by Jess Foley
She did not answer. Her mind was spinning. She could think only of the child. ‘So you – you think he – he has the disease, sir?’ she said. She could scarcely get the words out.
‘Yes, I have to think so,’ he said. ‘And if it is the malignant smallpox then the situation is very grave. For one thing he’ll have been so weakened by his having taken the chill.’
Tears welled in Lily’s eyes like a meadow spring, and spilt over and ran down her cheeks. She gasped, sucking in her breath. Through a throbbing in her ears she heard the doctor as he went on:
‘You can’t take him home, of course. To Happerfell, did you say? Oh, no, he can’t travel. He’s not well enough. Besides which – if he is infected, then he’s extremely contagious. A great danger to others.’ He got to his feet, reached out and drew his bag towards him. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘you should wire his parents to come as soon as they can. They have to be informed.’
Lily rose too, and stood there with the tears streaming down her face. After a moment, forcing from somewhere a degree of control, she said, ‘But he – surely he – surely he must go into hospital.’
‘Oh, miss, I’m afraid that’s just not possible,’ the doctor said with a shake of his head. ‘The isolation hospital was filled weeks ago. It holds so few beds. It was never intended for an epidemic of these proportions. No, the child has to stay here, there’s no alternative.’ He opened his bag, looked into it as if checking that everything was present, then closed it again. He picked up his hat. Lily, taking a step towards him, said in a little cry of desperation:
‘Oh, but, doctor – perhaps – perhaps it is just – just the flu.’
He looked at her sadly for a moment, then said, ‘I only wish I could think so.’
‘But – but what can be done? There must be something you can do.’
He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘There is no cure,’ he said simply. ‘No cure at all. The disease has to take its course. The common form of it isn’t always fatal, not by any means, but the malignant form . . .’ he glanced over at the child, ‘that’s another matter. I’ve only ever come across it twice. It’s quite rare – thank God – and it’s very different. It strikes quickly and much more severely. And as with the common strain, the old and the young are the most vulnerable, plus of course anyone already with any kind of weakening sickness.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll come back later today, and I’ll bring something to ease his pain. In the meantime, keep the room ventilated, and make sure he’s warm and comfortable. Though you’re doing that anyway, I’ve no doubt. You could maybe sponge his skin down with a little tepid water, and try to get him to take some nourishment. He’s got to eat. A little soup or milk.’ He paused, squinting at her. ‘How are you feeling? Do you feel all right?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine.’
‘You look tired.’
‘Well – a little perhaps.’
‘You’ve got to keep your strength up, you know. We can’t have you being sick as well – and you’re in a very vulnerable situation. You can’t be too careful. You look to be a strong and fit young woman, but this disease is no respecter of good living. You must take precautions, you know.’
‘Precautions?’ She was hardly taking in his words.
‘Precautions, yes. You must. I know it’s difficult, but for a start you must try not to get too close to the boy.’
‘But – but I’ve been sleeping in the same bed . . . and I must look after him.’
‘Yes, of course you must, but you can still take care of yourself. You have to. For a start – try not to breathe in his breath. Try to keep your face averted when you’re close to him, and have as little skin-to-skin contact as possible. I know that sounds next to impossible, but you have to think of yourself as well.’
She nodded.
‘Are you listening to me?’ he said, eyeing her sternly.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Good. I don’t want a second patient on my hands. Anyway, I shall bring the vaccine for you tomorrow.’ He turned and looked over at the boy on the sofa. ‘Everything depends now on how things go over the next forty-eight hours. We shall know for certain one way or the other before too long.’
Chapter Thirty-eight
Over the following hours Lily rarely strayed from the boy’s side, only leaving to fetch water from the well, to make up the fire or do odd jobs around the kitchen. She heated up some soup that Mrs Tanner had sent round with Millie, and tried to get the boy to take a little. He swallowed two or three spoonfuls but would take no more. His mouth looked dry, his lips chapped, and from time to time she gave him little sips of water to quench his seemingly never-ending thirst. Also she bathed his brow and chest with a moist flannel. For most of the time he lay with his eyes closed, seemingly unaware of her presence. All through that night he tossed restlessly in his fitful sleep, murmuring and stuttering words and phrases that Lily, sleeping at his side, could not comprehend.
