by Jess Foley
She pulled the blankets up over him, and he lay back on the pillow, looking up at her, frowning. ‘My head, Lily,’ he said in a little whine, putting a hand up to his temple. ‘My head hurts.’
‘Poor old head,’ she said, and kissed his hot clammy forehead. ‘I’ll get you some more of your medicine. The doctor left a little valerian too. I’ll get you some of that.’
In the kitchen she took up the small bottle of valerian and measured three drops into a glass and added a little water. Then she picked up his medicine and a spoon. Back upstairs, she lifted him up a little from the pillow. ‘Now, dear, drink this. This will be good for that silly old headache.’ Supporting his head, she held the glass to his lips and watched as he drank down the water and drops. Then she measured out some of the medicine, and he swallowed it without protest.
‘There, now. You lie down and close your eyes, and you’ll feel better soon. Perhaps later you’d like a little milk or some hot chocolate, would you? We’ll ask Millie to go out and get you some.’
He shook his head, and his eyes filled with tears that spilt over and ran down into the damp hair at his temples. The sight tightened her throat and brought tears pricking. Perhaps she should send for the doctor again, she thought. But no, it was only the chill that had come back, and the doctor was busy with serious illnesses. He wouldn’t thank her for bringing him out when it wasn’t warranted.
‘It’s all right, my love,’ she said, controlling her voice. ‘I’ll look after you, and you’ll feel better soon.’
‘I want my mama,’ he said plaintively. ‘I want my mama.’
She nodded, catching at her breath. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’
A while later she brought up a little kindling and some coal and lit a fire in the small grate. Throughout her busy-ness the boy lay back in the bed, making no sound.
Come midday, he had not improved at all. If anything, she had to admit to herself, he was worse. From the feel of his brow she was sure that his temperature had risen even further, and he was complaining again of pain in the small of his back. Pulling back the bedcovers, she turned him onto his stomach, lifted his nightshirt and gently massaged his back. His body was so small under her hands. She felt totally ineffectual, and simply did not know what to do for the best. When he complained of thirst she brought him some water. She tried to persuade him to eat a little, too, and prepared for him a small bowl of bread-and-milk, adding a spoonful of sugar. He ate a little of it, then lay back on the pillow as if exhausted.
When Millie came round in the afternoon she was shocked to see him so poorly. Lily said at once, repeating her line like someone whistling in the dark, ‘It’s that nasty chill of his, that’s what it is, but he’ll be all right soon. He’ll be fine, you’ll see, and I’ll take him home again tomorrow.’
Millie went out to the shops later, and brought back with her some few things that Lily required, and then stayed a short while to talk. When she had gone, Lily went back upstairs into the bedroom.
The child was lying as she had left him thirty minutes before, his eyes heavy-lidded, half-closed, a dull expression on his face. She moved to his side and bent over him.
‘How are you, my dear?’
He did not answer, but just looked up at her. His lips were slightly apart as he lay breathing through his mouth. Then, as she looked at him, he gave a little cry and tried to raise himself on the pillow.
‘What is it –? Oh, my darling –’ She bent lower to help him, and put her arm around his shoulders as he struggled to sit up. His eyes were screwed tight-shut and his mouth was suddenly contorted, lips drawn back over his teeth. He gave a heave, and vomited a dark bile over her hand and the white sheet. Then, with a little sighing groan, he sank back against her supporting arm.
A new wave of panic rose in her, engulfing her. She lowered him back onto the mattress. He was shivering now, his body caught in a sudden rigor, and when he opened his mouth she heard his teeth begin to chatter. The faint sound, brief and small, was terrifying in the silence. Oh, dear God, what is it? What is wrong? ‘Mama,’ he said in a small voice. ‘Mama.’
‘Soon,’ she said. She was trembling now in her fear. ‘Soon. I’ll take you to your mama soon. I promise.’ This was nothing to do with a chill, she thought. She must send for the doctor again without delay.
