Brock marched quickly through the empty streets. He flaunted the authority of the Alderman and the Mayor to bluff his way through barriers and aided by his fine clothes, he only occasionally had to use the threat of violence. He would be good to his promise to Elizabeth. This was the first time he'd felt needed since the death of his wife all those years earlier, the first time he'd had any sort of contact with a family, let alone a chance maybe to become a part of it. It seemed strange with death and suffering all around, but he was the happiest he'd been in years.
He finally reached the doctor's office. No one had seen James this morning. He hadn't reported for work. He was probably even sicker, thought Brock. Maybe he was dead. That would make Elizabeth a widow, then he could truly look after her and her family. He could get himself a wife again, someday, maybe even a child. No, he mustn't think like that, he mustn’t be disloyal to James, his new, and come to that, only friend. He tried to force the thoughts from his head but they kept creeping back.
Brock searched for hours. He scoured the cathedral tower, the crumbling chambers below and the yard outside, being careful now not to get close to the rancid burial pits. He walked to the river and searched along the banks. He paced the quiet streets past boarded-up shops and red-crossed doors but he didn't find any sign of James, dead or alive. It must have been plague. He was probably lying somewhere right now, dead or dying. Maybe he'd already been collected by the body carts. But what should he tell Elizabeth? Was it kinder to say her husband was dead rather than keep her false hopes alive and leave her waiting for a man who would never return? He gulped down the charmed water meant for James, threw away the flask and headed for Monnington Street.
It was late afternoon before he made it back. On the way, he continued the debate in his head on what he should say. What would James have wanted? And what did it matter what he said to Elizabeth when James was likely dead anyway? She would never know the truth. He was still mumbling to himself as he entered the drive to Number 28. The side door to the carriage house was open. A young family was sat on the ground outside and from beyond the door voices were raised, laughing, crying and shouting. Brock hurried his step. The inn-keeper stood in the doorway with a disconsolate look on his face.
'What the hell is goin' on?' demanded Brock, staring wide-eyed into the carriage house 'What are all these people doin’ ‘ere? Get ‘em out for ‘eaven’s sake!'
'Good luck mate ‘cause I couldn't stop 'em.’ replied the inn-keeper. 'They didn't care what I said, they just kept comin'. You chuck one out and two more come back in. Everyone knows about that stone now. An’ they don’t care ‘bout nothin’ else. '
Brock marched into the carriage house followed closely by the inn keeper. In the centre was a group of a dozen or so people crouched together in a tight circle. Against the side wall were sat several women, pale and haggard with babies and toddlers on their knees whilst older children played in the dirt. Three men sat on the ground throwing dice. Another sat in a corner quietly rocking back and forth. A row of legs dangled over the edge of the loft above. The carriage house was hot and humid.
'Right, out. Everyone get out! Now!'
A head popped up from the group. 'Hey! It's my partner again!' shouted Le Clerc as if greeting a long lost friend.
The inn keeper rolled his eyes towards heaven.
'And who is this gentleman you bring with you? You must be...' He stepped forward with his hand out ready to shake.
'I must be bloody stupid to go out and let this place get turned into a doss house. Now get out - you an’ everyone else!'
Le Clerc withdrew his hand but kept the broad smile. Nobody else moved.
'Och, ignore him.' said Madadh. 'Look ye, we're discussin' a wee business idea here. Say, if yee dinna mind just pissin' off...'
'I'll be doin' no such thing!' shouted Brock. He grabbed hold of a teenage boy and began dragging him towards the exit. 'I'll throw each one of you out myself if that's what it takes.'
'Do what you like. I’ll not be takin’ my family nowhere.' said a woman sat breastfeeding her baby.
Brock paused, still holding the boy by the back of his neck.
'My ‘ole street's dyin’ like flies so if you reckon I’m goin’ back there to do the same you’re bloody well mistaken mister. Try your ‘ardest but the only way you’ll get me back there is in a box!' She placed the baby over her shoulder and began patting his back. 'We’re ‘ere to get some o’ that potion. That’s the only thing that’s gonna save us.'
A murmur of agreement rippled around the room.
Exasperated, Brock threw the boy back towards the centre of the carriage house and stomped outside. He marched into the house in search of Elizabeth. He found her upstairs in the front living room putting Alice down to sleep.
'‘Ave you seen what’s ‘appening over there? There’s dozens of ‘em. It's like a bleedin brothel!'
'Shh,' whispered Elizabeth 'I know.' She took Brock’s arm and led him away from Alice. 'I saw them. We tried gettin’ them all to leave but they won't. They’re desperate Mister Brock. They won’t go anywhere.'
'But they’re gonna make us all sick!'
'I had to compromise. I made a deal with them.'
'You made a deal!'
'If they get supplies of water and stay out of the house then I’ll see they have medicine and they can stay over there ‘til this is over. They mustn’t come in here. So long as they have the medicine they should be safe, so we will be too.'
