by Brown, Ben
“Matron, pass me a scalpel?”
“What are you going to do?”
“God forgive me, but I am going to end this poor creature’s torment.”
Evans began to shake her head, slowly at first, but then more wildly. “You cannot, the child lives.”
Bartholomew shot her an angry look. “This child is not living flesh and blood. It is an abomination to God and man alike!”
“Is it alive? I can hear it cry — does my baby live?”
Both Evans and Bartholomew turned towards young Martha. Both had forgotten the mother.
“Martha, my dear,” whispered Bartholomew, “Your child is not alive. It suffers from The Lingering.”
“That ain’t possible, none of me family had it. Give it to me, I want to see it.”
Evans moved towards the tiny infant and lifted it from the table. Its head flopped on a neck too weak to hold it, but its mouth gnashed hungrily at the matron’s flesh. Evans shuddered visibly, and lifted the child towards its mother.
Martha screamed at the sight of the monster she had just born. Its black eyes blinked while its toothless mouth chomped. Then it started to screech like a banshee.
“Take it away, that ain’t my child. That’s somethin’ from Hell. I’m being punished, I am. God is punishing me for being a harlot.” Martha raised her eyes and hands to Heaven. “Sweet Jesus, I’m right sorry I am. Please forgive me and take this beast away.”
Bartholomew grabbed the baby from Evans’s hands, and slammed it back on the table.
“Give me that damned scalpel!”
Evans fumbled with the tray of equipment, and it fell to the floor. She dropped to her knees and snatched up the blade. With a grunt of exertion she struggled back to her feet and passed the doctor the knife.
Bartholomew looked heavenward too, and said. “Forgive me, Lord.”
With that he plunged the blade between the baby’s eyes and twisted. The abomination fell instantly silent.
Matron Morag Evans wavered on her feet, then threw up at the foot of the bed. Bartholomew steadied her with a trembling hand, and then looked at the young girl who had just given birth.
Martha’s eyes were distant and vague. She mumbled something he could not quite make out. He lowered the now sobbing Evans to the floor, then moved closer to his patient. He placed his ear an inch from the girl’s mouth, then began to cry at her words.
“I am damned. I am damned.” Over and over again she whispered those three terrible words.
He took her in his arms and sobbed like he had never sobbed before. “I think we all are, my dear,” he said as he gulped for air.
***
Bartholomew sipped at a large glass of port, and eyed the man sat across from him kindly. Once again Rogers had stepped up when needed. He had taken care of the tiny body, and he had treated it with respect and dignity. Something few could have done.
“What does this mean, Doctor?” Rogers asked after more than an hour of silence. “Why did that child have The Lingering?”
Bartholomew downed the last of his drink, before pondering the old man’s question. “I fear the child’s fate may await us all. Tell me, Rogers, have any other patients been admitted who were free of The Lingering, but now face their end?”
Rogers rubbed his chin, and nodded slowly. “Dr Jenkins has a patient on the third floor.”
“And for what reason does this individual now join us?”
“The poor fellow fell from a roof while fixing some slates, he broke his back. Young Dr Jenkins says he will be lucky to last the night.”
“A broken back you say. If I am right, and The Lingering awaits us all, then at least he will pose no threat. Come, Rogers, show me this man.”
Rogers heaved himself from his chair, and offered his superior a helping hand. Bartholomew took it and struggled from his seat. It took the two several minutes to ascend to the third floor. On their arrival, they saw a young doctor dozing in an armchair.
Bartholomew cleared his throat, and the handsome young man leaped from his seat. Bleary eyed, he looked at the two standing before him.
“Dr Bartholomew, to what do I owe this pleasure? Rarely do you visit my wards.”
“Rogers here tells me you have a man with a broken back, and you believe his end is near.”
Jenkins nodded and ran a hand through his unruly blonde hair. “Yes, Mr Williams fell onto a cart and snapped his back. I have no idea how he survived the fall, for he should have died at the scene. He now resides under my care, but there is little I can do for him, except make him comfortable.”
Bartholomew nodded. “May I see him?”
Jenkins brow furrowed. “Of course, but to what end?”
Bartholomew took him by the shoulder and turned him towards the doors of his ward. “Earlier today I delivered a child to a woman untouched by The Lingering. The child was a still-born, yet it continued to breathe. It had the dreaded disease, and if I am right, I fear a similar fate awaits us all.”
Jenkins stopped and looked at him. “You believe The Lingering resides in us all?”
“If this Mr Williams of yours passes from this world in peace, then I am wrong. However, if his passing is taken from him by the disease, then I must conclude my hypothesis is correct. Now come, we must not miss his passing.” He turned to Rogers. “No one enters this ward, no one.”
Rogers tugged at his cap and took the seat which Jenkins had just vacated.
The two doctors watched Williams intently. For more than three hours the man continued to live, but finally his body yielded to its injuries. However, another hour passed before The Lingering took hold.
Jenkins jumped to his feet. “Dr Bartholomew, look — you were right!”
Bartholomew struggled wearily to his feet and looked at the yellow-eyed creature lying motionless in the bed.