‘Lie down and rest a minute, my darling,’ she murmured. ‘I must leave you for a second, but I’ll be right back. I must just run next door and see Millie.’ She was straightening, stepping away. ‘I’ll be right back, my love.’
She hurried down the stairs and a moment later was knocking on the door of Mrs Tanner’s house. Millie opened it, and Lily said to her at once, ‘Oh, Millie, I’ve only got a second. I’ve come to ask if you could please run for the doctor. Joshua’s condition is so much worse.’
‘I’ll get my hat and coat and go at once,’ the girl said. ‘You go on back to him, miss. I’ll call in and see you later.’
Lily went back indoors. The vomit was still on her sleeve, and she took a damp cloth and dabbed it off as best she could. A glance at her watch told her it was almost seven o’clock. She was aware of an empty feeling in her stomach, and realised that she had not eaten all day. It did not matter; she would get something later.
Upstairs, she bent beside the bed. She saw now, with relief, that he was sleeping. Through his open mouth his breath came a little harsh, a little rapid. He had pushed the bedcovers low on his body, exposing the vomit stain on the yoke of his nightshirt. She had no other shirt for him to change into. Gently she pulled up the bedclothes, and under their light movement he shifted and sighed. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered to him. It was her answer to everything. ‘It’s all right.’
Millie came knocking at the door a while later. She had come straight from the doctor’s house. He was out on a visit to a patient when she had called, she said, but she had left a message with his wife, asking that he come as soon as possible.
‘Did his wife say when he would be back?’ Lily asked.
‘No, she didn’t. She said he had several calls to make, and it might be some time.’
When Millie had gone again, Lily went back upstairs. The boy was awake again now, his eyes half open as he looked off into the shadowed corners of the room. The fire was burning low in the grate, and Lily decided to take him down into the kitchen. She could keep him warmer there, she thought, and it would be easier to keep an eye on him.
‘Come, Joshie, I’m taking you downstairs,’ she said. ‘You’ll be just as comfortable there, and I can look after you better.’ Pulling back the bedclothes she lifted him up in her arms, where he sagged heavily against her. With his head on her shoulder she carried him from the room and down the stairs. In the warm kitchen she laid him on the sofa, and he settled back with a pillow under his head and the blankets over him. Bunny lay at his side. After making sure that enough water had been brought in from the well, and that there was enough fuel for the stove, Lily pulled the old grandfather chair nearer to the kitchen table and, in the light of the oil lamp and a candle, settled down to wait for the doctor.
Her watch, which she had placed on the table, ticked away the minutes, and eventually the hours. And still the doctor did not come.
Every so often she got up from her seat and moved to the sofa where the boy lay. He was asleep again now, but his mouth hung open as he breathed harshly into the quiet. In the soft light she could see how the perspiration flattened his curls to his head, and she watched him screw up his eyelids, and twitch agitatedly as if he was disturbed in his sleep. On the fabric of the blanket his little fingers drummed, and he clutched at the rough material as if in fear.
When the watch showed eleven o’clock she knew that the doctor would not come that night. From the bedroom she brought down another blanket, then she banked up the fire. The boy had not wakened and, although he should have taken his medicine, she would not disturb him. She lit a nightlight which she placed in a saucer, and it cast a pale lig
ht in the room. She drew her chair closer to the sofa, and leant back in it, and closed her eyes.
She got little sleep, and when it came it was in brief periods. For most of the time she lay awake, watching and listening. The child, lying so close on the sofa, was restless all night long, frequently waking, murmuring unintelligible words in his fitful sleep, or crying out as he awoke, calling for his mother. Through the long hours Lily did what she could do soothe him, to comfort him. He vomited again in the early hours, and she wiped off the vomit from his nightshirt and held him in her arms. Later she bathed his hot, damp brow with a flannel wrung out in cold water, and gave him sips of water and valerian for the aches in his head and back. Nothing seemed to help him, though.
