Samuel wrapped the red stone in a cloth and pushed into the depths of his pocket. Mary was still asleep on rugs and blankets on the kitchen floor. The first glow of dawn had sparked the birds into a noisy chatter outside and brought a half-light into the kitchen. Samuel kicked his sister gently on her shoulder.
'Mary, wake-up. Come on. Before that old bag gets up, let’s go.'
Mary rolled over and groaned.
'Come on. We’ve got to get out to see Fran before everyone’s up. Remember?'
Mary pulled the cover over her head. The stone floor was hard and sleep hadn’t been easy. Samuel kicked her again. ‘Come on lazy!'
She reluctantly sat up and rubbed her eyes. 'Sam it’s still night time.'
'No, look, it’s nearly daylight. We gotta go.'
Mary dragged herself up from her blankets and straightened her hair with her fingers. She hid behind the pantry door and slipped back into patched-up grey frock. 'There, how do I look?' she asked.
Samuel rolled his eyes to heaven. 'Let’s go.'
The sun was still well below the horizon but the day was already warm. The sky was a deep blue above and the more resilient stars still managed a twinkle in the early morning half light. Samuel and Mary walked briskly down the broad deserted Monnington Street. The air smelt of a burning wood and rubbish, and left an acidic taste on the tongue. Small columns of smoke sprouted out from between buildings before being smudged away by the feint breeze.
As they continued their walk towards St Giles the wide streets began to narrow. Houses became crammed tightly together and made of timber and rough stone rather than brick. Glass was replaced by wooden shutters and the roads became littered by deep potholes with gutters overflowing with filth in the centre. The smell changed too. No longer just the acrid smoke but now the odour of decay and sewage filled the air. The ground was coated with a layer of sleepy flies that rose like dust with every footstep. The chatter of birds had gone and was replaced by the sounds of babies crying, children coughing and a city waking from slumber. From some houses came piercing wails and howls, shrill, piercing screams that couldn't be shut out.
The roads became more alike and confusing. They had ventured this way once or twice before but a long time ago and never alone. Then their mother had guided them through the packed bustling streets, alive with chatter; with street sellers and entertainers, with laughter and fights. It wasn't quite dawn yet and the streets were deserted, no one to ask for help. They were lost.
'We just got to knock on a door and ask someone.' explained Samuel.
'I don’t know ‘bout that Sam. What if they’s sick? You ‘eard all that cryin’. I ain’t knocking on no door and findin’ someone covered in sores standin’ there. Can you imagine?'
They came to another crossroads in the narrow streets.
'Look' Mary pointed 'there’s a man sitting outside that house. Come on, we’ll ask him.'
They ran the fifty yards along the street, skipping over the garbage-filled gutter in the middle of the road and sending rats scurrying for shelter. They slowed as they got near, seeing the man was fast asleep in the doorway.
'Let’s wake ‘im.' Samuel strode forward boldly. Mary grabbed his arm and pulled him back. She pointed at the door. A chain emerged from a crude hole punched through the timber and ran to a large heart-shaped iron padlock. Above the sleeping watchman was the cross, two feet or more high, the red paint streaked down the grain in the wood.
The watchman coughed and grunted. He opened an eye and spotted the children. '’Ere, what the ‘ell are you two doin’? Don’t you know what’s good for you?' He jumped to his feet. 'Clear off back where you come from. Go on, sod off!' He raised his fist threateningly above his head.
Mary and Samuel turned and ran further along the street, deeper into the slums. They rounded another corner. In the centre of the road a heavily laden cart was being dragged by a weary, emaciated horse. It almost filled the narrow street. The driver trudged alongside his animal. He was covered in a thick sack-cloth cloak tied with rope around his waist. The ragged cloth came up to form a hood over his head and a rough scarf was tied across his face leaving only his eyes exposed. Mottled purple and black and fingers reached out from the side of the cart. The children flattened their backs against the wall as the cart rumbled slowly past. The driver made no acknowledgement of their presence. The air was filled with the foul odour of death and disease. It flooded the nose and mouth and dripped into the throat, teasing the stomach. The bodies were stacked in rows. Some had been wrapped neatly in cloth, now patterned by stains of blood and body fluids. Others lay as naked as the day they were born, limbs splayed, eyes wide open and mouths gaping as if silently shouting for help. Whatever pride and dignity they'd known in life had been lost completely in death.