Brock gritted his teeth. He didn’t want them here but what else could he do? 'You’re too kind Elizabeth, that’s you’re trouble.'
'Not kind, just no choice Mister Brock, that’s all.' She stopped and looked around to check Mary and Samuel were out of ear shot. She almost didn’t dare ask. 'And what about James? Did you find him, is he alive?'
Brock hesitated. In the end he'd decided that the kinder option was say that James was dead, save her from the agony of a forlorn wait.
'Well, did you find him? Did you give him the water? Tell me you did, please tell me.'
Brock opened his mouth but the words stayed in his throat. Elizabeth looked on expectantly.
'I did Elizabeth. I gave him the water. He looked... fine.' Brock cursed himself as he heard the words come from his mouth. 'What a coward!' he thought to himself. Still James wouldn’t survive for long, not as a searcher. It was only a matter of time. He'd tell her soon.
Mary and Samuel did as they were told and took four large pails of water sloshing back over to the carriage house. The crowd swarmed around them like a pack of dogs at meal time. Mary just had time to fill her beaker with water before being shoved out of the way.
'Some bloody manners!' she shouted but no one was listening.
Madadh wanted control. He grabbed an empty metal bucket and smacked it with the handle end of his dirk. 'Ge' back, all o’ ye!' He roared, then dived into the crowd, shoving people away from the potion. A space formed around him. 'Noo, ge' in a line, reet there!' He pointed his dagger at the ground. He was truly a fearsome sight in Highland dress, with his long red beard with dagger drawn. Nobody was brave enough to argue. 'Tha’s better. Noo I’ll let ye have this one fer free but fro' then on, ye'll be payin' fer ma potion. Is tha' clear?'
Mary took the beaker of water into the corner for Nick. She pulled down the tarpaulin exposing his face. He was pale, with pearls of sweat on his forehead.
'‘Ere Nick, drink this.' whispered Mary.
Nick gulped the water down eagerly. 'Can you do it Mary? Can you get me into the house? This place stinks, there’s too many people.'
'I’ll try Nick, maybe tonight. Here, I brought you some food.' She pulled out a chunk of bread.
'Thanks Mary. You’re the best. You won’t forget, will you? To get me in the house? I can't stay here any longer. It's too hot.'
'No Nick, course I won't forget. You should get rid o' that blanket and cool off a bit. Nobody's lookin'.' She began to pull the tarpaulin away. Nick tugged it back, but not before Mary had
time to see his mottled purple hand and several large oozing brown boils on his forearm. The stench was foul. Mary backed away.
'No, Mary, please! Don’t tell anyone for God’s sake!' He pulled the cover back over his diseased limb. 'I need that potion. Get me in the house, please. Mary, you can do it. You’re the only one who can help me. I need you Mary. You and me, we could be together.'
'I’ll see...I'll see what I can do Nick.' Mary hurried out of the carriage house. She dashed through the house and upstairs into the attic. She sat alone in a gloomy corner and tried to work out what she should do. She desperately wanted to help Nick, but to have him in the house with plague, risking her and her family, that was a big ask. But then there was the potion. That could save him and protect her family too. Maybe she could hide him away here in the attic and give him lots of the medicine until he was well again. And then she and Nick could be together, like he said. But he had plague; he was a danger to all around him wherever he might be. What if the potion didn't work on him. She should tell her mother or tell Brock and have him removed from the carriage house. But to do that to Nick? Eventually she decided, without great conviction, that it was too dangerous to have him in the home but it would be too cruel to have him removed from the carriage house. If he stayed where he was then he would still have access to the potion and food. She’d make sure of that. That way she at least wasn’t risking her own family and the potion should make him well. Yes, that’s what she would do.
The long summer evening finally faded. Mary and Samuel finished the last of the chores set by their mother. They were too exhausted to try and sit up through the night again and wait for their father. They fell asleep early. Elizabeth lit a candle and began her evening ritual of checking and rechecking the ground floor, ensuring all windows were still boarded up, doors locked and barricaded. She went down the stone staircase to the kitchen. Brock was sat at the table.
'I’ll sleep down here Elizabeth. Make sure you’re all safe.'
'That’s very kind Mister Brock but you mustn’t. I promised James that nobody else would sleep in this house and as long as he’s still alive then I’ll keep that promise.'
'I don’t mean anything by it, just to see you’re safe. I’m sure James would have wanted that.'
'You may be right Mister Brock but he’s not here to ask, not yet anyway.'
Brock considered breaking the news that James was likely dead but thought better of it. He smiled and headed for the door.
'Mister Brock...'
Brock turned eagerly.
'Thank you.'
Elizabeth closed and bolted the door firmly behind Brock and returned back up to the main house. She rechecked the shutters in the living room and then the drawing room. The weak flickering candlelight struggled to illuminate the large rooms and failed to find the figure of Annabel Collins, sat silently in a corner. Elizabeth tucked the pistol under her arm and joined Alice in an upstairs bedroom.
Chapter 29