Exit the Actress (21 page)

“I’m for the country,” Lacy declared with assurance. “If we are called to entertain the court, then you know where to find me.”

“But I have no relations in the country!” squealed Kitty in alarm. “Where am I to go?” Teddy and I exchanged glances.

“I shall stay in London,” Lizzie announced. Lizzie’s long-time
benefactor,
Sam Pepys, administrator in the Royal Navy (and a notorious philanderer), is also staying in London, I gather.

“Any members of the company who are without acquaintance out of town should feel free to come to me,” offered Tom Killigrew with gentle reassurance. “My wife, Cecilia, and I would be glad to accommodate you.” Privately, I thought Cecilia might not be glad of the whole company descending upon them
en masse
but chose not to say so. On the other hand, Harry would very much enjoy a bevy of actresses coming to stay. “In any case, I am sure it shan’t be for long. We must make good use of the time,” Tom went on in a convivial tone that was not quite convincing. “I for one shall order some renovations to be done on the theatre. What do you think,
Lacy, Nick? Don’t you agree it is time to fix that awful muffling in the musicians’ gallery?” The men peeled off to discuss the much-needed refurbishments, and Kitty, the Marshall sisters, and Lizzie moved away to discuss their various options. Teddy and I stood alone on the street.

“You will go to your wife, I suppose?”

“Yes, I think I shall have to.” Teddy frowned. “I must remember to pack my peach India chintz, as she is always after me to borrow it,” he said, chagrined. “Although I must put my foot down at my pink wrapper.”

I giggled. Teddy and his wife’s constant tousling over dresses was a steady source of amusement to the company. He claimed that lovely feminine clothes were often wasted on the unlovely feminine sex.

“And you’ll go with Hart?” he asked, confirming the obvious.

“Yes, and I suppose my family shall have to come, too.”

Teddy made a face, with good cause. He has suffered two brief but memorable encounters with my inebriated mother and endured a lengthy lecture from Grandfather on the evils of cross-dressing.

“I shall miss you,” he said, planting a kiss in my hair. “Please, please, take care. Take very,
very
good care.” I reached up and hugged him. We stood like that for a long time.

The numbers are growing. Hart forbids me to leave the house now. He himself goes about with a long beaked mask packed with protective herbs. “He looks a bit like an avenging stork in that thing,” Rose said, giggling this afternoon. I wish she would not make light of it, for in truth, I am very afraid. Afraid but not alone. Grandfather, Mother, and Rose have come to live here until transport can be arranged to take them to Great-Aunt Margaret in Oxford—the wheel of our coach is finally beyond mending, and Hart is negotiating to buy another. Prices are extraordinary as suddenly everyone has need of an extra coach.

Despite the crisis, my family will not stop bickering over who gets the best guest room, the best linen, the best cake, and on and on. Mother sent back her bath-water twice last night, complaining that it was not hot
enough. I finally intervened, insisting that she bathe in what she is given. She
must
bathe—the smell of spirits is overpowering. I have locked all liquor in the sea chest in the pantry. She is now not speaking to me. Cook rolled her eyes: As if it matters? her look said.

The king, queen, Prince Rupert, and the Duke and Duchess of York, together with all of their households, have decamped to the clean country air of Hampton Court to escape the plague. London is fast emptying. There are already red crosses in Drury Lane. Hart wants us to go to Hill House, as Surrey is still untouched. Everything feels as if it is coming apart. Ruby does not understand why we no longer go outside.

Note
—The plague numbers rose to above five hundred this week—we are leaving in the morning,
if
we can. The congestion has been so great that it has taken some more than a day just to escape London. Already six houses on this street are empty.

Once we decided that we must leave, the entire household was thrown into a tizzy. Chests opened, clothes everywhere, valuables strewn about waiting to be packed. What to bring: Hart’s family portrait, the silver candlesticks that belonged to his mother, his wigs, my gowns, my seeds for the flower bed I am planning, and on and on. All foodstuffs are being left behind in case they are contaminated, except the eggs. I must ask Cook to hard cook eggs for the journey.

Hart will send my family on to Oxford the day after tomorrow (we could not hire another coach as
everyone
is running away).

