Page 55 of The Shifting Tide (William Monk 14)

Hester could not trust Squeaky. He was helpful as long as it suited him, and he had no real alternative. But he might see this as the perfect opportunity to win his brothel back and catch her as neatly as she had caught him. Could he have killed Ruth for that? No-it was absurd. She was losing all sense.

Sutton was coming back. He would understand the problem. He might even have some way to help. First it would be a good thing if she were to find out all she could. There might be something here to tell her who was last in the room. People made beds in different ways, folded sheets or tidied things, even arranged a sick person’s clothes.

And she should prepare Ruth for burial. Should she inform Clement Louvain? Mercy could surely get a message to him. How would Mercy feel? Hester must be careful what she told the other women and how she worded it.

She straightened up and walked back to the bed again. Was there anything at all that observation could tell her? The bedding was rumpled, but then Ruth had done that herself most of the time when she was feverish. It meant nothing. She looked around the floor, and at the way the corners of the sheets were tucked in at the foot. It looked tight, folded left over right. Bessie’s work, probably. She examined everything else she could think of. The cup of water was on a small square of cardboard, the way Claudine left it, so as not to make a ring mark on the wood of the table. Flo would not have thought of that. It all told her nothing.

She should wash the body and prepare it for the undertaker. Perhaps she should tell Clement Louvain? Ruth’s family might wish to bury her, and he would know who they were. She went dow

nstairs and fetched a bowl of water; it did not matter that it was barely warm. Ruth would not mind. It was just a case of cleaning and making her decent, a gesture of humanity.

She did it alone. There was no need to involve anyone else, and she had not yet decided what to say. Carefully she folded back the bedcovers and took off Ruth’s nightgown. It was an awkward job. Perhaps she should have asked someone to help after all. It would not have distressed Bessie; she had washed other dead women with pity and decency, but no fear.

Ruth had had a handsome body, a little shrunken in illness now, but it was easy enough to see how she had been. She was still firm and shapely, except for an odd, dark shadow under her right armpit, a little like a bruise. Funny that she had not complained of an injury. Perhaps it embarrassed her because of where it was.

There was another one, less pronounced, on the other side.

Hester’s heart lurched inside her and the room seemed to waver. She could hardly breathe. With her pulse knocking so loudly she was dizzy, she moved Ruth over a little, and saw what she dreaded with fear so overwhelming it made her almost sick. It was there, another dark swelling-what any medical book would have called a bubo. Ruth Clark had not had pneumonia-she’d had the bubonic plague, the disease that had killed a quarter of the known world in the middle of the fourteenth century and was known as the Black Death.

Hester plunged her hands into the water in the bowl, and then as quickly snatched them out again. Her whole body was shaking. Even her teeth were chattering! She must get control of herself! She had to make decisions, do whatever must be done. There was no one else to take over, no one to tell her what was right.

When had the swellings appeared? Who was the last person to wash her or change her gown? It had always been Mercy. Perhaps Ruth had refused to let her see, or Mercy had not known the swellings for what they were.

And what about all the other women with congestion of the chest? Did they have bronchitis, pneumonia-or were they in the earlier, pneumonic stage of the plague? And if they did not die of that, then would it turn into the true bubonic as well?

She had no answer. She had to assume that it would. So no one must leave! It would spread like fire in tinder. How many people had brought it into the country in 1348? One? A dozen? In weeks it could spread through half of London and into the countryside beyond! With modern travel, trains the length and breadth of the country, it could be in Scotland and Wales the day after.

And Margaret must not come back! Heaven knew she would miss Margaret’s help, her courage, her companionship. But no one must come in-or go out.

How would she stop that? She would have to have help. Lots of it. But who? What if she told the others who were here now, and they panicked and left? She had no power to hold them. What on earth was she to do? Was there even any point in trying to see that no one else became infected?

No. That was absurd. Everyone had already been in the room any number of times. It was hideously possible that they had caught it, and it was too late to help and save anything. At least she would prevent anyone else from seeing Ruth’s buboes and understanding what they meant. That would stop panic. There was one room with a door that locked. She must wrap the body tightly in a sheet and get Bessie to help her carry it there and lock her in.

She covered Ruth’s body again, binding the sheet to leave nothing showing, then went out into the passageway and closed the door. She saw Flo’s back as she was about to go downstairs, and called to her.

“Find Bessie and send her up here, will you? Immediately, please!”

Flo heard the edge in Hester’s voice. “Summink wrong wi’ that miserable cow again?”

“Just do it!” Hester’s tone was high and sharp, but she could not help it. “Now!”

Flo gave a shrug and went off, clearly annoyed at being spoken to that way, but she must have obeyed, because Bessie came within three or four minutes.

“Ruth Clark is dead,” Hester said as soon as Bessie was beside her. “I want you to help me put her body in the end room that has a lock on it, so Mercy and Claudine don’t panic at another death so soon. I. . I don’t want them running off, so say nothing. It matters very much!”

Bessie frowned. “Yer all right, Miss ’Ester? Yer look terrible pale.”

“Yes, thank you. Just help me get Ruth into that room before anyone else knows.”

It was difficult. Ruth was heavy, and still limp. It was all they could do not to let her slip through their hands onto the floor. However, Bessie was strong, and Hester at least had some experience with moving the dead. After nearly fifteen minutes of desperate effort they succeeded, and Bessie promised not to say anything to the others yet. At least for the time being, Hester had a reprieve, and she scrubbed out the room with hot water and vinegar, all the time knowing it was probably useless.

At five o’clock Mercy came to tell her that Sutton was back with his dog and traps.

“Oh-good!” Hester was overwhelmed with relief.

“Are they that bad?” Mercy said with surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen any. There was one little creature in the laundry, but I thought it was a mouse.”

“Baby rat,” Hester said quickly, with no idea whether it had been one or not. “Get a nest sometimes. I’ll go and see Sutton now. Thank you.” And she hurried away, leaving Mercy on the landing looking startled.

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