by Rose Pearson
“Don’t you know?” he asked, sounding a little surprised. “I thought, since you were bringing your brother here –”
“He’s not my brother,” Josephine interrupted, quickly. “I just saw him coming towards the church. He wouldn’t have made it in here on his own.”
The elderly gentleman paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on hers. “You have a kind heart, I think,” he said, softly. “That is good of you, miss.”
Josephine managed a small smile. “Josephine,” she said, as they helped the young man down onto a pile of hessian sacks in the corner. “I – I can help, if you need me here?”
She did not know where such an offer had come from, but neither could she simply stand here and look at all the sick folk without feeling the urge to help them. She knew she could easily move on and go to find herself a new place to live, away from the disease, but seeing the pain and the grief that existed here tugged at her heart. Turning away from them all now would be senseless.
“It be dangerous around here,” the gentleman said in a low tone, as the young man tossed and turned on the floor beside them. “The fever takes almost everyone.”
Josephine’s mind immediately threw up images of her own parents as they struggled with fever, her gut twisting painfully. “I have already had it,” she replied, softly. “I do not fear it.”
The elderly gentleman seemed to understand. “For whatever reason, the good Lord has seen fit to spare me also,” he replied, patting her shoulder. “I’m Sam. The good doctor you see over there is Doctor Thomas. The vicar stays in the church most days, doing as much praying as he can. The doctor here’s a good man. He’s doing all he can to help these folk but more just keep coming.” Shaking his head, he sighed sadly. “There’s a few more that help us, but they do the burying.”
Josephine closed her eyes for a moment, grief rising up in her.
“You’ve lost a few loved ones?”
Her voice was barely audible. “My parents,” she replied, hoarsely. “I’m not from here. I mean, I came from Hampstead but the fever is worse here.”
Sam nodded. “It is. It takes the young especially.” His eyes were sad as he looked at her. “Are you certain you want to help us here, Josephine? It isn’t a place of happiness.”
“I know,” Josephine replied immediately, feeling her resolve steadying. “But I want to help. Truly. What can I do?”
Sam smiled at her, looking relieved and grateful. “Let me just fetch Doctor Thomas over here to look at this young man and then I’ll get him to talk to you.”
Josephine watched quietly as Doctor Thomas looked over the young man on the pile of sacks, seeing the strain so evident on the doctor’s face. He was pale and exhausted, evidence of his lack of rest.
“He is burning up,” the doctor muttered, shaking his head.
“And he was holding his throat when I first drew near him,” Josephine added gently. “That is what made me think he had the fever.”
Doctor Thomas, whom Josephine thought to be younger than his lined face appeared, looked at her with resignation. “You have seen this fever, then?”
“I have endured it,” Josephine replied, firmly.
The doctor gestured to the man’s mouth. “You see this? This paleness here around his mouth?” His voice was devoid of emotion, as though he had separated himself entirely from what he had seen and experienced. “It is the sign I always look for to make a sure diagnosis. This man has scarlet fever. It will progress quickly. The rash will appear on him very soon.”
There was a subtle warning in his words but Josephine fought back her sudden jolt of fear. She had been through this once already and would not allow it to chase her away. “I want to help, sir. What can I do?”
The doctor shook his head. “I am doing what I can for them all, but with the vomiting, there is always a good deal that needs to be cleaned up.” His eyes flickered to hers, questions deep within. “The patients need cool rags on their foreheads to attempt to keep their temperatures down. They require gruel if they can stomach it. I am attempting treatments with a solution of salts and nitrate silver, but it seems that it only helps some.”
Sam cleared his throat. “If they make it past the ninth day, then we have a little more hope. Those patients are moved to the other end of the basement. The worst ones stay down here.”
“We do not let the blood,” the doctor continued, with a sharp look towards Josephine. “I know it is often common practice amongst those in higher society but these people here have nowhere else to go. They are weak and frail. To bleed them now and let them faint will, I believe, only make things worse. We treat them with what we have and do a good amount of praying.”
Josephine looked back at the doctor steadily. “I can pray, sir.” She felt her determination rise, desperate to do what she could to help these unfortunate people. “Have you vinegar and feverfew, Doctor Thomas?”
A slight frown flickered across the man’s brow. “I do.”
“My mother used to use it to help bring a fever down,” Josephine replied, with a small smile. “Might I be permitted to make up a solution for the cool cloths?”
The doctor did not seem to be affronted by this suggestion in any way. “You are welcome to try anything,” he said, calmly. “I have done as much as I can thus far although I am always eager to hear of any new treatments. Do whatever you wish with the vinegar and feverfew, Josephine. I will be glad for your help.”
She smiled at him, her expression tinged with sorrow. “Thank you, sir. I will do whatever I can to help you. There are just so many of them.” Her eyes drifted over the doctor’s shoulder, looking at the prone form of so many patients, their bodies racked with suffering. “I can only hope it will be of some use.”