Note
—I can hear the cart moving past the house even though I try my best to block it out. The awful wooden burial cart and the tinny-sounding bell. It has stopped—on this street—this street! We have to get out of here.

Note
—Cook just told me: the cart stopped at the Griffin house, four doors down. So close! Both children were taken. Two little girls: Clemence, eight, and Polly, eleven. The parents are quarantined for a further thirty-six days and cannot attend the funeral. God help them. God help us all.

It was terrible. So many of the doors we passed bore red crosses and had guards posted outside—to keep the victims
in,
I thought, shuddering. The streets were crowded with carts and carriages and people on foot, carrying whatever was too precious to leave behind. It took us eleven hours to crawl the mile and a half out of the city gates. Grandfather sweetly held Ruby on his lap the whole way. In Lincoln’s Inn Fields there was a frantic knocking on the little door. When I went to look, Hart sharply asked me to close the coach curtains instead.

“But we could fit—”

“No, we couldn’t,” he said firmly. “We do not know who carries the disease.”

Mother and Rose were silent for once. They did as they were bid and did not look out the windows. They were sure, as I was, that without Hart, we would be out there with them.

Once free of London we threw open the windows and breathed in huge gulps of country air. As soon as we arrived, Cook took all our travelling clothes off to be burned, and we each took turns scouring our skin clean in the big copper bath. Ruby went last and was most unhappy. Hugh must be exhausted but is not stopping to sleep before he returns for the rest of the household staff. He is so brave to go back. I could not face London again. I do not know when we will return.

Note
—Despite the fact that they are here for only one night, as I write this I can hear Mother and Rose out in the hallway arguing over rooms. Mother’s room overlooks the stables, and she would prefer Rose’s room, which has a view of the park. Good grief. If they were to sleep in the scullery, it would still be far nicer than Drury Lane.

Hugh has safely returned with the rest of the household. He says he passed door after red-crossed door with “Lord have mercy on us” writ below and saw the burial carts stacked high with bodies—they are working during the day now as so many have died. Betsey says she covered her eyes and could not bear to look. “It feels safe here,” Cook said with a sigh.

A proclamation was read out in the village this morning, giving thanks for our recent sea victory over the Dutch at Lowestoft. Our flagship, the
Royal
Charles,
sank their flagship with the Dutch commander still aboard. It still feels like boys playing at soldiers and sailors, and that all the dead will return to shake hands at the end of the game—to do otherwise would be unsportsmanlike. Johnny has gone out to fight and has apparently distinguished himself, currying messages between commanders through dangerous waters, messages no one else was reckless enough to deliver. Funny to think of him out there. His belief in God must be absolute for him to take such risks.

Note
—Unpatriotic thoughts: Could this pestilence be a punishment for an unjust war? I put them from me, as they do not help present matters.

July 28, 1665

Hampton Court

Dear Ellen,

Thank you for your sweet note. We gratefully accept your invitation to Hill House, but first I had to journey to town to check on the theatre, and thence on to Hampton Court to see my brother Henry, the king’s chaplain. I am still with the court now, and we move on to Salisbury tomorrow. Is the middle of the next month convenient? Yes of course I will endeavour to bring my son, but Harry is ever with the court. I understand that Dryden and the Howards will also be returning to Surrey in August.

The theatre is safe, but in truth London is in a sad state. Every street has boarded-up, marked houses, and the city is hot and still. Everyone breathes through beaked masks and chews tobacco to ward off the sickness. The numbers rose to above seventeen hundred this week, but I hear rumours through town that physicians are not even reporting the true numbers, in order to save families from the required forty-day quarantine within a plague house. Also, the poor are difficult to count, as are the Quakers, who will not have bells rung for their souls.

It is pleasant and diverting here, but strange to enjoy such entertainments after the horrors I have just seen. I am called to billiards. I will be happily anticipating your reply.

Yours,

Tom Killigrew

Ring a ring a rosy

Pocket full of posy

A tishoo, a tishoo

We all fall down.

Children in the village are singing this gruesome song. Do they know what it means, I wonder? It has become custom to bless someone if he sneezes. Suspicion rules. We are all afraid.

Note
—The Bill shows the London numbers rose above six thousand this week, but Hart says the true reports are closer to
ten
thousand.