Paupers Graveyard (23 page)

After the front door slammed, its noise echoed through the house and Joe felt truly lost. He looked towards the baby, who was already starting to move and fuss, and at the still-sleeping Jenny. First things first, the baby needed feeding. He had passed the night reading the numerous baby books Helen had amassed in her pretension of motherhood. Luckily, with Jenny's help, he'd prepared two extra bottles of formula, and these were stored in the fridge, needing only to be heated.

He would have to go downstairs to fetch one and that meant leaving the children alone. The fussing of the baby grew more urgent, and he sprinted from the room, down the stairs, almost skidding on the wooden floor in the hallway, and into the kitchen. Grabbing one of the bottles, he ran back upstairs and was overcome with relief to find the children still safe. Placing the bottle in the warmer, he opened the curtains, and allowed the milky, white light of early morning into the room.

Taking the baby from the crib, he laid him on the bed and reached for the bag that contained the diapers, creams and powders. He struggled with lotion and diapers, but eventually succeeded in changing the nappy. Then he took the baby in his arms and gave him the warm bottle. The infant stared up at him as he fed. Joe smiled at him, amazed at how dark his pupils were. Helen said babies could not see properly, but this little chap's gaze was mesmerising. Big silent tears coursed down Joe's cheeks.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. Balancing the bottle under his chin, he wiped the wetness from his face. He felt lost, and had no idea what to do next, whom to ask for help.

‘What are we going to do, eh, son?' he whispered.

The baby turned and looked towards the voice. Joe thought he understood what was being said, and leaning him back a little, looked into his eyes. ‘We'll get by, won't we, son?'

The infant moved in his arms, smiled, and Joe felt his heart almost burst with love. This helpless little baby was his flesh and blood, and totally depending on him. He felt ashamed at his momentary lapse of weakness. Placing the baby back in his crib, he tucked him up. Jenny slept on.

Going into the en-suite bathroom, he shaved and washed at the sink. With the door left open, he could see both the children. He felt better after the wash, invigorated and ready to phone a few agencies to find a nanny. When he had finished dressing, he decided to wake Jenny. It would be easier if they were all downstairs, and he had the phonebook and pens at hand. Leaning over her, he smiled at her flushed cheeks and chubby face. She looked so angelic in her white cotton nightdress, so still and peaceful it seemed a shame to wake her. Too still, Joe suddenly realised, he could hardly hear her breathing.

‘Jen,' he shook her arm, fear building as she failed to move. ‘Jenny, wake up!'

He placed his hand on her forehead. She was burning up. He had to get help. Picking up the phone, his hand shook as he punched in a number.

‘Ambulance,' he answered the query of the disembodied voice. ‘My little girl won't wake up.' He wanted to scream, but he would have to remain calm for Jenny's sake. He gave his address automatically and was grateful for the soothing voice that assured him they would be there as soon as possible. He ran downstairs, no longer afraid of the monster from the night before, and took the last bottle of formula from the fridge. Pulling on his coat, he stuffed keys and wallet into his pocket. Within minutes he was back upstairs. After putting the bottle in the baby's bag, he wrapped him in a blanket.

Helen should have been there. He could understand her leaving him. It was obvious now that she had only married him for his money. But, to desert her children was unthinkable. He knew his anger was unreasonable in the present situation, but it was keeping him from going mad. The wailing of a siren sounded in the distance.

‘It'll be all right now, Jenny,' he promised. ‘We'll soon have you well again.'

The siren came closer, its noise shattering the stillness of the morning. He heard the ambulance draw up outside and the sudden silence, as the siren was switched off.

‘We're up here,' he called through the window.

The paramedics thudded up the stairs and came into the room laden with a stretcher and equipment. They brushed by Joe, sensing immediately that their patient was very ill. Picking up the baby, he watched from the opposite side of the room as they worked on the small, still form. They threw question after question at him.

‘How long has she been like this? How old is she? Is she allergic to any medication?'

