‘The baker complained. She was picked up by the constable and taken to the Hole. Elizabeth wouldn’t talk to her, any more than she would to the old woman who was hanged—’ He paused.
‘She went wild when the old woman was taken out, though. Has that happened again?’
Joseph shook his head wearily. ‘No. When I went to visit Lizzy this morning the turnkey told me the child had been examined by a doctor and removed to the Bedlam. He reckoned her mad. But he said when he went to take them food last night, he heard Lizzy and the girl talking. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but he remarked it; it was the first time he had heard Elizabeth speak, and the girl had been sullen and quiet too since she was put in the Hole.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Sarah, I believe. She and her brother were orphans, kicked out of St Helen’s foundling hospital when the nunnery closed.’ He sighed. ‘This morning Elizabeth just sat, hollow-eyed, would not even look at me or at the food I had brought, though her last meal was lying there untouched. Then when I went this evening—’ He broke off and put his head in his hands again.
‘Joseph,’ I said, ‘I was hoping to have some news for you tomorrow. I know you feared I had forgotten you—’
He looked up at me. ‘You’re all I have, Master Shardlake. You were my only hope. But now I fear it’s too late. This evening Lizzy was lying insensible on the straw, her face burning hot to the touch. She has gaol fever, sir.’
Barak and I exchanged glances. Outbreaks of fever were common in gaols, blamed on the foul humours released by the stinking straw. Whole prisons had sometimes died of it, and it had been known to penetrate the Old Bailey, felling witnesses and even judges. If Elizabeth had it, her chances were slim.
‘The turnkeys won’t go near her,’ Joseph said. ‘I said I’d pay to have her put somewhere better, get a physician. Though God knows how, I hear my crops are ruined by the heat.’ A note of hysteria entered his voice.
I rose wearily. ‘Then I shall have to take a hand. I have assumed a responsibility for Elizabeth and it is time I met it. I’ll come to the gaol. I know they have good rooms for those who can pay. And I know an apothecary who can cure her if anyone can.’
‘She needs a physician.’
‘This man is a physician, though as a foreigner he is not allowed to practise here.’
‘But the cost—’
‘I’ll deal with that - you can repay me later. God knows,’ I muttered, ‘at least this is something clean and clear to do.’
‘I’ll come if you like,’ Barak said.
‘You will?’ Joseph looked at him, staring a little as he noticed his shaven head for the first time.
‘Thank you, Barak. Then come, I will get Simon to run to Guy with a note, ask him to come to Newgate.’ I stood up. From somewhere, God knew where, I had found a last reserve of energy. Joseph might have thought me self-sacrificing, but I felt that if Elizabeth died now before our time was up, after all my decision to act for her had led me into, the irony would be so dark as to be beyond bearing.
THE GAOL LOOKED DARK and sinister at night, its towers a grim outline against the starry sky. The gaoler was sleepy, angry at being woken until I pressed a shilling into his hand. He summoned the fat turnkey. The man’s face fell when the gaoler told him to take us to the Hole and he led us below ground without his usual brutal badinage. Quickly unlocking the door, he retreated fast and stood against the opposite wall.
The stink of urine and bad food that hit us in the hot cell was appalling: it stung the throat and brought tears to the eyes. We held our sleeves to our noses as we went in. Elizabeth lay insensible on the straw, her limbs askew. Even unconscious her face was troubled, the eyes working beneath the closed lids in some fevered dream. Her colour was high, her obscenely bald head shining bright pink. I put my hand to her brow. Joseph was right - she was burning. I motioned the others to go back outside and went over to the turnkey. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I know you have comfortable rooms upstairs.’
‘Only for those that can pay.’
‘We’ll pay,’ I said. ‘Take me back to the gaoler.’
The turnkey locked the door again and, motioning the others to remain behind, I followed him back up to the gaoler’s room, a comfortable chamber with a feather bed and a wall hanging. The gaoler was sitting at his table, a worried look on his hard features.
‘Is she dead yet, Williams?’ he asked.
‘No, master.’
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘We want to get her out of these foul airs. I’ll pay for a good room.’
The gaoler shook his head. ‘Moving her will only spread the humours of her fever round the gaol. And the judge’s order was she was to stay in the Hole.’
‘I’ll answer to Forbizer. I have an apothecary who may be able to help her. He might be able to cure her fever. Then it won’t spread, eh?’
He still looked doubtful. ‘Who’s to carry her up there? I’m not going near, and nor are my men.’