by John Patrick
The Galley’s home was just fifty yards further down the street. It was a smaller house than the Jarvis's and on the end of another red brick row. The door was chained and locked and bore a bold red cross. A small crowd watched from a safe distance and a self-conscious guard shuffled awkwardly on a stool outside.
The Galleys were modest traders who had decided to take their chances and stay in the city to protect their interests. Misses Galley's illness had been spotted by the man next door and reported to the Examiner. When he voiced his concerns, the neighbour failed to mention that he had a long-standing dispute with Mister Galley and that the two had nearly come to blows on more than one occasion. Mister Galley was out when the officials came calling. The examiner brought his surgeon for advice. They debated whether the marks on the woman's skin were proof of the first case of plague on the street. They weren't typical and she didn't seem especially sick, but what was to be gained by complacency? They couldn't risk people's lives by being slack. They ordered the house be sealed up until further notice. They collected a donation from the neighbour and left. By the time Mister Galley returned home, the house was locked and the parish constable was standing outside with his watchmen waiting for him. Mister Galley's pleadings fell on deaf ears, and the house was opened just long enough to shove him inside. The neighbour clapped his approval.
As the child of a servant, Mary would not be allowed to mix with the likes of Isabel Galley, even though she was about the same age. It hadn't always been that way. Isabel's nanny was once a good friend of Elizabeth, and on Sunday afternoons, when Elizabeth was allowed some hours to herself they would meet, Elizabeth with Mary and the nanny with Isabel. They would stroll together through the streets, the adults complaining about their jobs and gossiping about the goings-on in their houses, whilst the children ran ahead. Until the age of seven Isabel and Mary had played happily, unaware of their different stations in life, their friendship kept secret from Isabel's parents. After that, Mary was given chores and Isabel an education, so their meetings dried up. They both retained fond memories of those days, but as time went on Mary had been made more aware of her lowly status and Isabel discouraged from associating below hers. Their communications became restricted to an occasional muted smile or nod. Their friendship wilted.
Now Isabel stared down from her upstairs bedroom window. She watched enviously as Mary walked freely outside. Isabel was frightened. She wanted to believe her mother’s reassurances, but the Examiner had seemed fairly sure and now they were all locked up, like common criminals. Her father had schemed a plan to escape, to bribe or maybe even kill the watchman. They could sneak out of the back at night and head for the country.
But very quickly her mother had become truly sick. She had fever to go with the dark blemishes on her arms and legs. She was pale and could barely stand. She wasn't up to any midnight dash for freedom.
Isabel knew their chance to get away had gone. Now, all she could do was sit and wait and agonise over what might follow. There were only the three of them in the house. What if both of her parents became sick and died? What if she was left on her own in the house; just her, alone with her dead parents, locked in the house day and night for weeks. It was too awful to contemplate. She kept trying to block the thought from her head but it was like trying to stop a wave from rising up the beach. She watched Mary chatting with Nick. She tried to fill her head with happy memories of their games, trying to catch the summer butterflies, dodging the gaps in the cobble stones whilst the nanny and Elizabeth walked behind. But she couldn't. She had a lump in her throat the size of a rock. Her fists were clenched tight, palms wet with sweat. What she wouldn’t give to be outside with Mary now.
Mary searched the windows for Isabel. Finally she saw her ghostly white face looking down from an upstairs window. She gave a brief self-conscious wave. Isabel stared glassy-eyed and motionless back at her.
'Come on' moaned Samuel, 'this is boring. Let’s go back.'
Mary turned swiftly and poked him in the ribs. 'Where’s your ‘eart Samuel. That could be you sittin’ up there!'
Samuel shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. When Mary looked back up, the face at the window had gone.
Isabel was sat on the floor. She chewed on her lip until she tasted blood in her mouth. What would she do if she was left all alone in the house? How could she get food and water? How would she get through the night?
She needn’t have worried. Within two days the whole family was dead.
Chapter 15