Paupers Graveyard (16 page)

‘Let's climb into the loft. There's plenty of hay up there and it will help keep us warm,' said Elizabeth.

They made themselves comfortable, nestling together in its softness. Elizabeth took the bread and cheese from the sack and divided it between them.

‘Why aren't you eating?' Timmy asked, breaking his share in half and holding it out to her.

‘No, thank you, I've already eaten at the Hall.'

Suddenly, overcome with weariness, she lay back and covered herself with her cape and some straw. Katie, who had finished eating, cuddled close to her and within minutes they were both asleep.

Timmy sat for a while, staring into space, his heart aching with loneliness and sorrow over the loss of his family, but tiredness soon overcame him and he moved as close to Elizabeth as he thought decently possible. Reaching out, he took hold of a piece of her cape. The wool felt soft beneath his fingers, and he cried when he realised that she would be leaving them. He might never see her again after tomorrow. He was losing everyone he cared about.

****

Timmy awoke just as the prongs of a pitchfork pierced the hay a hair's breathe from his face. Scuttling to the edge of the loft, he looked down to see an astonished man staring up at him.

‘Get down out of there,' the man shouted, waking Elizabeth and Katie.

Timmy helped them climb down the rickety ladder, and it wasn't until Elizabeth had brushed both Katie and herself free of straw, that she looked at the man.

‘Mick! What are you doing here?'

He moved closer to get a better look at her.

‘Miss Lizzy, is it?'

She took his look to be one of surprise at seeing her there and not one of revulsion.

‘Yes, it's me,' she clapped her hands in delight. ‘Can you believe it?'

‘No, Miss Lizzy, I can't.'

‘How are you, Mick?'

‘As you can see I'm well, but let's not stand here. Come inside where it's warm and I'll fix you something to eat.'

They followed him into the kitchen where a huge fire was blazing. Elizabeth sat down beside the fire, in what once had been her mother's chair. Mick scooped some fat from a bowl into a pan and placed it on the stand over the fire. She watched it melt and bubble and heard the sizzle, as he placed thick rashers of bacon into it. He looked at her now and then from the corner of his eye, but she never noticed. Memories were flooding through her. She saw, in her mind's eye, her mother bustling around the room. She could smell the fragrance of the rosewater she had used, and her heart swelled with longing. It became a physical pain within her and soon burst forth in a series of gasps and sobs.

‘There now, Miss Lizzy, dear, you're safe. Don't go upsetting yourself like that.'

He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. Katie pushed by him and climbed onto her lap.

‘Don't cry, Elizabeth. We are going to have something to eat soon.'

Food could solve everything according to Katie.

‘I'm all right now,' she assured them. ‘I was just remembering.'

She smiled at Mick and for a moment she was Miss Lizzy again, and not the wasted creature she had become.

He told her, as they ate, how her stepmother had died some months before. Being an unfriendly woman, and without any living relatives, no one had wondered at her disappearance. Like so many others she had caught the fever and was dead within days. Everything of value in the house had already been sold for food, and the only things remaining were the few animals. He'd moved into the house, and it was only by slaughtering an animal when necessary he had managed to keep himself alive.

‘And what's the harm in that?' he asked. ‘I looked after her while she lasted and buried her as well I could. Who's more entitled? Besides you, I mean,' he patted her hand. ‘I tried to find you. Went to the Hall and was warned off. Then I heard about the children going to America, and I thought you'd gone with them.'

She explained what had happened. Timmy stopped eating and looked up in awe when she came to the part about the letter. So she wouldn't be leaving after all. He felt pleased and then ashamed at finding pleasure in her disappointment.

‘Well there's no need to worry any more on that score,' Mick
assured her. ‘I'll sell the cow and sheep. That'll be enough to pay your way.'

