“Would you please tell my father that I’d like to see him before he leaves?”
“Certainly, sir.” Chadwick bowed again as Rupert’s quick footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs into the central hall.
“Good morning, Father,” James called to catch him. “Do you have time to join me for a cup of coffee?”
“Good morning, James,” Rupert said as he checked his pocket watch. “Yes, but just for a few minutes, I have a lot of work to get through before we leave on holiday tomorrow.”
“Father, I see Alderman Willows was part of the contingent of civic officials in yesterday’s sewer inspection on Assiniboine Avenue,” James pointed to the newspaper before him.
Rupert was surprised and pleased. James was not usually one take an interest in his father’s pronouncements to the press.
“Why, yes, I was. We went right to the heart of the district that has seen the highest number of typhoid cases in this recent outbreak, and as you no doubt have read, our party determined that the sewers are as clean as can be expected and that they have nothing to do with the epidemic. We have, therefore, come to the conclusion that the cause is contagion.”
“Yes, Father. It appears that you had plenty to say about the cause of the typhoid problem.”
“Oh, come now, I see you are wanting an argument. I’m really not interested in another of your rants, James. The city needs to be seen looking into the problem, and that was the reason for the tour. In truth, well, we already know the typhoid epidemic is entirely related to all those filthy immigrants and the dreadful squalor up in that foreign quarter, but of course I couldn’t say that to a newspaperman. It would make me sound hard, or uncharitable at the very least. No, we talked instead about contagion as the source. It sounds better, don’t you agree? I also happen to believe it is true.”
“I thought the city was embarking on a true investigation,” James countered after a moment of stunned silence.
“It is. The population is very worried and we, the members of City Council, need to be seen to be looking into the causes. Why can’t you understand that?”
“Then perhaps you can help me understand how it is possible that the City Council would be so quick to dismiss the pollution of the drinking water supply.”
“To what pollution might you be referring?” Rupert raised an eyebrow as he sipped his coffee.
“When you bring sewage into the drinking water supply, don’t you think you would have a problem?”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you. What has sewage got to do with the water supply? The sewage goes into the river and the water supply comes from the artesian wells. They are not connected.”
“Except when the city opens the old pumping station to bring the Assiniboine River water into the water mains. Father, have you not seen the stories about the new outbreak of typhoid in the city? Look, here it is in a story in the Winnipeg Star. One of their reporters seems to be quite keen on pushing the idea that water pollution is the primary cause of the fall typhoid outbreak and that it is directly linked to the more recent increase in typhoid numbers we saw this week. The writer suggests that it was caused by the necessity of opening the Assiniboine pumping station again a fortnight ago, to combat the rash of fires in the last week of December.” James pushed the paper toward his father.
“Rubbish. James, that’s not science. That’s speculation on the part of a newspaperman.”
“I’ve read about it several times now, and I’m just curious as to why the council would not take the charge seriously.”
“James, the pumping station was only used for fire protection.” Rupert’s tone slid from calm to condescending. “It’s rare that we need to do that. In fact, had we done it earlier on the night of the fire last October, we wouldn’t have lost our office building. No, you are wrong on this one, I’m afraid. Never mind the Star. No one reads that scandal sheet but you, it seems. Now, let me see your copy of the Manitoba Free Press and I will show you.”
“Ah ha. Here we are. Dr. Gordon Bell’s speech to the Manitoba Medical Association last evening.”
“Yes, I read that,” James interrupted. “He believes the typhoid epidemic is related to air coming up from the sewers.”
“That’s right! Even skeptics like you, James, must admit that Dr. Bell is a credible expert. He has been chief bacteriologist in this province for the past eight years. What is more, he investigated all of these concerns that people like you have about the water. Listen to this. The paper quotes right from the report on typhoid that he gave to the provincial board of health. Bell says: “The water from the artesian well, treated as it is by milk of lime in the softening process, is remarkably germ free and there seems no possibility of it having played any part.”
