and dying went on in ageless fashion, according to social ritual and at nature's pace. What would happen if a wrench were thrown to alter that pace, to destroy the rituals?

A gray specter filled her vision, and her scalp contracted as a graveyard shiver ran down her spine. She looked again at her companions; and saw that the specter had touched"them, also.

Chapter 16

Iwill not travel with Lady Margaret!" Polly repeated fiercely, for the tenth time in the last hour. Nicholas struggled to hang on to the remaining threads of temper and patience. "You cannot expect me to make two journeys, Polly. Do you really imagine I should leave you here, escort Margaret and the household to her brother in Leicestershire, then come back to take you to Wilton House?"

"I do not expect you to do anything," Polly said, her mouth stubborn. "I have asked nothing of you, have I? I understand that you have a duty to your family, but I am not a member of your family. Look after Lady Margaret, and I will make my own way to Wiltshire. I can go on the public stage." Turning her back to him, she looked out of the tight-shut window onto Drury Lane, languishing under a May heat wave fiercer than any other in living memory.

There were few people about; those there were walked in the middle of the street, well away from doorways and side streets where they might find themselves suddenly in contact with a fellow human being-one who might be distempered, even without his knowing it. They carried handkerchiefs soaked in vinegar pressed to mouths and noses, for it was said that one drew in death when one breathed.

She noticed that two more houses across the street bore the red cross and the scrawled letters of the only prayer left for the inhabitants to pray: Lord have mercy upon us. The watchman leaned against one of the doors, absently picking his teeth. A window opened above him; a head appeared. The watchman stood away from the door, looking up. Then, with a short nod, he went off up the street. To fetch the physician, perhaps, Polly wondered, or the nurse; not the dead cart yet; that would not start its rounds until nightfall, when the city would resound to the melancholy tolling of the bell, and the cry to "Bring out your dead."

Nick stood looking at her averted back as he fought with an anger fueled by desperation and fear. The longer they remained in this city-become-lazar-house, the more inescapable their fate. The court, anxious to get as far from London as possible, had moved from Hampton Court to the seat of the Earl of Pembroke, Wilton House, near Salisbury. People were fleeing the city in droves; he had an absolute family duty to ensure the safety of his sister-in-law and the household dependent upon him. And Polly was telling him that that duty did not encompass her.

If she were his wife… No, now was hardly the appropriate moment to bring up that particular matter. He had intended, once the wretched affair with Buckingham was dealt with, to tackle the question at leisure. It was a subject of some considerable complexity, involving as it would the inevitable, boundless opposition of his sister-in-law; questions of residence, both Margaret's and theirs; and not least his own unresolved difficulties with the idea of sharing his wife with the theatregoing public. It was hard enough for him to share his mistress with an outward show of equanimity-but the mother of his children! In the last weeks, however, all issues had become subsumed under a brutal and undiscriminating scourge. Death, and its avoidance, were the only relevancies at present.

"I am not asking you to travel in the same coach as Margaret." There was a frayed edge to his voice that warned Polly she was pushing against his outer limits. "You may

travel in your own vehicle, which, like Margaret's, will be under the protection of my outriders and postilions."

"And what about the stops we must make along the way?" demanded Polly, unable to understand how he could not see how impossible it would be for her. "Must I stay under the same roof, or will you scout the countryside each night for two suitable neighboring inns in which to house your-" She was about to say "whore" in imitation ot Lady Margaret, but caught herself in time. "Your mistress and your sister?"

Nicholas gave up the attempt to reason with her. "I will make what arrangements I deem necessary," he said. "If you oblige me to use torce to achieve your compliance, I will do so. But in such a situation you will find your position much more embarrassing than anything you fear at the moment, I can promise you."

"Dear me," came a quiet voice from the door. "I do beg your pardon for intruding, but matters must be serious if Nicholas is obliged to resort to threats." Richard stepped into the parlor, closing the door behind him. "I am come to bid you farewell. I leave for Wilton House this evening, and assume you will be gone yourselves without delay."

"I will not travel with Lady Margaret!" Polly cried in despair. "And Nicholas is going to make me! Can you imagine what it would be like, Richard?"

"Worse than being dead of the plague, I suppose," snapped Nick.

Richard frowned, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "As usual, I suffer from the dvibious gift of seeing both sides. It would be wretchedly uncomfortable for you, Polly, but Nick cannot be in two places at once, and neither you nor Margaret can travel without his escort."

"I am quite willing to do so," muttered Polly, then her eyes lit up. She clapped her hands with inspiration. "Why cannot I travel with you, Richard? If you go to Wilton House, we may go together, and Nick can join us there once he has seen his sister-in-law safe with her brother."

There was a short silence, while Polly looked hopefully

between the two of them. "I would not be any trouble," she assured hesitantly.

Richard laughed. "My dear, I should enjoy your company. Will you entrust me with the charge, Nick?"

"If you are willing to take on such an intractable wench, then you have my blessing… and my condolences," replied Nicholas, his annoyance for the moment unabated. "If she has Susan with her, at least you will not be obliged to act as tiring woman!"

"Well, of all the things to say!" spluttered Polly, pink-cheeked. "As if I would ever-"

"You are capable of anything," Nick interrupted. "It was not so long ago you unilaterally decided I would make a suitable patron and proceeded to adopt me-quite without my say-so, as I recall."

"You are unjust," Polly accused, blushing furiously. "My patience is not inexhaustible, and you have tried it sorely," Nick retorted in explanation. "If you are to leave with Richard, you had best call Susan and get on with your packing."

"I will leave you to make peace." Richard, ever the diplomat, went to the door. "I will delay my departure until tomorrow sunup, Polly. Can you be ready by then?"

Polly assured him that she could, and the door clicked shut in his wake. She turned to Nick with a tentative smile. "I did not mean to try your patience, love. I do not wish to part bad friends, and you will be all of three weeks upon your journey." The smile hovered on her lips, the anxiety of an innocent unjustly accused swam in the deep forest pools of her eyes, her chin trembled, and her shoulders sagged a little. Nick groaned in defeat, reaching for her with ungentle hands.

On a glorious morning at the end of June, thoughts and images of a plague-ridden metropolis no longer sharply etched in mind and memory, Lord Kincaid and Mistress Wyat were riding through the fields skirting the park of Wil-

ton House. Polly was atop a broad-backed piebald of sluggish disposition. Her own disposition left much to be desired.

"I will not have my bridle held any longer!" Polly declared on a lamentably petulant note, plucking crossly at the leading rein, which her companion held loosely with his own. "You said you would teach me how to ride, not how to sit like a cabbage whilst you lead my horse."