We prayed for the terrible affliction to pass and still it went on. The servants talked of it continually. The names of Lord Eversleigh, Uncle Toby and Carleton were mentioned in hushed whispers as the dead were spoken of. Lady Eversleigh went about looking like a grey ghost, her face a tragic mask. Charlotte was resentful against life. “Are we never going to know?” she cried. I had rarely seen her so emotional and I was surprised that she cared so much about her family, for she generally gave an impression of indifference to people—even in their presence.

I heard the servants discussing it. “You know you’ve got it when you’re sick and you get headaches and a fever so that you ramble on. That’s how it starts. Then you have to watch out for the next phase. It’s horrible sores like carbuncles—‘buboes’ they call them. They cover you all over.”

There were prayers in the churches. The nation was in mourning. We did not know whether we were personally bereaved or not. Lady Eversleigh grew more depressed each day, Charlotte more angry. As for myself, I could not possibly believe that anything could subdue Carleton Eversleigh. Then I thought: But if he were well, why does he not come to tell us what has been happening to the others? I began to feel that I was being foolish, that I had endowed him with some superhuman power. When I doubted his ability to overcome just everything, I too fell into the general depression.

Jasper said it was God’s answer to the lawlessness which was spreading across the land. Had the country suffered from plague when Oliver Cromwell kept it godly? It had not. But when the King returned with his licentious friends, look what happened.

“The King and the Court have left London. They are safe,” I pointed out. “Why should God punish others for their sins?”

“We have become a sinful nation,” retorted Jasper. “Who can say where He will strike next?”

“Lord Eversleigh was a good man,” I cried. “Why should he …” I stopped. Before that I had consistently refused to believe that he was dead.

It was early afternoon when they came back. I was in the nursery with the children when I heard Carleton’s voice.

“Where is everybody? We’re back. Come and greet us.”

I ran down to the hall. There they were. Carleton, my father-in-law and Uncle Toby. There was someone else with them but I could pay no attention to him just then.

I threw myself into my father-in-law’s arms. I felt the tears on my cheeks.

“My dear, dear child,” he kept saying. Uncle Toby was beside me.

He embraced me as though he would never let me go.

Carleton was standing by, watching with an amused look in his eyes. Then when Uncle Toby released me he picked me up and held me against him. Our faces were level; he looked at me, holding my eyes for some seconds. Then he kissed me hard on the mouth.

I broke away.

“Where have you been?” I cried, almost hysterical between joy and relief at their return and anger for what they had made us suffer. “We have been frantic with anxiety.”

Lady Eversleigh was on the stairs with Charlotte behind her.

She gave a cry of joy and ran towards her husband.

So they were back, and with them was Sir Geoffrey Gillingham, a friend of long standing who had been with them for the last few weeks.

“It seemed the best thing,” said Carleton.

“We knew,” added Lord Eversleigh, his arm through that of his wife, “that you would be anxious. We knew that you would fear the worst, but even that seemed better than putting you in danger. Only those who have seen something of this terrible scourge can understand its horrors.”

The explanation was that the men had been dining with Sir Geoffrey when one of his servants had collapsed and it quickly became obvious that he had the plague. In a short time every servant had left the house with the exception of the wife of the stricken man, who immediately pointed out to Sir Geoffrey that he must go quickly for fear of infection.

Carleton had reminded them that the man must have been suffering for a few days and therefore they could all be infected. The reason why the plague was spreading was because people were not careful enough in isolating themselves when they came within range of it. One would have to wait several weeks to be sure that one was free from infection, and this is what he suggested they do. They could not communicate, for how did they know in what ways the disease could be carried? They would go to a hunting lodge on the edge of the Eversleigh estate. There were no servants there. It was only a small place and rarely used. If they all went there for a few weeks and they were unafflicted, then they could, with a good conscience, join their families.

“Was there no way you could have let us know?” I demanded.

“Carleton was insistent that it was the only way,” said Uncle Toby. “He took charge of us.”

“I can well believe that,” I said.

“Carleton was right,” insisted Lord Eversleigh. “It was better for you to suffer a little anxiety for a while than to have this dreadful thing brought into the house. Think of the boys.”

“Children are particularly susceptible,” said Carleton and that suppressed my complaints.

Sir Geoffrey Gillingham stayed on with us. He was gentle and charming and in a way reminded me of Edwin. He had lost a young wife three years before in childbed and there was something rather sad about him.

I found I could talk to him about Edwin and how happy we had been. I felt he understood.

He had a great admiration for Carleton. “He is the sort of man who would take over in an emergency. I must say that when we realized we were in close proximity with the plague and had actually eaten food which the man had touched, we really thought we were all doomed. It was Carleton who said it was not necessarily so but that we must regard ourselves as potential victims and hide ourselves away.”

“He is a very forceful character, I know,” I said.

“It’s a pity there are not more like him.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But I suppose wars are made by forceful characters.”

“And sometimes prevented by them.”

Sir Geoffrey was quickly very popular with the family. Lady Eversleigh said he must not think of returning to London. He had had news that both the servant and his wife had died of the plague and that, as they had died in his house, it would be unwise for him to return to it just yet. The children liked him—rather to my surprise, for they were usually fascinated by more colourful people—great romancers like Uncle Toby, for instance. Edwin particularly liked him, and Sir Geoffrey used to ride out with my son, and since he was there to look after him, I allowed Edwin to venture out beyond the field. I had a confident feeling that no harm could come to him while he was with Sir Geoffrey.

Carleton said: “You should be grateful to me. Look what a pleasant friend I have found for you.”

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.”