Paupers Graveyard

by Gemma Mawdsley

  ‘I will.’

  He went back towards the bushes and walked through them. Only then did she lie down in the grass and stare up into the starlit sky. There had been no sign of Black Jack all day. He was probably inside the houses or foraging around the site. He behaved like a magpie, stealing anything shiny, or whatever took his fancy.

  The place that marked his grave resembled a dump with pieces of broken pipe and old rope piled in a clutter. Still, she was glad of the peace and, closing her eyes, surrendered to the dark.

  Timmy crept up to the security cabin. He could see the man inside, seated at his desk. Climbing up onto the step, he peeped through the window. The man was pouring liquid from the container into the mug. Steam rose into the air, and for the first time in years, Timmy smelled the leafy aroma of tea.

  ‘There’s enough for two.’

  He almost lost his footing in surprise, and waited for a moment before pushing open the door and stepping in.

  ‘Sit down.’ The man pointed to a chair beside the desk. ‘I won’t bite, and I hope you’ll do me the same courtesy?’

  ‘I don’t bite!’

  ‘Would you like some?’ The man asked, indicating the bread and meat before him. ‘I mean if you can eat. No, I mean … God, I don’t know what I mean.’

  Timmy noticed how his hand shook as he brought the mug to his lips. ‘No, thank you. I’m not hungry, not any more.’

  ‘Aye, well, I seem to have lost my appetite as well,’ the man said, throwing the food back into its container.

  ‘What year is this, please?’ asked Timmy. He gasped at the reply. Almost two centuries had passed. He had been dead for more than a hundred and fifty years. He asked question after question of the man, who answered each one patiently. In turn, Timmy told him about his life, about Elizabeth and the other children, and finally about Black Jack. He told stories of famine days that only an eyewitness could know.

  The man listened as Timmy’s words tumbled from him, telling of the horrors he and the others endured, and about the fear that each day brought as they wandered in this new world, this limbo. The first fingers of light were streaking across the sky when he got up to leave. He had finished his story and wanted to be back with his own kind.

  ‘Come again tomorrow night,’ Paddy said. ‘I’ll bring you some books. Show you all the wonderful things that have happened since … your time.’

  ‘Yes I will. Thank you,’ Timmy called, as he melted into the early morning mist.

  ****

  Paddy was as good as his word and arrived with armloads of books the next night. Timmy spent hours leafing through the pages and calling out in wonder at some of the things he found there. ‘Could I take these to show the others?’

  ‘Of course you can, boy. Keep them. They’re yours.’

  Timmy couldn’t believe it. How could anyone part with such precious things as books? He accepted the gift and carried them back to the graveyard. Paddy watched him go, shaking his head in wonder. He was surprised at how easily he accepted the boy who had just the night before frightened him rigid. There was goodness about the youngster, a goodness that transcended his fearsome features. He had been right after all, in taking this job, Paddy decided as he went about his work.

  ****

  The drug addicts returned and were disgusted to find a security man guarding the site. Still, the night was dry and they lit their fire on the opposite side of the graveyard, well hidden from prying eyes. They shared out the stash the same as before and soon all were high and feeling no pain. Each one slumped down onto the grass lost in a drug-induced fantasy world, as time slipped away from him.

  ‘Shit, what was that?’ asked one of the boys, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. Turning onto his knees, he searched the grass. ‘Wow! Cool!’ he exclaimed, holding the object up for the others to see. The skull glowed in the light of the fire.

  ‘Toss it here. Let’s have a better look,’ called one of the others.

  The skull was passed around until it finally arrived back in the hands of its finder. ‘I wonder if she gave good head?’ He brought the mouth close to his crotch, shaking with laughter.

  ‘She almost broke your head, wanker,’ added someone else.

  ‘Yeah, fuck it,’ he said gruffly. He threw it hard against a tree trunk, and grinned as the force reduced the skull almost to dust.

  ‘Hey,’ one of his friends came over and leaned on his shoulder, ‘it kind of reminds me of that bitch we did last night.’