He answered as best he could, but he had no idea of her medical history. A tube was inserted into her airway and an oxygen mask covered most of her face. One of the men picked her up and placed her on the stretcher, covering her and strapping her in.

‘Will you be coming with us?'

‘Yes, of course.' Joe picked up the baby's bag and followed them.

There were no spectators to watch their departure. Joe climbed inside the ambulance, once the stretcher had been loaded. He heard the driver radioing a description of Jenny's condition to the waiting hospital staff. Cradling the baby, he watched as the paramedic worked on Jenny; seemingly oblivious to the bumping and swaying of the ambulance, he took her blood pressure and checked her heart.

‘Have you any idea what it is?' Joe asked.

‘I'm afraid not. They're still trying to work this out.'

‘Then there are other cases like this?'

‘There have been twenty-four other cases in the last three days, all with the same symptoms.'

‘These symptoms, what are they?'

‘See,' the man pointed towards Jenny's face. ‘The unusual swelling to the face, accompanied by a sore throat and fever.'

If only he had taken her to the doctor when she first started to complain; if he hadn't been so taken up with Helen and the baby, he might have noticed something was wrong.

‘You couldn't have known,' said the paramedic, noticing the pain in Joe's face. ‘It starts out like a chill and catches hold quickly. But children are very resilient.'

Joe forced a smile. She had to pull through. The children were all he had in the world. He did not know that out of the twenty-four cases he had just been told about, that two of them had already died, and both had been children.

****

The hospital bustled with life as Joe zigzagged his way along the corridor behind the stretcher, trying to avoid nurses, doctors and wheelchairs. After filling in the necessary forms, a nursing assistant ushered him towards the relative's waiting room.

‘Someone will be with you shortly,' she promised. ‘Your daughter is in safe hands.'

She hurried away and Joe was left to find a seat in a room that was already quite full. It was mostly couples sitting huddled together, all with the same anxious expression. They held tightly to one another, drawing strength from their closeness, praying and suffering, as only the parents of a sick child know how. Some of them looked at Joe and nodded. They all watched the door and moved to the edge of their seats every time it opened. The baby slept on, and he was thankful for this.

‘Mr Mahoney?' a nurse asked.

‘Yes, that's me,' Joe raised his hand.

‘Come with me, please.'

He struggled to his feet, baby nestled in the crook of one arm and the bag in the other. Following her unquestioningly along the corridor, he walked by her, as she pointed to an office.

‘Take a seat. Dr Peters will be with you in a moment.'

He sat and slid the bag onto the floor beside him. He felt the baby's hands to ensure he was warm enough, and didn't hear the doctor come in.

‘Joe. How are you? It's been a long time.'

‘Ted, my God. It's good to see you,' Joe held out his hand. ‘Forgive me for not standing.'

‘No bother, old boy. I can see you have your hands full; a grandchild, eh?'

‘A son.'

Ted Peters had been his friend through most of his senior college years. He had moved to England to study medicine and they had lost contact, but Ted had hardly changed. He was a few pounds heavier and his dark hair tinged with grey, but his eyes and good-natured smile were the same.

‘Sorry, me and my big mouth.'

‘No problem. God knows I'm old enough.'

‘And the little girl, her surname is different than yours, so I assumed.'

‘My stepdaughter.'

‘Ah, I see,' Ted sat down behind his desk. ‘And her mother?'

‘Left us, I'm afraid.'

‘You can contact her? You know where she is?'

‘I'm not sure,' he said, pausing at the urgency of the question. ‘Is it that bad?'

‘Look, Joe, I don't want to beat around the bush with you. Your daughter is stable at the moment. We're pumping as much fluid and antibiotics as we can into her, but the fact is, we really don't know what we're dealing with.'

‘What are her chances?'

‘We don't know. Over ten per cent of the cases we've treated have died. We have just been sent one of the leading bacteriologists in the country. She's working on it as we speak. I'll let you know as soon as we establish a link. Now, if you like, I'll take you to see your daughter.'

