Petals in the Ashes (18 page)

Although desperately weary, we could hardly close our eyes because of the very strangeness of it all: the sounds of shouting, wailing, children crying, dogs barking – and every so often from the other side of the wall, the far-off rumble of a damaged house falling, mingled with screams, or the shooting of sparks into the sky where a thatch had suddenly caught fire.

As it grew darker it grew colder, so that although Anne and I curled up as close as a pair of spoons, we became chilled as the damp rose from the earth. There were other dangers apart from cold, too, for the enormity of what had happened to the City had not changed the essential part of some people's wicked characters, and loose fellows prowled around looking for unguarded objects to steal; indeed I fell asleep once, only to wake at feeling a fellow's hand under my skirts and upon my pocket. I sat up immediately and shouted abuse and he ran off into the darkness.

Thus, managing to sleep only now and again, we passed the night, not knowing what would become of us.

The following morning there was some excitement and lightening of mood when the king himself came to speak to us. A fanfare of trumpets sounded his arrival,
then the crowds parted and he, attended by a few gentlemen, wearing an elegant riding jacket and sitting atop his fine black horse, spoke about the dilemma that the City found itself in.

‘The judgement which has fallen upon London is immediately from the hand of God, for be assured that no Frenchmen, Dutchmen or Catholics had any part in bringing you so much misery,' he said in a clear and decisive tone. ‘I assure you that I find no reason to suspect anyone's involvement in burning the City, and desire you to take no more alarm. I, your king, will, by the Grace of God, live and die with you, and take a particular care of you all.'

We were all much moved by this and, as he went off to speak to another group, many of us shed tears at his kind words and chivalrous intentions (and I am sure did not give one thought to his indiscretions or bastard children). Anne was particularly overcome by him and spoke admiringly of his princely manner, looks and virility, saying she thought him the most noble man alive.

That afternoon we heard that, to prevent the remaining small fires gaining more of a foothold, a detachment of two hundred soldiers was coming from Hertfordshire with carts laden with spades and buckets. Everyone at Moore Fields was very glad to hear this, for we were all exhausted and a great lassitude had crept over us. I dreamed of nothing more than being back in my bed-chamber in Chertsey, in clean clothes, with Mother bathing my grazes and making me soothing camomile drinks. This lovely vision, however, seemed as far off and impossible as the one promised by Count de'Ath on entering his cabinet.

‘By water to St Paul's wharf. Walked thence and saw all the town burned, and a miserable sight of Paul's church, with all the roofs fallen and the body of the quire fallen …'

On Friday and Saturday the move back into the City began, for the lethargy that had fallen on everyone had somewhat passed, and by then most of us were anxious to see what remained of London now that the fire was halted, and whether or not anything survived of our homes. Those re-entering the City were asked to be vigilant, to watch for anything suspicious and to stamp out any glowing embers they might see so that they wouldn't catch flame.

Faced with having to move on, some now chose not to go back into the City at all, saying they could not bear seeing the calamity which had befallen their homes and possessions. These folk started journeying on foot to wherever they could, to places where they had family or friends and could mayhap start again, for it had been decreed that cities and towns
everywhere must receive and welcome distressed refugees from London and permit them to trade.

I could not decide what to do. Although I longed for home, I didn't want to leave London without getting word to Tom and telling him where I'd gone. Also, knowing there was little chance of obtaining a lift on a carriage or a cart, we could not yet face making the arduous trek to Chertsey on foot. We were very weary, for we'd slept little on the Fields because of the continuous noise and movement from those around us, and also the alarms sounding whenever wind-blown firebrands came over the walls. Besides, when I'd slept, I'd had terrible nightmares that I was once again in the doorway of St Paul's with the ring of flames all around me and about to burn to death. Each time, I woke to Anne shaking me and telling me I was crying out in my sleep, and was glad she did so, for I had this childish superstition that if I actually fell asleep and dreamed I was dead, then I would not ever wake.

