They said we were ripe for the pox that summer.  I heard two men talking in Creeksea Pub when I went to give Mary Lukely fresh eggs from our best layer. 

They didn't see me, tucked away as they were in the corner, talking in hushed whispers.  But being curious, and when Mary Lukely failed to make an appearance straight away, I sidled round the corner of the darkened bar to get closer. 

At first I wasn't sure what they were talking about, then I knew.  They said 'it' as if mention of the word would bring 'it's' terrible presence.  I could see by his crinkling eyes one was older than the other, but both had such bushy beards any recognisable features were buried.  I guessed they must be yeomen stopped in for a pint. 

“It took my youngest daughter”, said the younger stroking his beard thoughtfully, “Such a wee bub she were, still in her cradle.  One day she were there and the next she was in the ground.  Only four days unwell”. 

The elder murmured words of consolation.  “That were in '53?,” he said,”I rem'ber it were heat like this when 'it' came”.  He shuddered, took a suck of beer as if to erase the memory, and leaned in towards the other.  “They buried them at night so Old Charlie said, no one would go near 'em.  Said he had to get himself well primed just to ring the bell”. 

The other chuckled and their mood grew lighter thinking on Old Charlie. Old Charlie was the vicar's clerk, and I should imagine he'd consider a midnight burial the perfect excuse to have a few beers. 

 “Of course twas difficult enough just to get 'em in the ground, their clothes still infected an'all,” he continued darkly.  “Old Charlie said one night they had to pay a couple of passing Salvationists just to get t'coffins in the ground.  Two young uns in there and the parents stayed at home, too afraid to even say a last prayer to the mites”. 

The younger shook his head sadly.  “If you ask me we're ripe for it in this heat,” he said.  “I heard that Maldon has already buried its first and it won't be the last”. 

The floorboard I happened to be standing on then did an almighty creak and they both looked up at me.  At the same time Mary Lukely came in from the back door wiping her large red hands on her wet apron.

“Mercy Graham! Have you got some nice eggs for me today?”, she called brightly. 

I liked Mary, she was about mother's age and round-faced.   Her large smile seemed to dissipate any glum mood.  She glanced at the two men who had returned to their beers and were now drinking studiously and at my face which must've looked concerned.  I handed over my basket and waited while she went behind the bar to get the money.  As she dropped the coins into my palm she grasped my hand.

 “I can guess what that was about,” she said, “Scaremongers, nothing else to talk about.  It hasn't been back like that for years and I'm the first to know in this place.  Now run along home and put 'it' from your mind”. 

Which I did with pleasure.  There was such relief to step into sunshine after the gloom of the pub and that conversation.  Of course I had grown up with knowledge of 'it' and 'it' was always in the shadows when we heard news of this one or that one succumbing.  But always on the fringes of our lives, never anyone too close or too important.  In my 13 years I had never known true fear.  All that was about to change.

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1766 Chelmsford, England. Thirteen year old Mercy Graham is infected by smallpox when it rages through her village. Although she survives, her appearance is drastically altered and she fears no one will ever love her for who she is. Desperate for money, her mother sends her to the next village to be a housekeeper for the local pastor. Mercy forms a close bond with Father Sebastian and he takes it upon himself to educate her. However it soon becomes apparent that Father Sebastian isn't as saintly as he makes out. When his friend Jasper arrives, Mercy finds herself unprepared for what ensues and she must fight to assert her right to love and life.

updated Aug 21 '11 by kiwigirl