Some hours later and Josephine felt exhausted. She had been given the freedom to use the vinegar and feverfew and had worked herself to the bone, rinsing the cloths in the concoction before placing them on the foreheads of those who were unwell. The little children she bathed or ensured that their mothers or sisters caring for them knew exactly what to do. The young man in the corner, the one she had helped bring inside, was no longer tossing and turning but rather appeared to have settled a little, although he was still hot to the touch.
Setting down her bowl, she rinsed his cloth again and patted it gently over his face before placing it back on his forehead. The young man groaned quietly but his eyes remained shut. Josephine closed her eyes and prayed silently for a moment, her heart aching for the loss and the grief and the death that surrounded her.
“The doctor is mighty pleased with you.”
Looking up, she saw Sam standing to her left, looking at the man on the floor.
“Is he?” Josephine murmured, getting to her feet. “I’m glad I’m able to do something.”
Sam lifted one eyebrow. “That mixture of yours seems to be helping a good few folks. I’m not saying the fever’s gone from them but it does seem to be settling them a bit more. Just look at this chap here! He’s not tossing and turning anymore.”
Josephine let out a small sigh. “My mother used to treat folk in our village this way. She said it was always good at helping to bring down a fever.”
“I’m sorry you lost her,” Sam said, gently. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now, helping these folk. This fever is a terrible thing to endure.”
Josephine nodded fervently. “It is,” she said faintly, remembering the terrible ache in her throat and the dryness of her mouth and skin. “I do not know how I got through it when so many other folks are dying.”
Sam shook his head. “Maybe it is so we can help,” he said, with a slight shrug. “There aren’t exactly a lot of folk here willing to come down to the Devil’s basement to take care of the sick.”
Something inside Josephine shuddered violently. “The Devil’s basement?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “Is that what they call this place?”
Sam spread out a hand at the dark, gloomy basement filled wit
h nothing but sickness and death. “Isn’t that what it looks like?” he asked, with compassion showing on his face. “And yet you are here anyway. An angel sent to help the sick. That’s what you are, Josephine, an angel. And angels can bring light and life.”
Josephine struggled against the fears that began to tie themselves around her heart, knowing that what she had done with the vinegar and feverfew was only a very small part of battling the fever. “I hope so,” she whispered, tears pricking at her eyes as another wail went up from the back of the basement. Another person gone. Another life taken. Another grave to dig. Another death here in the Devil’s basement.
4
“Jones?”
The butler turned at the sound of Gideon’s voice, looking at him with fear in his eyes.
Gideon’s stomach twisted. “Is he ill?”
“I’m afraid so, my lord,” the butler said, hoarsely. “The doctor has been and prescribed the same thing as he did for Maisy, God rest her soul.”
It had now been a fortnight since Gideon had returned home and things had grown steadily worse. Maisy, the maid taken ill with the fever, had subsequently died and had needed to be buried. Everything in her room had been burned, for that was thought to be one way to prevent the disease from spreading. Gideon had overseen it himself, whilst the butler had ensured that Maisy’s room had been scrubbed from top to bottom. Gideon had prayed that this meant the disease wouldn’t spread but now, it seemed, it had taken hold of his household.
This was the third footman sick and the only other maid left in the house was now rather pale – although Gideon could not tell whether that was from fear, exhaustion or illness.
“You had best go home, Jones,” he said, thickly. “I will not have you ill also.”
The butler drew himself up to his full height. “I will not leave your side, my lord.”
Gideon shook his head, firmly. “No, Jones. You are a stalwart and I both respect and appreciate your willingness to do what you can to remain loyal to this family but I cannot have another person becoming ill simply from being in this house.”
Jones shook his head. “I do not think I need fear this illness, my lord,” he said, slowly. “I recall having such symptoms when I was a young man. The agony of it still lingers in my memory but perhaps in having it once, I will not have it again.” Holding up one hand, he stopped Gideon’s protest. “I insist, my lord. You need help and I am more than willing to give it. Please, allow me to do my duties, as I have done for so long. I am not afraid.”
Gideon wanted to insist that Jones return to his small cottage just outside the estate and remain there until the fever no longer gripped his estate but he could tell from the look in the man’s eyes that he was completely determined to remain no matter Gideon said.
“Very well,” he said, heavily. “What does the doctor suggest for the footmen?”
Jones shook his head, his expression morose. “Just the same as Maisy,” he said, slowly. “Cool cloths, broth and perhaps a bleeding if they do not improve.”
Something twisted in Gideon’s gut. “A bleeding did not help Maisy,” he muttered, darkly. “It only appeared to weaken her all the more.” The doctor had bled Maisy stating that it was to purify and cleanse, but Gideon had seen her weaken almost immediately after. Less than a day later, and she was gone.
“There are to be no blood lettings, Jones,” he said, firmly. “We will do what we can to help them with the cloths and the broth but there is to be nothing else unless I permit it.”
The butler looked a little relieved. “Very good, my lord. Will I make up the broth?”
Gideon, who had been relying on the kitchen maid for their somewhat meagre meals of late, lifted a brow. “You know how to make broth, Jones?”
A small smile caught the butler’s lips. “I do, and may I say it is a very good broth, my lord,” he replied, quickly. “I can bring some for yourself and the ladies also, if you would enjoy it with the cold meats and cheeses that have been set aside for dinner this evening?”
