you pack them for the journey.”
Lucy suppressed a groan. Such pressing would take hours, precious time that could be better spent on more important tasks. Truly, what was the woman thinking? Smiling through gritted teeth, Lucy began to lay the dresses out for pressing.
“Lucy,” the mistress called. “I think you forgot to pack my new hat.”
“Ah, mistress,” Lucy said carefully. “I fear there will be no room for your hat.”
“Nonsense,” the mistress replied. “Isn’t the master going to get us a second cart and horse? That should be able to hold all three of my trunks, I think—quite nicely, I might add.”
It wasn’t for her to tell the mistress what she could and could not bring, and she imagined that the magistrate would talk some sense into her.
As she packed the trunk, the mistress prattled on, her speech increasingly rushed. “My, it’s hot. Lucy, don’t you find it very hot in here?” The mistress fanned herself. “I haven’t even begun to dress for the ball.”
“The ball, missus?” Lucy asked, confused.
“Yes, of course. Please send for Bessie. Where is that silly girl? I’ve not seen her all day! Where could she be?”
A growing fear spread over Lucy. Something was very wrong. She forced herself to remain calm. “Oh, Bessie, missus, it’s her day off today.”
“Bah!” the mistress said, sitting down at her dressing table. “Come do my hair, Lucy. I want it pinned up.”
As Mistress Hargave pulled up her hair, Lucy noticed a large black welt on her long slender neck. Her mouth gaped. The black mark!
Her insides churning, she looked closely at her mistress, noticing for the first time how flushed she looked, how her eyes glittered with fever. Lucy’s eyes returned to the black mark. Everyone knew that meant the Black Death had seized upon a new victim. Then, without saying a word, the mistress vomited into her urn, wiping her mouth daintily afterward. She smiled at Lucy as if nothing unusual had occurred.
“Oh, missus,” Lucy said as calmly as she could. “There’s plenty of time before you need to prepare for the ball. You look a bit peaked. Perhaps you’d care for a bit of rest before then? I’ll get a nice fire going.”
She patted the coverlet, hoping to entice her mistress back into bed. The mistress smiled. Like a child, she obediently lay down in the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Yes, perhaps I am a bit tired,” she murmured. “Pray return in an hour, if you please, Lucy. I don’t know why Bessie is not back yet; it’s rather late even if it is her day off.”
“Yes, missus,” Lucy replied, tucking the blanket around the mistress. She smoothed the hair back from her flushed face. “I’ll be back soon.”
After she backed out of the room, she raced down to the kitchen. Cook was showing Lawrence how to salt pork and pack it into the barrels as she chopped vegetables for their supper that evening.
For a moment, Lucy could not move her mouth. Finally, she managed to croak, “She’s got it. The mistress, she does.”
“Got what, girl?” Cook asked, dropping some old mutton into the pot.
“The Black Death!”
In a flash, Cook had flown up to the mistress’s room, returning not five minutes later, panting heavily.
“Lawrence!” she called to the little boy, who was now peeling potatoes, oblivious to the despair about him. “You must run to the physician’s house. Drag ’im away from his supper, if you must. Say the mistress is very ill.”
“Should I tell him Annie is sick, too?” the boy asked, hooking his hands in his pants. Cook and Lucy exchanged a worried glance.
Not wanting to alarm the boy, Lucy asked him casually, “What do you mean, Lawrence? Annie is sick?”
“Yup,” the boy said, unconcerned. “She’s been lying down there this last hour.” He pointed to the shelf behind the kitchen. “Dizzy-like, she said.”
The two women quickly conferred.
“No,” Cook decided. “No, don’t tell the physician about Annie. Lucy, you go check on her. Lawrence, just tell the physician that the mistress is sick. Don’t mention your sister. And, lad, run!”
The boy took off then, banging the door behind him. Cook went to tell the master, who was still nailing down windows. He ran immediately to be at his wife’s side to await the physician. Lucy sat by the little girl’s pallet, stroking her head. Annie had no black marks that Lucy could see, but she was shivering violently. Lucy went to her own room and brought blankets down to wrap