Paupers Graveyard

by Gemma Mawdsley

  Elizabeth spent most of the time in deep thought, although she feigned normality. Sometimes, as the dark closed in, she would walk to the edge of the field and gaze across to the road and the lights of the machines that passed. Some even flew through the air, and for the first few weeks they all ducked down in case one fell on top of them. The children, though still wary of Black Jack, mostly ignored him. They adjusted well to their situation. Many of them had not known him in the other time. They didn’t fear him, even though his face was frightening. Strangulation had discoloured his skin more than the soil and its insects could ever have done. The loss of blood had turned it to black-blue. The pupils of his eyes were still as dark as ever, but, with every blood vessel burst, they could be seen at night, glowing red, all the way across the graveyard.

  Black Jack kept very much to himself, and for this they were all grateful. He, like Elizabeth, spent much time in thought. Sometimes, when he grew bored, Jack moved among the workmen and stroked the cheek of one of them. He watched with pleasure as the man shivered, drawing back, sensing his freezing touch, but unable to see what it was that had touched him. He was a fast learner and, after seeing Timmy’s performance on the day they first awoke, he knew there was a lot to master. One could reveal oneself to the living. Already they could feel his touch, and it wouldn’t be long until … Never mind, there was plenty of time.

  Soon, each roped site contained a building in progress. No one stayed long, although others soon replaced workers who left suddenly. The boss grew frustrated at the men’s unwillingness to see the job through, in spite of him offering inflated pay rates. But even he had to admit that there was strangeness to the place; a feeling of uneasiness, with a heavy, cloying scent in the air. He was not one to be frightened by ghost stories, and God knows Ireland abounded with them. Utter nonsense, these stories of whisperings and figures in the trees.

  Timmy hated the nights most. Even though he disliked the daytime roaring of the machines and the muffled shouts of workers, he dreaded the silence. When the men finished for the day, a gloom descended with the darkness. The noise made it hard to think, but the quiet brought memories. His throat tightened when he thought of his family. His mother, brothers and sister were not in this place. But there were others, like Martin, his best friend, who was there, but had failed to waken. Martin’s father and Mick were here. He had buried them, he could not be mistaken. Why could they not come to him now? Perhaps Elizabeth was right, maybe they were in hell.

  A stirring in the darkened field beyond the bushes interrupted his thoughts. Urgent whispering and the sound of running feet reached him. Soon a light appeared in the window of one of the buildings and the crackling of a fire could be heard. Elizabeth and the children had all returned to their dark sanctuary and there was no sign of Black Jack. The small fire lit up the night sky, outlining all the buildings. He really wanted to investigate these newcomers, to see if some weary travellers had chosen this place to rest for the night. Perhaps it was someone who would not be afraid and would talk to him. He was about to crawl through the bushes, when a movement stopped him. Black Jack was striding purposefully towards the light. His tattered frock coat waved about him as he walked, but his footsteps made no sound.

  Timmy started to follow and was only a few feet behind him, when Black Jack turned. ‘Stay out of my way, Walsh,’ he warned, ‘or I’ll crush you like the bothersome insect you are.’

  ‘Oh and how do you think you will do that? You have no power here.’

  Black Jack hit out at him and growled with frustration, as his clenched fist encountered nothing but air.

  ‘Give me time, Walsh. I’ll find a way; I always do, as you well know.’ He turned and walked towards the light, without noticing the look of fear that crossed the boy’s face.

  Timmy peeped through a window, as Black Jack marched straight inside. The blazing fire cast shadows on the bare bricks and made giants of the people moving about. He knew nothing was beyond Black Jack, there was no stopping the devil’s offspring. He saw a group of boys, dressed alike in jumpers and baggy trousers. Each had a hood pulled over his face. Timmy had to climb inside the house to get a better look at them. They seemed no older than he was, had been, in that time long ago. Black Jack stood in one corner of the room, his blood-red eyes narrowed, watching. Their language was hard to understand.

