Paupers Graveyard
Page 18
‘Timmy, what’s the matter?’
He couldn’t speak.
‘You poor boy,’ she stroked his hair. ‘It’s all been too much to bear. No one should have to shoulder so much suffering alone.’
‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I’m so sorry.’
‘There now, dear, you have nothing to be sorry about. You’re a good boy, Timmy, the best I’ve ever known.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘Everything; being mean to you, bringing the fever into the house, killing Mick.’
‘Timmy, please listen to me,’ she took his hands in hers. ‘You did not kill Mick or anyone else. The famine did that, not even God himself saw fit to stop the suffering. What can one boy do?’
‘I’m so angry.’
‘Of course you are, and when you feel like that you use me to vent it on. That’s all right, I understand. There’s no one else.’
‘You never do that to me.’
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘I kick gates and trees instead.’
‘I see so many sick and dying. Sometimes I get frightened and hide when I see them approach. Sometimes, when they look really bad, I feel sick.’
‘Timmy, listen to me. I have been frightened every day since John died.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes, sometimes I wonder how I will carry on.’ As if to remind her, the baby inside kicked hard, and Timmy felt the thud against his leg. ‘There’s my answer,’ she laughed.
Before he could walk away she caught his hand. ‘Promise me you will stay away from the Hall.’
‘I can’t.’
In everything else he had obeyed her, but this was different. If he knew of Black Jack’s plans, he could forewarn his intended victims.
‘I see him in the distance, sometimes.’
There was no need to ask whom she was talking about.
‘He’ll not come here,’ Timmy said.
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I’ve put out that this place is overrun with fever. He’ll not dare.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
What were they to do? The food supply had almost run out. They were down to a few turnips and the cornmeal Timmy got from the relief officer.
It took him two days to walk to town with the wheelbarrow and return with one small sack. Now the sack was almost empty again, and the flour was gone. The letter from her cousin had still not arrived, and it had been many months since she’d written to him.
****
Spring arrived, but winter refused to loosen its grip on the land. Trees which should be well in bud, lay covered with snow. The winter had been one of the worst that anyone could remember. The temperature rose slowly. Snow turned to slush on the ground and, although it remained in the hedgerows until the middle of March, nature eventually had her way and the countryside began to blossom.
Timmy spent most of his time at the farm helping Elizabeth. Her movements were slower now that her time was near. The number of evictions shrank when Black Jack was forced to take to his bed. Despite her fear of Black Jack she forced herself to visit the Hall. This was how they had learned of his illness. Timmy hoped it was the fever, and that he would die a slow agonising death, but no such luck. A bad cold that developed into pneumonia kept him indoors for weeks, but he recovered.
Annie and Thomas were, as always, glad to see their former mistress. If the sight of her impending baby shocked them, they never said. Though very thin, she was not looking as unhealthy as the last time they’d seen her. The reason for her visit was twofold. She needed another source of food, and also requested Annie’s services as a midwife. The woman was glad to help and gave the little food she could, without Black Jack noticing. Of course Elizabeth had to tell them where she was living, but knew they would guard her secret. In the final two weeks of her pregnancy, Annie called daily to make sure all was well. Now that Elizabeth had regular company, Timmy felt free to return to his wanderings. He hung around Black Jack’s men and picked up all the news, including that of coming evictions.
****
When Black Jack recovered, tenants regularly disappeared into the night, leaving nothing behind. He still torched their cabins, but the act did not provide the same surge of power he’d grown accustomed to. As yet there was no news of Elizabeth. He thought she had managed to get away to America, or she had hidden herself somewhere. No one was telling him anything. After crawling his way to the top, there was no one to applaud his success. He’d earned what he now had and was used to hearing the people curse him, but his first loyalty was to himself. He had always known he was destined for better things, and now that he had them, his only companions were his mother and Charles Fitzwilliam.
Now, to top it all, he had received a note from a secret society warning him to leave the tenants alone. There were many such groups in the country and three landlords had been shot over the past few months. They were picking on the wrong one with him. He would seek them out and see them all hang before giving in to their demands. But first he would have to prove how bad an enemy he could actually be.
Timmy heard of an eviction planned for the next day. He knew the family, a widow with two daughters, and set off after dark to warn her. The cabin lay dozing deep in a hollow. Curls of white smoke rose from the chimney, a sign that someone was still awake. Only the fire lit the interior, and he could see a shape moving about. Knocking gently, he waited for the door to open. There was movement behind and the top half opened a crack.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Mrs Ryan, Timmy Walsh.’
‘Ah, Timmy, lad, its grand to see you, but don’t come any closer. We have the fever. My two young ones are nearly dead from it.’
‘I came to warn you that Black Jack Carey’s coming at dawn to evict you.’
‘God help us all,’ she said, tightening bony fingers on the lower part of the door. ‘What am I to do?’
‘You have to get away. There are abandoned sheds not far from here. You can hide there.’
She studied him for a moment. ‘I was sorry to hear about your people.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘Be off with you now like a good boy, and mind yourself.’
‘But I’ll help you move your things.’
‘There’s no need, we’ll be all right. God speed you, boy,’ she said, closing and latching the door.