Rupert smacked the paper for emphasis. “He goes on to say that the examination of the water in the taps gave no evidence of pollution. There you have it, James.”
James shook his head. “That really doesn’t make sense. Maybe by the time they tested the tap water, the pollution had dissipated, Father.”
“Oh, please.” Rupert threw up his hands.
“Father, just look at the facts. As the article in the Star points out, we never see problems with typhoid in January, and all of a sudden there is a huge jump in the number of cases, just as there was in late October after the downtown fire. With Mother still recovering, and so many others in our part of the city ill, as well, the quality of the drinking water is an obvious suspect. It seems likely the reporter is right in his assertion that there must be a link to polluted drinking water.”
“James, of course I understand your concern, but I must correct you there. The sewage that flows into the Red and Assiniboine is harmless.”
“I beg your pardon? Harmless? How could that be, Father?”
“Ah! I’m glad you asked because I asked the same question yesterday. You see, it has to do with fresh air. There is apparently a plentiful supply of airflow in the sewers, and that is the key to making the harmful effects of the sewage disappear before the sewage enters the rivers.”
Rupert could see that James was not grasping the concept, so he continued to elaborate. “You see, James, there are these bubbles floating about on top of the sewage, and we were told that when the bubbles burst the germs go away, and there is no more harm in the sewage. We had a first hand account of it when we toured the sewers.”
James didn’t know where to begin with this preposterous story. When he finally got his tongue untied, he stammered, “Did you go down there?”
“Oh, my dear boy! Certainly not! We walked above ground, of course, from one manhole to the next. It was frightfully cold, you know, and we just walked the one block from Smith to Garry Streets, you see, and the man inside the sewer, what was his name? Well, one of the city workers who does this sort of thing, told us all about the ghastly bubbles and we came to our own conclusions.”
“Father, I mean no disrespect, but do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Ridiculous? There were engineers with us!” Rupert spoke as though James was a young child. “And doctors, too. It was scientific and reported in all the papers! I thought you said you read all this.”
“I did. And you can’t deny that it does seem there is a great interest by the esteemed leaders of the city to pretend that this problem does not exist; that somehow it might be bad for business to have the world know that Winnipeg has a typhoid epidemic that is clearly out of control!”
“Rubbish!” Rupert slammed the table with an open palm.
“How do you think Mother got sick?”
“James, please, would you mind lowering your voice? The servants will hear. Mother got sick from contagion. She had been visiting with Muriel Penneyworth. That woman is all tied up in her charity work with those dreadful, filthy children up there in Jew Town. She probably touched one of those disease-ridden little vagrants and then came to tea with your mother and there you have it.”
James was stunned. “D
o you really believe that?”
“Of course,” answered Rupert, staring wide-eyed at his angry son. “I repeat: the health authorities believe the entire typhoid problem is based on contagion and nothing more.” He picked up the stack of papers and dropped them one-by-one in front of James to emphasize his point. “Every one of these papers is filled with endless articles and letters from readers that speculate on the causes of the typhoid epidemic. Everyone who can write is being quoted, expert or not. They talk of the sewer, the milk supply, contagion, the weather, the box closets and even the phase of the moon, for goodness sake. And what does it come to in the end?”
“Oh, Father, please.”
“I’ll tell you what it comes to!” He bellowed into James’ face. “Everyone knows that the North End is rife with typhoid because of the slovenly habits of its population!”
“Father, that’s nonsense! The health authorities, as you call them, present conflicting views on what is causing the problem. There is no general agreement on this contagion idea. It’s just that you, along with all of your City Council fraternity brothers, have pinned your public relations campaign to this one theory and you now send it out as fact! What I see very clearly, Father, is that the good old boys who lunch at the Manitoba Club just don’t want Winnipeg to be seen as having tattered skirts and broken shoes on the world’s dance floor. They don’t want the truth to come out!”
Fuming, Rupert left the table and started pacing. “Oh, really, James? And what might your version of that truth be?”
