Clover Moon Page 6

  She was a while in the kitchen, and then she came and opened the door a crack. She had her apron tied round her head again. ‘Clover? Clover, are you awake? Answer me, child, for pity’s sake!’

  I kept quiet, just to plague her.

  ‘Clover! Oh my Lord, have you gone and died on us?’ she shrieked.

  ‘Yes, and I’m going to haunt you for the rest of my days!’ I said, in as ghostly a voice as I could.

  ‘You wicked girl, don’t you dare play tricks on me! Now keep away from me, right at the back of the cupboard. Here’s a cup of tea and a slice of bread. You’ve got the jam in there with you. I’m putting them just inside the door. You take them quick.’

  ‘Can’t you leave the door open just a little, so I can have some light? I promise I’ll stay at the back,’ I begged. ‘It’s just so hard when I can’t see anything at all.’

  ‘You’ll just have to put up with it,’ said Mildred.

  ‘What if I’m taken bad and need to get out?’

  ‘You can call out.’

  ‘But you might not hear me,’ I said, panicking.

  ‘That’s true,’ said Mildred quietly. She shut the door with a bang.

  I felt like screaming but I put my hands over my mouth. I didn’t want to give her the pleasure of knowing I was desperate – and if Megs heard it would terrify her. I moved cautiously, inch by inch, because I didn’t want to spill my hot tea or set that chunk of bread spinning into a dank corner. I found the cup and drank the tea. I found the bread and ate every crumb, dipping it into my pot of jam.

  Then I folded the blanket round me and tried to compose myself. Only I wasn’t myself any more. I made up a story inside my head: I was a fairy-tale princess and my wicked stepmother had locked me in the castle dungeon and thrown the key down the deepest well.

  5

  I PLAYED MY captive princess game on and off until her life seemed more real than my own. I started violently each time Mildred opened the door of the cupboard, shrinking from her as if she really had locked me in for ever. I lost all sense of time, not sure whether it was night or not, or how long I’d been locked in there.

  ‘Can’t you let me out now?’ I begged.

  ‘Not just yet. We have to be certain sure you won’t infect the others. It’s a virulent strain of fever. The Watson baby’s dead already,’ said Mildred.

  ‘Baby Tommy!’ I gasped.

  ‘They’ve sent the little Watson girl away in case she gets poorly too.’ Mildred’s voice was muffled by her apron but she sounded as if she might be crying. She paused, and then blurted out, ‘I know I’ve sometimes been hard on you, Clover. But it’s for your own good. I do truly wish you well.’

  I was astonished to hear her talking in that way. Perhaps she thought I was actually dying and she didn’t want me telling tales to God and his angels.

  I couldn’t decide if I had the fever or not. I felt very strange and light-headed, but then, who wouldn’t be, locked in a pitch-black cupboard for days? My head hurt sometimes, but I’d always been prone to headaches and my brow was already sore from Mildred’s blows. My heart was sore too. Why hadn’t Megs been back to see how I was?

  I knew I’d told her not to come near me. I’d made her promise to keep away. She was simply being obedient and sensible. But surely she might have crept back once, just to make sure I was all right?

  The other children had come. Jenny and Mary had both whispered to me through the door. Jenny brought Bert too. He cried when he heard my voice, and I cried too because I couldn’t come out and cuddle him. Richie and Pete ran up to the cupboard door whenever Mildred took her eye off them.

  I heard their feet thudding as they pushed and shoved each other, hissing, ‘You go first!’ ‘No, you!’ It was as if I’d turned into a terrifying witch and they had to dare each other to come near.

  ‘Don’t be frightened, boys! I’m still your sister Clover! I’ve just got to stay in the cupboard to stop you getting sick,’ I called.

  They squealed and ran away as if scared I was casting a witch’s curse – but Pete soon crept back on his own.

  ‘Is it really you in there, Clover?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes, of course it is.’

  ‘Will you promise you won’t get the fever?’

  ‘I’m trying my hardest,’ I said.

  ‘Is it just babies who die of the fever?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so,’ I said, my heart beating fast. ‘Poor little Tommy.’

  ‘Mrs Watson cried and cried when they said her Tommy was dead. She said it was all her fault. They think the baby must have caught it from the shawl she bought from the clothes stall. It has to be burned now. All baby Tommy’s things have to be burned.’

  ‘The shawl?’ I said. I suddenly thought of Megs draping the shawl round her head, pretending to be a bride. My heart turned over.

  ‘If you die, Clover, will all your things have to be burned too? Can I have your boots?’ Pete persisted.

  ‘I’m not going to die, do you hear? Listen, tell me about Megs. Is she all right?’

  ‘She keeps crying for you,’ said Pete. ‘She’s cried so much her voice has gone all funny.’

  When I heard Mildred coming I crawled to the cupboard door. I didn’t care how big and strong she was. I didn’t mind if she beat me black and blue. I had to go to Megs.

  ‘Mildred, I’m coming out,’ I said, wedging myself in the gap as soon as the door opened.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, girl,’ said Mildred. ‘Get back now. Don’t come near me!’

  ‘Put your apron over your face – put one over my head too if you must, but I have to come out. I’ve been shut in that cupboard for days and I haven’t got the fever. Take a look at me. I’m fine. But Megs isn’t. I hear she’s been crying.’

  ‘She’s always crying,’ said Mildred. ‘No, you’ve to stay in there another day at least, just to make sure.’

  ‘Please, Mildred! For pity’s sake, please!’ I tried to force my way out, but Mildred slammed the door hard on my thigh, making me scream.

  ‘Hey, hey, watch her leg!’ Pa called.

  It was Sunday! He was home!

  ‘Let the girl out now, Mildred,’ he said. ‘It don’t seem right to keep her locked up like that. I’ve been talking with the lads down the Admiral. They say the fever takes two days to come out, three at the most. I reckon our Clover can’t have got it, not if she’s still doing fine now.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Let her out, I say,’ Pa insisted, with an edge to his voice.

  Mildred seized me by the wrist and pulled me out into the hallway. Then she let go of me sharpish. ‘Dear God, she’s bleeding all over the place – look!’ she cried, backing away from me.

  Pa was staring at me, horrified. I blinked, trying to get used to the daylight, and peered down at myself. There were clotted red stains all down my arms and smeared across my nightgown. Was this why it was called scarlet fever? Did I have it after all? I tentatively touched a red smear and then licked my fingertip.

  ‘Ugh! Don’t be so disgusting!’ Mildred shrieked.

  ‘It’s jam, Mildred. It’s not blood, it’s strawberry jam! I must have spilled it all over myself in the dark,’ I said.

  ‘You stupid clumsy girl. How dare you give us a fright like that!’

  ‘Calm down, Mildred. Don’t get yourself so het up,’ said Pa. ‘Come here, Clover. Let’s have a squint at you in proper daylight.’

  He took me down the hall to the door and opened it. In the alley the children were playing a listless game of kick the can. They all waved and cheered when they saw me and came rushing over.

  ‘Keep back for a minute!’ Pa called, putting out his hand to stop them approaching. Then he peered at my face and neck and felt my forehead.

  ‘She’s absolutely fine,’ he called to Mildred. ‘No fever at all. Nothing a good wash won’t cure. Clean yourself up, Clover. Thank God you’ve been spared!’

  ‘Thank God, thank God, thank God!’ little Mary cried,
putting her hands together piously while the other children laughed at her.

  I wanted to give them all a big hug, especially little Bert, who was wriggling in Jenny’s arms. But I needed to find Megs first.

  ‘Where’s our Megs?’ I asked.

  The children looked at each other, shrugging.

  ‘She didn’t want to get up this morning,’ said Jenny.

  I ran back indoors and up the rickety stairs. I burst into our room and there was Megs, still in bed, huddled under the blanket, just her hair showing. She sobbed softly every time she drew breath.

  ‘Oh, Megs, darling, it’s all right. Here I am! I’m fine, truly. I haven’t got the fever. And you haven’t either, have you? You only wore that white shawl for a minute or so. You can’t have caught the fever, you simply can’t,’ I said.

  I gently pulled the blanket away from her. It was a shock to feel how hot and damp she was. And then I saw her face. It was blotchy and swollen, with a scarlet rash.

  6

  ‘OH, MEGS, OH, Megs!’ I said.

