No Wings to Fly (67 page)

‘Only a week ago?’

‘Yes. Before that he hardly ever set foot outside his home.’

‘And no one else at his home is ill?’

‘No. No one at the house. I’ve been told that his sister has the scarlet fever – but she’s in Scotland.’

The doctor shook his head, a gesture almost of impatience. ‘This is not scarlet fever,’ he said brusquely, and then added with a sigh, ‘Would that it were.’

‘Doctor,’ Lily said, ‘what is it? What do you think it is? If it’s not his chill, or the flu, then what is it?’

‘Only a week ago he was at his home, you say.’

‘Yes. I was with him.’

He shook his head and sighed again. ‘I’m perplexed here,’ he said.

Her puzzlement grew, and her fear grew with her puzzlement. ‘Doctor – what is it you’re thinking?’

He glanced over at the child once more. Joshua lay oblivious to what was going on in the room. Keeping his eyes on him, the doctor said, ‘These symptoms the boy has – they’re symptoms I dread to see.’ He turned back to Lily. ‘And I’m afraid I’ve seen them a number of times over the past months.’

Lily felt herself go cold. She had feared it, but had not been able to countenance the possibility. ‘Do you mean the – the smallpox, sir?’ she said.

‘It’s everywhere,’ he said wearily. ‘It’s the worst outbreak we’ve ever had in this country.’ He looked over again at the child. ‘The strange thing is, his symptoms are showing up so quickly. The incubation period of the common smallpox is usually from about ten days to a fortnight – but you tell me that only a week ago he was at his home, well out of harm’s way.’

‘Yes, he was.’

He lowered his head. ‘This is more worrying.’

She frowned. ‘Sir . . . ?’

He looked up at her. ‘There’s more than one strain of the disease,’ he said. ‘One of them is the
malignant
smallpox – or the flat black pox as it’s sometimes known. It strikes within days, and very severely. Where have you taken the boy?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Where has he been – out in public, where he could have picked up the infection?’

‘We only went to the aquarium. That was on Thursday.’

‘That’s only three days ago. No, that couldn’t be it. That’s
too recent. You say you travelled here from Happerfell last Sunday?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded. ‘Well, that could be it. Perhaps at some point in your journey he came in contact with the disease. That would work out with the incubation period.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so, sir. He – he didn’t touch anyone. I know that. I was with him all the time.’

‘You don’t need to touch anyone to contract this disease. It’s the most contagious we know of. Physical contact can certainly be a factor, but the disease can just as well be carried on the air, or on a person’s clothes. It always finds a way, believe me.’

A memory returned to her and she thought of the carriage that Joshua had lain in, and the fly-driver with the disinfectant. But before she could say anything, the doctor said, shaking his head and spreading his hands:

‘Well, however the boy might have caught it, it’s academic now.’

‘But – but he can’t have the smallpox,’ she said. There was a note of desperation in her voice. ‘He’s been vaccinated. You saw his scar yourself.’

‘Yes, I know that, but it seems that vaccination is not always the answer. You know yourself that it was made mandatory by the government in the fifties, for everyone over the age of two. My God, ninety-eight per cent of the population has been vaccinated, but it hasn’t prevented this epidemic one iota. You read the papers, you can see that for yourself. The disease has just rampaged through the country. It’s the worst epidemic we’ve ever had. Look at Leicester. Did you read about that? There’ve been those protests in the town – protests
against
the enforced vaccination. They’re claiming it’s only made things worse.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘What is one to think? I don’t know. I don’t know
what
to
think. You’ve been vaccinated, have you? You must have been.’

‘No, I haven’t, sir. I – I missed it.’

‘You missed it?’

‘Yes – my father didn’t want us to have it done. Me or my brother.’

‘And he got away with it, did he? Hmm. Well – personally speaking, I would advise you to have it. And you shouldn’t delay. I can send off for the vaccine for you first thing tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Would you like me to do that?’

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.’

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: