"She lives in a bad part of the town," said Martha. "There are rumours that there have been some cases of the plague in the by-ways round Newgate. It would be well to be careful. I know not how it is," continued Martha, "but people seem anxious. There are men who go about preaching that the times are so evil, that the Lord will sweep London off the face of the earth because of its sins."
"As for the plague, I do not think we need be alarmed," said Patience; "there are always some cases in London, I am told. It only affects the very poor and the unclean. Last year I remember Mr. Ewan telling me that there were a few cases, just three, but it did not spread; the winter checked it. No, I do not think we need be anxious; besides, it would be of no use. What is to be will be. We shall not be long in London, I hope." And with that the subject dropped.
It was late in the afternoon when they sallied forth. Even then the heat was so intense, and the air so dry, that they decided they would take a barge and go down to Blackfriars, land there, and find their way to the Old Bailey. Martha went with them, because she knew the way better than they did. When they landed from the barge, it was but a little distance across the Fleet until they gained the narrow streets leading to the Old Bailey.
On the summer night, with all the refuse of the day lying about waiting for the night scavengers to pass their rounds, the stench which arose from many a foul heap was noisome.
Patience and Agnes held their kerchiefs to their faces. Fresh from the sweet moors and the scented flowers, they were the more susceptible.
"Fit for swine!" muttered Martha behind them. "Talk of the plague! The dirt is enough to breed any amount of plagues." And she was right. It was the dirt and uncleanliness which was about to cost thousands of lives. For the last ten years the plague had been raging in Europe. In Genoa 60,000 persons died of it; in Holland, in the years 1663 and 1664, upwards of 50,000 people died of plague in Amsterdam alone; and yet during all these years London had been singularly free.
The origin of the plague has been much discussed. Some authorities imputed its arrival in London to have been caused by bales of merchandise from Holland which came originally from the Levant, where it was quite usual to sell the clothes of those who had died of plague at once, without disinfecting them; according to others, it was introduced by the Dutch prisoners of war. In any case, we may attribute its spread to the uncleanliness of London, which, we are told by contemporary writers, was comparable to that of Oriental cities at the present day. The disease gradually increased because there was everything to encourage it to do so, especially in a squalid neighbourhood and among the poor. For this reason it was called "the poor's plague".
Those who lived on the river in ships or barges were free of it; those in the houses on London Bridge were also little affected. Probably the slowness with which it gained ground in London was owing in a great measure to the beautiful streams of flowing water which intersected the city--the Fleet, the Walbrook, &c. At all events, it was not until the autumn of 1664 that a few isolated cases were observed in the neighbourhood of St. Martin's, St. Giles', and Charing Cross. The winter of that same year happened to be a very severe one, which checked it, and nothing more was heard of the plague until this month of May, 1665. Then one or two cases were reported, but so few that they excited but little attention; many, doubtless, of the inhabitants had not even heard of them.
Then, as now, such things were hushed up for fear of creating a scare, so that with perfect equanimity Patience and her companion walked along the very streets which were soon to be the centre of that terrible epidemic. They came at last to the house which had been described to Martha. It was at the top of the street, almost opposite Newgate, and was entered by a low oak door which gave into a passage, beyond which lay a court-yard, in which were outside staircases giving access to wooden balconies leading into the tenements. Martha had been told that Mistress Newbolt lived at the front, almost at the top of the house, and that her rooms were reached by an interior staircase. So they stumbled up in the dark, until at last they came to a landing in which was a small window, which Patience was thankful to see wide open, but which, on this hot evening, seemed, instead of cooling the air, rather to let in heat and bad odours.
The three stood wiping their faces, Martha panting. Suddenly a door opened, and a voice, which Agnes recognized at once, said: