Hope - Lesley Pearse [111]
As they went into the room they found Gussie was already there. But he was lying down, and one glance at his white face and heavy eyes was enough for Hope to know he was suffering from the same complaint as Betsy.
‘I’ve been sick,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper. He attempted to sit up but clearly didn’t have the strength for it.
A cold chill ran down Hope’s spine, for while it was possible that her two friends had shared some food that was bad, their symptoms reminded her of those her parents had with the typhus. Reverend Gosling had told her it was a disease which flourished in dirty, overcrowded conditions and she had always been mindful it could easily strike in Lewins Mead.
It crossed her mind that she should flee at once, but when she looked round and saw Betsy slumped down on the floor, her expression one of agony as she clutched at her stomach, she felt ashamed of such a thought.
She got them both to lie down and covered them with blankets, then lit the fire and put the kettle on it. There was enough water in the pitcher to wash their faces and hands, but she would have to get more from the pump.
It was desperately hot in the room, and it would be hotter still once the fire got going. She stood by the open window for a moment trying to gather her thoughts and remember all the remedies her mother and Nell had always used for sickness.
‘I’ve got to go and get water and some things from the shop,’ she told her friends. ‘Stay where you are, I won’t be long.’
Ten minutes later she staggered back up the stairs, weighed down by two pitchers of water and a flask of vinegar, which her mother had always used to wash things in when there was sickness in the cottage. She had the cinnamon, more candles too, and some mustard to make hot poultices.
Since the winter, when their lodgers left for good, Hope had introduced many items into their room which she considered essential for housekeeping. Some had been bought second-hand, others Gussie had acquired for her, but they now had a broom, a large saucepan, a frying pan, bowls for the stews she made on the fire, some cutlery, and another large bowl for washing up dishes. Recently, Hope had also stuffed the sacks with hay to make mattresses, and she always made sure they had soap too, and plenty of rags for cleaning purposes.
But as she walked back into the room and found Betsy on her hands and knees retching over the slop pail, she knew that trying to nurse two sick people with such sparse equipment was going to be very difficult.
Daylight faded soon after Hope had spread the hot mustard plaster on her friends’ bellies. She was pleased to see that it did seem to ease their cramping pains, just as the cinnamon tea had calmed the vomiting. They were still shivering, but she had covered them with everything she could find to help them sweat it out and now they were sleeping.
But she could not sleep herself. The room was like an oven, and there was so much noise coming in through the open window. It was never quiet here, but since the hot weather began the noise had grown even worse, more babies crying, more drunks, more fights, and children running up and down the alleys until well after midnight.
Since settling down here, Hope made a conscious effort never to think about the past, but as she stood at the open window wearing only her chemise, dripping with sweat and desperate for air, the stink of human waste assaulting her nostrils, she couldn’t help but remember hot summer nights when she was a child. The whole family would sit outside and watch the sun go down, and the breeze would be fresh and pure, scented with honeysuckle.
Even when she’d lived at the gatehouse, she and Nell had often sat on the backdoor step looking up at the stars. She recalled that she had often wished then that she lived in a big town, longing for the excitement of crowds, shops and markets. That wish seemed so foolish now she knew how harsh and unpleasant town life could be. She would give anything to be encircled by Nell’s plump arm