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Chapter 2 & 3
Chapter 2—A Surprise Announcement
“Children, sit down at the table, I have some wonderous news!” Father exclaimed.
Elizabeth, Mary, William and Joseph gathered around the wooden table. Father looked grave, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Elizabeth, I’ve had news from Master Allin today.” Elizabeth suddenly sat at attention. Elizabeth grabbed Mary’s hand. Master Allin was father of Symon, Elizabeth’s beau. “Symon has been elected to take over the ministry I left in Colchester. This spring he will lead the congregation to the New World. We have both prayed about it, and Master Allin and I feel it is better if he marries before he goes.” Elizabeth squeezed Mary’s hand in glee. “I will publish the marriage banns tomorrow, and the wedding will take place next Saturday. Does this please you, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Father! More than anything!” Elizabeth flew out of her seat and nearly knocked her father over with her enthusiastic hug. “But,” she pulled away from him, “will you be traveling with us to the New World?”
“Elizabeth,” Father took Elizabeth’s hands in his, “Elizabeth, you are leaving my house to make a home for yourself. God has work for me here. I will not accompany you.”
Elizabeth covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Father pulled her close to him. “It has been a trial for all of us this past year, losing your mother in childbirth, putting Charles out to nurse, fleeing home and moving to the city. But God does not give us more than our shoulders can handle. I know you’ve longed to go back to the fresh air and to escape these crowded city streets. I know you long for a family of your own. This is your time. You and Symon are a good match, and you are both needed in the New World.”
Mary was at once happy for Elizabeth’s good fortune, and jealous about her impending journey. Mary would give anything to go on an adventure to the New World where she could explore the colonies making her way as a midwife physician. Mary no longer wanted to take care of her little brothers or wash the family’s clothes. She wanted to learn to be a midwife physician which would allow her to be invited unaccompanied into everyone’s homes.
Mary’s father interrupted her thoughts. “Because there will be too much work for Mary, I have enlisted the help of a charity in town. They are sending over a girl today. She is two years younger than you, Mary, but she will be able to serve as a companion as well as a maid.”
As if by providence, a knock sounded from the door. Mary raced to the door, eager to meet this new girl, but instead found Father’s greasy apprentice, Theopholis Blackheart. Although Father had served as a Presbyterian minister in Colchester, his job to the outside world of London was one of an unlicensed physician. Since they weren’t members of the Church of England, John Hamilton could no longer preach from a pulpit as decreed by the Act of Uniformity two years prior, forbidding anyone from preaching from a pulpit who was not sanctioned by the Church of England. This left the Presbyterians, Quakers, Jews, Catholics, and Puritans to worship in secret. Father had been well respected in Colchester and the surrounding countryside where he was known to heal the spirit as well as the flesh. Father had an eclectic knowledge of the apothecary trade and even had some minor barber-surgeon skills. Father’s recipe book for healing was as extensive as any Mary had ever heard of. He was just as successful treating the sick as any physician from The College of Physicians in London, but he remained unlicensed because he refused to be examined by the Anglican clergy.
Mary stepped back to allow Theo to enter. “Good morning Miss Mary!” His breath smelled like curdled milk. Mary turned her head in disgust and looked at her sister who was barely suppressing a smile. Theo doffed his hat and a shower of white dandruff was released from his unkempt hair. Mary moved out of the way of the floating dead skin. Theo had been father’s apprentice since they moved to London five months ago. His mother, the widow Blackheart, had set her sights on their Father. Father was too naïve about the ways of women, but Mary could clearly see widow Blackheart’s scurrilous plans, marry Father, and take control of the sizable bank account Father had managed to create. And if that wouldn’t work, she could get her hands on the money by having Theo wed Mary.
“Mary!” Father barked. “Where are your manners?”
Resigned, Mary mumbled, “G’morning Theo.”
Theo strode past Mary, nodded to Elizabeth, and patted both boys on the head as they raced out of the room. Father brought out a mortar and pestle and took a handful of dried blue flowers out of a cupboard. “Theo, I have a new genus for you to identify.”
