chapter 8

viii
Blessed are those pure of heart, for they will be loved

1665

I wrap my woollen shawl around me hugging my freezing fingers as close as I can under my arms for more warmth. I sit on the window sill in the small tenement in St Giles The Field. We have now been here for ten months. It took us quite a while to get this tenure, but the small house is ideal for us. Small but comfortable and we have made it home. It is a very poor part of London, just outside the City gates. The parish is rather overcrowded, but it has a good Christian Community. We have been accepted into their flock as a part of "them" even attending their Christian worshiping on a Sunday. Ah, he is the same God after all. Papa has established himself as a healer with Francoise at his side, quite the dashing apprentice. I am more than satisfied to stay and watch after the duties of the home. I'm hardly a spinstress at fifteen after all! Father and Francoise have been called out this day to attend to a fever victim. Nothing untoward. All in a day's work. Having finished my duties for the time being I can afford a little time to dream.

I watch the children through the bottle glass windows, playing in the streets without a care in the world. I sit and daydream watching the small white flakes fall from the grey clouds as if they are shedding their own skins! The children, poor things they must be cold; are throwing balls of the powdered stuff at each other. They slip and slide and laugh, their faces pinched and reddened by the cold. It was not so long ago that I was like they are now. Playing my day away under an altogether warmer sky. It seems so far away now, another world entirely. I giggle to myself feeling quite the grown up, getting up to stoke the fire and put the pewter kettle on to boil. I survey my handy work. Bread baked, broth boiled. The rooms are swept and matted with straw liners. All I have to do now is await the arrival of my father and his apprentice.
As if summoned from the thoughts in my head the latch of the front door clicks steadily it is Francoise. I smile happily, but then as I take a step towards him I stop dead in my tracks. He is flushed from walking in the freezing temperatures but his face is the epitome of worry. His dark brows are knitted together, his eyes look as me seriously. I have seen this look before and I sit on the bench by the huge hearth to await the news I know is coming.

"It's back Mon petite Fleur" he rushes to my side and takes me in his arms. I know what he's talking about. It's followed us here. I shake my head uncontrollably

"Non, Non! We left it behind in France, it has been ten months! How can it be here too? All these people? Good God fearing people" He does not let me finish.

"It will take them as it took La France, you know this" He takes both my hands in his.

"Papa?" I look up at him trying to read his face. This morning that started so normally breaking into a million pieces."He is with the patient. A man of very little wealth. He will surely be dead by morning."

I try with all my heart and soul take this new information in. The petulance has followed us to London. The pale rider and his white horse are upon us. We all face death once again with a heavy heart.

"Anything in the whisperings of the people? Are there any more dying?" He looks at me trying to gauge his answer

"Non, nothing yet. Hannah? I wanted to talk to you this day. We have lived through this in France, both of us. We can do it again"Unable to see where this conversation is headed I sit on the bench pleating the starched white of my apron listening to the crackle of the fire.

He hesitates and this is more worrying to me than his concern.

"Little Hannah, you know that I love you and my life would not be the same without you in it" I frown. This was most unexpected. A declaration of an unspoken love broken after the news of the return of the death? He takes a seat next to me again taking my hands in his.

"Your Papa has consented for you to be my wife. I want you to be my wife. Will you have me? I know I am not good enough for you, you deserve much more after all that you have seen. How hard you have worked"My breath catches in my throat and I am completely unable to give him an answer. I swallow hard and answer him honestly but quietly

"I love you, from the first moment I saw you. I am so scared" He grips my hands tighter, one of his hands gently travelling up my own to my face.

"You have no need to fear my angel" And with that I move towards him and place both my arms around him. Dying a little in the depth of his eyes I close mine and kiss him. I kiss him for the first time, and what feels like the last time. Our lips, firm but soft, move together in harmony and my heart sings for him, and him only. Lost in his embrace, I know that I never want to be without him. I break for a moment.

"Please, listen to me for one moment" I regain my composure and think about how I'm going to approach this delicate of subjects, but this is no time to be scared when something far larger is beating at the door.

"Francoise, I will marry you tomorrow if you will have me and if I am alive and well" He now looks confused, as if I am about to change my mind and refuse him.

"What if I die?" He still looks bemused I sigh sometimes we need to be blunt with men. Those were mama's words.

"I do not want to die un..untouched" I try and read his reactions. He will not die, as he is remarkably immune to this disease.

Silently he presses his finger to my lips, and I close my eyes. His hands lower gently to my neck. We do not need words. Our lips brush gently against one another and a chill runs down my spine as he opens the lacing on the front of my smock dress. Responding to his touch I slip off his long coat and begin unbuttoning his shirt. His hands move swiftly, causing goose flesh on my skin. The heat of the fire on our bare skin. I study his tanned chest, muscular but slim running my fingers slowly along his shoulders. He he is learning the curves of mine and touching with the lightest of fingers. I sigh at his caress.

We look at each other.

Not one word is uttered.

We give ourselves over exchanging our bodies and souls, for fear of death.