“The truth is that an exploding immigrant population, coupled with woefully inadequate support from the city, have created unspeakable living conditions that have led Winnipeg to become the typhoid capital of the western world. There isn’t a single city in Europe or anywhere in North America that can top Winnipeg’s numbers for illness and death due to typhoid. That is the truth.”
“Oh, come now, James.” Entirely fed up with the conversation, Rupert attempted a more convivial tone. “You are just so, well, so dreary. You’re no fun at all these days.”
“Father! I must tell you it is increasingly difficult to have a serious conversation with you. You can’t imagine how frustrating that is. Perhaps I should seek a meeting with our mayor and leave you to your, your golf and your hunting.”
“It’s winter, James. No one golfs or hunts in winter. Did you mean to say curling? Our team is doing rather well at the Granite Club this year.” Rupert pulled out his pocket watch, anxious to get on his way. “Please, James, you must know that I do take you seriously. And, yes, you are at least partly right.”
“You will admit, then, that Winnipeg has an appalling record in typhoid management?”
Rupert so hated this kind of discussion. “Unfortunately, yes, I would agree that the numbers are high, but don’t forget that we also have all of those people from the rural areas coming into Winnipeg to our hospitals and this gives Winnipeg a falsely high number. And as you so aptly pointed out, being recognized for having a typhoid epidemic is such a distasteful distinction for the city to have. We don’t believe that we are hiding it, we just choose not to discuss it. Of course we are trying to put a good face on things. In the grand scheme of things, it is not that serious. It will eventually run its course and be forgotten history. It is very important that this be kept as private as possible, rather like a family matter. You really need to change your thoughts on this need for exposure of weaknesses. Some things are best kept private.”
“But, Father, this is not a family matter; it’s a city health matter.”
“Enough! James, do you mean to tell me that every man who has a mistress should run home and tell his wife about it? Don’t you think that would cause unnecessary harm? Some truths are better left untold.”
“And the greatest truth, Father, is that Winnipeg is only interested in dealing with typhoid because it has become a problem in good neighborhoods and in homes like ours.”
Rupert pounded on the table. A thick vein, like a small snake, appeared on his forehead as he spoke through his clenched jaw. “Stop shouting, James. You have a real talent for kicking a man when he is down. Do you think it doesn’t kill me that your mother has suffered so terribly? Is that what you want me to say? That until she was over the crisis, I was frightened for her very life?”
“But you won’t acknowledge that mother became ill directly because of decisions made at City Hall.”
“No, I will not!” Rupert dropped his voice. “And I must say I don’t like this uppity behavior you’ve been exhibiting since you’ve begun studying to be a doctor. I’ve told you this before. It is ruining you, James. It is making you very unpleasant to be with. I’m rather glad that your mother and I are leaving for Florida tomorrow. I won’t have to deal with your endless whining about how difficult life is for the poorer classes!”
James opened his mouth, but Rupert raised a hand to stop him.
“Wait, James. I do appreciate your passion for the subject, but why don’t you leave it to the professional investigators? I’m sure you’re delighted to hear that Mayor Sharpe is insisting on paying a pretty penny to bring in that fellow, Professor Edwin Jordan, from Chicago. A waste of money, I say, in the face of the experts we have right here. But the exercise should satisfy all the malcontents and rabble-rousers like you. Now, if you will excuse me. I have had all I can take of this discussion.” Rupert slapped the newspaper onto the breakfast table and stomped off.
Chadwick quickly scuttled from view and headed below stairs. He would see Mrs. Butterfield straightaway. She would just have to put up with continuing to boil the drinking water until this Dr. Jordan had completed his investigation. Worrisome times, these were. Worrisome, indeed.
Chapter Forty
Emma’s Dilemma
January 11, 1905
Four hours out of Winnipeg, Emma’s emotions finally crumbled. The train puffed along the track, through the forests of North-western Ontario. Up the hill, down the hill, round the bend, look at the lake, up the hill, down the hill, round the bend, look at the lake.
