Paupers Graveyard (2 page)

‘You can see it?' Paddy cried, wrestling the shovel from the terrified man. Sean stopped and turned to look at him, and then at his workmen who stood open-mouthed. Wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he answered hoarsely, ‘I saw a rat. That's all. We'll finish up for the day. Burn those,' he pointed to the heap of bones, before striding swiftly from the field.

The men picked up the handles of the wheelbarrows and moved towards the gap in the trees. Timmy ran in front begging them to stop, but it was useless. They couldn't hear him.

‘Timmy.'

He stopped and turned towards the voice.

‘Come here, child.'

Elizabeth stood in the long grass, arms outstretched. The children clustered around vying for her attention. She watched as he ran towards her, sobbing. Once his arms went around her waist and she held him, he knew that he was home. She rocked him as the sobs came from deep within his dried-up heart.

‘Hush, child,' she whispered. ‘We'll be all right.'

‘But where are we?' he asked, looking up into a face that seemed as beautiful as ever to him. ‘I know we're in the graveyard, but I don't understand. Why are we here? Are we dead?'

The other children watched, waiting. She gazed down at them, searching for an answer, but she had none. They were dead, they had to be, and the things she had just witnessed were inconceivable. What was the purpose of it all? They had been through so much during the famine. Had they somehow displeased God? Was their suffering to be eternal?

A bellowing laugh came from the other side of the field. The sound of a man delighted with his lot. The children giggled and looked at one another, as the laughter continued, unabated. They stood on tiptoe as Elizabeth and Timmy shaded their eyes against the late afternoon sun, trying to make out who it was. He was in the shadow of the trees, and they waited in anticipation for him to show himself. Slowly, he walked forward and as he did, the smiles disappeared from their faces. Black Jack!

Timmy turned to Elizabeth. She was frozen with fear, but Timmy no longer felt the terror that Black Jack's presence would once have instilled in him. He felt the strange calmness that reconciled him to the fact that his battle with evil was not yet over.

‘Elizabeth, we meet again.' Black Jack's voice carried across the quiet of the graveyard, as he bowed mockingly. It was now Timmy's turn to try and give comfort and, taking her hand, he whispered, ‘Never mind him, Elizabeth. I don't think he can harm us any more, not here, not in this place.'

She nodded and tried to smile, but he could see the look of fear and confusion in her eyes. The children, sensing her fright, gathered around her for protection. The smaller ones buried their faces in the remnants of her skirts.

‘Come now,' she smiled down at them. ‘It's been a strange day and we all need some rest. Let's all lie down. I'm sure things will seem much better in the morning.' She sank into the long grass with Timmy on one side, both surrounded by the children. For a while she lay staring up at the darkening sky, listening to the sound of the breeze while the children tossed and turned trying to get comfortable. When at last they had quietened, she turned her face to Timmy and asked, ‘Are you afraid?'

‘No, are you?'

‘A little. I wish I knew why we're here.' She sighed and closed her eyes.

Timmy did likewise and was overcome by velvet darkness as he, along with the others, became absorbed by the earth. The last thing he heard as he drifted away was her voice. ‘We are no longer in our own time, of this I am sure. Either that or we are in hell.'

February 1845

For Charles Fitzwilliam the untimely death of his elder brother, John, was something to celebrate. Not only was he rid of a brother who was considered saintly by many, it also meant that John, having been considerate enough to die without a male heir, passed on to him the title of lord and the privileged estate and monies that went with it.

That his brother had also left a widow and three daughters meant nothing to Charles. They would soon be packed up and sent back to his sister-in-law's family. He had no intention of shouldering that responsibility. As a man of considerable means, he intended to do exactly as he pleased. Once all the nonsense of the funeral was out of the way, his life was going to change for the better.

London society was tiring of Charles' womanising and gambling. He had been aware for some time that it would be prudent for him to seek pastures new. He had never seen Maycroft Hall, having refused to attend the wedding of his brother and ‘that woman', but he'd heard it was not at all grand. Certainly not on a par with some of the fine houses he was used to frequenting. His late brother's taste had never been as refined as his, but he was sure that time and money would bring about some great changes. A manager, he believed, took care of the many farms, some six thousand acres and hundreds of tenants. This was just as well, because, unlike his brother, he had no knowledge of farming. So it was in the spring of 1845 that he set sail for Ireland.

As always the Irish Sea had been moody, alternating between periods of calm when they sailed on water as smooth as glass, to giant waves that tossed the ship until he felt that they would surely capsize. If his information was correct, the people of this land were very much like its sea; a most disagreeable bunch, and savage. His fears were confirmed on arrival – only the most uncivilised people would allow the roads to remain in such condition. Roads! These were no more than dirt tracks made by numerous farm carts. How would he survive in such a dreadful place?