The sound sent shivers through him. It had become the custom that the last surviving member of the family, when all hope was gone, would latch the door. He would come back before dawn, hoping she would have changed her mind.
The morning found him hidden in the thick foliage of a nearby tree. Black Jack, accompanied by his men, arrived at first light. The woman inside must have heard the clatter of horses in the yard and the shouts from Black Jack to come out. When she made no attempt to answer, he sent one of his men inside. The man returned with a handkerchief held over his mouth.
‘It’s the fever, sir. Both the children have it.’
‘Go back inside and tell her to come out.’
The man hesitated, not wanting to put himself to further risk.
‘Do as I ask, man, or you’ll soon find yourself in her position.’
Grudgingly he went back inside and returned, dragging the woman behind him.
‘You’ve not paid rent in over a year, Mrs Ryan,’ Black Jack informed her. ‘I want you out this day.’
‘We’ve nowhere to go and my young are sick with the fever.’
‘That’s not my concern.’ He motioned to his man to go inside. He returned carrying a blazing sod of turf.
‘You have five minutes to leave before I set the thatch on fire.’
‘Very well,’ she went back inside.
‘Throw it on the roof,’ Black Jack ordered the man holding the sod.
‘But, sir …!’
‘She’s had her chance. I’ll teach these people not to mess with Jack Carey. Throw it, man. Now!’
Her only answer was the clink of the latch on the door. The thatch, though wet with dew, soon caught light. Within minutes it was blazing, the straw crackling and hissing.
Timmy watched in horror from his hiding place. There was nothing he could do to rescue the unfortunates inside. The thatch started to give way and fiery clumps fell into the cabin setting the interior alight. Then the screaming began. Timmy tried to block his ears as the cries gave way to agonised howling. Black Jack’s men, now truly frightened, crossed themselves and started to back away from the sacrificial fire.
This was the great show of strength Black Jack had wanted. After all, a man who would burn a woman and her sick children was capable of anything and best left alone. But there was no look of triumph on his face. He had paled and was urging his horse away from the flames. His men had remounted their horses, wanting to be away from the terrible sight and sounds.
All at once the last of the roof swooned inwards, one final howl heralding the end for those inside. Then nothing, even the crackling of the straw became a faint echo. Somehow this was worse, Timmy thought, as the finality of a funeral quiet descended.
The trees about them started to sway as the wind whipped up into a frenzy. Leaves were torn from branches and swirled into the air. Timmy was forced to hold tight as he was tossed about on the branch. He watched as invisible hands threw stones and bits of fallen twigs at the men below him. He saw their skin split open as the missiles struck home and blood crept from open wounds. Their coats and capes flew about them as they tried to fight off this unseen force, but it was useless. The very heavens cried out for vengeance in the voice of the wind, nature itself was offended. One by one the men were dragged screaming from their horses, and hurled against the walls of the cabin. They each clawed at the wind, calling for mercy, and were soon rewarded with the same amount of mercy they had shown their victims.
Timmy watched as each man flew backward through the air and heard the crack as his head hit the wall with such force that his skull was shattered. Soon there were three bodies slumped against the burning cabin wall. Each face wore a grotesque look of horror mixed with wonder. The wind died down as quickly as it had started, and quiet descended once more. Timmy’s fingers were stiff and sore, so tightly had he laced them together.
What he had just witnessed was unbelievable, but why had God waited so long to help these people? After a few minutes he began to climb down the tree, and was on the lower branches, when he noticed a movement below. Someone was still alive. He watched as the man struggled to his feet, groaning, using the tree trunk for support. His heart pounded, waiting to see who it was, as the man straightened and brushed the hair from his face. Black Jack! He was still alive! How had he escaped the fury when all this was his fault? Timmy wanted to scream, to curse God or whatever forces had been so lax in their duty. It would never be over while Black Jack was still alive.
Reaching into his pocket, Timmy pulled out the small shovel he used for the burials. He would succeed where others had failed. Diving from the branch, he landed on Black Jack’s back. The winded man fell beneath the small weight and for the few moments it took him to recover, Timmy managed to stab the weapon repeatedly into his back and shoulders. With a roar of pain, Black Jack tossed him off and he landed with a thump on the ground. Amazed at what he had actually done, Timmy lay watching, the bloodstained shovel still in his hand, as his adversary stumbled about trying to feel at his wounds. Black Jack pulled off his cape and moaned when he noticed the amount of blood that stained his hand and trickled between his fingers.
‘You’re dead, boy,’ he spat.
Timmy got up and ran. The full horror of what he had witnessed, what he had done, struck him. He ran across fields, jumped ditches and leapt over gates as though the hounds of hell were in pursuit. He didn’t stop running until he reached the farm. Elizabeth called out to him as he streaked past and into the barn, but he didn’t hear her. He climbed into the loft and threw himself down in the hay. He felt safe there, remembering his first night with Katie and Elizabeth. He was shaking.
What if Black Jack survived? He would surely hang for what he had done. After all, the man’s word would carry so much more weight than the word of a mere boy. He became aware of a rustling beside him.
