Paupers Graveyard (9 page)

There was no reply. Instead it held out its hand and offered what was in it. Timmy moved closer, puzzled, the bony fingers were closed over whatever it held. Grass, it was just grass!

‘I don't understand. What do you want me to do with this?'

The man tried to lift his head; it was taking what little strength he had left to do so. Slowly a face emerged from out of the hair and Timmy gasped at the green-stained mouth.

‘I can't,' he said, starting to back away from the hand. How could he be expected to eat grass? It was for animals and sick dogs, not for people.

He must get home, he reminded himself, taking to the road again.

At last the cabin came into view. He was relieved to find it still standing and with a curl of smoke rising from the chimney. He ran towards it. The pig was no longer furrowing in the yard, the cabin door was locked and not a sound came from within.

‘Ma,' he called, banging against the door. ‘Ma, it's me, Timmy, I've come home.'

The shutter on the kitchen opened slightly and he recognised his father's voice.

‘Go away, be off with you now. You're no longer welcome here.'

‘Da, it's me Timmy! Look!'

‘You heard what I said, boy, be off with you.'

He was frightened by the words from the disembodied voice, but before he could say any more the shutter slammed shut. He tried to peer through the wooden slats, but it was impossible to see anything in the gloom.

‘Pat!' Inside, his mother was on her knees. ‘In the love and honour of God, Pat, let the boy come in.'

‘He has the fever, woman, do you want him to kill us all?'

‘He's cured, Pat. Why else would the doctor have sent him home?'

‘Please, Da,' the children begged, ‘let Timmy come in.'

‘He'll not enter this house, not while I still have breath in my body.'

Their father picked up the stick and waved it at them, but it was no longer a threat. He could barely lift it; in place of the once strong man, stood a bony skeleton. Most of his teeth had fallen out from the scurvy and the rags that he wore were hanging from his body.

‘He'll die if you leave him outside,' cried his wife.

‘Then he'll die. It's coming to all of us soon.'

‘I'll go to him,' she said, but her husband caught her and held on.

‘Look around you, woman. Look at your children and think.'

She turned to her two sons and small daughter who stood huddled together by the fire. They, like their father, were no more than skeletons.

‘If you go out, catch the fever and die, what'll become of them? I'm not long for this world myself, and then what, who will fend for them?'

‘Better we all catch it and go together, than leave my child to die alone.'

‘I'll kill you here and now, if you try to go outside.'

She knew he would. Frail as he was, he was still a lot stronger than her.

‘Let me speak to him then. Just a few words and I promise I'll not try to leave.'

‘You can speak to him from the window.'

She nodded and he let go of her. Moving to the window, she opened it a little.

‘Timmy!' she called. ‘Timmy, come here, son.'

‘Ma!' he cried.

She could not speak for a moment. He looked so well, so strong compared to his siblings.

‘Timmy, you can't come in. I'm sorry, son,' she said, trying not to cry. ‘You have to leave for a while. Go to the workhouse. Tell them you're an orphan and they'll take you in.'

‘The workhouse, Ma, why?' He knew this awful place was only for the destitute, the paupers.

‘Just do as I ask, child. They'll feed you and God knows there's nothing here for you. We're starving ourselves, and will probably join you there soon.'

‘But I can help. I can find work now that I'm well again.'

‘There's no work, child, nothing. The potatoes failed again.'

‘Heed your mother, boy,' his father said. ‘Be on your way.'

The shutter closed and he was alone again.

His mother ran into the bedroom. Flinging open the shutters, she screamed. ‘Timmy!'

He ran back and grabbed hold of her outstretched hand. Her fingers slipped from his as his father caught hold of her and tried to drag her back. She fought him like a tigress with one hand, while holding on to the sill with the other.

Timmy watched the struggle in amazement. His parents looked like the others he had met along the road. They twisted and turned in an unholy dance like the marionettes he'd once seen at the Hall, finally, her strength gave way and she was hauled back inside. Her words echoed away as the shutters were closed with a bang.