“Dr Jenkins, pass me a needle.”
The young doctor did as he asked. He retrieved a needle from a syringe, and passed it to the elderly doctor standing beside the bed. Bartholomew pricked his finger and allowed a drop of his blood to fall onto the thing’s lips. The change was instantaneous. In less time than it took Bartholomew’s heart to beat, the placid yellow-eyed creature, turned into a black-eyed monster.
Bartholomew stepped away from the bed and shook his head. “We are all doomed to this fate. I must inform the authorities, and The Queen.”
Jenkins looked at the paralysed creature slavering in the bed. “But, sir, what of Mr Williams?”
Bartholomew looked at the poor soul, and replied coldly. “Dispatch him.”
Jenkins looked at him for a moment and then headed for a fire axe, which hung on the wall beside a bucket of sand. A few moments later he returned to Bartholomew’s side and mumbled, “We must find a better way than this. We are treating our sick like animals.”
The world weary doctor patted his young colleague on the shoulder. “I agree, my boy, but what else can we do?”
Jenkins approached the bed, and swung the axe high over his head. With a bellow of grief, he brought the blade down and split the Lingerer’s skull in two. For several moments the young doctor just stared at the carnage his act of savagery had caused. Finally, with trembling hands, he ripped the axe free and threw it across the room.
He turned his gaze to his colleague and tried to speak, but his barbaric act had robbed him of the ability of speech. Instead, he simply slumped to his knees and sobbed.
Bartholomew looked at him and felt nothing but pity. There had to be a better option than dispatching The Lingering one at a time. The creature in the bed had once been human, and it deserved better than having its head turned to pulp. There had to be a more humane way of dealing with them.
Bartholomew stumbled from the room and grabbed for the wall to steady himself. On seeing his distressed superior, Rogers heaved himself from his chair and dashed to his side. He took the doctor gently by the arm and guided him back to the chair, which he’d so recently vacated.
“Were
you right, sir?”
“Yes, Rogers, regrettably my hypothesis holds true.”
Rogers crossed himself, and looked at the doors through which Bartholomew had just appeared. “I take it I have another body to deal with?”
Bartholomew just nodded and collapsed into the battered leather of the chair.
Chapter 4
Location: 10 Downing Street, London
Date: March 29th 1843
Time: 4:15 p.m.
Sir Robert Peel sat at his desk and stared out at Downing Street below. In his two years as Prime Minister he’d seen nothing that threatened the empire more than The Lingering. The disease had to be England’s greatest catastrophe. Two-thirds of the country’s population had fallen victim to the disease, and the remaining third still struggled with the disease’s aftermath.
He stood and slowly approached the fireplace. His eyes fixed on the portrait of his wife and seven children. The Lingering had robbed him of three of his five sons, and both of his daughters. His remaining two heirs now stood watch over his ailing wife, and if the reports were true, she would soon follow their five unfortunate children down the same path.
He rubbed a weary hand across his temples, and returned to his work. He still had much to do before he received The Queen and her party. The instructions she had sent on before her were very specific, and it would take all of his political skill to ensure they passed the house. But pass them they must.
He turned at the sound of a knock at the door.
“Enter.”
His butler, Mathews, entered. “Prime Minister,” he said with a bow. “The Queen’s carriage has arrived, as has Sir Bexley’s. Might I suggest I prepare the library for your visitors?”
Sir Robert got to his feet once more. “The library would suit our meeting admirably. I know The Queen is awfully fond of the cook’s shortbread. Maybe you could arrange for some with our tea.”
Mathews bowed low. “Of course sir. I have already taken the liberty of suggesting the cook make a fresh batch.”
Peel bounded by him and said, “Good man.”
Victoria sat in a large, red leather chair. Bexley, Bartholomew and Peel stood around her with cup and saucer in hand.
“Your Majesty, may I offer you another piece of shortbread?”
The Queen smiled charmingly, and tipped her head. “That would be delightful. You really must get your cook to give her recipe to my staff.”
He passed her a silver platter and she took a slice of the scrumptious treat.
“Now, gentlemen, as good as this shortbread is, I feel it is time for some work. Dr Bartholomew, would you kindly explain your latest findings to the Prime Minister.”
Bartholomew placed his cup and saucer down, then pulled a number of papers from the briefcase at his side and handed them to Peel.
“Here are all the details of my findings, Prime Minister. But if you wish, I can give you a summary of them now.”
Peel took the papers and headed for a writing desk in the corner of the room. “Please Doctor, continue.”
Bartholomew straightened and placed his right hand in his waistcoat. “As I outlined to you a day ago, it is my conjecture that we all carry The Lingering in one form or another. I myself have witnessed two people, whom were previously untouched by the disease, pass from this world. To my astonishment, they then returned from the dead.
“I decided to contact other places of healing to corroborate my suspicions. Every hospital I communicated with confirmed that they had similar experiences. Regrettably, it would seem we are all doomed to linger this earth until our bodies simply turn to dust. However, I fear it may take decades of decay before The Lingerers find peace, for the disease seems to sustain the body throughout it’s slow decomposition. But if that is God’s will, then who are we to judge?”
