Chapter Thirty-Eight
‘As I was awalking one morning by chance
I heard a maid making her moan;
I asked what was the matter,
She said in a flutter,
I’m obliged to lie tumbling alone, alone,
I’m obliged to lie tumbling alooonnne…’
Thomas Vincent sang merrily as he hammered the final nails into the lid of the coffin which was lying on trestles in the shed behind the Quarantine Hospital.
The old crone who was standing in the open doorway chuckled wheezily, ‘You’m in fine fettle this mornin’, Master Vincent.’
He grinned at her, ‘Indeed I am, Widow Smout.’ He stepped back to admire his handiwork. ‘There now, that’s a real tidy job, arn’t it? It fits as snug as you’d wish. There’ll be no worms getting free passage into this box.’
The crone’s blackened stubs of teeth showed in her lipless mouth, and she cackled with laughter.
‘On yes, and I’m sure Ellie Dickens is grateful for it fitting so snug as well.
Her couldn’t abide a draught, could Ellie.
Her alius reckoned her could feel a draught through four thicknesses o’ blanket. ’
Again her laughter cackled out as she came to the coffin and rapped smartly on its lid. ‘How bist in theer, Ellie? Can you feel any draught?’
Thomas Vincent joined in her laughter. ‘Her’s hardly likely to, Widow Smout.’ He held up his pitch-blackened hands. ‘Her’s got a double wrapping o’ pitch-sheet around her. That ’ud keep out a bloody gale, ne’er mind a poxy little draught.’
‘She’ll be put down tonight I take it?’ the old woman sought to know.
‘She ’ull, Widow Smout. Burial within twenty-four hours o’ dying. That’s the order give out by the Government in London. And we obeys it. Let’s see now, her’s the fourth nurse to die here arn’t her.’
‘Ahr,’ the old woman confirmed, ‘and theer’s bin more nor twenty others die in this place as well.’
The undertaker nodded reflectively, ‘There don’t seem to be much good being done here, does there.
Near upon every poor cratur who comes in here, leaves in a box.
’ He tapped the coffin lid. ‘Even them whom come here to look arter the sick ’uns.
’ He glanced at his companion with a speculative gleam in his eyes.
‘Arn’t you afeared that you might be leaving in the same way as your old mate here? ’
‘Not I, Master Vincent,’ the old crone scoffed.
‘I takes these twice a day.’ She rummaged in the pocket of her shabby black gown and produced a small tin box, which she opened to disclose some large pills coloured a bright blue.
‘These be Morrison’s Anti-Cholera Lozenges.
Two o’ these a day ’ull keep the Blue Vomit away, and I’m the living proof o’ that, Master Vincent. ’
‘That bloke Morrison must be making his fortune,’ Thomas Vincent observed enviously. ‘Them pills on his be selling like hot cakes all over the parish.’
‘He anna the only one amaking his fortune out o’ this bloody cholera, is he Master Vincent?’ The old crone peered slyly at the undertaker.
He grinned and replied, ‘Well, I must admit that I’m adoing a fair bit o’ business meself these days. But it’s the bloody doctors who am making the fortunes, Widow Smout. Not me. Does you know that they’m getting five guineas a week each for calling on the new cases?’
‘Oh ahr, I’se heard that, Master Vincent.
But they anna deserving on it, am they. Because there anna one on ’um who knows how to cure the cholera, is there, and that Doctor Royston is walking around like a bloody turnip-yedded mawkin these last days.
I doon’t reckon he’s drawn a sober breath since that young wench he was keen on went and died. What was her name now?’
‘Young Maria Pitts,’ the undertaker told her, and sighed regretfully. ‘’Tis a terrible shame to see a pretty young wench like her was be took by the Blue Vomit, arn’t it?’
‘Ahr, so it is, Master Vincent. So it is. But I reckon we’ll be seeing a sight more pretty young wenches took by it, afore it’s all over and done wi’.’
‘I reckon so, my old duck,’ Vincent agreed, then said, ‘Well now, I must be off, I’se got business in the town.’
‘Another ‘un to box up, is it?’
‘Yes, in Salters Yard, Daniel Lambert. By Christ, he went quick didn’t he. Got struck ill yesterday morning and afore midnight he’d gone. I feels sorry for his woman, Tildy Crawford. She’s a real good wench, and she’s already had more than her share o’ troubles in life.’
‘That’s a woman’s lot in this life, Master Vincent,’ the old crone stated. ‘Every woman I’se ever knowed, including meself, has had more nor her share o’ troubles. I wish I’d bin born a man, I’ll tell you. You has it easy compared to us.’
