
Alice bowed her head; she did not meet Kathryn’s eyes. “Your father is with our Holy Father in Heaven.”
“Oh no! Papa … Papa,” Kathryn wailed.
Paul held her and tenderly stroked the back of her head as she sobbed and trembled in his arms. Alice looked on with wet eyes. As a mother of five children, she was an expert at mending things. Scraped knees, torn britches, sibling feuds — such calamities all fell within her motherly domain. This tragedy, however, was uncharted territory for her. All she could do was watch in silence as her eldest son comforted the daughter-in-law she had officially met only five minutes ago.
Henry Foster ordered the younger children away to the loft so he and his wife could talk privately with the young runaways. He took a seat at the head of the family table next to Alice, while Paul and Kathryn sat on the opposite side. To Paul’s astonishment, the conversation did not unfold as he had expected it would. Neither parent chastened him for missing the harvest, nor for running away. His father did not even mention the theft of the mare. Instead, Henry and Alice welcomed them home and told them how relieved they were that the young couple had eloped to Chesterfield and stayed clear of the Plague.
After Paul and Kathryn related the details of their previous three months as newlyweds, Alice reciprocated by explaining what had transpired in Eyam during their absence. She explained how the village had searched for Kathryn the night she ran away, and of course, how the search party had returned empty-handed. She recounted the details of Rector Mompesson’s visit to George Vicars’ cottage three days later, his discovery that the Plague had reached Eyam, and of the tailor’s proclamation of love for his daughter. Then, taking Kathryn’s hand, she explained that Rector Mompesson had later told Henry that the tailor’s final act had been to give his blessing for Kathryn to marry Paul. This news caused Kathryn to brighten, clench Paul’s hand, and then burst into tears. Sobbing, Kathryn inquired after her father’s funeral service. Alice dutifully recounted the details of George Vicars’ burial and eulogy, which in turn caused her to weep. After both women had regained their composure, Alice admirably steered the conversation onto other town gossip. Henry Foster chuckled as Alice acted out the story of Ethan Cromwell’s visit to the Foster farm. With her chest puffed out and her nose held high, Alice imitated how the aristocrat had stomped about the house for ten minutes, yelling at Henry, and then at Alice, and then at Henry some more, about their insolent son, and how he would make them suffer the consequences if he learned Kathryn and Paul had done anything so foolish as to marry. When Kathryn inquired after Cromwell’s current state of mind, Henry Foster smirked and said simply, “As far as I imagine, the only thing on Ethan Cromwell’s mind is six feet of cold, hard earth.” Alice explained that the Plague had ravaged the Cromwell estate during the last two weeks of October, and that Cromwell had died the Friday before last. The conversation carried on for two hours, but the longer they talked, the more Paul’s mind gravitated toward a single thought. Plague. Fear took hold of him, and he erupted.