For a moment her heart sang, but then, looking at his kind face and the worried faces of the children, she knew she could not allow this to happen. She could not deprive them of their only means of survival for her own selfish needs. Thanking him, but refusing his offer, she assured him that Andrew would send more money on hearing of the loss. At least now she had a safe address for it to come to.

‘Well, you know what's best, Miss Lizzy,' he got up sighing. He'd loved her since she was a girl, and though he could never tell her, he would gladly die for her.

****

She spent the rest of the day exploring and rediscovering the house and farm, and was pleased to find baskets full of apples in the cold store, along with turnips and large slabs of bacon preserved in salt. This would last for quite a while.

That night, for the first time in more than sixteen years, she slept in her old room. Katie was cuddled up beside her, refusing to sleep alone, and Timmy shared with Mick.

****

The coming weeks saw a vast improvement in their health. The children regained their colouring, their cheeks were rosy, eyes clear and sparkling. Elizabeth felt and looked much better, but not all her weight gain was due to good food. She could no longer deny the swelling of her stomach and the light fluttery sensation within. She was pregnant with Black Jack's child, a child that had been conceived of rape. Soon it would start to show and everyone would be aware of her great shame.

They had already had to slaughter a sheep. She tried to stretch the food as far as possible, but it was difficult. Now that he was feeling better, Timmy tramped the roads each day and brought home every child he found. They now had five extra mouths to feed, and she might well have one more, if her cousin didn't write soon. She knew that many of the ships had been delayed or held for months in quarantine, so she didn't know when to expect a reply to her letter.

It would soon be Christmas and despite the horror all around, she wanted to make it special for the children. Mick was an excellent carver and was making dolls for the girls and little ponies and carts for the boys. Elizabeth was making the clothes for the dolls from scraps of material. Mick had hidden himself away in one of the sheds and spent hours planing and sanding the wood to a smooth finish. She sometimes sat with him as he worked. This was her favourite time of the day. The smell of the wood hung in the air and tiny curls fell at her feet as he skimmed.

Today she was going to tell him about the baby. The weather had turned bitterly cold. Frost hung like silver cobwebs from trees and hedges. A thin layer of ice had formed over the little pools of water in the yard, and she stopped to break one of these with the heel of her boot; anything to put off the inevitable. What would he think of her? She walked on towards the shed. The turmoil in her stomach was now caused by something other than the quickening in her womb. Her cheeks burned in shame.

‘Another cold day, Miss Lizzy,' said Mick, looking up from his work.

‘Yes, indeed. It's been a very hard winter this year.'

She sat down and laced her fingers together in her lap.

‘Is something wrong?'

‘I'm in trouble, Mick.'

‘I don't understand. What kind of trouble?'

She could not, dared not, look at him. ‘I'm going to have a baby,' she heard his sharp intake of breath.

‘Who's is it?'

‘That doesn't matter.'

‘Of course it matters!' For the first time in her life she heard him raise his voice. ‘Is it a child of love?'

‘No.'

‘Then whose?'

She began to cry and he put his arms around her, ‘Ah, Lizzy, I'm sorry.'

He held her, rubbing her back and telling her it would be all right. Then her name was suddenly called from outside, and there was no more time to talk.

Timmy noticed the change as soon as they sat around the fire. No one spoke. Usually, at this time, when the children were all in bed, they would swap news and he'd tell them tales of the roads and what he'd seen. Both Mick and Elizabeth seemed to be miles away from him, each lost in thought.

Mick left them early, making the excuse that he was tired and had an early start next day. Elizabeth's eyes were haunted, and once he was out of ear shot, Timmy asked her what was wrong.

‘I'm going to have a baby.'

‘Whose is it, Mick's?'

‘No, it's not. Why would you think that?'

‘Oh, because of the way he looks at you.'

‘What are you talking about? What way does he look at me?'

‘Like this,' he fluttered his eyelashes at her.

‘Oh, he does not!' she laughed, smacking him playfully on the hand.

‘Yes, he does. He thinks you hold the moon.'