He shook his head sadly and dabbed at his eyes. All in the room averted their gaze from his uncalled for show of emotion.
Bartholomew looked at those around him, and felt ashamed of his loss of composure.
“I apologize; it has been a rather harrowing week. Now, where was I? Ah yes, as you know, we previously dealt with The Lingering by dispatching them with a blow, or shot to the head. I can vouch for how terribly destructive this is to the poor soul administering the final remedy. I myself have dispatched over a hundred Lingerers, and God will judge me for it one day. This cannot be our permanent solution, especially considering most of The Lingering are docile and harmless.”
Peel approached Bartholomew. “Harmless you say? Why I saw one of those things rip apart a guardsmen at my very door. My dear sir, they are far from harmless.”
Bexley raised his hand in objection to the Prime Minister’s remark. “Of course those of The Lingering whom have feasted on flesh must still be dealt with this way. Nevertheless, I really must stress The Lingering only become violent once they have the scent, or taste, of blood. I have seen Rupert here herding dozens of them quietly into a room. Not once did any of them attempt to attack him.”
Bartholomew placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Sir William is quite right. Any man’s beloved dog is harmless and docile. But what if it tasted human blood, would you still trust it? The same goes for victims of The Lingering. Many of these poor souls will never inflict harm. So why should they be destroyed like the ones who have become blood crazed?”
“Dr Bartholomew, might I ask a question?”
He turned to Victoria. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“You say The Lingering will fade if unfed, so what would happen if they had nourishment? Would they continue to live?”
Bartholomew looked at her, and puzzlement filled his face. “If they fed, then one could assume they would linger indefinitely. But, ma’am, they only seem interested in human flesh. Feeding them is not an option.”
Victoria flicked open a small black fan, and hid her reddening face. “Quite right, I am sorry for my foolish interruption. Doctor, please continue.”
Bartholomew bowed his head and smiled. “Your Majesty could never appear foolish. In fact, your genius may have found the way of addressing our issues.” He turned back to Peel. “The Queen has a very — personal — interest in how The Lingering are treated. Her Majesty has come up with the ingenious idea of sending The Lingering to one of the colonies … namely Australia.”
Peel nodded slowly and crossed his hands behind his back. “I am aware of Her Majesty’s idea. While commendable and completely sound, it will be hard to put into practice.”
Victoria snapped shut her fan, and said, “Pray tell, why is that? Surely you govern this country, do you not? If you pass the laws to make this happen, then happen it must.”
Peel turned, and tipped his head in a reverent bow to his queen. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken; However, I would still like an explanation as to why it cannot be done.”
“Ma’am, I am the Prime Minister of England, but all laws have to pass both Houses, namely the Commons and the House of Lords. This is a lengthy and slow process.”
“I am aware of how my country is run, but I think England’s situation might call for some swift lawmaking. Would you not agree?”
Peel bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty, but laws are not the only issue. Australia is a populated land. I admit the population is sparse, but it still exists. We simply cannot expect them to live among The Lingering.”
Victoria smiled politely. “Prime Minister, I never suggested they should. We will repatriate them to other lands. India, The Americas, South Africa, Canada, the list of possibilities is endless. In return for these countries’ help, we will allow them to send their victims of The Lingering to Australia too. We will also extend this kindness to our European neighbours. But for them, it will come at a price.”
Peel’s eyes widened slightly. “Ma’am, are you suggesting we profit from The Lingering?”
Victoria dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief. “Profit is such an
ugly word. All I am suggesting is the cost of this exercise should be carried by all. The countries which accept our citizens from Australia have paid their bill in kind. Those who do not receive our people must pay in cash. Prime Minister, you must remember England will be giving up one of her finest colonies. Why should we carry the entire burden?”
Peel nodded slowly. “You make an excellent point, Your Majesty. However, this will be an ongoing endeavour. Should not the countries which receive our people pay too? Might I suggest a twenty year reprieve from payment, after which they must also pay?”
Victoria nodded. “That seems like a perfectly sensible proposition.”
Peel turned back to Bexley and Bartholomew. “We will need to procure ships. Have either of you considered this?”
Bexley nodded. “It is all in Bartholomew’s papers, but in essence here is our idea. We will use the Royal Navy to help with clearing the vast numbers of Lingering. They will also deal with the repatriation of our antipodean citizens. We will use a private shipping company once the initial rush is over.”
Peel tapped a finger to his lips. “I cannot see any reputable shipping company wanting to get involved in this. Plus, where would we find the ships?”
Bexley reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “As you know the slave trade was abolished over thirty years ago. Nonetheless, I have discovered close to one hundred slave ships scattered around England and its colonies. These ships are in complete disrepair, but we can have them all shipshape in a matter of months. As for a shipping company, Bartholomew and I are meeting with a man first thing tomorrow. His business is at the brink of bankruptcy, and he has a reputation of being less than particular about what he ships. I propose the government pay off his debts, and gift him these vessels. We will also agree to cover all the expenses for two years, after which he will be on his own.
“None of this must come to light, so the funds and property will be handled by private investors. All the investors will be working on the governments behalf.”