  Black Jack listened, as they recounted how they had broken into the home of an elderly woman and beaten her and robbed her of her savings. He found these boys to be fearless, amazing in those so young. They could be of use to him, he decided, before walking through the bushes.

  ‘Who or what the fuck is that!’ one of the boys uttered in horror.

  They drew back initially, startled by Black Jack’s blood-red eyes and blackened skin, but the drugs coursing through their blood quickly helped them to overcome any fear.

  ‘Yeah, who the fuck are you?’ challenged another one of them, swaggering towards the spectre.

  ‘Look at his clothes,’ another sneered. ‘What are you? Some sort of sissy, huh? Hey, lads,’ he called to his friends, ‘I bet he’s a shirt-lifter.’

  ‘Are you?’ the one nearest to him laughed. ‘What’s the matter, nancy boy? Can’t you speak?’

  Black Jack realised he had been wrong in imagining that these boys could be of use. The pleasure he had felt at first was quickly being replaced by a growing anger at their mocking and jeers. He walked back into the graveyard, unnoticed by the boys who were falling about laughing at their own jokes. Stalking over to where he kept his latest acquisitions, he pulled some lengths of rope from the pile. These he fashioned into six nooses, biting and tearing them into shape with his hands and teeth.

  The children and Elizabeth sat clustered around Timmy looking at the picture books. They could hear Jack swearing and talking to himself, but that was nothing new.

  When he was finished, Black Jack strode back to the next field. The boys were now hunched beside the fire. Worn out by the laughter they dozed in and out of consciousness, and were too far gone to react, when a noose was slipped over each head and tightened. They had no time to scream, before he gathered the ropes and dragged them, pack-like, through the bushes and trees.

  The boys clawed at the nooses that were slowly strangling them, oblivious to the thorns and branches that tore at their clothes, shredding their skin.

  Timmy was forced to hold the pages of the book down as the wind whipped up sending them into a flurry. Elizabeth stood as the sighing increased around the graveyard, and cried out when she saw what Black Jack was doing. ‘Children, lie down. Do it now.’

  They huddled together, fearful of the cries around them, and glad to return to the dark earth.

  Timmy dropped his books and ran after Elizabeth. They tried to wrestle the ropes from Black Jack, but were no match for his demonic fury and strength. He pushed them aside and continued dragging the struggling boys over to the highest tree in the graveyard. Allowing the wind to lift him he sailed over a strong branch taking the ropes with him and landed smoothly in front of the terrified boys. Four of them stood on tiptoe trying to stop themselves from being strangled. The other two had lost consciousness either from fear or asphyxiation, and swayed drunkenly from side to side. The only thing keeping them upright was Black Jack’s grip on the rope.

  ‘Please, Mister,’ one croaked. ‘Please. Let us go. We’ll do whatever you want.’

  The others sobbed as he laughed at their misery and the wet patches on the front of their trousers. Time after time Elizabeth and Timmy tried to take the ropes from his hands, only to be thrown aside.

  ‘Get the book-man,’ Elizabeth whispered to Timmy as she made another assault on Black Jack. Timmy raced through the bushes and returned with the man in tow. It took Paddy a few minutes to force his way through the tangle of branches and during that time, Bla
ck Jack pulled on the ropes and sent the screaming, wriggling bodies skywards. The voices in the wind screamed louder, mourning the loss of so many young lives.

  Nothing could have prepared Paddy for the sight that met him when he finally broke through. Black Jack stood like some monstrous puppeteer holding the ropes of the thrashing boys who jerked and kicked in a crazed dance of death. Eyes bulging from sockets, swollen, protruding tongues that were turning black.

  ‘Oh Jesus, Jesus!’ Paddy stumbled forward, his heart pounding.

  Sensing his approach Black Jack turned and, for the first time, Paddy saw what the devil looked like.

  ‘Stay back or join them,’ he warned.