Mary’s mood, already bad because of Elizabeth’s imminent move and a strange girl coming to live with them, grew darker still. Mary detested Theo. She knew Father’s remedies. She had studied his recipe book. She helped him gather herbs and flowers and sometimes helped him make his potions. She knew how to make London treacle. She knew the correct way to apply a poultice and when it was necessary to bleed a person. She could differentiate between at least three different kinds of fevers, and she wanted nothing more than to find a midwife to train with. Yet Father insisted on giving his time and knowledge to this dimwitted bootlicker and insisted on finding Mary a Presbyterian gentleman, or at least a Presbyterian with a solid trade, to marry.
“Mary,” said Elizabeth as she pulled her out of the room, “help me with my trousseau.” Mary solemnly trudged after Elizabeth.
Chapter 3—A New Home
The coach pulled to a stop in front of a brightly painted timbered house whose second story jutted out impossibly far into the street. The driver quickly rapped twice on the roof to let her know this was where she was to get out. It didn’t look like a disreputable place, and it certainly wasn’t Newgate prison. Having lived her whole life in Cripplegate, she had no reason to travel to the fashionable Westminster and the new Covent Garden Piazza. What an unexpected turn this was!
The coach pulled around the corner as Liza approached the door shut tight against the cold March wind. She imagined this was her mother’s house. Perhaps there had been a horrible error, and her mother hadn’t been in prison, but was an important London lady and through some strange twist of fate Liza had been mistakenly abandoned as an orphan for the past twelve years. Liza always knew she was unique and destined for a bigger life than that of a scullery maid. After all, her fiery red mane couldn’t have been the only reason she had been named after Queen Elizabeth. The frost on the door bit into her knuckles as she loudly knocked three times.
She was greeted by a girl about her age with a terrible scowl on her face. “Ma’am,” Liza said as she curtsied. She cast her eyes downward to find the girl’s shoes were scuffed and dirty.
“Yes?”
Liza wasn’t sure what to say. She had no idea why she was here. “If you please ma’am,” and she gave another curtsy. The two girls continued to stare at one another.
An imposing man the size of an oak tree appeared behind the girl and said, “Ah! I see our young charge has arrived.” He opened the door and invited Liza in. The room was warm and modestly furnished. An enclosed cupboard and a counting table stood against the front wall. A buffet with several cups and two buckets, one copper and one wood, stood by an archway on a second wall. The focal point was a long wooden table in front of a fireplace so large she could have walked into it. Several drying racks stood sentry by the fireplace with herbs and flowers, many Liza didn’t recognize, bringing a festive and sweet air to the room. “Mary, this is the young woman I was talking about.”
Mary cast an appraising eye toward the girl at the door. She was about William’s size, and she couldn’t have been older than eight. She had a sharp face and ill-fitting clothes that drooped off of her body.
“Your name is Liza, is it not?” Father addressed the girl.
“Yes sir,” Liza answered jutting her triangular chin in the air.
“I am Master John Hamilton, and this,” he gestured toward Mary, “is my impudent daughter Mary who will show you the house and introduce you to the family.” Father turned toward Mary, “After you have shown her the servants quarters, please take her to market to introduce her to the butcher and baker, and fetch our evening meal while you are there.”
“Yes, Father.” Mary spun on her heel and shot up the stairs. Liza tried to catch up with her quick pace. “My brothers, William and Joseph, sleep here,” Mary pointed into a large room at the back of the house containing two oak beds with floor length curtains covered with embroidery enclosing each of them. Each bed had a small natty bedside table. A wardrobe stood by the tiny window. Embers smoldered in the fireplace.
Mary walked into a large front room across the hallway. “My sister, Elizabeth, and I sleep here.” This bed-chamber also had two oak beds with floor length curtains embroidered in a dainty gold pattern. Each bedside table was covered with an ochre cloth. Beside the mirrored wardrobe stood a close stool, more convenient than a chamber pot. A wooden table lay under the large double paned windows that jutted out over the street. On it resided a number of curious small pots and dishes, a mortar and pestle, a tiny glass bowl, a comb, a pewter pitcher and bowl, and some kind of a musical flute. Pages of music adorned the walls. But Liza’s eyes were drawn to the magnificent Turkish rug on the floor whose colors seemed to reflect the firelight. The blues sang around bursts of green and smiling sunshine yellow wove throughout the pattern making Liza dizzy. None of the houses in Cripplegate had been as well furnished as this one. “Pour the filth out early in the morning so the street sweeper can take it away.”