“I would be most grateful,” Gideon replied, firmly, despite the fact that his dinners of late had been very different to what he was used to. “You are a marvel, Jones. Remind me to increase your wages.”
“Should I survive, my lord, then I will ensure I do just that,” the butler replied, a touch morbidly, before making his way towards the kitchens.
Gideon sighed heavily for a moment before picking up the tea tray and making his way back up the servants’ staircase and towards the drawing room. His mother was growing more and more weary every day and his sister, Miss Francine Peters, had finally been convinced to stop going out to the tenant’s homes so often when they required her help here. Of course, it had been profoundly difficult for the three of them to adjust to such a change in their circumstances and in what was required of them but Gideon was proud of the way both his mother and sister had faced their difficulties without question.
“Mama?”
He walked into the drawing room and set the tea tray down in front of the fire, seeing his mother’s lined face weary in the firelight.
“You are tired, mama,” he said gently, handing her a cup of tea. “You must rest.”
His mother let out a quiet laugh. “I cannot rest, Dunstable, not now. Not when there is a crisis.”
Gideon frowned, looking into his mother’s face and seeing her flushed cheeks. “Are you feeling quite all right, mama?” he asked, carefully. “You are not feeling ill, are you?”
Lady Dunstable did not immediately respond. “I – I am feeling a little chilled, that is all,” she said after a moment or two. “I thought to sit close to the fire in order to ward the cold away. I am quite sure I am just rather tired, that is all.” Her smile, however, did not reach her eyes and there was something about her expression that told Gideon he needed to watch her carefully.
“You need not do anything other than sit here for the rest of the day,” he said, quietly. “Promise me you will not move from this seat until I return.”
She laughed tiredly, pressing his hand with fingers that were warm on his own. She was so glad to have him back from London. “Of course, Dunstable, if you insist. Where are you going?”
“I must see to the horses,” Gideon replied, feeling a little uneasy about leaving his mother alone. “Is Francine to join you soon?”
“Very soon,” his mother replied, evidently aware of his concern. “She insisted on banking the fires in both my bedchamber and her own, although how she has learned what to do is quite beyond me!”
A small chuckle escaped Gideon, thinking fondly of his sister with her determined spirit. “Because Francine will simply try and try and try until she succeeds at whatever she is doing, no matter how much it costs her.” He rose to his feet, his concern for his stubborn sister and exhausted mother still ringing through him. “You will encourage her to sit for a time, will you not?”
“Of course,” his mother replied with a smile. “Go and see to the horses, Gideon. We will be quite all right until you return.”
Gideon made his way outside, drawing in a long breath of fresh air and letting it fill his lungs. Looking up at the sky, he took in the blue, the wisps of cloud floating across the sky and the birds that were flying from one place to the next. No-one would guess that this place was struggling with the fever, not in such an idyllic circumstance. And yet, there was more fear and death and darkness within him than he had ever felt before.
“My lord, you have a letter.”
Jerking in surprise, Gideon turned to see the butler hurrying towards him, a sealed note in his hand. “Thank you.” Jones nodded and made to turn away.
“How are the footmen?”
The butler hesitated. “I cannot tell, my lord,” he replied, honestly. “They are all taking some broth and the cloths appear to be doing their part in helping settle their fever but there is no great change, I’m afraid.” He turned his head. “Should I send for the doctor again?”
Gideon reaction w
as instant. “No, indeed not,” he said, firmly. “The man will only want to bleed them and I will not have it. Not after what happened with Maisy.”
“Very good, my lord.” The butler left him alone to read the letter which he knew at once to be from Georgina. The seal broken, he unfolded it quickly and began to read.
‘Dunstable’, it began. ‘I have returned to London only to find my father gone to his country seat already. I have written to him and expect the carriage to be sent for me forthwith. I have a few staff, my lady’s maid and my companion still here so I will be glad to wait.’
“Foolish girl,” Gideon muttered aloud, frustrated that she had returned to London without making certain that her father would still be there. “She ought to have waited here until a letter could be sent.”
There was more to the letter.
‘I do not wish to see you, Dunstable, not until you are sure the illness has left your estate,’ Georgina continued. ‘The fever continues to rage through London but I am certain I am quite safe within my father’s house. Do not come for me, I pray you. Once the illness has cleared from your home then I should be glad to stay for an extended visit, as I had initially intended. Yours, Georgina.’
It was a fairly short letter but certainly direct. Gideon had not expected anything less, for he knew Georgina was nothing more than a self-indulgent young lady who, in spite of her foolishness was most likely afraid of the fever sweeping through the realm. He could well understand that.
Making his way to the stables, Gideon crumpled up the letter and placed it firmly in his pocket, finding that he did not particularly care whether or not Georgina was to return to him or not. The truth was, he had never felt anything for the lady, and certainly had never had even a moment of true affection for her. They were to be married, yes, but it was a marriage based on suitability and family ties rather than anything else. He had always expected such a thing, given that he was to be a titled lord of the realm and so had never allowed himself to yearn for or even think of anything else.