Millie called later the next morning, and went at once towards the boy. As she did so, Lily said urgently, ‘You mustn’t get too close, Millie. He’s very sick.’
Millie came to a halt and stood looking down at the child, then turned back to Lily. ‘What did the doctor say, miss? Did he say what’s the matter?’
‘He thinks . . .’ Lily could scarcely get the words out, ‘it’s – it’s the smallpox.’
‘Oh, miss.’ Millie put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, miss, that’s terrible. Poor little chap.’
‘Yes.’ Lily’s voice was choked. ‘I think you’d best not come round any more, Millie. In case what the doctor says is true. It would be terrible if you caught it too.’
‘Oh, I won’t do that, miss,’ the girl said at once. ‘I been vaccinated. Apart from that I caught the cowpox when I was back milkin’ at the dairy. I’m safe from it, miss. Don’t you worry.’
She asked then whether Lily wanted anything done about the house, and offered to go to the shops for whatever was needed. Grateful for her kindness, Lily said there were a few things she would like, and also asked if she would mind going into Corster centre, to one of the drapers there, and buy for Joshua a new nightshirt. Millie agreed at once, and Lily gave her some money, a list of the items she needed, and the girl went off.
The milk wagon came by, and Lily bought a quart of milk, some butter and a piece of cheese. She made tea and, sitting at the table, drank a cup and ate a slice of bread with some of the butter and cheese. She had no appetite and merely ate because she knew she must if she was to keep up her strength, and this she must do in order to care for the child. As for the food she ate, it might as well have been chalk in her mouth, for she scarcely tasted a bite.
Millie returned from the shops with the items she had bought, and then went away, saying she would be back later. Left alone with the child, Lily removed his stained nightshirt, sponged his skin, and then dressed him in the new nightshirt. As she worked he remained passive and uncomplaining. Afterwards, she stayed by the sofa, watching over him and doing whatever she could to ease his discomfort. She was still there when the doctor arrived just after six o’clock.
He saw at once – as was only too obvious to Lily – that the child was much worse. He looked down at the boy with a grave expression on his face, and gave a slow nod. ‘It’s as I feared.’ He bent over the sofa and pulled back the blankets. Lifting the boy’s nightshirt, he examined his chest and then lowered the shirt back in place. ‘It’s not going to be long before the rash appears,’ he said.
As the man straightened, the boy opened his eyes wide and gave a little moan, a grunt, and his head jolted back on his neck. In the same moment his body arched and his legs kicked out. They jerked spasmodically for a couple of seconds and then the movement subsided. Lily watched in horror. ‘What’s happening?’ she cried.
‘It’s a convulsion,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s one of the symptoms. There’s nothing to be done for it. It will pass quickly.’
It did pass very soon, and afterwards the child lay back
exhausted and gasping for breath. The doctor adjusted the blanket where the boy had disturbed it, then moved to his bag and took from it a small bottle. ‘This is opium,’ he said. ‘If he suffers too badly with his headache and backache, give him one or two drops in a little water. It will help him rest.’ He set the bottle on the table, closed his bag and reached for his hat. ‘Did you send for the boy’s parents?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No – not yet.’
He sighed. ‘Listen – I know how difficult it is sometimes, to face the truth, but it has to be done.’ He paused. ‘You must send word to them, miss. And a letter is no good. There’s no time to lose. You’d best telegraph.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I will.’ She knew he was right. There was no escaping the fact. ‘It’ll go off straightaway in the morning,’ she said.
‘Fine.’ He turned towards the door. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow. And I’ll bring the vaccine for you. I should have it by then.’