‘Stay well, child, and remember your promise.'

‘I will, Ma,' he sobbed, resting his forehead against the cool dried mud of the cabin walls. ‘I'll never forget, and I'll never let you down.'

Elizabeth had learned of a ship sailing on the twenty-ninth of March and she was going to get them a passage on it. The dock was more than two hours drive away; they would need to leave a day early to walk the distance and find overnight lodgings. She would also need to buy enough dry food to keep them all during the month-long voyage; ship's rations were not to be trusted.

Her savings had been drained of two pounds and ten shillings, due to the wound in her side becoming septic and requiring the services of a doctor. It had taken months to recover and she now had just fourteen pounds left.

The day before they departed, she packed two canvas bags, taking only what could be easily carried between herself and Lucy. Up until now she hadn't told the children anything about her plans, being too afraid they might let it slip when speaking to their uncle. Not that he would have minded their going, but if he knew she had money he would try to take it from her. It was Carey she was most afraid of. He would do everything in his power to stop her.

The night before departure she gathered the children in her room and whispered her plan to them. Becky and Charlotte jumped up and down, squealing with excitement. The prospect of a sea voyage was a big adventure to them, and they had no idea they were fleeing from famine. Lucy nodded sadly. Elizabeth could understand how upsetting this was for her. She was old enough to be aware of leaving everything familiar. The next hour was filled with questions, and after a while, even Lucy got caught up in the chatter.

Becky and Charlotte wanted to bring their dolls and sulked when they were told they could only take one each. This sent them hurrying to the nursery to choose and gave Elizabeth and Lucy some time on their own.

‘It's not going to be easy, leaving here and starting out anew, but we have no choice.'

‘I understand, Mamma and I'm not really sad. It's just that I will miss this place.'

‘So will I. I'll miss the memory of what it once was.'

Next morning they waited until Charles and Carey had gone before starting out on the deserted road, pausing only to say goodbye at John's grave. Elizabeth was amazed that there were so many freshly dug graves. After a moment of prayer, she ushered the children away. Closing the gate, she stopped for a moment and looked across the graveyard. The trees towered above the graves, silent sentinels amid the awfulness of so many new mounds.

‘Goodbye, my love,' she whispered.

They walked for miles and seemed no closer to town. She had hoped that a passing cart might give them a lift, but there were none. Their first encounter with one of the living skeletons caused considerable upset. It was a small child. It crawled out from a ditch, moaning, hands outstretched. Charlotte had screamed on seeing it and it took Elizabeth all her strength to loosen the little girl's fingers from her skirts. The others stood mute with shock at the terrible figure before them, and once she had calmed Charlotte, Elizabeth hurried them away. She had no food to offer the starving creature and could do nothing to help.

They walked on in silence save for the sound of Charlotte's sniffling. No taverns or lodging houses were open to welcome them; most of the business people had left the country, and what taverns there had been were boarded up or looted. Elizabeth knew they would not make the town before nightfall. The smaller girls were already complaining about the cold. There was no choice, she decided, they would have to spend the night in the open. Luckily the sky was clear, and she doubted if it would rain. Catching sight of what she took to be an abandoned cabin, she ordered the girls to wait, until she checked that it was safe.

The roof had all but caved in, but there was still enough standing to give them shelter. The inside smelt of damp and something sickly-sweet. Broken utensils and chairs littered the room. She was just about to go outside and call the girls, when a movement from a dark corner stopped her. As her eyes adjusted she saw, with terror, at least five corpses in varying degrees of decomposition, huddled under a single blanket. Each wore an expression of unrepressed agony, mouth open in a silent scream.