  Paddy tried to be brave, to save the boys, but his heart had never been very strong and couldn’t take any more. As he reached the tree he felt it slow to a dull thud as pain exploded in his chest. The crying of the wind faded as he fell against the trunk and slid to the ground. He lay staring up at the tangle of loosely hanging legs above him and watched the leaves tossing in the wind, sometimes allowing a star to peep through. He gasped just once, as his heart gave up and the darkness descended.

  TEN

  December 1845

  Charles had revoked his order of eviction on Elizabeth and the children. He was worried by what was happening, and thought she could prove useful to him through her knowledge of the land and its people. He spoke of little else other than the collection of rents, and she was worn out from having to explain the enormity of what this potato rot meant to the country.

  ‘Now, listen carefully, Charles,’ she sighed, in one last attempt to reach him. ‘You own most of the land around here. In order to run a successful estate this size you have hundreds of tenants. Each one has a small cabin and a half-acre or more of land with which to feed his family. For this they pay an annual rent, and that is what keeps you in whiskey and good food.’

  He was about to argue about her reference to his drinking, when she silenced him. ‘Wait, I am not finished. The people here have very little, and what they have goes on the rent and feeding their families. They rely on potatoes, because they’re easy to grow and take very little looking after. If the crop has failed, they will have nothing to eat. The price of food will soar and the money they would normally pay to you for rent will have to be spent on food. Do you understand? You will have no money coming in.’

  He was flabbergasted, no money? What was he supposed to do? He had debts, pledges to meet, and he was a man of honour.

  ‘They will simply have to pay their rent. There are no two ways about it. They’ll pay or I’ll have them out.’

  ‘And where will that get you? If they have no money what will you have to gain by evicting them?’

  ‘When are the rents due?’ he asked.

  ‘Early in the spring.’

  ‘I’ll wait until then, and we’ll see what happens.’

  ****

  The following months were the hardest Elizabeth had ever known. What little food they had was soon used up and the larder was empty. Costs had gone up, and their credit had run out with every shopkeeper in the vicinity. She had to travel far and wide in search of one who had not, as yet, heard of Charles’ inability to pay his debts. Many tradesmen had called in person to the Hall, to simply be told that his lord and her ladyship were not available. A very drunken Charles, threatening to loose the dogs if they were not off his land immediately, met the truly unlucky ones. Warnings of returning with the bailiffs fell on deaf ears.

  Each day more tales of terror reached Elizabeth from the surrounding countryside. They could no longer afford to pay the staff. Thomas and Annie stayed on, only because they had nowhere else to go after spending a lifetime in service. Charles, to her disgust, had even taken to borrowing what little savings they had.

  As predicted, the winter was severe. They stayed inside and spent most days huddled around the fire. Elizabeth was almost distracted at the children’s constant complaints of hunger. She was well aware that other gentlefolk in the district were not as hard up as they were, and she cursed Charles for his careless ways. If only John had lived he would have done something to alleviate the suffering she saw each day from her window.

  When they did go outside, they walked only as far as the main gate. This was now kept locked and chained in order to deter any more creditors from calling, and also to keep out the growing number of beggars who came pleading for food. The children had been so frightened by grey spectres reaching skeletal arms out to them, that even these walks had to stop. She kept the curtains closed most of the time, in the vain hope of shutting out the world with all its misery and suffering.

  ****

  Besides the horror of possible starvation there was a more immediate threat to her family: Jack Carey. He now had free run of the house and could come and go as he pleased. Charles was always glad to see him, as he came bearing gifts, usually of whiskey or brandy, but sometimes he brought food as well. She was grateful for this, and tried not to think about what means he had used to obtain it.

  As Charles’ drinking worsened, Carey’s decreased. He now dressed in much finer clothes, and although nothing could hide the fact that he was a ruffian, his manner had changed. He imitated Charles’ speech and mannerisms, and no longer leered at her, but expected to be treated as an equal.

  From the very beginning he had advised Charles to dismiss his estate manager, Ger Ryan, and put him in sole charge instead. Ryan, he said, was allowing the people to poach rabbits. Elizabeth knew that this was true. He saw their suffering and turned a blind eye to the scurrying shapes of the poachers. Carey introduced other ideas too and, as always, Charles went along with whatever he said.