That night, as before, Lily pulled the grandfather chair up beside the sofa, and dragged a blanket over her. It was a cold night and a strong wind had sprung up, rattling the window in its frame and slicing in through the little gap under the door. She had fed the fire in the range, though, and it gave out a steady heat, and there was a good supply of coal in the scuttle in the hearth. On the sofa the child lay under his blankets. Earlier he had vomited again, and then had moaned with the pain in his head and back. She had given him a little of the opium. Now, at least for a while, thank God, he was sleeping.
As she sat there she kept thinking of what the doctor had said – that she must inform the boy’s parents of his condition. She had put it off, but she knew that it must be done, and at the earliest opportunity. Now that she had made the decision, she could not leave it, and she laid the blanket aside and got up. Sitting at the table, she lit another candle and drew towards her the writing paper and pen and ink. Mr and Mrs Soameson would only just have received her letter, she thought. Nevertheless, she had no choice. She had never had occasion to send a telegraph ever before. On a sheet of paper she drafted several messages, trying to find the right words. Eventually she wrote, carefully, in uppercase:
REGRET TO TELL YOU JOSHUA VERY SICK. COME AT ONCE TO TWO MERRIDEW VILLAS, BROOKHAM WAY, CORSTER. LILY CLAIR.
She put down the pen and folded the paper. First thing in the morning, she would ask Millie to take it round to the post office.
Her sleep came in the briefest spells that night. Not only could she find no comfort in the hard, ungiving armchair, but every thought in her head and every emotion in her heart was bound up with the child. If her eyes were open they were fixed upon him in the pale glow from the nightlight, just as her ears were attuned to every sound he made. When dawn came, the first cold light found her sitting stiff and aching, her eyes scratchy and sore from lack of sleep and her head pounding.
He too was awake. He lay there, looking up at her through half-closed eyes, his dry lips apart, his breaths short and shallow, and in the growing light she could see the rash that was sprouting on his neck, creeping up to his jaw. When he moved to push back the blanket from his chin, she saw it too on his arms.
Millie came to the door just after nine, bringing a basin of potato soup. Standing beside the sofa she gazed in horror at the sight of the rash on the child’s flesh. Lily, who had watched it constantly, had seen it spread and become darker with the passing hours. Not only that, but the lesions were growing larger.
When Millie asked if there was anything she could do, Lily took up the message that she had written the night before, and a second sheet on which she had written the Soamesons’ Edinburgh address. She gave the papers to the girl with a sum of money. ‘It must go off as a telegraph,’ she said. ‘Please, take it to the post office, and see that it goes off at once.’
Millie was back in less than an hour to give Lily her change and say that the telegraph had gone.
Left alone again with the boy, Lily watched, and waited. When he cried out with pain she gave him a little of the opium, after which he lapsed once more into his quiet, stuporous state. From time to time he whispered for his mama, and muttered other words that Lily could not understand. The rash was growing. Now it had spread up from his neck onto his jaw and lower cheek, while on his arms it was creeping lower onto his wrists and hands. At the same time his flesh had begun to take on a reddish hue, and whereas before it had had the texture of the finest silk, now it had begun to take on the appearance of a strange kind of crêpe-rubber.
Doctor Trinshaw came to the house just after three. He came striding through the hall into the kitchen. ‘How is he?’ he asked. ‘Is he any better? D’you see any change?’
In reply, Lily said haltingly that he seemed to be worse, much worse, and that a rash had appeared, and was spreading. Acknowledgement of the boy’s deteriorating state was something she had avoided, but now she had to do it, though her words almost froze in her throat.
The doctor nodded. ‘It’s as I expected.’
Lily stood by in silence then as he pulled back the blankets and lifted the boy’s shirt. Not only was the rash still spreading, but the lesions were growing larger yet. After a moment he pulled down the boy’s shirt and drew the blankets up over him again. Throughout it all the child had remained with his eyes closed, breathing harshly through his mouth.
‘Yes,’ the doctor said, ‘it’s the malignant type, as I thought. The lesions are not producing pus – not as in the common strain – and as you can see, they’re under the skin, and quite flat-looking.’ He looked back down at the boy. ‘Are you managing to keep him comfortable?’