His next question startled her.

‘Is it Black Jack's?'

‘Timmy,' her eyes filled with pain, ‘never speak of that again.'

‘It is, isn't it?'

Her refusal to answer was confirmation enough.

‘Does Mick know?'

‘No, and he must never find out. I don't know what he would do, if he knew the truth.'

Timmy nodded, she was right. Mick would go off in a temper, and he would be no match for that animal.

‘When?'

‘When, what?'

‘When will the baby be here?'

‘Sometime in April, I think.'

‘That's a good time. The weather will be warmer then.'

‘Yes.' She smiled, realising how accepting children were.

Mick came around to the idea after a while. His mood was down to old-fashioned jealousy. Timmy had begun a one-boy crusade against Black Jack and followed him everywhere, watching and waiting. Mick slaughtered the last sheep. Now there was only the cow left. She provided them with milk and cheese, and was their most valuable asset. Elizabeth looked up when he entered.

‘That's the last,' she told Timmy.

He nodded and thought how tired she looked. He hated leaving her alone with the children each day, but he had to do what he was doing. He had to have his revenge.

Timmy hadn't walked very far when he found a small girl crying over the frozen body of her father. She allowed Timmy to lead her away and never spoke as they walked, never even looked at him. She reminded him of his children in the workhouse, a brave captive of a terrible faith.

Elizabeth was shocked when she saw the child. This was by far the worst of all the children he had brought home. Unlike the others, she refused to eat, but allowed herself to be bathed. Elizabeth, at first, was afraid to touch her. She was afraid the slightest pressure would cause her bones to snap. Then slowly, carefully, she rubbed the cloth over the wasted body. Just once the child looked up at her, and in that look was etched all the misery and hopelessness of the famine. Something told her that it would be wiser to let the child sleep apart from the others. This was proven so next morning when she found the child burning up with fever. Timmy and Mick had already left to bury her father.

‘It was hard to bury him,' Timmy told her, when they returned. ‘He was completely frozen, and so is the ground.'

‘Change your clothes and wash thoroughly. Do it now,' she commanded.

They looked at one another and shrugged, she wasn't usually so bossy. She had a thin stew made for lunch; it held very little meat and was mostly turnips and cornmeal. But it was hot and welcoming on their cold, empty stomachs. The children had already eaten and were playing outside in the orchard.

Timmy told her how Black Jack had designated a field to be used as a paupers' graveyard. She knew where he was talking about. A hillside far away from the Hall and not somewhere Black Jack would pass each day and be reminded that he helped put the poor souls there.

‘They even have men guarding the field.'

‘Why on earth would they have to guard a graveyard?' she asked.

‘They've opened a mass grave and want all the bodies thrown into it. They don't want to waste land burying everyone in separate graves.' Mick shook his head. ‘It's worse it's getting. The bodies were piled high. I've seen these mass graves before, and the dogs digging up and eating the corpses, they were buried so shallow.'

How could she bear the horror of it all?

‘The girl is sick,' Elizabeth announced. They stopped eating and turned to look at her. ‘The young one from yesterday is sick.'

‘Is it the fever?' Mick asked, putting down his spoon.

‘Yes.'

‘I'll take care of her. You stay away,' Timmy said to Elizabeth. ‘You have that …' He nodded towards her expanding waistline.

She knew he was right. She had the baby to think about and he seemed to have somehow developed a resistance to the fever. His vigil was a short one; the child died the next morning. This time he set off alone, the small body in the wheelbarrow wrapped in a blanket. Timmy was beginning to believe that he was cursed.

Christmas 1846

As was its way, the fever took hold. By Christmas four more of the children were dead. While their going brought about a sad sense of loss, it was the death of Mick that really devastated Elizabeth and Timmy. For four days and nights he had suffered, tossing and turning, wild with imaginings.