The cold daylight of Sunday morning lit up the comfortless surroundings and found her sitting in the chair weary and red-eyed through lack of sleep. On the sofa the boy lay on his back, breathing through his mouth, the perspiration drenching his brow and matting his hair. His eyes were closed, but she doubted that he was asleep. The doctor must come soon, she said to herself.
Doctor Trinshaw arrived just after eleven, his sharp rap with the iron knocker heavy on the thin door, and ringing through the narrow hall. Lily, who had been waiting for that very sound, rose from her seat and hurried along the passage. As she opened the door to him he stepped through without hesitation, one hand taking off his hat. He was sorry he had not been able to come the night before, he said, but he had been so busy with his other patients.
She closed the front door behind him and followed him into the kitchen.
‘So, how is he?’ he said as he put his bag and hat down on the table and took off his coat. ‘The girl you sent left the message that he was not improving.’
No, he was not, Lily said, and told how the child had vomited more than once, and that he was perspiring constantly and complaining of aches in his head and his back. He had a fever, and at times he was shivering. ‘I thought it was his chill come back,’ she said, ‘but then I thought it might be the flu.’
The doctor hitched up his trousers at the knees and lowered himself onto the rug before the sofa. He smiled at the boy and spoke softly to him. ‘How are you, my little fellow? Not so well today, I understand. Oh, dear, that’s not good to hear, is it? We shall have to do something about that, shan’t we?’
He took his watch from his waistcoat pocket, opened it and placed it on the sofa seat. Then he held the child’s wrist in his practised fingers and took his pulse. He nodded slightly as he made his count, and then patted the boy’s hand and laid it back on his small form. Opening his bag, the doctor took out the case holding his thermometer, shook the instrument vigorously then said, ‘Open your mouth, my little man, will you? This won’t hurt.’ And the boy opened his mouth and the thermometer was slipped under his tongue. When the doctor removed it shortly afterwards he looked at it and gave a grave nod. ‘It’s a hundred and three degrees,’ he said, ‘and his pulse is very rapid.’ He turned and smiled at the boy, and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. ‘Good boy,’ he said. ‘That’s a very good boy.’
He gently patted Joshua on the head and rose a little stiffly to his feet again. He stood looking down at the child, then moved to the table, pulled out one of the hard-back chairs and sat down. He gestured to another chair at the table and said to Lily, ‘Sit down. Sit down a moment.’
She did so, clasping her hands before her.
‘You’re the boy’s nurse, you say. Isn’t that what you told me?’
‘Yes. Well – yes. In a manner of speaking.’
He was frowning. ‘Where are his parents now?’
‘In Scotland. Edinburgh.’
‘Yes, so you said. Do they know their son is ill?’
She felt her heart give a little lurch at his words. ‘No, sir, they don’t, but I was hoping to take him back to his home tomorrow – in Happerfell.’
He put an elbow on the table and put his fingers to his chin, his eyes downcast. His brow was deeply furrowed. ‘You were right to call me out again,’ he said. ‘I’m not easy about this. I’m not easy about this at all. You say he’s been shivering, and has had a fever, and is perspiring.’
‘Yes.’
‘With bad headaches and aches in his back?’
‘Yes.’
‘The small of his back?’
‘Yes. I gave him a little valerian.’
‘What about a thirst? Does he have a thirst?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed.’
‘Constipation. Is he constipated?’
‘Yes, he seems to be.’
The doctor nodded, his frown constant, his mouth a grim line.
She felt that the answers she had given to his questions were making up for him a picture, one that he recognised only too well. ‘Is it not his chill that has just got worse?’ she said. ‘Or perhaps – the flu?’
‘No, it’s not the flu. It’s not the chill either – though it was a chill that he had. I’ve no doubt about that.’ He turned and looked over at the child where he lay under the blankets. ‘It’s not a chill now, I’m afraid.’ He looked back at Lily, his gaze fixed upon her. Then he said, ‘Say – going back ten days or a fortnight ago – was the child taken anywhere where he might have been – exposed to anything?’
