'Mum!' Mary shrieked like a siren from upstairs 'Quick Mum! Get up here!' Mary ran out of the bedroom onto the landing panting, shaking.
Elizabeth rushed to the stairs. 'What? What is it girl?'
Mary’s mouth opened to speak, her jaw quivered but no words emerged.
Elizabeth hurried up the stairs and pushed past her into the bedroom. Alice lay on the bed. Her young body arched backwards, her limbs were rigid, her eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. She began to jolt and shake again, all limbs jerking as if possessed. It lasted just for thirty seconds or so then abruptly stopped. Elizabeth approached the bed. Alice fell still. Her face was waxen; beads of sweat sat on her top lip and trickled from her brow. On both sides of her neck, grape-size swellings stretched her skin. Her eyes were closed now. Elizabeth crouched down a foot or two away from the edge of the bed to inspect her youngest from a safe distance. Her worst fears were confirmed. Elizabeth knew enough about plague to recognise the signs; her little Alice wouldn't recover. Suddenly it felt as if the weight of the world had fallen onto Elizabeth's shoulders and was crushing her down. She was panting; her heart thumped so hard it felt as if it would leave her chest; her mouth was dry; her hands trembled. As she stared at the porcelain face of her child, Alice opened her mouth and vomited.
Elizabeth staggered to her feet. She slammed the bedroom door in front of dumb-stricken Mary and Samuel. By using sheets and cloths to avoid touching her, she carefully moved Alice out of the foul liquid. Standing back she leant over and dabbed at her face with a cool wet cloth at arm’s length. She placed a cup of water by the side of the bed and then left the room. She twisted the key in the lock then turned to Mary and Samuel.
'Is she alright?' asked Samuel.
'No Sammy, she’s not. You must be brave now. Your sister is sick, very sick. No one goes in there.'
'Is it plague?'
Elizabeth nodded.
'What?' said Mary confused 'You can't just leave 'er on 'er own. You'll 'ave to go in there, an' look after her.'
'No one goes in there I said.'
'But... but she’s just a baby!'
'What else do I do?' snapped Elizabeth 'You got better ideas? Do you want to get sick? Do you want to go in there and look after her?'
'So you’re just gonna lock her up an’ leave her in there, all alone?'
'D’you think I want to? D’you think I don’t... If we don’t lock her away we’re all going to get it. Don’t you understand you stupid girl?'
'Will she die?' asked Samuel, his young eyes filling.
Elizabeth turned her head away. 'Yes,' she replied in a voice as composed as she could muster 'yes she will die.'
'But the stone? What about the stone? The potion?' argued Mary.
'The stone doesn’t work child. For God’s sake! Look at your sister! She’s been drinking the damn stuff and she's nearly dead!' She took a deep breath and softened her voice. 'We have to protect ourselves now. God, in his wisdom, has chosen to take Alice. We have to see that we don’t get sick now. Nobody is to go in that room. Nobody, understand?'
'Can we see her again, one more time?' sniffed Mary 'Just from the door?'
Elizabeth shook her head. 'This door stays closed. Your sister has gone now.'
Elizabeth wanted to put her arms out and hug her children, bring them close to her; but she felt numbed and distant. Her emotions seemed to have been wrung out of her. All that was left was fatigue and anger. How could this happen, to her, to her children and her husband? Death was stalking her family and had its hands around the throat of her youngest child.
Elizabeth carried cushions and blankets and made a living area on the landing outside of Alice’s bedroom. She sat by the door and listened for every breath, every sign of movement, every cough or sniffle that came from within. Mary and Samuel lay on the blankets alongside her and snoozed on and off.
Alice was quiet; until night fell.
Elizabeth had fallen asleep, her back leaning on the bedroom door. The handle rattled. Alice was too small to open the door even if it had been unlocked, but she knew how to try. Elizabeth jumped from her sleep. Alice began to cry. She rattled the door again and shouted for her mother. The crying got louder. Elizabeth tried talking to her, reassuring her, singing; but it made no difference. The crying went on.
Samuel placed his hands over his ears.
'Do something Mum! Stop her crying!' screamed Mary.
Elizabeth glared back at her in the candlelight. The crying turned into screams, hysterical wails and sobs that cut through Elizabeth like a knife and kept on coming, cut after cut. Elizabeth stood up and began to pace the landing, the key squeezed tightly in her hand. How long could she cry for? Surely she was too ill to keep this up.
But she didn’t stop. It just got louder, sadder and ever more painful.
'Stop it! Stop it!' Mary jumped to her feet and screamed at the door 'I can’t listen to it anymore! Shut up! For God’s sake!'
