Witch of the Plague

Witch of the Plague - Day 2

The next day, the 2nd of August, events unfurled…

Mama woke me up earlier than the sun that morning. She looked pale, but somehow there was a flame of excitement around her, her hazel eyes glittering scarily.

“Mistress Cavendish’s baby has been afflicted,” she told me gravely, and I swung my legs out of bed, most worried. The Cavendish family lived little than 2 minutes up the lane from us.

“Is the babe now cured?” I wondered. Mama shook her unruly blonde curls.

“Nay, she does not live. The family are blaming an aunt that recently visited as the cause.”

“So, is the Black Death here, in Henwick?” I queried worriedly, looking around my sparsely furnished room.

“It may be so,” was the answer. What was going to happen now?

Being the Sabbath Day, we had to attend church. The priest, Father Thomas, held a special service for the recently departed Cavendish babe. I must sadly admit I was not listening, for I was staring at the intricate stained glass windows, and contemplating. The Cavendish brood were so near to us I was fearful of my family or me catching any symptoms. My family were somewhat strange, but I loved them dearly and wished no harm upon them.

I peered forward to the pew in front of myself. The two Marys were whispering about a piece of paper held in Mary Sandford’s shaking hand. I looked closer, and saw that ‘ABRACADABRA’ was scribed upon it in a special triangular formation. Elizabeth, who knew the Cavendish family better than I, was crying at the priest’s sermon about praying for the defenceless and asking God to have mercy on us.

Afterwards, I invited Mary Sandford (who came from an equally strange family) to walk home with myself and Elizabeth. Her blue eyes widened.

“’Tis bringing bad fortune about your family to walk past a house that has been afflicted.” I let her brush past me, staring at the Cavendish family with greatest sympathy. Their poor, poor babe, who had barely lived…

When we all arrived home, Robert and John play-acted funerals, and Elizabeth debated what black gown would look most becoming on her, and compliment her flame-coloured hair. I felt like screaming because they did not understand how serious this was. I empathised deeply with the Cavendish’s. They had already lost five other babes and a child- why should another of theirs die? Why, why theirs? The silence filled all our ears until we heard the bells tolling mournfully, signifying a death- A DEATH! Was it of the plague, and whose life had been claimed?