Eventually (Anne being very anxious to do so) I decided we would go back to Crown and King Place and see if anything remained of our shop. Once we had seen it, we could then decide if we should stay put and start again – for we'd heard that several people had already put up rough stands or tents upon the rubble and ashes of their former homes, and some few were already trading by obtaining provisions from outside London to sell.

Accordingly, with Kitty safely inside her basket, we set off, going through Moorgate, where two burly guards had been posted to stop thieves coming out with stolen goods. We knew that there was much
looting and pillaging taking place in the City, for treasures that had been sealed up in cellars, buried in gardens or left in the few houses which had survived the fire were now ripe for the taking. Guards were also on duty about the City ready to quell any disturbances between the citizens and foreigners for, in spite of what the king had said, people were still not certain of how the fire had started, but were mighty anxious to place the blame somewhere.

We'd already glimpsed the devastation through Moorgate, but this did not prepare us for the spectacle we saw when we were past the walls and into the open space beyond them.

For this is what it was: an open space. As far as the eye could see, from the City walls right down to the Thames, all was laid to waste, with little to be seen but random heaps of rubble and stones under a sifting, shifting layer of ash. There were no grassy squares or winding cobbled lanes or dim passageways … the beautiful city with its pretty houses, grand buildings and ancient churches stood no more.

Anne and I surveyed it all, and I felt too heavy to speak, for I had never seen such desolation and could hardly comprehend how it was possible for such a thing to have happened and for such a mighty city to have fallen.

‘Where do we go from here?' Anne spoke at last, but I just shook my head wordlessly, for all landmarks had gone and without those it seemed impossible to trace where our shop had been.

We walked on a little further, to where the remains of a church stood. This, being of heavy stone, had somewhat survived, for although the roof and
windows had disappeared (there just being some traces of red- and blue-stained glass melted and fused into the ground nearby), remains of the spire still stood, and at least a part of each wall.

‘What church is this?' Anne asked.

I stood looking at it doubtfully. ‘St Alphage, I think,' I said. ‘Although I don't know this parish well.'

We walked on. ‘And if so …' I pointed to two great heaps of smoking rubble, ‘here was Clothworkers' Hall … and over there, Brewers' Hall.'

We stood silent once more, lost in thought. Around us from several places rose thin spires of smoke. Further off, a grey and steamy fogginess seemed to hang over all, and through this could be seen dismal figures such as ourselves, picking their way over the ashes like so many grey ghosts. As soft ash floated up with each movement, making us cough, piles of dirt and dust eddied about any remaining stumps of walls. There was black soot-dirt from burned wood, grey dirt from the reduced stones and red and yellow dirt from the bricks that had caught aflame. In places where it had been blown by circles of wind this detritus was inches thick, and looking at it I could not think how it would ever be possible to make London clean again.

Anne came and put her hand through mine. ‘I don't like it,' she said tremulously. ‘Shall we go home to Mother?'

I squeezed her hand. ‘If we can,' I said. ‘But let's try and find Crown and King Place. Just in case …'

Just in case … I knew not what. Just in case there had been a lull in the fire and it had jumped right over our row of shops and left them intact. Just in case a
trained band had obtained fire squirts and directed them on to our shop so that it had escaped. Miracles
did
sometimes happen, I already knew that.

Working from St Alphage, we made our way through the wreckage towards where we thought our shop had been. On the way we saw some small signs of revival: a man who had made a table from two planks of wood and was selling beer from it, and another who had fashioned a rough tent from some canvas and had set up home on what remained of his dwelling. One family also seemed to be living in the cellar of what had been their house, for the trap door to this was open, voices came from below, and a child was seated atop, playing forlornly amid a pile of cinders.

A man stopped us to say that owing to an order of the king, all churches, chapels and other public places in the east of the City that had survived were open freely to receive goods that might be brought to them for safekeeping.

I thanked him as he passed on. ‘But we have nothing to leave in them,' I said to Anne.

‘Just Kitty,' she said.