‘I’ve tried to, sir.’ She could barely get the words out. ‘He hasn’t spoken for a good while now. He was crying out in pain with his back, and I – I gave him a little more of the opium. It – it seemed to soothe him.’ Her eyes were stinging from her unshed tears. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Unfortunately there’s nothing you can do.’ His tone was both sympathetic and practical. ‘The lesions will start to join up soon.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid then – the end will be near. Did you send for his parents?’
‘Yes,’ she heard herself say. ‘I sent off the telegraph – this morning.’ She was trying to take in the implication of the man’s words. The end will be near. It could not be possible. Everything had been leading up to this, but it could not be. There must be something to be done.
She stood there, hands clasped before her. The doctor was watching her intently. ‘You must have realised by now,’ he said.
‘Realised,’ she said dully.
He shook his head. ‘I wish I could give you hope,’ he said sadly, ‘but I cannot. It won’t be long now. You have to accept that.’
She nodded, trying to take in his words.
‘We’ve got to think about you now,’ he said.
She frowned. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. You’ve got your life in front of you, and we’ve got to look after you. As he spoke he stepped to his bag and undid the clasp. ‘I’ve got your vaccine here. I’d hoped to have it earlier, but there’s such a demand for it – as you can imagine. Anyway, we’ve got it now.’ He pulled wider the jaws of his bag and then turned to look at her again. ‘You must try not to take this too much to heart,’ he said. ‘D’you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Sir?’ She was in a daze.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I know how it is. Nursemaids – they get fond of their charges, their little boys and girls. They get so close to them. They’re bound to. And you’re no different. I can understand how hard this is for you. Have you got family of your own?’
‘What?’ She frowned. ‘Family? No. No family.’
‘Ah, well . . .’ He did not wish to dwell on the subject. ‘Anyway, we’ve got to make sure you’re all right.’
From his bag he had brought out a little linen packet, which he now opened up and from it extracted a slim glass phial. He held it up to the light. ‘This is the
vaccine,’ he said. ‘Though I have to tell you that we’re late already. By rights, this should be administered within four days of exposure to the disease – and it’s obviously been much longer where you’re concerned. But better late than never, yes? We must do everything we can.’ He gave her the trace of an encouraging smile. ‘As I said, you’re a strong, healthy-looking young woman, so you should have a good chance of fighting this off – and it’s not as if you’re related to the boy, so his weaknesses won’t necessarily be yours.’ Carefully he laid on the table the small linen bag, and set the phial on it. ‘All I need to do is give a tiny scratch in your upper arm.’ From his bag he now brought out a small hard-leather case, opened it up and drew out a fine metal scalpel. ‘I do it with this,’ he said. ‘It won’t hurt, I promise you. No more than a scratch anyway.’ He set the scalpel down and looked over towards the sink. ‘While you roll up your sleeve, I’ll wash my hands. Are you right-handed?’
‘Sir?’ she said dully. Her mind was spinning.
‘Are you right-handed or left-handed? This will have quite a nasty effect. You’ll be a bit incapacitated for a week or two, so you’d best not have it on the arm that you use.’
‘Oh. Oh, yes. Right-handed. I’m right-handed.’
‘Fine. You pull up your left sleeve, then, or pull it down from your shoulder.’
He moved away to the sink, took up the large jug from the draining board and poured a little into the bowl. Carefully, thoroughly, he washed his hands and then dried them on a towel that hung on a rail nearby. ‘There, now . . .’
As he replaced the towel a little gasp from Lily drew his head round, and he turned towards her. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ He took a step forward, coming to a halt with a groan. ‘Oh, no! How did that happen?’
Lily was standing with her hands spread on her breast, looking down at the broken vaccine phial on the floor at her feet.
‘What happened?’ the doctor said.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ she said, her head lowered. ‘I – I picked it up. I shouldn’t have done, I know. I’m sorry. I dropped it.’