Before Liza could take in everything, Mary quickly strode past her, down the hallway, and up another flight of narrow stairs. At the top of the stairs was a heavy door that creaked in complaint when Mary pushed it open. “This floor is my father’s quarters.” Liza poked her head into the room and saw the traditional bed, wardrobe, and bedside table. Despite the fact that this single room seemed to take up the entire floor of the house, the cloying scent of spices made her eyes water. Herbs and flowers and roots of so many variations Liza couldn’t begin to identify them all hung across three large wooden ladders leaning against the wall under the pitched roof. Like the smaller ladders downstairs, these larger ladders must have been the source of the heady scent. Next to the fireplace sat a narrow wooden table with more jars and cups like those she had seen on the buffet as well as flasks and a shallow copper bowl with a notch cut in the lip. Her eyes widened in wonder when she saw a large glass jar that contained several gray heads with fish-like tails that waved back and forth. A rectangular gold box and several small knives lay next to a scale.
“Father’s fire must be kept burning all day and night. You will have to keep the coal bin filled as well as tend the fire,” Mary gestured to a copper bucket by the fireplace. “Those buckets need to be filled with clean water each day. Bring the water from the parish well, never the stream which flows from the tanneries. And never touch my father’s ware table.”
Liza pointed to the gray masses moving in the large jar, “What are those?”
“Those are my father’s leeches. He’s a physician.”
Liza had heard of leeches being used to bleed the upper class, but she had never seen them before. Mistress Goodey consulted a white witch when the girls at the orphanage were sick, so many of the physician’s instruments were alien to her.
Liza ripped her eyes from the jar as she followed Mary up a steeper, narrower flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. “This is Cook’s and Simple’s quarters.” Mary opened a door that led into a sparsely furnished room with a sloped roof. The small bed took up nearly the entire room. The tiny lead-glass window looked into the window across the street, just a few feet away. “Henry’s and Joseph’s is the other room. Bring the coal for their fires, but they can keep their own fires lit and pour out their own filth.” Mary closed the door causing Liza to scoot back into the hallway.
As Mary bounded downstairs, she answered the question Liza had silently asked herself, “You can keep your things in the root cellar, but you will want to sleep in the great room for warmth until it gets warmer. There is a trundle bed we can bring up.” Mary strode past her Father and Theopholis who were deep in conversation at the table. “The kitchen and the root cellar.” Mary groaned under the weight of the cellar door in the floor. She took a candle from the mantle over the kitchen fire and led the way downstairs ducking under the floor as she descended. Wooden beams supported the kitchen floor. The earthen floor was swept clean. An unused trundle bed was turned on its side against the wall. Root vegetables were piled in neat towers around the dank room. To have five hearths and this large store of food meant wealth. Liza didn’t like the idea of staying in a dark cellar with no light and stale air. The houses she had worked in Cripplegate owned dogs with better quarters than this! Just because the family was wealthy didn’t mean they would treat their servants well, and her quarters in a root cellar was a good indication of how she might be regarded.
“Why is it that I can’t sleep with Cook and Simple?”
“Because there isn’t enough room, and Simple can’t have her routine disrupted!” Mary seemed put out by the question. “You’ll just have to make do!”
The room grew dark as Mary climbed the stairs to the kitchen. Liza followed the light. Mary blew out the candle, took a rabbit-lined cloak from a hook near a barred door and marched back into the great room.
“We’re off to market Father. What meat would you like?”
“A pheasant sounds pleasant,” replied father laughing at his own joke. “You can cook pheasant, can’t you Liza?”
“Yes sir,” she said and curtsied again. The opened front door heralded a flurry of snow into the great room. Liza pulled her thin woolen cloak around her and walked into the unknown.
tired“Children, sit down at the table, I have some wonderous news!” Father exclaimed.