People had reached what had been their houses and were standing inside, looking lost and bewildered. I saw very few tears, however, for people seemed too shocked for that. Some, finding their own places, had pinned a paper to a blackened stave of wood, or left word on a pile of stones to say what shop it was, or had hung a piece of material or some object (I saw a quill, and later a pewter mug) to denote what had once stood there.

We moved on and, by careful register of what
remained of churches and some Halls of the Guilds, found our way through the remains of the City to what was left of Crown and King Place. Here we surveyed where our little row of shops and houses had stood, and I knew then that a miracle had
not
happened, and that our shop had been laid to waste and destroyed utterly, along with all the others, and I felt very sad and low.

Here, too, we found Mr Newbery sitting on a stump of wood inside what had been his premises, a tankard in his hand. He had no wig, nor even proper dress, but was wearing an old, loose Indian robe such as those worn by gentlemen of leisure at home. This gown was torn and dishevelled, however, and was spotted all over with small burn marks, as if he had walked through a shower of sparks whilst wearing it.

He rose and gave us a slight bow, swaying on his feet. ‘Ah! You found your way back, then,' he said, with as much ease as if he had been receiving us in his parlour. I nodded, staring at him (as I knew Anne was), for his bald pate had big smuts of soot all over it and his cheeks seemed to be liberally powdered with grey ash. ‘It took me a good long time to get myself here, for all the taverns are down and I couldn't work out where I was.'

‘Did our neighbours all survive? Have you seen anyone?' I asked him.

‘Oh, several,' he said. ‘Few have died.' He then added in his usual manner, ‘Although I heard that at Bridewell the flames raged with such intolerable heat that the very dead in their graves were burnt!' and I could not help smiling to myself at this.

‘Are you going to stay here?' Anne asked him.

He nodded. ‘I managed to preserve my clothes and some of my goods by taking them to a friend in Bishopsgate. He boxed them and buried them in his garden for safekeeping, and luckily the fire did not get that far.'

‘But where will you live?' I asked.

‘Soldiers are erecting makeshift tents for people, so I shall retrieve my goods and begin trading again as soon as I can. I want to be here to give directions for the rebuilding of my shop.'

‘I see,' I said, and then asked to be excused, adding that we were mighty anxious to go inside our own place.

‘Oh, not a thing remains of it!' he called after us.

Our shop had been separated from his by two small and mean dwellings. These were now no more, and a half-stump of oak was all that was left of our doorjamb. This was charcoaled and reduced, but meant we could see where our premises began. Shuffling around the debris on the ground with our feet (which we had to do with care, some of the ashes still being hot), the outline of the floor could be seen, and the division into the back room; also, oddly, a burnt stub of the sturdy bush of rosemary which had stood in our yard.

I cannot explain how strange it felt to be standing in our shop – and yet not our shop, for it was filled with debris from the roof and upper floor, and open to the skies. To the right we could look along to where Mr Newbery could be seen drinking from his tankard, and to the left could be glimpsed, through the devastated houses, the broken spire and ruins of our parish church.

Kitty, who usually remained quiet whenever she was in her basket, suddenly started to meow, as if knowing she was home, but of course we did not dare let her out.

‘There's a note here, pinned to a strut of wood!' Anne said suddenly.

‘Really?' I moved to her quickly, my long skirts making the dust lift and swirl. ‘Let me see.'

This small piece of parchment was nailed to a charred brace, and I removed it carefully, my heart pounding, for I could already see that it was in Sarah's careful script.

I read it out:

‘Having heard of the dreadful fire, we are come to London and I wait with Giles Copperly to bring you and Anne back to Chertsey. As we may not bring the carriage into the City, the ways all being blocked with rubble, we stay on the Southwarke side and will remain here until you come to us. Please God that you are both safe. Your sister Sarah.'

Thinking of my elder sister waiting on the other side of the river for us, anxious for news, made my eyes brim with tears, and I turned away to dab at them with a piece of my skirt.