  ‘This is good shit,’ one of the boys said, taking a shiny packet from his pocket. ‘Almost pure.’

  He hunched in front of the fire and the others joined him. Each held out a silver spoon and he divided the powder between them. Timmy squeezed in beside them and watched as the spoons were held over the flames and the powder melted into liquid. Even Black Jack had drawn closer. Next they took a tube with a needle attached to it. The tip of the needle was placed in the bubbles and the liquid sucked into the tube. The first one rolled up a sleeve and tied a string around his forearm. He held the needle as it punctured the skin in the crook of his arm and a small amount of blood appeared to mix with the liquid. Timmy watched in amazement as it all disappeared inside him. One by one his companions repeated the ceremony. Timmy pulled back as they fell away from the fire and slumped against the wall. Each wore the same stupid smile, and their voices now sounded different, slurred. After a while they began to move.

  The banging of metal sounded as they pulled silver canisters from their bags. Timmy hunched closer to one of the boys, their noses almost touching, as he pulled a ring on the top of the canister. Suddenly, with a sharp hiss, the air was filled with the scent of ale. Black Jack came forward, licking his lips, and tried to pick up one of the canisters, but it was useless. It just passed through his fingers, and he swore loudly, before stalking away.

  Timmy stayed to try and find out where he was, what year he was in. But it was difficult. They spoke of bitches, but he could see no dogs. They seemed to be religious as they used the name of Christ often in their speech.

  ‘This fuckin’ place is A-1, man,’ one of them said. ‘No watchman, no security guards, fuckin’ happenin’,’ he looked around, and the others mumbled their agreement. ‘Anyway, who’d want to come way out here, to the arsehole of nowhere, to knock off that shit?’ He pointed to the bricks.

  Their speech grew duller, their movements slowed, as the hours passed. Timmy grew tired of their company and decided to return to the graveyard. He had seen enough of the living for now, it was time to go back to his own kind. The light from the fire glinted off one of the tubes that littered the floor and he bent to pick it up. He held the fine plastic between his finger and thumb, amazed at its smoothness, lightness and craftsmanship.

  ‘What the fuck is that?’

  He spun around to find one of the boys pointing in his direction.

  ‘It’s floating, man,’ answered another, ‘flying.’ Flapping his arms, he mimicked a bird.

  ‘No, that other thing; it’s some sort of scarecrow. Look at it.’ The others tried to focus on where he was pointing.

  ‘Hey, you,’ the first one spoke to Timmy, ‘get the fuck out of here.’ He aimed one of the empty canisters at him. The others joined in, and though the missiles sailed past, Timmy was afraid and started to run, the boy’s voice following him.

  ‘And stay the fuck out.’

  Timmy could still hear their hysterical laughter as he ran through the bushes to be confronted by Black Jack.

  ‘How did you do it, Walsh? How did you pick it up?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If you’re hiding something from me, some sort of secret, I’ll find out, and then there’ll be hell to pay.’

  ‘There’s no secret.’

  ‘If there is, I’ll learn about it soon enough. I can wait. I have all eternity.’

  Timmy sank down into the grass. He would have much to tell Elizabeth come morning.

  ****

  There was great confusion and shouting the next day when the workmen discovered the remains of the fire. By nightfall a small cabin had been placed at the end of
the building site. When work finished for the day, a machine drove up and a man got out. He wore a uniform with a peaked cap that reminded the children of the officers they had seen in the workhouse. He went inside the cabin and immediately it lit up. He came back out and went to his machine. Doors on its back opened and two large dogs leapt out.

  The children jumped about with excitement at the prospect of new playmates. Elizabeth had to stop them from running forward to embrace the animals, whose huge mouths and sharp teeth could have easily snapped their thin bodies in two. Instead she made them wait as a chain was hooked to each of the dog’s collars and the man began to walk them around the site.

  Black Jack went right up to the animals and was delighted by their reaction. They snarled and growled, their hair standing straight, eyes wide with fear, as they backed away, dragging the man with them.