Elizabeth, Mary, William and Joseph gathered around the wooden table. Father looked grave, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Elizabeth, I’ve had news from Master Allin today.” Elizabeth suddenly sat at attention. Elizabeth grabbed Mary’s hand. Master Allin was father of Symon, Elizabeth’s beau. “Symon has been elected to take over the ministry I left in Colchester. This spring he will lead the congregation to the New World. We have both prayed about it, and Master Allin and I feel it is better if he marries before he goes.” Elizabeth squeezed Mary’s hand in glee. “I will publish the marriage banns tomorrow, and the wedding will take place next Saturday. Does this please you, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Father! More than anything!” Elizabeth flew out of her seat and nearly knocked her father over with her enthusiastic hug. “But,” she pulled away from him, “will you be traveling with us to the New World?”
“Elizabeth,” Father took Elizabeth’s hands in his, “Elizabeth, you are leaving my house to make a home for yourself. God has work for me here. I will not accompany you.”
Elizabeth covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Father pulled her close to him. “It has been a trial for all of us this past year, losing your mother in childbirth, putting Charles out to nurse, fleeing home and moving to the city. But God does not give us more than our shoulders can handle. I know you’ve longed to go back to the fresh air and to escape these crowded city streets. I know you long for a family of your own. This is your time. You and Symon are a good match, and you are both needed in the New World.”
Mary was at once happy for Elizabeth’s good fortune, and jealous about her impending journey. Mary would give anything to go on an adventure to the New World where she could explore the colonies making her way as a midwife physician. Mary no longer wanted to take care of her little brothers or wash the family’s clothes. She wanted to learn to be a midwife physician which would allow her to be invited unaccompanied into everyone’s homes.
Mary’s father interrupted her thoughts. “Because there will be too much work for Mary, I have enlisted the help of a charity in town. They are sending over a girl today. She is two years younger than you, Mary, but she will be able to serve as a companion as well as a maid.”
As if by providence, a knock sounded from the door. Mary raced to the door, eager to meet this new girl, but instead found Father’s greasy apprentice, Theopholis Blackheart. Although Father had served as a Presbyterian minister in Colchester, his job to the outside world of London was one of an unlicensed physician. Since they weren’t members of the Church of England, John Hamilton could no longer preach from a pulpit as decreed by the Act of Uniformity two years prior, forbidding anyone from preaching from a pulpit who was not sanctioned by the Church of England. This left the Presbyterians, Quakers, Jews, Catholics, and Puritans to worship in secret. Father had been well respected in Colchester and the surrounding countryside where he was known to heal the spirit as well as the flesh. Father had an eclectic knowledge of the apothecary trade and even had some minor barber-surgeon skills. Father’s recipe book for healing was as extensive as any Mary had ever heard of. He was just as successful treating the sick as any physician from The College of Physicians in London, but he remained unlicensed because he refused to be examined by the Anglican clergy.
Mary stepped back to allow Theo to enter. “Good morning Miss Mary!” His breath smelled like curdled milk. Mary turned her head in disgust and looked at her sister who was barely suppressing a smile. Theo doffed his hat and a shower of white dandruff was released from his unkempt hair. Mary moved out of the way of the floating dead skin. Theo had been father’s apprentice since they moved to London five months ago. His mother, the widow Blackheart, had set her sights on their Father. Father was too naïve about the ways of women, but Mary could clearly see widow Blackheart’s scurrilous plans, marry Father, and take control of the sizable bank account Father had managed to create. And if that wouldn’t work, she could get her hands on the money by having Theo wed Mary.
“Mary!” Father barked. “Where are your manners?”
Resigned, Mary mumbled, “G’morning Theo.”
Theo strode past Mary, nodded to Elizabeth, and patted both boys on the head as they raced out of the room. Father brought out a mortar and pestle and took a handful of dried blue flowers out of a cupboard. “Theo, I have a new genus for you to identify.”