Timmy truly believed that Mick's death would bring about Elizabeth's own. She mourned and cried from morning till night, finding comfort in nothing. Timmy had become used to creeping into the graveyard at night. The mound-filled field held no terror for him, as it did for many. He had fashioned a small hand-sized shovel from a piece of old tin. It was easier to manage. Although it took him twice as long to dig a grave, it offered him more protection. He could kneel while he worked, and was less likely to be seen by the guards, who were now there by night as well as day. The earth was hard from the frost and snow, and his cheeks stung from the cold. His hands were cut and badly marked from the toil, and although Elizabeth rubbed them with sheep fat it did little to ease the pain. In a way he was glad of this. If he could feel pain then he was still alive, although sometimes, he wasn't sure about this, as the reality of the famine had a nightmarish quality about it.

He heard tales of as many as seven ships a day leaving Ireland weighed down with cattle, butter, grain and eggs. How could there be famine if so much food was being sent to England? They had been digging a grave when he first asked this and he could remember Mick's face and the sadness in his eyes as he answered.

‘This famine is the work of man, lad. There is plenty of food for those that have the means to buy it. They're wiping us out, clearing the land to make way for better things. That's all we are to them, cattle for the slaughter.'

They had laid the child, a girl called May, into the deep hole. Mick tucked a doll into her lifeless arms, an early Christmas gift for a child who would never again look forward to that season. He had done this with every child, boy or girl; all faced the unknown with a toy clasped in their hands. Now Mick was gone too. The whole country was at death's door.

Thankfully, Elizabeth rallied. There were even nights when she slept, and he no longer had to lie awake and listen to her sobbing. The child within her was growing daily and he wasn't sure if it was this, or the needs of Katie and Daniel, one of Timmy's strays, that had brought her back to life. They had been forced to slaughter the cow. Once that was eaten they would have nothing. Worried by the dwindling food supply, she made him promise not to bring any more children home. It was a request that went very much against everything she believed, but she had to make it.

He felt he had indirectly brought about the death of Mick and the others, and promised he would do as she asked. It was hard, and he tramped the fields crying in anger and despair. She didn't see the things he saw. She didn't have to pluck away a baby still suckling at the breast of its dead mother or watch children grazing like beasts on the grass.

The coming of the New Year brought none of the hope and expectation as before. For the first time Timmy really noticed the hollow in Elizabeth's cheeks and the thinness of her shoulders. The swelling in her belly belied what was happening to the rest of her body. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly crying.

‘Timmy, what's the matter?'

He couldn't speak.

‘You poor boy,' she stroked his hair. ‘It's all been too much to bear. No one should have to shoulder so much suffering alone.'

‘I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I'm so sorry.'

‘There now, dear, you have nothing to be sorry about. You're a good boy, Timmy, the best I've ever known.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘What are you sorry for?'

‘Everything; being mean to you, bringing the fever into the house, killing Mick.'

‘Timmy, please listen to me,' she took his hands in hers. ‘You did not kill Mick or anyone else. The famine did that, not even God himself saw fit to stop the suffering. What can one boy do?'

‘I'm so angry.'

‘Of course you are, and when you feel like that you use me to vent it on. That's all right, I understand. There's no one else.'

‘You never do that to me.'

‘No,' she sighed. ‘I kick gates and trees instead.'

‘I see so many sick and dying. Sometimes I get frightened and hide when I see them approach. Sometimes, when they look really bad, I feel sick.'

‘Timmy, listen to me. I have been frightened every day since John died.'

‘You have?'

‘Yes, sometimes I wonder how I will carry on.' As if to remind her, the baby inside kicked hard, and Timmy felt the thud against his leg. ‘There's my answer,' she laughed.

Before he could walk away she caught his hand. ‘Promise me you will stay away from the Hall.'

‘I can't.'

In everything else he had obeyed her, but this was different. If he knew of Black Jack's plans, he could forewarn his intended victims.

‘I see him in the distance, sometimes.'