  ‘Butch, Sandy, what’s wrong?’ He spoke firmly, his eyes scanning the field for whatever was upsetting them. Black Jack stood inches away from him, laughing. Then, turning to the dogs, he stamped his foot at them. Instantly they cowered and the man had to drag them on their bellies back to the cabin. They almost knocked him over in their haste to get inside. The children ran to the windows to see what was happening. Both dogs were hiding under a table and no amount of coaxing from the man would get them to come out. After a while he gave up and took to patrolling the site alone.

  Black Jack had grown bored with tormenting the dogs and walked back to the graveyard. He would have to think about this. The dogs could see him, but not the man. He stood behind the bushes and watched as the children went inside. He heard them talking softly and petting the animals. Soon they came out, closely followed by the dogs whose eyes darted furtively around the site as they sniffed the air. When they realised there was nothing to fear, they lay down and allowed the children to rub and hug them. The animals licked at the ravished hands and faces as though they were living, breathing children.

  Black Jack didn’t understand. Why weren’t the animals afraid of them? He studied the children’s hands as they glided over the soft hair, wondered as they picked up small sticks and threw them for the dogs to fetch. He tried to pick up a twig time and time again, but was unable to. There had to be a way. Groaning with anger and frustration, he brushed at a moth that fluttered by his face. His hand came in contact with the soft wings and the moth fell injured at his feet. He had touched it. Without even trying, he had touched it. Kneeling down, he ran his fingers lightly over the injured insect. He could feel its wings soft as gossamer beneath his fingers, feel its tiny heart throbbing in terror. He allowed his hand to glide over the twig and gasped as it appeared between his fingers.

  Timmy and Elizabeth watched as Black Jack stood, triumphant, and crushed the moth with his foot. He had just learned what they had known from the start. They belonged to the soil, were one with the air and could become part of anything they chose. For the next few hours he roamed the graveyard picking up whatever he found lying about, growing bolder and more confident with each new action. He threw stones against the trunk of the trees and revelled in the small thunking noise their contact made.

  Elizabeth called to the children and they came running. It was best that they should not witness this, and she had seen quite enough. Squealing children flew through the bushes, closely followed by the dogs. She could hear their owner calling, but they paid no heed.

  ‘Look, Elizabeth,’ Katie ran up to her, ‘we’ve got doggies.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ she laughed at the dogs sniffing around her and Timmy.

  ‘Watch this,’ one of the boys climbed on a dog’s back. ‘See, they’re almost as big as a pony.’

  The other children clapped and screamed with laughter as he rode up and down the field.

  ‘Well, well, what have we got here?’ Black Jack asked.

  Instantly the dogs’ behaviour changed. They cowered down, stiffening and whimpering.

  ‘Doggies, look!’ Katie was too caught up in the excitement to be worried about him. But the others were already backing away, crowding around Elizabeth.

  ‘So I see,’ his smile at the child was one of pure malice. ‘May I stroke them?’

  ‘Oh, yes, do,’ Katie smiled.

  ‘Katie, come here.’ Elizabeth held out her hand, and with just a backward glance, the child ran to her.

  The sighing in the trees became louder and the wind whipped against them as Black Jack knelt down and buried his hands in the hair of one of the dogs. The terrified animal whimpered, its cries mingling with those circling the air. From outside the boundary hedge they could hear the dogs’ master calling to them, trying to be heard above the noise of the wind.

  The creatures drew courage from his voice, baring their teeth and emitting menacing growls. He had taught them to stand and fight when need be, but they had never faced anything as evil as this.

  ‘Butch, Sandy, where are you?’

  Elizabeth tried to tear her eyes away from those of the animals, tried to call out to the man from the living world, but it was useless. Black Jack, who had been momentarily startled by the man’s voice, turned back to his game. He looked up at Elizabeth, winked, and broke the dog’s neck.