  Of course she had no idea how deeply her brother-in-law was in debt to the man. Only seven weeks remained before the estate rents fell due and she dreaded this time. It was plain to see the tenants had nothing, but that did not deter Charles in his expectations. His days were increasingly spent in an alcohol-induced stupor and he refused to acknowledge what was happening.

  He ate little, his stomach now unable to take food, thereby fooling himself into believing that things were not as bad as Elizabeth said. She was trying to reason with him one day when Carey appeared and interrupted the conversation.

  ‘May I speak to you outside, Elizabeth?’

  His free use of her christian name astounded her, but she followed him into the hallway. ‘How dare you address me in such a familiar way, Carey!’ she snapped. ‘I am her ladyship to you, and don’t forget it in future. I don’t know what relationship you have with my brother-in-law, but whatever it is, it does not entitle you to make so bold with me. Do you understand?’

  ‘It’s you who does not understand, Elizabeth. It is I who allows you and your children to remain here, not your brother-in-law. Surprised?’ he laughed. ‘Well you should be.’ Fumbling beneath his coat he withdrew a sheaf of papers. ‘These,’ he held them out, ‘are promissory notes, quite a collection, don’t you think?’

  She stared at the odd assortment of papers that had Charles’ handwriting on them.

  ‘There is enough here for me to buy this place twice over, so be warned,’ he threatened. ‘It would benefit you to be nicer to me in future. After all I can have you, your children and that drunken layabout you call a brother-in-law, evicted at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘Then why don’t you?’

  ‘I’m biding my time, Elizabeth. It suits me to have you all here for the present, but I have plans, make no mistake about that.’

  Looking into his eyes sent a shiver through her. There was no light in them, nothing, but a vast emptiness. As she began to move away, he caught her elbow and pulled her towards him.

  ‘You would also do well to remember where you came from. You weren’t born a lady. All those airs and graces were learned from another. You’re exactly the same as me, nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Thankfully I am nothing like you,’ she said, trying to pull away.

  ‘Time will tell
,’ he glared at her. ‘Time alone will surely tell.’

  He pushed her away with such force that she flew across the hall and landed in a heap at the foot of the stairs. She banged her hip and sat there for a moment, shaking with shock. He turned and walked towards the study without a glance. The pain made her gasp when she tried to stand, but she managed to haul herself up using the bannister for support.

  Lucy came out of the nursery with the others and ran to help her mother. ‘Mamma, what has happened?’

  ‘It is nothing, child,’ she crawled onto her bed. ‘I just had a little fall, that’s all.’

  ‘A fall, how?’

  ‘I lost my footing. I’ll be fine once I have rested, I promise.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mamma?’

  ‘Yes, you run along and play, and I’ll have a little nap,’ she waved them away, wanting to be alone to inspect the damage. Her daughters left and she struggled to sit up. She was surprised to find her dress and petticoat torn. The flesh on her hip was already turning blue and she saw at once what was causing her such pain. A large splinter of wood from the stair had torn through her clothes and embedded itself in her side.

  She tried to remove with her nails, but it was hopeless, every attempt she made caused even more pain. Surely something in her sewing basket would do the job? The wood dug deeper as she inched her way across the room. Throwing back the basket lid, she fumbled about among lace and threads, and finally found a small pair of scissors. Opening the blades just enough for them to catch hold of the wood, she pulled, and cried out in pain as the splinter tore from her flesh. Blood seeped darkly from the wound and she pressed a shawl onto it to stem the bleeding.

  Her cry brought Lucy running, and the child’s eyes darted from the bloodstained scissors in her mother’s hands to the shawl at her side that was rapidly turning crimson. She didn’t stop to ask questions, but led her mother back to the bed and ran to fetch water and a dressing. She cleaned the wound in silence and Elizabeth, who had propped herself up on some pillows, watched as the water in the basin turned red. Only when she had finished putting on the dressing did Lucy speak.