Behind the cart two grubby young children ran and stumbled, desperately trying to keep up with the cart, their cries unheard by their dead parents.
A shutter above Mary and Samuel opened. A sandpaper rough voice shouted down. 'Wait, we got someone for ya. Wait there!'
The driver halted for a moment and pulled back his hood. 'Not this one mate. I'm chocka. You’ll have to wait 'til tonight.'
As the cart stopped, the two young children finally caught up. They clutched at a purple limb hanging from the back of the cart. It belonged to the corpse of a young woman, her eyes open and gazing to the heavens. The children screamed and sobbed at their mother to wake up.
But then the driver whipped the tired horse and the cart rumbled on. The cold hand was pulled from the children’s grip and the chase started again.
Mary turned away, buried her face in her hands and waited for the cart to disappear.
'Here, you.' the words were hushed, Help us. Please. See if you can undo that bolt.'
Mary peeped between her fingers. A door before her was formed of rough planks, the edges still bearing the contours of the mother tree. In a gap between the planks, a bloodshot eye stared back. The streak of face was ghostly white, the lips dry and cracked.
'Come on. Help us.' he whispered 'You got a family? Come on. Please... help. We ain’t got no food nor water in ‘ere.'
Mary took her hands away from her face. The door was locked with a heavy iron bolt and bore the red cross.
Another face appeared in a crack, this time at the level of Mary’s waist. A young child, maybe three years old stared up through red eyes. She pushed her small hand through a gap and held it out to Mary. Mary's first instinct was to take the hand, squeeze it and comfort the young girl. But she knew she couldn't. She staggered back from the door. The child began to cry.
The man spoke again. 'I can pay, I have money. How much you want? Come on, get us out, please. We’re gonna die in 'ere. Please!' The door rattled.
Mary looked along the street. Red crosses were daubed on every second or third door. A small group of watchmen sat on the ground and played gambling games in the dirt
'Come back!' the voice was louder now and more desperate. The door shook violently. 'For God’s sake there’s dead bodies in 'ere! Get us out!'
The watchmen looked up from their game. 'Oi, you two! Get away from that bloody 'ouse! Can’t you see the cross, for God's sake?'
One of the men rose to his feet. 'Go on, sod off or I’ll lock you up in there with ‘em.'
Mary and Samuel sprinted in the opposite direction, past the body collector, and on until they were out of sight of the watchmen and ever deeper into the slums.
'We ain't never gonna get out of this place?' moaned Mary, looking at the confusing maze of cramped streets and alleys.
'I got an idea.' said Samuel
'What?'
'Well, Fran lives near that church, St Giles in the Field, don't she?'
'Well, yeh, we both know that clever clogs. But where the 'ell is it?'
'Well, where d’ya think he was takin’ all those bodies? He ain't takin' 'em ‘ome is he? He'll be takin' 'em to the churchyard so if we follow ‘im, we’ll find the church.'
Mary stopped and thought. 'You little genius!'
They followed the cart at a safe distance as it weaved its way through the slums. They kept one eye looking up to avoid the occasional shower of sewage from emptied chamber pots. A few drunks staggered by, shouting lewd comments at Mary, but none willing to get close to the cart.
For the body collector, the night’s work was all but done. The horse plodded on until the spire of St Giles in the Field Church appeared. There were more carts in the churchyard; most empty, a few still fully laden queuing for their turn to unload their cargo into the pits. Two men were arguing. A pit had been overfilled; the corpses were too close the surface to be buried. Limbs would be left sticking out of the dirt. There were no volunteers to go into the pit and start taking bodies back out and now the sun was climbing over the eastern horizon. It was time they were finished.
Mary and Samuel left the cart as it rumbled into the church yard. The chasing infants were still stumbling behind. They were too exhausted to cry or shout anymore and concentrated all their efforts on just keeping going. A warden at the gate stepped in front of them. He shooed them away, prodding at them with a stick so as not to get too close. The children stood bewildered at the churchyard gate, just yards from the church, their tears forming pale streaks in the grime on their faces.
The warden raised his stick above his head. 'Go on, clear off. This ain’t no bloody kids home!'
Chapter 18