But still the cries went on.
Samuel lay with a blanket pulled over his head. Elizabeth continued to pace the landing, wrestling with the temptation of opening up the door and picking up her beautiful daughter, cuddling her and lying with her on the bed, singing to her as she drifted off to sleep. How she longed to do just that; but she knew that if she did then the price would be her life too and she’d leave Mary and Samuel alone.
'Kill her.' said Mary. Her voice was steady and dark.
'What?'
'You said she’s going to die. You said she has no chance. So end her suffering ...and ours. Go in there and end it.'
'How can you even think that?' asked her mother in astonishment. 'How can you talk about ... killing your own sister?'
'You’re one to talk!' hissed Mary.
'You're evil, girl! Evil! Wash those thoughts from your head. I could never...' Elizabeth looked at Mary’s face flickering in the candlelight. She looked older, more mature, sinister. But was she right? Was she just being a coward by doing nothing? But how could she possibly end the life of her own child?
From inside the room the sobbing ceased and the house fell quiet.
Mary and Samuel were sleeping again. Elizabeth was sitting cross-legged in the gloom thinking about what Mary had said. Until that point she hadn’t entertained the thought of ending her daughter’s suffering, but it was clear that Alice would die soon and what little was left of her life would be lonely, painful torment. Was she only thinking of herself by not bringing forward the inevitable? Was she the real cause of Alice’s agony now through her cowardice? What would James say if he were here? And what about God and the church? Where were they when you needed them? What would God tell her to do if he was sitting with her now? Was he testing her? How would he tell her to manage the tortuous suffering of a two year old child; a child that he had chosen to make sick, to kill so slowly and cruelly? Was he punishing her, or James? What had they done that was so evil that Alice should pay like this? Was this for what she had done to Fran? Was this how hell would feel; an eternity of seeing her children tormented? She chased the thoughts in circles in her head for hours. Finally, as the early dawn cast its first granite light upon the house, she decided. She would do the brave thing and end Alice’s pain. She carefully placed the iron key in the door lock and gently twisted. The lock opened with a clunk. She looked back to see if Mary or Samuel had been disturbed but they both slept on. They mustn’t know what she’d done. They must be left thinking that Alice had died in her sleep. She eased the door open and crept inside. Alice was lying face up on the floor, her arms splayed out above her head. She was in deep sleep. The red swellings on her neck had increased in size and were now dark oozing sores. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. Elizabeth took a blanket from the foot of the bed and knelt alongside her. She folded it into a small tight rectangle and held it inches above her daughter's face. She gritted her teeth. She mustn’t think about what she was doing. This was for her daughter’s good. She hesitated. She pulled the blanket back and looked one last time at
Alice’s ashen face, her cracked, blood-red lips and long curled eye lashes. She tried to shut out the memories of feeding her in bed on cold winter nights, of helping her take her first anxious steps, of coaxing out the first words that only a mother would recognise. She had to do this, for Alice. She raised the blanket back up over her face and began to push it down; gently at first then with more force. There was no resistance. There was a noise at the door. Samuel was stood watching. Elizabeth recoiled away from Alice like a guilty child caught in the midst of mischief. Alice coughed, then woke up and began to cry again. She reached out for her mother and grabbed her skirt. Elizabeth jumped to her feet and shook away the grip of the small hand. She turned and ran from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Alice was too sick to get up and follow, but she still had the strength to cry. The wailing started again. Mary pulled a blanket over her head.
Sickness was spreading in the carriage house too. A dozen or more people now had fever and sores. Others coughed and struggled for breath. The air became ever heavier and more putrid. Madadh and Cormag spoke quietly in the darkness. They had had enough.
'There are planks o’ wood o’er by the wall there. We could lash them together and make a ram te smash through tha' window.' suggested Cormag. 'Those boards ‘ll fall away wi’ a few good knocks.'
'Aye but there’s still those guards oot there. We’d need te be quick gettin’ oot an’ ready for a fight.'
'Aye well, let’s face it. If nothin’ else you’re always good fer a wee barnie,!' added Cormag with a smirk.
'An what’ll ye de when you’re ootside?' asked Mother Munro.
'We’ll get the stoon and then head back te Scotland. We’ll tek you wi’ us an’ all.'
'Well that’s a kind thought but I’ll be goin’ nowhere Madadh. An’ ye should’ne be either.'
'What? Ye reckon we should stay here wi’ this rabble - to die?'
'No one wants to be here Madadh, but this is where we are. If ye chose to leave here ye’ll take this foul disease along wi’ ye. Ye’ll tek it te your kin and te your homeland. Ye’ll be forever known as the man who brought death te your own. Ye’ll be as popular as an Englishman at Pinkie.'