‘Yes, thank you.' Joe shifted the baby onto his arm and picked up the bag.

‘You can't take the baby, I afraid.'

‘What can I do? I have no one to take care of him.'

‘Your wife, perhaps?'

‘She wouldn't want to know.'

Ted checked the baby over carefully and was relieved to find him in perfect health.

‘Leave it to me,' he said, punching the numbers on the phone in front of him and speaking to a voice on the other end. ‘How would you like to take care of a lovely baby boy for a while?' he winked at Joe, already sure of the answer. ‘I thought you might. He'll be with you in the next half an hour. I'll explain later,' he said his goodbyes and turned to Joe. ‘That was my wife, Anne. She misses not having someone to take care of, and a room is already set up for visits from our grandchildren. Your son will be in safe hands, for however long it takes.'

‘I can't thank you enough.'

‘No thanks needed. She's always complaining she hasn't enough to do. You'll be doing me a favour. I'll take you to see your daughter, then I'll drive you there myself.'

Joe nodded, too overcome to speak. Ted spoke again into the phone and within seconds the baby was being taken from him by one of the nurses and Ted was leading him to Jenny's room. She looked so tiny in the big hospital bed, and the tubes running into her small white arms were frightening.

‘She hasn't regained consciousness, Dr Peters,' a nurse checking the tubes informed him.

Joe watched as Ted checked her vital signs.

‘We'll leave her be for the moment,' he said, placing an arm around Joe's shoulder. ‘She's not in pain, and that's a blessing.'

They collected the baby from the nursery and walked to the parking lot. Ted kept the conversation going as they drove to his house, trying to catch up on all the time since they had last met. Joe told him as much as he could about his life. Not that there was very much to tell, until his meeting with Helen.

‘Yeah,' Ted laughed, ‘marriage takes some getting used to.'

They drove down a tree-lined street bordered on either side with palatial houses and came to a stop in front of one. A woman emerged from the doorway.

‘This is Anne,' Ted spoke with pride, as he introduced his wife.

‘Nice to meet you, Joe,' she smiled, taking the baby from his arms.

The inside of the house was as magnificent as the outside. Anne had an eye for colour and decoration. Her taste was impeccable, and Joe wished for a moment that Helen had been like that.

‘We'd better get back to the hospital.' Ted took his elbow.

‘Yes, of course. Thank you very much,' he turned to Anne, but she was too busy fussing over the baby to take much notice of him.

They were walking back towards the car when she called out.

‘What's his name?'

Joe looked at her, puzzled.

‘The baby, what's his name?'

‘He doesn't have one yet.'

‘Never mind, I'll think of something.'

They returned to the hospital in relative silence and parted company once Ted had checked on Jenny. Joe sat beside her bed for the rest of the day, willing her to get better, and doing something he hadn't done since childhood, praying. He took no heed of the nurses, who urged him to get something to eat. He had no appetite, although his stomach felt hollow. It was after dark when he returned home. The taxi swept into the estate just as an ambulance was leaving.

The house was in darkness, the hallway an endless, black tunnel. All the streetlights were out, and he had to feel his way along the wall in search of a switch. He expected at any moment to feel another hand close over his own and he almost cried out with relief when he made contact with the switch, and light flooded the hall. Checking the answering machine, he was surprised to find a message from Helen. He wrote down the phone number she gave and dialled. There was no answer, but he left a message.

The house felt bleak and tomblike as he moved around it. He needed a shower after the warmth of the hospital and his own sweat from the worry. But first he would collect some more nightwear for Jenny, and books and toys, for when she was well enough to play. He packed a small bag with her stuff and went to shower. It had been very easy to be brave in the daylight. The dark had its own way of renewing fears. He listened above the noise of the water for any movement in the house. Finally, drying off, he went back to the bedroom. Two of the things from the night before were standing in the room, waiting for him.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end. Goose pimples rose on his skin, fear crawled across his body like millions of tiny insects. He started to back away as they moved towards him. Managing to close and lock the bathroom door, he stared at its white panels. They could easily come through it, he had seen them do that. He could hear them whispering and brought his ear against the door trying to hear. The sharp rap on the wood made him spring back in terror.

