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admitted. “I am newly come to Friends, only this past two years. I have attended several different meetings – most often the one in Gracechurch Street, which is nearest. But my wife and daughters worship at home. I have such fear for them. It is hard, when there is a family to consider.”
    I told him about my own family, which it seemed I had lost for good. “That first evening,” I said, “when I came from Newgate, I thought I heard someone playing a virginal.”
    â€œAh.” He gave a wry smile. “I have not yet severed myself entirely from my former life.”
    â€œIt made me think of home,” I said. “I miss music.”
    â€œThou used to play?”
    â€œYes. We had a virginal.”
    â€œThen thou must try our instrument – when Dr Waterford releases thee from this room! I used to play often, but now I try to use that time in prayer and silence. I have talked to Friends – it’s what most of them advise. But I cannot deny music to my girls. My eldest, Catherine, is especially accomplished and would be loath to give it up. Thou’ll find sheet music of hers, if thou wish to play.”
    â€œThou’rt kind,” I said, wondering if he would prefer me to resist the temptation. I sank back on the pillows.
    I loved the peace of Edmund Ramsey’s house, his quiet but stimulating company, and the books he brought me from his library. We talked about religion, the laws against Dissenters, about London, trade, and travel. He had been to Venice in his youth, and worked in Antwerp and Brussels – as I might have done had I not rejected my father’s plans for me. When I told him about Nicholas Barron, the silk merchant I should have been apprenticed to, he exclaimed, “But I know him well! He lives a few streets away. He’s been hard hit by the effects of the pestilence. Foreign ports won’t allow our ships to unload. We can only hope the sickness soon abates.”
    Although we talked frequently, I spent much of my time alone, reading, or sleeping. Edmund was often out of the house, or busy about his work. Sometimes, when I was free of the fever, I walked in the garden. An almond tree grew there, and there were beds of salad herbs, and rosemary and lavender. But I was not well enough to go out, even if it had been safe to do so. Few people went out, unless they must. I heard that there was grass growing in the street in Cheapside – a thing I found difficult to imagine. I felt anxious, adrift, cut off from my work and plans, and from Susanna.
    In the distant reaches of the house I would hear voices, footsteps, the clatter of pots and pans. Nat came to see me every few days, though I sensed he did not come eagerly. He always looked a little ill at ease, as if he found the surroundings too grand for his comfort. He brought me letters, and news of the meeting. I had been there about a month when he told me that the
Black Spread-Eagle
had still not left London, and that plague had broken out on the ship.
    â€œIt’s nearly eleven weeks since the prisoners went aboard,” he said. “The women are allowed some freedom, but the men are kept below decks all the time. They can never stand upright. Friends are petitioning continually for their release.”
    â€œAnd Rachel?”
    â€œShe has the love of the meeting. As thou dost. We all pray for thy recovery.”
    I had a sense that he was holding something back.
    â€œI must get strong again,” I said. “Edmund tells me the plague has begun to retreat this last fortnight. People will return to the city and I’ll be needed at the shop.”
    That look – of something withheld – had come into Nat’s face again.
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked. And fear clutched at me. “Susanna…?”
    â€œNot Susanna,” Nat said at once. He looked at me pityingly. “It is James Martell.”
    â€œJames has the sickness?”
    I