'If we can find the stoon we’ll be safe. We’ll come back for ye an’ make sure you’re reet.'
'So ye think ye’ll have time te break out from here, break into the hoose, search fer and find the stoon an’ then leave wi’ out anyone stoppin’ ye?' Mother Munro lay back on her straw bed and closed her eyes. 'Good luck boys.'
There was no more crying from Alice. Elizabeth optimistically brought food and more water and gently opened the door to the bedroom. Alice lay on the floor where she’d left her. The water from the previous night remained untouched by the bedside. Apart from the rapid panting, Alice was still, her eyes closed. Elizabeth ached to lift her and at least place her on the bed but she knew she mustn’t. She avoided looking at her face. She placed the bread and water alongside her and locked herself back out of the room.
Elizabeth expected to get sick; she knew her contact with Alice had been too close. She kept her distance from Samuel and Mary as much as she could. She gave them jobs and chores to keep them busy and keep them away.
Samuel had completed his tasks; cleaning the fire grate in the kitchen, sweeping floors. Mary was less willing. She cleaned the hallway and then half-heartedly began to clean some of the pots in the kitchen. But what was the point? She didn’t care whether they were clean. She marched up the stairs with cloth and pan in her hand. Samuel followed, sensing the need to stay a few steps behind. Elizabeth was still sat outside the bedroom, singing softly to Alice.
Mary threw the iron pan onto the floorboards. 'You clean it! You want it polished, you do it!'
Elizabeth continued to sing the lullaby.
'Why are we doing this? We’re gonna be dead anyway! All of us! Dead! Why do you need clean pans?'
Samuel fumbled in his pocket and found the Mother Lee Stone. He knelt alongside his mother and held it out to her. Elizabeth smiled. She went to hug him but thought again and stopped herself.
'Move away from me sweetheart.' she spoke softly but with purpose.
Samuel looked up at her, confused. She repeated herself with same gentle but firm tone.
'My dear Sammy, beautiful Mary, I’m so sorry, I’ve failed you.' she managed a slither of a smile.
'What are you talking about?' demanded Mary.
'I’m sick Mary. It’s started. I’m so, so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have got you out of this city before it got to any of us.'
'No!' screamed Samuel 'No! No! No!'
'Shh my darling. It’s happened. We can’t change it.'
Tears ran down Mary’s face. She stepped forwards towards her mother. Elizabeth raised a flat palm. 'No Mary. Keep away from me.' Her tone softened 'You’re in charge now my girl. You have to be the woman of this house. Promise me you’ll look after Samuel… and yourself.'
Mary said nothing.
Elizabeth placed the bedroom door key on the floor. 'I’m going to join Alice. When I go in I want you to lock this door behind me. There’s enough food and water downstairs to keep you going. Keep sweet with the guards and ask them to bring you more. Promise me you won’t come in after me.'
'No' shouted Samuel. 'The stone, use the stone, it’ll make you well. It’ll fix you!'
Elizabeth smiled at Samuel and shook her head. 'I’m sorry sweetheart.' She turned and entered the bedroom. 'Lock it Mary. Lock it now.'
With shaking hand Mary picked up the key and pushed it in to the lock. She turned it slowly until she heard the decisive clunk.
Elizabeth knelt alongside Alice, slid her arms underneath her and lifted her from the floor. Her breathing had stopped now. Her body was becoming stiff, her eyes open and staring vacantly back at her. Elizabeth kissed her on the forehead and gently closed her eyes. She felt almost relief to be ill, so as to be able to hold and touch her child again. She pulled back the covers and laid her gently down on her side. She lay alongside her and pulled her lifeless body into her bosom and softly sang the lullaby again.
Cormag waited until he was confident that old Mother Munro was sleeping. When she started to snore like a ratchet again, he prodded Madadh.
'Are ye sleepin’ Madadh?'
'Not now I’m no'.'
'Whit dae yer reckon Madadh? Is the auld hen reet? Or shaa we ge’ away fro’ here?'
'It’s tay late for me Cormag. I’ll noo be leavin’ this place.'
'What d’yer mean?'
'I can feel it Cormag. I can feel it brewin’ inside me. We’ll noo get oot of this place alive, no any of us.'