‘I’ll not dispute that wi’ you, Widow Smout.’ Vincent smiled wryly, and bade her goodbye.
*
‘Tildy?’ Old Esther gently touched the younger woman’s shoulder, ‘Tildy, Tommy Vincent’s come.’
Tildy was sitting by the side of the bed she had shared with Daniel Lambert, and on which his sheet-covered body now lay. She looked up at the old woman, and Esther Smith’s heart felt ready to break as she saw the utter desolation in Tildy’s dark eyes.
‘Come on now, sweetheart,’ she urged gently. ‘You come on wi’ me out into the kitchen, and leave Tommy Vincent to do what’s necessary.’
‘No,’ Tildy shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here and help him.
‘It’ll be the last thing that I’ll ever be able to do for Daniel.’
Old Esther studied her with concern. Tildy had not wept, or voiced her grief at losing this man she so loved. She seemed dazed and lost, and her face had become a thin-drawn, pale mask of silent anguish.
‘Oh Tildy, doon’t stay in here,’ the old woman begged. ‘It arn’t a sight you should be seeing. Daniel ’ull have to be wrapped in pitch-sheets. ’Tis not good having that as a memory of him.’
Tildy rose to her feet, her hand absently caressing the sheet covering the dead face.
‘Daniel gave me a happiness that I’d never believed I could ever have, Esther.
That’s the memory I’ll always have of him.
What’s left here,’ she touched the sheeted face, ‘isn’t Daniel any more.
It’s only the body that he used here on this earth.
Daniel’s just the same as he ever was, but he’s somewhere else now, that’s all, Esther.
He’s gone somewhere else, and please God he’s waiting for me to join him there when my own time comes. ’
The old woman shook her head worriedly, and muttered, ‘You’m so calm, my duck, it anna natural to be so calm.’
Tildy’s dark eyes held a strange light as she stared at her companion, but she only told her quietly, ‘Tell Tommy Vincent to come through to here, will you, Esther. But don’t let Davy come through. Keep him with you in the kitchen.’
The old woman nodded, and went back into the kitchen where Davy was seated at the table, pale-faced and woebegone.
Old Esther was not unduly concerned about the boy.
He had wept bitterly when Daniel died, because he had loved the man like a father.
But youth is very resilient, and Old Esther knew that he would quickly heal, and his grief would soon become muted and easy to bear.
It was Tildy that worried her. The younger woman was too calm.
Something would break unless she vented her grief.
Thomas Vincent was standing by the door with his helper, holding a coffin upright on its end between them.
‘Goo on through, Master Vincent,’ Old Esther told him, and silently the two men carried the coffin into the further passage and along to the bedroom.
Davy stared at the long box with fearful eyes, and Old Esther stroked his thick black curls and told him, ‘Doon’t let that old box distress you, my lamb.
‘Tis only a box when all’s said and done.
There arn’t naught to be fritted on about it.
It’s just used to make everything look decent and tidy, that’s all. ’
Tildy could smell the gin on the breaths of Thomas Vincent and his helper, a runty-bodied, simple-minded youth known in the town as Sarft Ned.
Vincent stared at the beautiful woman with genuine sympathy.
He knew how well she had nursed Maria Pitts, and how unstintingly she helped others in need.
It seemed a harsh blow of fate that she should now lose the man she loved, while others who refused to lift a finger to help the stricken apparently bore charmed lives and suffered no loss.
‘Look, Missus Crawford, ’udden’t it be best if me and Ned here does the business by ourselves. It arn’t a pretty sight to see somebody you cares for being wrapped in pitch-sheets.’
Tildy shook her head, ‘I want to do this for Daniel, Mister Vincent.’
He had sense enough not to argue the point.
The coffin was laid down by the side of the bed and the lid unscrewed to disclose the pitch-soaked sheets. Vincent opened the sheets out so that they became a black oily receptacle within the coffin.
‘It’s best that we does this quick, Missus Crawford, and I wants you to wear one o’ these around your mouth, if you ’ull.’
From the leather satchel he carried slung around his neck he produced lengths of vinegar-soaked flannel, which he and Sarft Ned tied around their faces to cover mouth and nostrils.
After a moment of hesitation Tildy did the same, but the acrid sour taste of the soaked flannel caused her to momentarily gag and she tore it off and handed it back to Vincent. ‘No, I can’t wear this.’
He shrugged, ‘So be it. Now listen very careful to what I’m agoing to tell you, my wench.’ Vincent’s voice was somewhat muffled by the flannel. ‘And doon’t doubt me words, because I knows what I’m atalking about.’