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loudly that Mew fled into a box under the bed, he called that, by order of the Lord Mayor and because of the feared visitation of plague, all playhouses were to be shut up forthwith, and drinking hours in taverns were to be restricted.
    I was bitterly disappointed, for I’d heard so much of what went on in the theatre – the shouting and singing and throwing of tomatoes by the groundlings if they did not approve, and of how the great ladies and gentlemen vied, like peacocks, to outdo each other in gaiety of dress. Now I’d have to wait until the scare was over before I could see it all.
    And only Heaven knew when that would be, because the following Thursday, when the Bills of Mortality were published, it was found that there had been one hundred deaths of plague that week in London. And at this figure, the authorities declaredthat the plague had begun.
    That afternoon Sarah sent me out for water. She gave me leave to take as long as I wished and make an outing of it, for we had stayed up late the previous night, working by candlelight to blanch and pound a goodly quantity of almonds to a fine powder, and she’d told me I had worked excellently and she couldn’t think how she’d ever managed without me. While we’d worked we’d discussed the plague and told ourselves that it might not be as bad as people feared. For good or ill, however, Sarah could not send me back to Chertsey, because, as our neighbour in the parchment shop had told us, the magistrates were restricting travel out of London for fear that infection would spread to the provinces. This same neighbour, Mr Newbery, a short, stout man with a merry smile who loved nothing better than morbid gossip, had also said there was little hope of escape anyway, for if you had been chosen by the Grim Reaper then he would just come along with his scythe and cut you down.
    I went to draw my water from Bell Courtyard. Although there were closer watering places, I favoured this one because it was a fine, paved area with trees and seats, and was much frequented by maids and apprentices from nearby houses. Also, the water there came from the New River and was judged to be pure.
    The queue to draw water being quite long, I put down my bucket and enamel jug and waited patiently, looking around me at what the others were wearing (all were more fashionable than I) and wondering when Sarah would have time to take me to the clothes market.
    As I waited, amused by a pedlar selling mousetraps with a monkey on his shoulder, there was a sudden burst of laughter from the front of the queue, and a hand waved madly.
    ‘Hannah!’ a girl’s voice called. I saw to my great delight that it was my friend Abigail Palmer from home.
    ‘There was no mistaking that hair!’ she said, coming up and hugging me.
    ‘Indeed not,’ I said, for though I’d bought a lead comb and had been stroking it through my hair night and morning, it didn’t seem to be making my curls any darker. My freckles, too, were just as bright and, as a result of the continual sunny days, now seemed to crowd across my nose and cheeks jostling for place.
    Abigail had put on weight and it suited her. She was pretty, with dark curly hair which had sparks of copper in it, deep brown eyes and a curving mouth. She had on a black fustian dress cut up the front to show a lacy white petticoat, and looked very neat and comely.
    ‘How long have you been in London?’ she asked.
    I told her, and said where I was living.
    ‘And are you still in your position?’ I asked.
    She nodded. ‘With Mr and Mrs Beauchurch.’ She was about to say more when a cry came up from the front of the queue. ‘Maid! Will you come to take your place?’
    Abigail waved her hand. ‘No, everyone can step up,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait in line here with my friend.’
    ‘And a pretty sight you will look,’ the youth’s voice replied. ‘Two fair maids together!’ The rest of the queue laughed, for a musical entertainment of thesame name had