As they neared Maycroft, Charles Fitzwilliam studied the many thatched cabins dotting the landscape. The number of children clustered about each door amazed him. Drawn out by the sound of his carriage, they had come to stare at their new landlord. It was late afternoon and there appeared to be very few men or women about, from what he could see, only the old and infirm. The few men that watched him pass, raised their caps to him.

His thoughts were interrupted and he almost fell out of his seat, as the carriage hit another hole. His stomach, which had already been sorely tried by the sea crossing, heaved once more.

It was a great relief when the large ornate gates of the Hall came into view and he knew he would soon be back on solid ground. Once the carriage had come to a halt, he jumped out and leant against the door. The sudden change overwhelmed him and, for a moment, his head swam. When he managed to steady himself, he turned and looked towards the Hall. The servants were lined up and waiting to greet him. Walking towards him was a woman dressed from head to toe in the black of mourning.

‘Charles, it is good to meet you at last, but I wish it was under happier circumstances.' Her eyes filled with tears as she grasped his hands in hers. He was taken aback by her looks. Even now, in her worst sorrow, she was utterly beautiful. Although he had never seen her before, Charles had been among the many to scoff at his brother's choice of wife. Untitled and from farming stock, she had seemed at first to be John's only folly, but the years had proved the gossips wrong. She had adjusted to the position of titled lady as though born to it, and if she had one failing, in Charles' eyes, it was her inability to bear his brother a son. But if she had done so, he wouldn't be where he was today. Every cloud, as they say.

‘Elizabeth,' he bent and kissed her marble-cold cheek. ‘Sorry I wasn't able to attend the funeral, but you understand.'

‘Of course,' her smile was icy. She understood only too well how selfish and uncaring her brother-in-law could be. Her husband had never spoken of his brother's shortcomings, but she had noticed him frown, as he read numerous letters from Charles begging for money to get him out of one pickle or another. Even in the wilds of Ireland gossip reached them, and John would shake his head in disappointment at the life his brother was leading. It was at such times that she had felt a sense of dread. Her failure to bear a son meant that there was always the possibility that one day both she and her daughters could be at the mercy of this man. That day had now arrived and she could only wait and see what he had decided to do with them. Her father had explained that she could not return home, as he was unable to feed four extra mouths, not on his meagre income. She had little money of her own and the swiftness of her husband's death meant that he had died without providing for them.

She watched as Charles shook the wrinkles from his cape, more interested in his appearance than in the recent loss of his brother.

‘Shall we go in?' he motioned towards the door and the waiting staff, ‘or had you planned on staying here a while longer staring at me?'

‘Yes, of course, forgive me,' she blushed, bringing her hands to her flaming cheeks; she had been lost in thought.

He took little heed of her and proceeded towards the steps to the house. She raced to catch up with him and automatically named each servant as they walked by. He did not acknowledge any of them, most likely forgetting the names as soon as she had mentioned them, but Elizabeth still felt it was her duty to perform the introductions.

‘So, this is Maycroft,' his eyes swept around the cavernous hallway. ‘I must have a hot bath before dinner,' he said as he strode towards the stairs.

Thomas, the butler, tottered after him. She watched the old man's polite attempts to pass his new master and lead the way to the prepared rooms. She nodded a dismissal to the other servants, who hurried away to fetch water for the bath. Soon the house was in an uproar as maids hurried up and down the stairs with pitchers of hot water following Charles' bellowed orders.

What must the children be thinking, she wondered? She had requested that they stay in the nursery until sent for. Still in shock after the death of their beloved father, they were unsettled, unsure of what would happen next, and she had tried to make the arrival of their uncle a happy, anticipated event. Lucy, the eldest at fourteen and quite the young woman, was not fooled by her mother's smiles and knew that her uncle's presence might mark a turning point in their lives. The others, Becky aged eight and Charlotte six, were not old enough to understand and waited in wonder for him to appear. Perhaps, Elizabeth mused, he would be in better humour after a bath and a hot meal.

The only sound that broke the silence was the swishing of her silk skirts as she paced the drawing-room, waiting for him to reappear. The clock in the hall counted each agonising minute, until the head parlour maid stuck her head around the door.

‘Mistress,' she whispered, ‘he's in the dining-room.'

‘Thank you, Mary,' she smiled, ‘I'll be there presently.'

Squaring her shoulders and holding her hand to her stomach to quell the dark butterflies that fluttered there, she left the room. Try as she might to appear brave, Elizabeth couldn't help but notice her hand trembling as she turned the doorknob. He was sitting at the head of the table, in her husband's chair.

‘I trust you are feeling better, Charles?' He did not reply, but continued to pick at the food as though it disgusted him. ‘Is the food not to your liking? I can have Annie prepare you something else.'

He stopped her with a wave of his hand, and then resumed chopping and mashing his potatoes, moulding and heaping them like a spoilt child.

‘I appear to have lost my appetite,' he said, pushing the plate away. With a sigh of boredom, he leaned back and draped a leg over the arm of his chair. Still ignoring her, he looked around the room at the black drapes covering the mirrors out of respect for his dead brother.