‘He hasn’t been anywhere,’ Lily said. ‘Up until a week ago he was still at his home, in Happerfell. Till last Sunday. We came here then on that day. We came straight here.’
‘Only a week ago?’
‘Yes. Before that he hardly ever set foot outside his home.’
‘And no one else at his home is ill?’
‘No. No one at the house. I’ve been told that his sister has the scarlet fever – but she’s in Scotland.’
The doctor shook his head, a gesture almost of impatience. ‘This is not scarlet fever,’ he said brusquely, and then added with a sigh, ‘Would that it were.’
‘Doctor,’ Lily said, ‘what is it? What do you think it is? If it’s not his chill, or the flu, then what is it?’
‘Only a week ago he was at his home, you say.’
‘Yes. I was with him.’
He shook his head and sighed again. ‘I’m perplexed here,’ he said.
Her puzzlement grew, and her fear grew with her puzzlement. ‘Doctor – what is it you’re thinking?’
He glanced over at the child once more. Joshua lay oblivious to what was going on in the room. Keeping his eyes on him, the doctor said, ‘These symptoms the boy has – they’re symptoms I dread to see.’ He turned back to Lily. ‘And I’m afraid I’ve seen them a number of times over the past months.’
Lily felt herself go cold. She had feared it, but had not been able to countenance the possibility. ‘Do you mean the – the smallpox, sir?’ she said.
‘It’s everywhere,’ he said wearily. ‘It’s the worst outbreak we’ve ever had in this country.’ He looked over again at the child. ‘The strange thing is, his symptoms are showing up so quickly. The incubation period of the common smallpox is usually from about ten days to a fortnight – but you tell me that only a week ago he was at his home, well out of harm’s way.’
‘Yes, he was.’
He lowered his head. ‘This is more worrying.’
She frowned. ‘Sir . . . ?’
He looked up at her. ‘There’s more than one strain of the disease,’ he said. ‘One of them is the malignant smallpox – or the flat black pox as it’s sometimes known. It strikes within days, and very severely. Where have you taken the boy?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Where has he been – out in public, where he could have picked up the infection?’
‘We only went to the aquarium. That was on Thursday.’
‘That’s only three days ago. No, that couldn’t be it. That’s too recent. You say you travelled here from Happerfell last Sunday?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘Well, that could be it. Perhaps at some point in your journey he came in contact with the diseas
e. That would work out with the incubation period.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, sir. He – he didn’t touch anyone. I know that. I was with him all the time.’
‘You don’t need to touch anyone to contract this disease. It’s the most contagious we know of. Physical contact can certainly be a factor, but the disease can just as well be carried on the air, or on a person’s clothes. It always finds a way, believe me.’
A memory returned to her and she thought of the carriage that Joshua had lain in, and the fly-driver with the disinfectant. But before she could say anything, the doctor said, shaking his head and spreading his hands:
‘Well, however the boy might have caught it, it’s academic now.’
‘But – but he can’t have the smallpox,’ she said. There was a note of desperation in her voice. ‘He’s been vaccinated. You saw his scar yourself.’
‘Yes, I know that, but it seems that vaccination is not always the answer. You know yourself that it was made mandatory by the government in the fifties, for everyone over the age of two. My God, ninety-eight per cent of the population has been vaccinated, but it hasn’t prevented this epidemic one iota. You read the papers, you can see that for yourself. The disease has just rampaged through the country. It’s the worst epidemic we’ve ever had. Look at Leicester. Did you read about that? There’ve been those protests in the town – protests against the enforced vaccination. They’re claiming it’s only made things worse.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘What is one to think? I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. You’ve been vaccinated, have you? You must have been.’
‘No, I haven’t, sir. I – I missed it.’
‘You missed it?’
‘Yes – my father didn’t want us to have it done. Me or my brother.’
‘And he got away with it, did he? Hmm. Well – personally speaking, I would advise you to have it. And you shouldn’t delay. I can send off for the vaccine for you first thing tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Would you like me to do that?’