‘We mean you no harm. You know we are capable of walking through this door. It would not protect you, if our aim was to hurt you.' The tone was soft, a woman's voice. ‘We have come to ask about the child, the little girl, and to help if possible.'

Joe was shaking. Pulling a bath towel from the rail, he tried to cover himself. They were waiting for him to come out. If he didn't go to them, then they would come to him. Clutching the towel, he brought a quivering hand to the door key and turned it. They were still there, standing across the room from him.

‘Perhaps you would care to dress?' the woman suggested.

‘Yes, thank you.' He gathered the clothes he had discarded, not caring that they were dirty. He pulled on his trousers, almost falling over in his haste. The shirt felt warm against his chilled flesh. Finished, he stood waiting for what was to come next. It was the woman who spoke.

‘I am Lady Elizabeth Fitzwilliam. This,' she placed a skeleton hand on shoulder of the boy next to her, ‘is Timmy Walsh. I apologise for our appearance. It is not, I take it, all that it should be?'

The voice was cultured, and had Joe closed his eyes, she could have been a character from a period drama.

‘Y-yes,' he stuttered, ‘it takes some getting used to.'

‘Again I apologise. It is not of our choosing and I assure you, we mean you no harm.'

‘Thank you,' he said, edging his way to the bed and sitting down.

‘There is much sickness here,' the woman continued. ‘It is all around you. The child, will she recover?'

‘I don't know. God, I hope so,' Joe was momentarily unafraid, as he thought of Jenny. ‘They don't know what it is, so it's difficult to treat.'

‘It's typhus.'

‘Typhus!' he whispered the name, as though saying it out loud would make it worse. ‘I thought that had been wiped out years ago.'

‘It comes from the past. It has lain hidden for over a century. You must go to your doctors, tell them it is here. Already we fear it is too late.'

She sat on the bed beside him and he no longer felt the need to back away. The boy came and stood beside him.

‘How soon can you get word to them about the disease?' Timmy asked.

‘Now, this minute.' Joe reached for the phone and dialled the hospital. Ted had left for the night and he had no idea of his home number. The nurse in charge refused to give him the number, repeating automatically, that it was against hospital policy to do so.

Finally, he asked if the new bacteriologist was still there, and without replying she put him on hold. A few short rings sounded on the other end of the line.

Finally, ‘Hello, Dr Lucy Edwards.'

‘Dr Edwards,' Joe asked. ‘Are you the bacteriologist who's working on the unexplained fevers at the hospital?'

‘Look,' she sounded exasperated, ‘if you're a reporter, I have nothing to say.'

‘No, please,' Joe begged, ‘my little girl is one of your patients. I know what it is, the fever. I know what's causing it.'

‘Go on.'

‘It's typhus.'

‘That's impossible. Typhus was eradicated generations ago.'

‘Yes, I know it sounds impossible, but please believe me. It has resurfaced.'

There was silence for a few moments. He could hear a slight scratching as though she was writing.

‘Okay, I'll test for it right away.'

‘Oh, thank you,' he almost cried with relief. ‘I'll be in later. Thank you so much.'

He was shaking when he put the phone down. But, this time it wasn't from the fear of the things beside him. If this doctor could find a cause, then Jenny would live. He turned and looked at his two strange visitors.

‘She's going to test for it. I pray to God we're in time.'

The woman beside him held out her arms and the boy sat beside her. She cradled his head against her, stroking his limp, lifeless hair.

‘This is it, Timmy. This is why we are here. Why God in his infinite wisdom chose you. Don't you see, child,' she cupped the boy's face, ‘you finally have your chance to save the children.'