She backed away, shaking. But there had been movement; maybe one of them was still alive. It was impossible to tell in the gathering darkness. She searched for a light and soon found a small stub of a candle and some dry flint. This she struck on the metal bar over the long-
dead fire and was relieved when it caught. Cupping her hands over the flame, she moved back towards the corner. There it was again, the movement. Maybe there was a small child or baby under the foul smelling blanket. She picked up the edge and pulled it back. The reason for the movement became clear and she stumbled back, retching.

A black swarm of rats fed on the corpses. Elizabeth was paralysed, as she watched them move, as one, over the bones of their victims. It wasn't until Lucy called her name that she managed to shrug off her revulsion and hurry back outside.

‘Is it all right, Mamma?'

She shook her head, unable to answer, she herded them away. No matter how many more cabins they came across, she would not try to enter one again. For months afterwards she would wake screaming, having once again heard the shuffling and terrible scraping of the claws.

They walked on, until finally they found shelter beneath the branches of a giant oak. Elizabeth was relieved to find a hollow big enough for them to crawl into at the base of the tree. This would protect them from the elements and they were out of sight of any passing strangers. Her mind was filled with thoughts of the child she had seen that day. If she didn't have the money for the voyage, that could have been one of her children.

They woke cramped and cold at first light. It was another clear day and she was thankful for this. They had walked only a short distance before the children started asking for something to eat.

‘Mamma, my stomach hurts,' Charlotte whimpered.

Elizabeth assured them that they would soon be in the town and perhaps they could pick berries on the way. But all the bushes had been picked clean. She was relieved when the masts of the ships came into view on the horizon.

The town was a mass of humanity. People lay dead in the streets and hundreds begged at the workhouse gates. She led her family down back lanes and through side streets, but there was no way she could protect them from the horror. The quayside was crowded with emigrants. The rich sat stiffly in their carriages and looked down their noses at the wretches sitting fearfully on the road. Large leather-studded trunks contrasted poignantly with the bundles of rags being carried by the poor.

Elizabeth knew many of these were tenants being sent abroad by landlords who found it more economical to pay their passage across the ocean than to leave them on the land. This action cleansed the lands of the unwanted and left it clear for the planting of wheat, oats and barley. Most tenants were in the charge of an overseer, paid by the landlord to make sure they went. People who had never set foot outside their village were being dispatched to the other side of the world.

Elizabeth pushed her way through the crowds to reach the captain of the ship she required. He was bartering with the overseers, and it took her some time to attract his attention.

‘I need passage on your ship for my children and myself. What will it cost?' she enquired. She could see the demand was great, and where there is such demand there are usually higher prices.

‘Six pounds a head.'

‘Surely not for children as well?'

‘Let's see them.'

She waved to Lucy who was standing on the edge of the crowd to bring the others. He looked them carefully up and down, rubbing his beard in thought.

‘I'll take the two smaller ones for the price of an adult. It will be eighteen pounds for all of you. That's in the hold mind, not in a cabin.'

‘How much for a cabin?'

‘An extra four pounds. But it'll be worth it for the children's sake.'

She had only fourteen pounds. That would pay for the children, but she still needed another eight for her own fare and for the cabin. Then there was the food to buy for the voyage.

‘I don't have enough money for us all, but I have jewels.'

‘Sorry, ma'am,' he held up a hand, ‘but I can only accept cash.'

‘Here,' she handed him twelve pounds as a deposit. ‘We'll take the cabin, and I'll be back soon with the remainder of the money.'

‘Very well,' he pocketed the notes, ‘we sail in two hours.'

‘I'd like to take the children on board now, if I may. I have things to see to in the town and they would be safer here.'

‘Mr Williams,' he called to his first mate, ‘will you take this lady and her children aboard?'

The man nodded and they followed him up the wooden gangplank onto the ship. Even in the dock it felt shaky beneath their feet, and she wondered what it would be like on the high seas.

‘Is it a cabin for you and the little ones, madam?' he asked.

‘Yes, that's right.'

He led them up a flight of stairs and along a corridor lined with doors. ‘You're lucky to be the first passengers on board. All cabins are supposed to be the same, but this is the best one, I think.'