  The sighing had turned to a scream.

  ‘No!’ Timmy ran towards Black Jack, as the sound of snapping bones still hung in the air. Black Jack knocked him aside as easily as he had the moth.

  The children cried and covered their ears against the screams around them. The other dog lay frozen, awaiting its fate. Its whimpering sounded childlike. Elizabeth noticed that the hair beneath the eye nearest to her was matted and wet. The dog was crying. Black Jack turned to finish his dire task. Timmy jumped on his back, beating him with his fist, but Black Jack easily shook him off. It lasted for an instant, but it gave Elizabeth time to act.

  ‘Let’s save the dog,’ she called, running forward and throwing herself at Black Jack, who was knocked on his back by the suddenness of her action. At once the children were all over him, biting, scratching, and pulling his hair.

  ‘Get the dog away,’ Elizabeth called to Timmy.

  Dragging the terrified animal over to the bushes Timmy pushed him through.

  Once outside the graveyard, the animal took flight and ran back to its owner, who would spend the rest of the night comforting it and calling for its mate. The screaming of the wind ceased.

  When they realised the dog was safe, the children drew back from Black Jack, who was covered in teeth and nail marks. He sat rubbing his wounds and swearing. ‘I’ll get the other dog, mark my words.’

  ‘Do that,’ Timmy warned him, ‘and we’ll get you.’

  Black Jack watched as they sank down into the grass. The children lay clustered around Elizabeth. The smaller ones sniffled and sobbed over the dog’s death, while the older ones tried to cheer them.

  ‘Did you see Black Jack’s face when I bit him on the ankle?’ asked one. ‘I think I pulled his nose off,’ offered another. But secretly they were all afraid, and glad when the dark veil of earth covered them.

  ‘I’ll stay behind and bury him,’ Timmy whispered to Elizabeth. ‘It’s best that the dog be gone when the children awake.’

  ‘You’re a good boy, Timmy Walsh. I hope you know that.’

  ‘And you’re a good woman, Lady Elizabeth Fitzwilliam,’ he replied with a grin. She smiled at his cheekiness and closed her eyes, wondering if there was anything worse than the fear of the unknown?

  FIVE

  May 1845

  Lying fearfully in her bed in Maycroft, Elizabeth was pondering the same thought. Each day now held new terrors for her. During the week someone had tried several times to open her bedroom door. She had taken to locking it and the nursery door, since Charles had dismissed the nanny as a needless expense.

  At night she watched the door handle from her bed as it slowly, soundlessly, turned and held for a moment, until the unseen hand allowed it to fall back into place. Sometimes she crept to the door and listened to the heavy, unst
eady breathing.

  In daylight Charles had gone no further than to leer at her and make crude suggestions, but she knew it was only a matter of time until things got out of hand. That morning she had found him in the nursery talking to Lucy, admiring her waist-length hair, while the child stood blushing. She looked delighted that her uncle was finally paying attention to her and unaware of how threatening his behaviour was. He smiled on seeing Elizabeth and remarked on how lovely Lucy was and quite the young woman. It had taken every ounce of her strength to give him a civil answer, before hurrying her daughter away from his wanton gaze.

  There was nothing else for it, she decided, but to go to her father and beg for his protection. After all, John had been generous to him when he was alive. Surely he could find it in his heart to give them shelter? Her eyes felt sore from unshed tears, but she knew that if she started to cry now, she would never stop.

  Charles was in better humour when she went down to breakfast. She had no idea of his plans to attend a card game that night, but just thanked God for whatever it was had cheered him. He had rigorously cut back on the number of staff. A house the size of Maycroft needed at least sixteen servants, but the new owner had decided they would manage on just two, so Elizabeth was now in sole charge of the children’s washing and ironing. Only Thomas and Annie, the cook, remained. At least her days passed much quicker now that she had also taken over the duties of governess. In Charles’ opinion, girls did not need a formal education, because the only skills required of them were in the ballroom and the bedroom.