‘I’m not able for this climbing,’ Elizabeth panted. Her stomach had grown so much in the past few weeks that she looked as thought she might fall over under its great size. ‘Well, what have you been up to now?’ she poked him gently in the back. ‘Some sort of mischief, no doubt.’
‘I’m in terrible trouble.’
‘Now there’s a surprise.’ Everything was so serious to Timmy. She was not expecting to hear what he told her.
‘Oh, my God!’ she brought her hand to her mouth. ‘What if he finds us? He’s bound to want revenge.’
‘I-I know.’
‘How badly did you wound him?’
‘He was b-bleeding v-very b-badly,’ he stuttered. ‘I-I think I killed him.’
‘Could he have got away?’
‘I don’t think so. Th-the horses had all bolted, so he would have had to walk.’
‘Tell me exactly where it happened.’
‘No! You can’t go there! What if he’s not dead?’
‘That’s a risk worth taking. I have to be sure. If he’s still alive we’re all in a lot of trouble. Stay here until I get back.’ She eased her way to the edge of the loft and climbed down. She would take the others with her. Anyone who saw them would think them homeless, and a woman with children in tow wouldn’t arouse suspicion. There were so many like that walking the land.
‘We’re going for a walk,’ she told the surprised children.
They had never been allowed outside the farmyard before. Though usually listless due to the lack of food, they were determined to enjoy this unexpected freedom. They explored hedges as they walked and leapt, running and hiding, through the high grass.
But their laughter did nothing to dispel Elizabeth’s uneasiness. What if he is still alive, she wondered? What if I find him lying wounded and not beyond help? Could I allow him to live? No, he was dead, he had to be or, if not … was she capable of killing? Up until today she would never have judged Timmy capable of such an act. This famine had changed them all. Here she was, in her final weeks of pregnancy, thinking of killing the father of her unborn child. I have become more of a beast than a human; she choked with the realisation. Nothing is beyond me. No suffering too great and no act too cruel. Oh, please, she prayed, let him be dead.
She was sweating by the time the cabin came into view. Her skirts felt like weights around her ankles and her back ached. If he was dead, then the grass hid him and she would have to go closer.
‘Let’s rest a while,’ she suggested. ‘We’ve walked quite a long way.’
She led them to a tree and they sat on the grass beneath it. ‘I need some time alone,’ she said, one hand on the trunk, the other supporting her back. ‘Please stay right here and don’t follow me. Is that understood?’
‘I’ll keep him here,’ Katie nodded at little Daniel. ‘Don’t worry, Elizabeth.’
‘I know you will. You’re a good girl.’
The child beamed.
‘I’m a good boy, aren’t I, Elizabeth?’ Daniel lisped.
‘The best, you are the two best children in the whole world. Now be good until I get back.’
The next few yards felt like miles. She craned her neck trying to see in front, waiting to see his dark hair appear amid the green grass. The air hung heavy with the smell of burning meat. She was almost at the wall of the cabin and there was still no sign of him. A cape lay abandoned by a tree and she walked towards it. Bending down to retrieve it, she noticed there were small pools on the ground. It was blood, his blood. She could see the trail of dark patches leading away from where
she was standing. Without thinking, she draped the cape over her arm and set off to follow the track. The stains were larger and darker in some spots, hardly visible in others. She had walked quite a way when the trail suddenly ended and she had to search among the grass for more evidence, anything that would tell her where he was. There was nothing, he had vanished into thin air unless … a horse, one of the horses must have come back. He had managed to get away. She hurried back the way she’d come as quickly as her bulk would allow.
Realising, for the first time, that she was carrying the cape, she stopped. It weighed so much. Turning it over, she examined the clasp and a wave of longing overwhelmed her. It was John’s cape, the buckle engraved with his initial. Something not yet dead inside had recognised her beloved husband’s cape. Carey must have taken it from one of the trunks in the attic. She had been unable to part with any of John’s things and had stored them away. Back then, in that other time, when the world was still kind, she had somehow believed he would come back to her; that the parting was simply a respite in their journey through life.
How foolish she had been, she smiled, tracing her fingers along the engraving. Would it still carry his scent? It smelled of musk, slightly perfumed, but nothing familiar. That too was lost forever. She allowed it to slide from her arms, letting him go once again. The cloth would have come in handy in time, but the memories hurt too much.
She had avoided looking at the cabin as she passed, but now she was curious. Perhaps Timmy imagined most of what he had told her? Had a freak wind stirred the imagination of a boy and fooled him into seeing what he wanted to see? From the corner of her eye, she could see some shapes against the cabin wall. Leaning against the wall, she slowly turned round. Sweet Jesus, he had been right. Three men lay against the wall. Their staring eyes showing the horrific nature of what they had witnessed. For each man, the halo of blood, trailing to a point behind his head, pronounced him dead.
Elizabeth found the children asleep beneath the tree, and she roused them to set off home. What had really happened that morning? Timmy never lied, but what he told her was impossible. Murdered by the wind? It was madness. She badly needed to rest and to work out what they would do. They could no longer stay at the farm; Carey would come looking for them for sure. Not even the rumours of fever would keep him away, not now, not after what had happened.