There was no need to ask whom she was talking about.

‘He'll not come here,' Timmy said.

‘How can you be sure?'

‘I've put out that this place is overrun with fever. He'll not dare.'

‘I hope you're right.'

What were they to do? The food supply had almost run out. They were down to a few turnips and the cornmeal Timmy got from the relief officer.

It took him two days to walk to town with the wheelbarrow and return with one small sack. Now the sack was almost empty again, and the flour was gone. The letter from her cousin had still not arrived, and it had been many months since she'd written to him.

****

Spring arrived, but winter refused to loosen its grip on the land. Trees which should be well in bud, lay covered with snow. The winter had been one of the worst that anyone could remember. The temperature rose slowly. Snow turned to slush on the ground and, although it remained in the hedgerows until the middle of March, nature eventually had her way and the countryside began to blossom.

Timmy spent most of his time at the farm helping Elizabeth. Her movements were slower now that her time was near. The number of evictions shrank when Black Jack was forced to take to his bed. Despite her fear of Black Jack she forced herself to visit the Hall. This was how they had learned of his illness. Timmy hoped it was the fever, and that he would die a slow agonising death, but no such luck. A bad cold that developed into pneumonia kept him indoors for weeks, but he recovered.

Annie and Thomas were, as always, glad to see their former mistress. If the sight of her impending baby shocked them, they never said. Though very thin, she was not looking as unhealthy as the last time they'd seen her. The reason for her visit was twofold. She needed another source of food, and also requested Annie's services as a midwife. The woman was glad to help and gave the little food she could, without Black Jack noticing. Of course Elizabeth had to tell them where she was living, but knew they would guard her secret. In the final two weeks of her pregnancy, Annie called daily to make sure all was well. Now that Elizabeth had regular company, Timmy felt free to return to his wanderings. He hung around Black Jack's men and picked up all the news, including that of coming evictions.

****

When Black Jack recovered, tenants regularly disappeared into the night, leaving nothing behind. He still torched their cabins, but the act did not provide the same surge of power he'd grown accustomed to. As yet there was no news of Elizabeth. He thought she had managed to get away to America, or she had hidden herself somewhere. No one was telling him anything. After crawling his way to the top, there was no one to applaud his success. He'd earned what he now had and was used to hearing the people curse him, but his first loyalty was to himself. He had always known he was destined for better things, and now that he had them, his only companions were his mother and Charles Fitzwilliam.

Now, to top it all, he had received a note from a secret society warning him to leave the tenants alone. There were many such groups in the country and three landlords had been shot over the past few months. They were picking on the wrong one with him. He would seek them out and see them all hang before giving in to their demands. But first he would have to prove how bad an enemy he could actually be.

Timmy heard of an eviction planned for the next day. He knew the family, a widow with two daughters, and set off after dark to warn her. The cabin lay dozing deep in a hollow. Curls of white smoke rose from the chimney, a sign that someone was still awake. Only the fire lit the interior, and he could see a shape moving about. Knocking gently, he waited for the door to open. There was movement behind and the top half opened a crack.

‘Who is it?'

‘It's me, Mrs Ryan, Timmy Walsh.'

‘Ah, Timmy, lad, its grand to see you, but don't come any closer. We have the fever. My two young ones are nearly dead from it.'

‘I came to warn you that Black Jack Carey's coming at dawn to evict you.'

‘God help us all,' she said, tightening bony fingers on the lower part of the door. ‘What am I to do?'

‘You have to get away. There are abandoned sheds not far from here. You can hide there.'

She studied him for a moment. ‘I was sorry to hear about your people.'

‘Thank you, ma'am.'

‘Be off with you now like a good boy, and mind yourself.'

‘But I'll help you move your things.'

‘There's no need, we'll be all right. God speed you, boy,' she said, closing and latching the door.