It was larger than she had imagined and lined with bunk beds on each side. A small porthole lit the room and prevented it from being suffocating. At least they would have a bunk each, and turning back the covers, she was pleased to find the linen was clean. A small table stood between the bunks with a chair either side of it. On it there were four tin mugs and plates, but no forks or knives. A box held candles, a piece of flint, and a small oil lamp hung from the ceiling.

‘Well, this isn't too bad, is it?' she asked the children. But they were already climbing onto the bunks and peeping through the porthole.

‘I have to go out,' she told Lucy. ‘Pack away the bags as best you can and lock the door once I'm gone. Don't worry. I'll be back in plenty of time for the trip.'

She went outside before they could ask any questions, and once she heard the bolt slam shut, hurried from the ship. She would have to find a jeweller or pawnbroker quickly to sell her sapphires. The two pounds she had left would buy the food, but she would have to get at least ten pounds more. The necklace alone was worth a hundred and with the matching earrings she would have enough left over to give them a start in the New World. She finally found an open jeweller's and went inside. The bell over the door jingled in the dusty quiet of the shop. An old man came from behind a curtained door and stood waiting for her to state her business.

‘I would like to sell these,' she took a cloth from the pocket of her dress and spread it on the counter. The sapphires glittered in the dim light as he picked up the necklace and examined it, then the earrings.

‘I'll give you four pounds for the lot.'

She looked at him in amazement. Four pounds for something so valuable!

‘Are you serious?'

‘These are hard times, lady.'

Folding the cloth over the jewellery, she started to put them back in her pocket.

‘I'm the only one buying in the town.'

She stopped short. Even if she took his ridiculous offer she still would not have enough for her fare. Placing the bundle back down, she put her hands behind her neck and unclasped the chain the held the locket bearing her and John's images.

‘How much for this?' She laid the heavy, gold piece on the counter.

He was sure of his game and moved in for the kill. ‘One pound.'

‘A pound!'

‘Take it or leave it, lady. I'm a busy man.'

She looked around the empty shop, he was busy indeed, feeding off the misery and suffering of others. Still, the four pounds would pay for the cabin. The children would not survive in the hold, and the two pounds she had left would feed them. But they would have to go without her.

Picking up the locket, she refastened it about her neck. ‘I'll accept your offer for the sapphires,' she said, pushing the cloth towards him.

He took it and walked back behind the curtain. She heard the clang of a steel door and he re-emerged counting out the money. Selling the locket would have been pointless, as a pound mattered little in the scale of things. As she was about to leave the shop she stopped and turned back. She had to say something to this horrid, grasping man. He waited as she tried to think of some words that would fit.

‘There will come a time for all of us when we have to stand before the Lord and be counted. What will you answer when he asks you what you did to help your fellow man?'

‘I'm doing the same as many others, so I'll be in good company.'

‘Perhaps, but unfortunately for you, you can't buy your way into heaven.'

She went in search of a grocer and arrived back at the ship laden down with bags. After taking the food to the cabin and ordering the girls to pack it away, she went again to see the captain. Following direction from one of the crew, she found him in his cabin going through a list of passengers.

He looked up when she knocked and bade her enter, ‘You have the rest of the money?'

She took the four pounds from her pocket and laid it down on his table.

‘What is this?'

‘That's to pay for the cabin. I haven't enough for my fare. I have also supplied the children with food, so there will be no need of the ship's rations.'

‘Then they will be travelling alone, I take it?'

‘Yes, unless …?'

‘There is no room on this ship for those who cannot pay their way.'

‘I can work for my fare. I'm a good cook and I can nurse the sick … if you'll just let me try.'

He turned from his paperwork and caught her hands. She tried to pull back, but he held her fast as he examined the skin on her fingers and palms.

‘These hands have never seen a day's hard work,' he pushed her away in disgust. ‘You'd be of no help to me.'