Joe watched, realising that these things were not monsters, but people. The sight before him was poignant. All the love he felt for his children was in that woman's touch upon the boy.

‘I'm sorry,' he murmured, before the tears that had been long threatening started up. His body shook as sobs tore from him, and the hand that rubbed his back felt like dried twigs against his skin. ‘I'm so sorry,' he looked up into the hollow eyes of the woman.

‘There is no need to be. We also know what it is to lose those you love.'

Joe listened for over an hour as she told him of the famine. Of the suffering brought about by ignorance, prejudice and the slavery of a nation.

‘Do you know of the famine? Do your people ever speak of it?'

‘Oh yes, we know about it. It's called the Great Famine. It is remembered through books and plays, songs and poems, even great monuments. You have not been forgotten.'

‘So,' she smiled, ‘we are written about, facts and figures maybe, though none but those who were there could imagine the full extent of what we endured. I suffered because I was a woman unable to bear a male heir. Timmy, because his family lived in servitude to an unjust landlord, and the other children,' she waved into the darkness outside, ‘because they were not allowed to rest. You cannot imagine what it is to be dead and yet walk the land. To know you are reviled and feared for a fate that is not of your making. But,' she sighed, ‘you must go now. Go to your child and your doctors. Tell them of this place and the disease that lies here.'

‘What about you? What will happen to you?'

‘We will be fine,' she said, placing an arm around the boy.

They faded away, dissolving into mist. He wanted to cry out that he would find a way to help them, but the words stuck in his throat. How can the living help the dead?

The recent events had left him shaken, and not trusting himself to drive, Joe rang for a taxi. He changed into fresh clothes and was waiting at the door when it drew up. He didn't want to stay inside the house. He was no longer afraid of the woman and boy, but that other thing, the one they called Black Jack, was a different matter. The streetlights were all out, the road lit only by the few chinks of light that escaped from the houses nearby. In the twenty minutes it took the taxi to arrive, he saw two more blanketed casualties being carried to cars and driven away at high speed. This typhus, this killer, was spreading fast.

He breathed a sign of relief when he was safely inside the taxi, and scanned the trees and bushes as they sped past, expecting to see shadowy figures watching. It was impossible to be sure if the shapes and darting movements from the hedgerows were anything other than his fearful imagination. Until now he had never realised how truly black the night could be. Nothing could have prepared him for the terror brought about by the going down of the sun. The warmth from the car heater was comforting. He closed his eyes and didn't open them until they arrived at the hospital.

****

The bright lights and general hubbub of the hospital calmed his nerves. It was difficult to believe in ghosts in the modern, antiseptic hospital surroundings. Jenny had been moved to an isolation ward, still un-conscious, swollen and flushed as ever.

‘No change,' the charge nurse told him at his anxious inquiry.

He had been sitting beside her bed for hours, dozing off periodically, only to be jerked awake by the clattering of medicine trolleys, and the movements of the nursing staff checking on Jenny. It was almost morning when he felt the light hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He looked up bleary-eyed into the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

‘Mr Mahoney?'

‘Yes, that's right,' he said, struggling to get up, his muscles aching after the nightlong vigil.

‘I'm Lucy Edwards. We spoke last night.'

‘Yes, yes, of course, doctor.'

Her handshake was warm and firm, and he wasn't sure whether it was her smile or the fact that he hadn't eaten that made him dizzy. She motioned him to follow her into the corridor.

‘Would you like to come down to the cafeteria with me? I've been working since early yesterday morning and could really do with something to eat. I'm sure you could use something as well.'

He nodded and set off beside her.

‘I'll tell you all about my findings once we're seated.'

The cafeteria was quiet at that time of the morning, just the occasional white-coated figure drinking coffee or pouring over paperwork. Once they were sitting across from each other, she began.