Mary and Samuel remained camped outside the bedroom door. They called to their mother every few minutes for reassurance until she tired of it and asked them to stay quiet. The day dragged on. It was warm and humid again. The flies buzzed annoyingly around the landing as if it was just another hot summer day. Samuel made more of the potion water but Mary had lost the faith now. She derided the claims of the useless stone. Samuel prepared the water in secret and fed it to them both without Mary being aware. The day felt endless. Every hour dragged slowly by until finally the light faded and the house was plunged back into darkness. Mary and Samuel lay close together on their makeshift bed, both wide awake. Rats and mice scurried in the ceiling and scratched at the hard oak floor boards. From outside distant shouts and moans hung in the still night air. Finally Samuel sat up.
'I’m going to lie with Mum.' he announced.
'You can’t. You ‘eard what she said. She’s sick. You wanna get it an’ all?'
'I don’t care. We’re all gonna get it anyhow. I’m not stayin’ out ‘ere.' He stood up and turned the key in the bedroom door.
'Samuel! You can’t go in there. Get out!'
But it was too late. He’d already opened the door and stepped inside.
Mary wasn’t going to stay alone on the landing. Samuel was right she thought to herself. They were all going to get sick
so what did it matter. She followed him inside. He’d already found himself a place at the foot end of the bed and was nestling down for the remainder of the night. Mary found a place at the edge of the bed near to Alice and quickly fell asleep.
Across the road James too had made his bed for the night. He was in the churchyard behind a large tombstone, carved in days of more leisurely burials. He racked his brains for ways to help his family locked inside the house only yards away. He couldn’t give up on them. What else did he have? He’d try again at first light.
Elizabeth tossed and turned. Her whole body hurt, her head throbbed and her bloated glands felt as if they would explode. She kicked her feet out and pushed at the foot of the bed. It moved. Elizabeth forced her head up.
Samuel rolled over.
Elizabeth screamed.
Samuel sat bolt upright.
Mary awoke and looked sheepishly at Elizabeth. In the morning light their need to lie with their mother suddenly felt stupid and childish.
'Get out! Get out! Both of…' Elizabeth was interrupted by painful coughs 'both of you, now!'
Samuel and Mary scrambled to their feet and ran back onto the landing. Elizabeth tottered over to the door and closed it behind them. She leant her back against the wood and slid down onto the floor. How could her body hurt so much? Her mouth was dry as sandpaper. She had left a jug by the bed. She crawled over to it and gulped down the water from the jug until it was completely empty. She knew she was getting worse. She could feel the illness growing, multiplying inside her.
Mary kept hearing her mother’s words in her head. She had to be the woman now; she had to care for Samuel. She needed to do something to keep them both occupied through the long day. She would follow her mother’s lead and set chores. They would polish the door handles, clean the floors. That would keep Samuel occupied and distract him from what was happening around him. She gave him a list of tasks starting with tidying the pantry. But Samuel wasn’t keen. He too was starting to feel unwell. It was obvious that the stone had failed. He pulled it from his pocket and unwrapped it from the white cotton rag and held it in his palm. It still managed to find a ray of sunlight and emitted a warm red glow. Samuel trudged up the rickety stairs to the attic, to the quarters where he and his family had lived together in service of Mister Jarvis. He went to his bed, an oblong wooden box squeezed under the eaves. He lifted a floor board to expose the space where he hid the few little treasures he possessed, a small knife, a wooden cannon that Mister Wiseman, the shopkeeper had made him, and some pistol shot he'd once found and kept as toy cannonballs. He placed the Mother Lee stone into the collection and then carefully replaced the board. He descended back to the landing and dropped onto the floor outside the bedroom. He called out to his mother for sympathy. He loved the usual disproportionate concern for sore throats and grazed knees. But this time, when he really was ill, there was no reply. Mary appeared up the stairs and sat opposite, leaning against the banister rails.
'What you doin’ up ‘ere? I gave you jobs.' she grumbled.
'I ain’t feelin’ good.' replied Samuel.
Mary frowned back at him. 'No, me neither.' She rubbed ruefully at the swollen glands growing rapidly in her neck and winced with the pain.
'What we gonna do Mary?'
'There ain’t nothin’ we can do Sam. We just gotta wait an’ hope an’ pray we get better.'
But things didn’t improve. By early evening they were both feeling worse, much worse. There was nothing to be gained from isolating themselves from their mother any longer. Mary unlocked the room and they both went inside. Laid in the centre of the bed was a toddler-sized parcel wrapped in a white cloth sheet. Their mother lay alongside, mouth gaping, eyes staring vacantly to the heavens.
'Mum, I’m sick' announced Samuel 'me ‘ead hurts and me neck' he grumbled.
But the only sound from his mother was from the rapid gurgling breaths that were struggling to keep her alive. Samuel squeezed onto the edge of the bed alongside Elizabeth, Mary lay next to the parcel that contained her sister. Outside, night fell again over the shrinking population of London.
Chapter 34