‘It's this house,' he finally spoke. ‘It's so gloomy. There's no life in it.'

‘There has been a death. You can hardly expect it to look any other way.' She dug her fingernails into her palms, to stop herself saying something she might later regret.

‘Yes, I know, but that was weeks ago. It is time to move on. I want all these coverings removed at once.'

‘Yes, Charles.' In one short hour she had lost everything, the house was no longer her own, and she knew that there was worse to come.

‘I want a drink, whiskey. Do you have any or did the local rabble drink it all at the party?'

‘Which party?'

‘That thing they have when someone dies in this country. You know, some sort of party.'

The wake! She realised he was talking about the wake.

‘It's called a wake, Charles,' she said, calmly. ‘It's certainly not a party, but rather a traditional last farewell, held in honour of the dead.'

‘Well, whatever it is.'

She grasped the bell pull and rang for Thomas.

‘Yes, mistress,' the old man shuffled in and waited for his orders, but before she could answer Charles spoke

‘You there, bring me some whiskey, now.'

‘Yes, sir.' Thomas bowed and left the room.

Charles drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair until the butler reappeared, carrying a silver tray with a crystal decanter and two glasses. Placing the tray in front of his master, he filled one of the glasses with a generous measure and handed it to him.

‘When I ask for a drink I mean a proper drink!' Charles grabbed the decanter and filled the glass almost to the brim. ‘One would think that you were paying for this stuff,' he sneered, downing almost a third of the whiskey.

‘That will be all, thank you, Thomas.' Elizabeth wanted to get the butler away as quickly as possible. She was mortified at such rudeness. After he left, Charles turned to her.

‘Well, Elizabeth, it's time you and I got better acquainted, don't you think? Sit down.' He pushed at the chair nearest to him with his foot. ‘You'll join me in a drink, I hope?'

She watched in horror as he filled the other glass before handing it to her. She rarely drank and then only a little wine. How she was expected to drink that much whiskey, she could not imagine.

‘To your good health,' he raised his glass and took another swallow, all the time watching her until she was forced to bring the glass to her lips and sip. The whiskey burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes. Her predicament only made Charles laugh and he thumped on the table in glee. ‘This will never do, dear sister-in-law. I'll have to train you myself.' She smiled, unsure of what he meant. ‘We have a lot to talk about, don't we, so much to learn about one another?'

‘I should like to discuss matters with you, Charles.'

‘Now, now, let's not rush things. Let's get to know one another first,' he murmured.

She squirmed under his lecherous gaze.

‘Really, Charles, I would like to speak to you about my position here.'

‘But you don't have a position here, do you, m'dear? None that I'm aware of.'

‘Yes,' she wrung her hands, ‘that's what I mean. Have you had any thoughts on our future here?'

‘Not really. Do you have any plans? I though you would be returning to your family home.'

‘I would rather not. The children are used to a certain way of life and I'm sure their father would have wanted it to continue.'

‘Possibly … if he were still alive.'

His words stopped her short, and she had to clasp her hands to stop them from trembling.

‘Yes,' she whispered, ‘if he were still alive.'

‘For the time being it suits me that you remain here. You will be valuable as a hostess, I'm sure, and one never knows what time may bring,' his smile sent waves of revulsion through her. ‘However, there is one thing I insist upon. Your children; I do not want to hear or see them, especially in the mornings.'

‘But, you will meet them, Charles? They are so looking forward to meeting you.'

‘I dare say I'll come across them in time, but for now I have no desire to do so.'

She began to speak again, to entreat him to meet his nieces.

‘I do not want you to place any demands on me, Elizabeth. I am not my brother.'

He waved his hand to dismiss her and watched as she walked, straight-backed, from the room. He hadn't meant to keep her on, but she was lovely and the nights could be long in a place such as this. She might yet prove her worth, and if she decided to be difficult he could always dispense with her.

Elizabeth leant against the other side of the door and tried to still the sobs of anger and humiliation, as all the loneliness and sorrow of the past few weeks caught up with her.

****

The next few days passed slowly. Keeping the children amused and quiet was a daunting task. She felt as though she were walking on pins as she tiptoed around the house. Like it or not, she knew they were living on borrowed time. The girls had taken their uncle's disinterest fairly well, although Lucy did raise her eyebrows as she listened to her mother's excuses. However, she did her best to keep her sisters outside and as far away as possible from the house.

The air of tension touched everyone. The maids no longer exchanged friendly banter with the grooms and gardeners; flirting and teasing became a thing of the past. Charles, to Elizabeth's relief, chose to eat alone, which meant she was spared his leers and insults. When he tired of the house, he sent for her.

‘I take it I have a horse?'

‘Well,' she murmured, feeling confused. ‘There are the animals that pull the carriage, but they're really only workhorses. Most are used on the farm.'

‘And my brother, did he not hunt?'

‘There is Lightning,' she whispered, ‘but he was John's own mount.'