‘You were spot on with your diagnosis. It is typhus. Unfortunately they stopped making and storing the vaccine years ago, so a new batch has to be prepared, before I can inject you. We should have it soon. Until then we're pumping as much fluid and antibiotics as we can into the patients. I know how worried you must be. But, now that we know what it is, we're halfway there.'

‘Thank you,' he smiled and searched for something vaguely intelligent to say. ‘That's an American accent, right?

‘Yes, but I'm fifth generation Irish. My great, great, great, grandmother came from here, and I've always wanted to return. I came over on vacation last year and I was hooked. Couldn't seem to settle once I got back home and within seven months I'd sold up, got this job, and here I am.'

‘Did your family mind your moving?'

‘I've no family to speak of. My mother's happily married for the third time,' she rolled her eyes, ‘and as I'm an only child, there was no real objection. I miss my friends though, and there hasn't been much time to make new ones yet. What about you? Tell me about your family.'

‘That's a rather pathetic story,' he cleared his throat. ‘I've been a bit of a fool.' He told her about Helen. Their hasty marriage, his growing suspicion about the drugs and how she'd finally deserted them. ‘I suppose I should be grateful in one way. I have a son and stepdaughter so at least I'm not alone any more, not back where I started,' he said, fiddling with the grains of spilt sugar on the table.

‘Perhaps she'll come back? Some women behave differently after they have given birth. The shock of responsibility of a new baby may have scared her.'

‘No,' Joe shook his head. ‘It's over. It should never have begun.'

‘Tell me,' she asked, changing the subject, ‘what makes you such a great diagnostician?'

‘If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. I find it hard to believe myself.'

‘Go on, try me.' She turned suddenly and looked towards the doorway. A white-coated figure was gesturing to her.

‘Something is happening.'

She rushed from the room and Joe had trouble keeping up with her as they wound their way through the maze of corridors. Once they reached the isolation wards, she began issuing directions, as those that had been held in the grip of the fever started to rally. He ran back to be with Jenny, and within minutes Lucy arrived followed by a nurse pulling one of the clattering trolleys. She skilfully administered another shot of antibiotic in to Jenny's arm.

‘What now?' Joe asked.

‘We watch and wait. It's working on the other patients,' Lucy called over her shoulder, as she hurried from the room.

****

The next few hours passed slowly. There was the usual bustle in the corridors as the staff changed shift. The odd laugh and hurried calls of goodbye were more cheering than the hushed tones of night-time conversations. Joe walked to the window and watched the outside world continue as usual. Ambulances pulled into the bays below, deposited their cargo and were off again in minutes. The parking lots teemed with life, white-coated figures merging with the more colourful ones of the visitors and day patients.

‘I'm thirsty.'

The hoarse voice startled him, and he hurried to the bed and felt her forehead. It was considerably cooler.

‘Welcome back, Jen.'

She looked up at him, quizzically.

‘Why? Where was I?'

‘You were in a very deep sleep, but it doesn't matter now, you're back.'

She looked around the room in wonder.

‘Am I in hospital?'

‘Yes. Remember how sick you felt, how much your throat hurt.'

‘Yeah, it still hurts a bit.'

‘I'll get you some water, back in a minute.'

He went to the nurse's station, told them Jenny was awake and asked for a drink. The nurse ushered him back to the ward, and within minutes doctors surrounded them. Ted was delighted to see the child sitting up and drinking. Lucy followed shortly after, and reported that the same results were happening in all the other wards.

‘I don't know what we would have done without your help,' she told him. ‘It could have taken weeks before we found out what it was. By that time who knows how many would have died.'

‘Glad I could help.'

Lucy stayed and talked with Jenny. Asking her where she played, what she had eaten the first time she'd felt sick, who her friends were. She noted down the information to check against her files, to look for a common link. Joe walked over to the window, gestured at her to follow.

‘I think I know where the source is.'

‘You do? That's great, where?'

‘The estate where I live.'

‘Not that I doubt your word, but what makes you think so?'