The monotony of the scenery and train’s steady rhythm brought Emma’s worries to the forefront. She felt utterly crushed under the burden of Elliot’s secret. Alone in the parlor of the family’s private Pullman railcar, she sat with her book unopened and her knitting untouched beside her. Her gaze was fixed on the endless trees that flew by the window. Mother was napping in the rear bedroom suite. Father had gone to the smoking car to find a card game and Maisie was busy unpacking and setting up the linens in the bedrooms.
Tears pooled heavily in Emma’s big brown eyes, then brimmed over her thick lashes and ran in silver rivulets down her cheeks. She sniffed quietly as she searched her pocket for her handkerchief. She missed Mary. She missed Elliot. Feeling hopelessly lonely, she wept.
Having finished her tasks, Maisie hummed with happiness as she walked from the rear of the car. She was startled to come upon her young mistress in such distress.
“Miss Emma,” she called softly. “Whatever is the matter?” Glancing about quickly to be sure they were alone, she sat next to Emma and put her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “There, there, Emma, what is making you so upset?” She felt Emma’s forehead as the girl squeaked in despair.
“Maisie, my life is in ruins! Absolute ruins! I have no one to turn to and I just don’t know what to do.”
“Now, now, Emma. It can’t possibly be as bad as all that. Are you feeling ill?”
“No, I’m fine, that way. I would rather be ill than to feel like this. You get better from illness, but I don’t think I will ever be better from my troubles. I have such a terrible dilemma, and I can’t talk about it!”
“Why not?”
“Because it would betray a secret, a great big, very important secret; a secret that could destroy a person’s life were it to be found out!” She looked up at Maisie with pink cheeks and teary eyes.
An uneasy feeling crept over Maisie, sending a tingling sensation up the back of h
er neck. Had Emma found her out? Had she been careless? Had she left a clue to her identity to be found by this sweet, innocent child? She suddenly felt dizzy.
“Is this a friend of yours, you speak of?” she whispered.
“No, not a friend. But, someone very dear to me.”
“Not a friend? I’m confused.”
“I’m sorry.” Emma shook her head. “I can’t say more. I might let slip what I know and then what? What might the consequences be?”
Maisie’s blood ran cold. She had most certainly been found out. Her days in the employ of the Willows family were surely numbered. She needed time to regroup and plan a strategy to control the impending crisis. She peeked over Emma’s shoulder to be sure that they were alone in the car. “Emma, would you like to have a cup of tea and a bit of a chat?”
Emma nodded, and Maisie jumped up, drying her sweaty palms on her apron.
“Maisie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Upset me?” Maisie giggled. “What is there for me to be upset about? Listen. Let me get that cup of tea for you. And while we have some privacy, we’ll find a way to ease the burden you are carrying.” Her heart was pounding like a drum. How odd that the child just didn’t blurt it out. Clearly she knew. She must have reasons for not speaking up. Then it dawned on her; perhaps there was a way to keep her job and find an ally in Emma at the same time. It was a great risk, but it might be the only way.
“I would like that, Maisie. I am so happy you came to Ravenscraig. I think my life would be unbearable without you.”
“You will always manage, with me or without me, Emma. Just remember that.” Maisie headed toward the little kitchen at the rear of the car, tears now flooding her own eyes.
As she watched Maisie walk briskly away, Emma’s brow wrinkled in confusion. What is she talking about? Is she planning to leave? Oh, dear God, not another blow! Not now. Please don’t let Maisie quit her job!
Maisie was heartbroken. Her five years at Ravenscraig had been wonderful. She liked her work and the other staff members. She liked the sometimes quirky personalities of the family, and she especially liked the twinkling eyes of Mr. James, who admired her for being smart. He had been so quick to praise her work in his mother’s sick room. She dropped her head in shame at the very thought of having deceived him. How sweet and caring he was. How she had wished that there was an opportunity for something more between the two of them, but of course that dream was worlds beyond her reach.
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