The sound sent shivers through him. It had become the custom that the last surviving member of the family, when all hope was gone, would latch the door. He would come back before dawn, hoping she would have changed her mind.

The morning found him hidden in the thick foliage of a nearby tree. Black Jack, accompanied by his men, arrived at first light. The woman inside must have heard the clatter of horses in the yard and the shouts from Black Jack to come out. When she made no attempt to answer, he sent one of his men inside. The man returned with a handkerchief held over his mouth.

‘It's the fever, sir. Both the children have it.'

‘Go back inside and tell her to come out.'

The man hesitated, not wanting to put himself to further risk.

‘Do as I ask, man, or you'll soon find yourself in her position.'

Grudgingly he went back inside and returned, dragging the woman behind him.

‘You've not paid rent in over a year, Mrs Ryan,' Black Jack informed her. ‘I want you out this day.'

‘We've nowhere to go and my young are sick with the fever.'

‘That's not my concern.' He motioned to his man to go inside. He returned carrying a blazing sod of turf.

‘You have five minutes to leave before I set the thatch on fire.'

‘Very well,' she went back inside.

‘Throw it on the roof,' Black Jack ordered the man holding the sod.

‘But, sir …!'

‘She's had her chance. I'll teach these people not to mess with Jack Carey. Throw it, man. Now!'

The frightened man flung the blazing sod onto the roof. Stumbling back in horror at what he had done, he called, ‘Missus! For the love of God, come out!'

Her only answer was the clink of the latch on the door. The thatch, though wet with dew, soon caught light. Within minutes it was blazing, the straw crackling and hissing.

Timmy watched in horror from his hiding place. There was nothing he could do to rescue the unfortunates inside. The thatch started to give way and fiery clumps fell into the cabin setting the interior alight. Then the screaming began. Timmy tried to block his ears as the cries gave way to agonised howling. Black Jack's men, now truly frightened, crossed themselves and started to back away from the sacrificial fire.

This was the great show of strength Black Jack had wanted. After all, a man who would burn a woman and her sick children was capable of anything and best left alone. But there was no look of triumph on his face. He had paled and was urging his horse away from the flames. His men had remounted their horses, wanting to be away from the terrible sight and sounds.

All at once the last of the roof swooned inwards, one final howl heralding the end for those inside. Then nothing, even the crackling of the straw became a faint echo. Somehow this was worse, Timmy thought, as the finality of a funeral quiet descended.

The trees about them started to sway as the wind whipped up into a frenzy. Leaves were torn from branches and swirled into the air. Timmy was forced to hold tight as he was tossed about on the branch. He watched as invisible hands threw stones and bits of fallen twigs at the men below him. He saw their skin split open as the missiles struck home and blood crept from open wounds. Their coats and capes flew about them as they tried to fight off this unseen force, but it was useless. The very heavens cried out for vengeance in the voice of the wind, nature itself was offended. One by one the men were dragged screaming from their horses, and hurled against the walls of the cabin. They each clawed at the wind, calling for mercy, and were soon rewarded with the same amount of mercy they had shown their victims.

Timmy watched as each man flew backward through the air and heard the crack as his head hit the wall with such force that his skull was shattered. Soon there were three bodies slumped against the burning cabin wall. Each face wore a grotesque look of horror mixed with wonder. The wind died down as quickly as it had started, and quiet descended once more. Timmy's fingers were stiff and sore, so tightly had he laced them together.

What he had just witnessed was unbelievable, but why had God waited so long to help these people? After a few minutes he began to climb down the tree, and was on the lower branches, when he noticed a movement below. Someone was still alive. He watched as the man struggled to his feet, groaning, using the tree trunk for support. His heart pounded, waiting to see who it was, as the man straightened and brushed the hair from his face. Black Jack! He was still alive! How had he escaped the fury when all this was his fault? Timmy wanted to scream, to curse God or whatever forces had been so lax in their duty. It would never be over while Black Jack was still alive.