Mary’s mood, already bad because of Elizabeth’s imminent move and a strange girl coming to live with them, grew darker still. Mary detested Theo. She knew Father’s remedies. She had studied his recipe book. She helped him gather herbs and flowers and sometimes helped him make his potions. She knew how to make London treacle. She knew the correct way to apply a poultice and when it was necessary to bleed a person. She could differentiate between at least three different kinds of fevers, and she wanted nothing more than to find a midwife to train with. Yet Father insisted on giving his time and knowledge to this dimwitted bootlicker and insisted on finding Mary a Presbyterian gentleman, or at least a Presbyterian with a solid trade, to marry.
“Mary,” said Elizabeth as she pulled her out of the room, “help me with my trousseau.” Mary solemnly trudged after Elizabeth.
Chapter 3—A New Home
The coach pulled to a stop in front of a brightly painted timbered house whose second story jutted out impossibly far into the street. The driver quickly rapped twice on the roof to let her know this was where she was to get out. It didn’t look like a disreputable place, and it certainly wasn’t Newgate prison. Having lived her whole life in Cripplegate, she had no reason to travel to the fashionable Westminster and the new Covent Garden Piazza. What an unexpected turn this was!
The coach pulled around the corner as Liza approached the door shut tight against the cold March wind. She imagined this was her mother’s house. Perhaps there had been a horrible error, and her mother hadn’t been in prison, but was an important London lady and through some strange twist of fate Liza had been mistakenly abandoned as an orphan for the past twelve years. Liza always knew she was unique and destined for a bigger life than that of a scullery maid. After all, her fiery red mane couldn’t have been the only reason she had been named after Queen Elizabeth. The frost on the door bit into her knuckles as she loudly knocked three times.
She was greeted by a girl about her age with a terrible scowl on her face. “Ma’am,” Liza said as she curtsied. She cast her eyes downward to find the girl’s shoes were scuffed and dirty.
“Yes?”
Liza wasn’t sure what to say. She had no idea why she was here. “If you please ma’am,” and she gave another curtsy. The two girls continued to stare at one another.
An imposing man the size of an oak tree appeared behind the girl and said, “Ah! I see our young charge has arrived.” He opened the door and invited Liza in. The room was warm and modestly furnished. An enclosed cupboard and a counting table stood against the front wall. A buffet with several cups and two buckets, one copper and one wood, stood by an archway on a second wall. The focal point was a long wooden table in front of a fireplace so large she could have walked into it. Several drying racks stood sentry by the fireplace with herbs and flowers, many Liza didn’t recognize, bringing a festive and sweet air to the room. “Mary, this is the young woman I was talking about.”
Mary cast an appraising eye toward the girl at the door. She was about William’s size, and she couldn’t have been older than eight. She had a sharp face and ill-fitting clothes that drooped off of her body.
“Your name is Liza, is it not?” Father addressed the girl.
“Yes sir,” Liza answered jutting her triangular chin in the air.
“I am Master John Hamilton, and this,” he gestured toward Mary, “is my impudent daughter Mary who will show you the house and introduce you to the family.” Father turned toward Mary, “After you have shown her the servants quarters, please take her to market to introduce her to the butcher and baker, and fetch our evening meal while you are there.”
“Yes, Father.” Mary spun on her heel and shot up the stairs. Liza tried to catch up with her quick pace. “My brothers, William and Joseph, sleep here,” Mary pointed into a large room at the back of the house containing two oak beds with floor length curtains covered with embroidery enclosing each of them. Each bed had a small natty bedside table. A wardrobe stood by the tiny window. Embers smoldered in the fireplace.
Mary walked into a large front room across the hallway. “My sister, Elizabeth, and I sleep here.” This bed-chamber also had two oak beds with floor length curtains embroidered in a dainty gold pattern. Each bedside table was covered with an ochre cloth. Beside the mirrored wardrobe stood a close stool, more convenient than a chamber pot. A wooden table lay under the large double paned windows that jutted out over the street. On it resided a number of curious small pots and dishes, a mortar and pestle, a tiny glass bowl, a comb, a pewter pitcher and bowl, and some kind of a musical flute. Pages of music adorned the walls. But Liza’s eyes were drawn to the magnificent Turkish rug on the floor whose colors seemed to reflect the firelight. The blues sang around bursts of green and smiling sunshine yellow wove throughout the pattern making Liza dizzy. None of the houses in Cripplegate had been as well furnished as this one. “Pour the filth out early in the morning so the street sweeper can take it away.”
Before Liza could take in everything, Mary quickly strode past her, down the hallway, and up another flight of narrow stairs. At the top of the stairs was a heavy door that creaked in complaint when Mary pushed it open. “This floor is my father’s quarters.” Liza poked her head into the room and saw the traditional bed, wardrobe, and bedside table. Despite the fact that this single room seemed to take up the entire floor of the house, the cloying scent of spices made her eyes water. Herbs and flowers and roots of so many variations Liza couldn’t begin to identify them all hung across three large wooden ladders leaning against the wall under the pitched roof. Like the smaller ladders downstairs, these larger ladders must have been the source of the heady scent. Next to the fireplace sat a narrow wooden table with more jars and cups like those she had seen on the buffet as well as flasks and a shallow copper bowl with a notch cut in the lip. Her eyes widened in wonder when she saw a large glass jar that contained several gray heads with fish-like tails that waved back and forth. A rectangular gold box and several small knives lay next to a scale.
“Father’s fire must be kept burning all day and night. You will have to keep the coal bin filled as well as tend the fire,” Mary gestured to a copper bucket by the fireplace. “Those buckets need to be filled with clean water each day. Bring the water from the parish well, never the stream which flows from the tanneries. And never touch my father’s ware table.”
Liza pointed to the gray masses moving in the large jar, “What are those?”
“Those are my father’s leeches. He’s a physician.”
Liza had heard of leeches being used to bleed the upper class, but she had never seen them before. Mistress Goodey consulted a white witch when the girls at the orphanage were sick, so many of the physician’s instruments were alien to her.
Liza ripped her eyes from the jar as she followed Mary up a steeper, narrower flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. “This is Cook’s and Simple’s quarters.” Mary opened a door that led into a sparsely furnished room with a sloped roof. The small bed took up nearly the entire room. The tiny lead-glass window looked into the window across the street, just a few feet away. “Henry’s and Joseph’s is the other room. Bring the coal for their fires, but they can keep their own fires lit and pour out their own filth.” Mary closed the door causing Liza to scoot back into the hallway.
As Mary bounded downstairs, she answered the question Liza had silently asked herself, “You can keep your things in the root cellar, but you will want to sleep in the great room for warmth until it gets warmer. There is a trundle bed we can bring up.” Mary strode past her Father and Theopholis who were deep in conversation at the table. “The kitchen and the root cellar.” Mary groaned under the weight of the cellar door in the floor. She took a candle from the mantle over the kitchen fire and led the way downstairs ducking under the floor as she descended. Wooden beams supported the kitchen floor. The earthen floor was swept clean. An unused trundle bed was turned on its side against the wall. Root vegetables were piled in neat towers around the dank room. To have five hearths and this large store of food meant wealth. Liza didn’t like the idea of staying in a dark cellar with no light and stale air. The houses she had worked in Cripplegate owned dogs with better quarters than this! Just because the family was wealthy didn’t mean they would treat their servants well, and her quarters in a root cellar was a good indication of how she might be regarded.
“Why is it that I can’t sleep with Cook and Simple?”
“Because there isn’t enough room, and Simple can’t have her routine disrupted!” Mary seemed put out by the question. “You’ll just have to make do!”
The room grew dark as Mary climbed the stairs to the kitchen. Liza followed the light. Mary blew out the candle, took a rabbit-lined cloak from a hook near a barred door and marched back into the great room.
“We’re off to market Father. What meat would you like?”
“A pheasant sounds pleasant,” replied father laughing at his own joke. “You can cook pheasant, can’t you Liza?”
“Yes sir,” she said and curtsied again. The opened front door heralded a flurry of snow into the great room. Liza pulled her thin woolen cloak around her and walked into the unknown.