  She gave another sob. Her eyes were closed, but her arms reached out and she wound them round my neck. I held her tightly, rocking her. ‘My poor baby, I’m here now. I’m going to look after you. I’m going to make you better, I promise.’

  I knew I was in grave danger of catching the fever from her, but I didn’t care now. I didn’t care about anything but Megs, though I turned on the other children fiercely when they came crowding into the bedroom.

  ‘Get out! How could you have left Megs all alone when she’s so poorly?’ I shouted.

  ‘Has she got the fever?’ Jenny asked, round-eyed.

  ‘The fever, the fever!’ Mary echoed.

  ‘Fee-va!’ said little Bert in Jenny’s arms, but no one laughed at him this time.

  Mildred came running when she heard them. ‘Have you got the fever after all, Clover? Then get away from Megs this minute!’ she shouted.

  ‘I haven’t got it. Poor little Megs has it! Call yourself a mother! You were so busy keeping guard over me in that wretched cupboard you didn’t even take a second glance at Megs here,’ I said furiously.

  ‘She’s just grizzly – you know what she’s like,’ said Mildred.

  ‘Look at her,’ I said, showing her Megs’s flushed face.

  ‘Oh my Lord!’ Mildred backed away and ran for Pa.

  ‘Poor mite,’ he said. ‘We can’t even take her to the children’s hospital. They’ve closed the doors now that Watson baby’s died. They don’t want the fever to spread to all the other patients.’

  ‘But what will we do with her?’ Mildred wailed. ‘She’ll give us all the fever! We have to keep her separate!’

  ‘If you try stuffing her into that cupboard under the stairs I’ll kill you,’ I said, knowing that Megs wouldn’t be able to bear it.

  ‘Don’t you talk to me like that, missy. You’ll kill me, will you? Just exactly how are you going to do that when I can knock you flying with one hand tied behind my back?’ said Mildred.

  ‘I’ll wait till you’re asleep tonight and then I’ll get the kitchen knife and creep up to your bed and stick it straight through your heart,’ I told her. ‘Now go away, all of you. I’ll nurse Megs here, in her own bed. The other children will have to go in with you.’

  Mildred started shepherding her own children out of the room.

  Pa hovered, biting his lip, looking over at Megs. ‘My poor little darling,’ he said. ‘That kiddie means the world to me.’

  He took very little notice of her these days, and hadn’t dandled her on his lap since she was a baby, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. I was concentrating on Megs.

  I smoothed the blankets as best I could, and made her a soft pillow out of a bundle of petticoats. I smoothed her hair back from her forehead and gently blew on her face to cool her down. Then I started telling her my captive princess story, acting it out – though it was all a bit too complicated for her to follow and her eyelids kept closing.

  ‘That’s it, my Megs, you go to sleep. I think you’ll feel a lot better when you wake up. I’ll sing you the lullaby song. Philomel, with melody . . .’ I sang it softly to her and she nestled closer. I fancied I saw a ghost of a smile on her poor red face as she slept.

  I tried to tell myself it was proper restorative sleep, though her breathing was harsh and she kept tossing from side to side. When she seemed settled for a few minutes I dashed off to sluice myself down at the cold tap, taking off my stained nightgown and putting on my faded dress. I soaked a rag to cool Megs’s brow and filled a small bowl with bread and milk, mashing it up and adding a sprinkling of sugar.

  Mildred watched me from the doorway. She snorted when she saw the sugar but didn’t object out loud.

  ‘I think you should send one of the boys to the butcher’s for a meaty bone,’ I said. ‘Bone broth will work wonders for Megs.’ I was laying down the law, but for once Mildred didn’t argue.

  I ran back up to Megs, praying at each step: Let her be a little better. Please, please, just a little bit better.

  But Megs seemed worse. She was very restless, and mumbled incessantly under her breath. I couldn’t make head nor tail of what she was saying. I tried to rouse her but she didn’t seem properly awake even when her eyes were open.

  I tried her with the bread and milk, coaxing her gently, but the spoon clanked against her teeth. When I managed to slide a morsel on to her tongue the milk oozed out of her mouth and trickled down her chin.

  ‘Never mind, sweetheart. You’re not hungry just now but we’ll try again later,’ I said, tenderly wiping her face.

