The Plague Doctor

New London

New London                                                                               
15th July 1871

Within these walls you would be none the wiser to the death and decay beyond. Still a beautiful city. A calmness within.
It put me on edge.
My skin prickled at the thought of being trapped like a fly under a glass. The thought of being watched. Being followed.
It was 4am. Big Ben rang out through the city. I had my doctors bag held firmly in one hand and my walking stick in the other. My leg pained me. An old war injury from my younger years. The streets were quiet. Not a soul in sight. Perfect.
It was not uncommon for Plague Doctors like myself to be summoned at all hours of the day. People were paranoid. The slightest cough. A simple nose bleed. News spread fast. And fear along with it.
This time was no different. Awoken by a police man not 10 minutes ago and ordered to Chiswick House in central Kensington. A private estate. Owned by a Lord Bernard Grey.
The streets were scattered with posters and new stories. Doors marked with red paint, in hopes of a religious saviour.
As a passed from Hammersmith to Kensington I was greeted by the police men, who’s dark eyes told me they had been working through the night. 
“Which one this time?” one asks.
“Lord Grey,” I reply awkwardly.
“Old git,” the other states as they wave me away.
The town crier can be heard only streets away announcing another successful evening. Meaning none of the infected had managed to enter the city. They were all safe, for another day at least.
I turn left down Greenwood Lane. The houses. Or should I say Manors tower over the oak trees. Candle light flickers from within and shadows wonder through their halls. There was Chiswick House. Hidden behind metal gates at the end of the street. Guards posted within. Armed with rifles and swords.