  I held the cold rag to her burning forehead and it seemed to help her a little. I climbed on to the bed beside her and put my arms tight round her to make her feel safe. I slept a little and then woke with a start when Pa came into the room.

  I didn’t even realize it was Pa at first. He’d tied an old muffler over his face, and with his cap set low on his brow he looked like a robber.

  ‘It’s only me, Clover,’ he said. ‘How’s our Megs?’

  I didn’t need to feel her forehead. Her whole body was burning. ‘She still has the fever,’ I said, stroking her.

  ‘Well, I’ve been right past the park over to Henderson’s Buildings – someone said that’s where that street doctor chappie lives. It took the devil of a time finding the right room, and folk weren’t too happy to be disturbed on a Sunday, but I found him at last. He’s given me his best potion for the fever. I had to pay over the odds, but I told him I didn’t begrudge a penny – not if it might save my little daughter.’ Pa was all puffed up and proud of himself, though his eyes were still fearful when he peered at Megs.

  ‘Do you want to give her the potion, Pa?’ I asked, leaning up on one elbow.

  ‘No, no, you do it. I’d only spill it, I’m that clumsy,’ he said, setting it down on the floor. ‘You’re the chief nurse now, aren’t you? That’s my girl.’ He backed out of the room, holding his muffler tight over his nose.

  ‘Oh dear, Megsie, they’re all scared to death,’ I whispered to her. ‘First it was me, and now it’s you. How could they ever be scared of a little scrap of a girl like you? Shall we try the potion, see if it helps any?’

  I got a spoonful into her, and this time she tried valiantly to swallow, though it clearly hurt her. I sniffed the potion myself. It smelled very similar to the strawberry jam I’d had in the cupboard, just sieved and watered down, but at least it might soothe her sore throat.

  I lay with her all day, changing her sodden nightgown for little Mary’s clean one. Megs was a full five years older than Mary but the nightgown still fitted, though it only came down to her knees. In the evening I tried her with bone soup. Mildred had done her best, skimming it until it was clear and golden, the easiest thing in the world to slip down a sore throat. Megs managed a spoonful.

  ‘That’s it, my darling. You need some nourishment inside you. Shall we try one more little sip?’ I asked, but Megs’s head was heavy on my
arm. She’d drifted off to sleep again.

  I lay beside her, sometimes dozing too. I heard Mildred and Pa herding all the other children into their bedroom with them. It would be a terrible squash in their bed, and several of the little ones would wet the bed if you didn’t haul them out and sit them on the pot while they were half asleep. I hoped Mildred would end up drowning in a sea of wee – and then prickled with shame. How could I have such mean and childish thoughts when my dearest sister was lying in my arms, fighting for breath?

  I timed my breaths with hers. It made my chest ache as I panted in rhythm. ‘Slow down, Megs. Breathe in, right in, fill your chest with air. Then breathe out, slowly, slowly. In . . . and then out. Try for Clover. In . . . and then out,’ I murmured.

  Megs was too deeply asleep to take any notice, but I went on talking to her, whispering into her ear.

  ‘I’ve been helping Mr Dolly, Megs. I can paint lovely faces and make the dolls come alive! When you’re a bit better I’m going to run back to Mr Dolly’s and see if he’ll let me make you your very own doll. Not a rag baby – a real wooden doll with a painted smile and proper clothes. Perhaps he might even let me have Anne Boleyn, my absolute favourite. Henry the Eighth had lots of wives and Anne Boleyn was his most famous one, but then he stopped loving her and had her head cut off.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re not going to be wives, you and me. When I’m grown up – and it won’t be too long now – I’m going to work for Mr Dolly and make my own dolls, and I’ll teach you too, and we’ll have our own special little house, just for the two of us – though I dare say we’ll let some of the other children come and take tea with us. Maybe even Pa. But we’re never, ever letting Mildred put so much as a foot inside the door.

  ‘I’ll sell lots of dolls and so will you. We will be the Misses Moon and our dolls will be in great demand. Even the royal children will have our special dolls in their nurseries. Mr Dolly will be so proud of us. He will be too old to make dolls himself, but we will let him live with us and be like a beloved grandpapa. He will have his own rocking chair by our hearth and we will feed him bread and milk and bone soup to keep him in good health.’