Chapter 4- Life in a Box
Alan meets Mr York in his house attached to the jail. The four lawmen sit cleaning their guns around a large table while Lizzie cooks supper for the inmates.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
"'Evening, Doctor," Malachi responds, "How's Thad?"
"Well. His wounds aren't too deep and will heal easily with clean bandages and good care."
"And Miss Edith?"
"Resting in the care of Mrs Doyle."
"She'll be right as rain, then. Mrs Doyle's something of a miracle worker. In the old days, she'd have been a village witch."
Ezra laughs, "In the old days, her foremothers were the village witches! One of 'em was even burned. Rebecca's carrying on the family tradition. Good woman, good hands."
Mr York interrupts, "Doctor, you'd best get to your surgery before Lizzie finishes cooking. I'd like his supper to be warm when she gets it to him."
"Are you certain it is a good idea for her to deliver it?"
"She knows how to stay safe. Prisoners are behind bars and she doesn't need to unlock the cells to deliver food."
"Pardon me, sir, if it seems impolite to push this matter, but how many men has she been around who have killed three women and attempted to kill a fourth?"
"None. But she's been around Mary McCreedy-"
"Oh, she was a bad one," Ezra interjects.
"-who drowned four kids and slit her husband's throat while he slept."
"And don't forget William Scott!" adds Nathaniel.
"Aye, Mr Scott beat his daughter to death," Malachi clarifies.
Roger slaps the table, "And don't forget Old Bert, who nailed cats to the church."
"Old Bert was crazy, that's true, but he talked of doing the same and worse to the girls he saw going in with their shoulders bare in the summer," Malachi says.
"And you were never concerned for her safety?" Alan asks.
Mr York shakes his head, "Not from them or any of the others we've had here. The frightening people are the ones nobody's caught yet."
Alan has to admit, at least to himself, that this makes a fair amount of sense, "Then can you show me to my next patient?"
Mr York rises, followed by Malachi and Roger, "Right this way, Doctor. The sheriff and his man will see to it that you are well watched."
In the cell, Thomas lays quiet and still on the cot. He has not moved since he was told to lay down and wait. There are too many things in his mind for sleep and so he stares at the ceiling and searches for patterns in the stones.
He hears footsteps approach and then the key jangle in his cell door, but he still does not sit up, "And who, Mr York, have you brought to see me?"
"Just Doctor McMichael. The sheriff and his man will stand guard."
"Yes, of course."
"Your supper will be ready after the doctor is done. Lizzie's cooking. Then you'll need to get some rest. I'd imagine this has been a bit of a long day, especially with how late it is."
"Has Lucille had her supper yet?"
"No. Lizzie will bring it to you both at the same time. Don't worry, we'll take care of her, too."
Alan enters and sets up his medical equipment on a small wooden folding table. Mr York leaves, and Alan's two guards take up their posts on either side of the door, their rifles pointed to the floor, but ready for anything. Alan moves Thomas' arm and opens his shirt without speaking to his patient. Thomas stays still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as Alan carefully inspects the wound.
"I need to remove the blade to get a better look. This will hurt."
"I have no- aaaaa!" Alan puts pressure on the wound with one hand and holds the knife up to the light for a better look with the other.
"Well the slight serration on this is going to make repairs quite a bit more difficult. I make no guarantees you won't still end up with an infection and die. This is far cry from the surgical theatre in which I learned to operate."
"Do you not work in a hospital in America?"
"No. I primarily treat eyes."
"Ah." There is a hit of worry in Thomas' voice.
"Have no fear, Mr Sharpe, I have cut open men to remove tumours and I have set bones and stitched bodies back together. I studied surgery before I chose my speciality." He puts towels under Thomas' arm and on his chest, then flushes out the wound. Thomas grips the edge of the cot and tries not to black out as Alan prods it open in order to get it as clean as possible. He tries not to shudder, but it is nearly impossible, the pain washing through his entire body, his instinct to flee nearly stronger than his will to keep from moving so the doctor can fix him.
"Please, doctor, no more...," he gasps.
"Steady, I've only a few moments to go. There. It looks clean. I'll stitch you up and bandage you next."
"How do others endure?"
"With anaesthetic. But I do not have any, nor does it seem there is any in this village. So you will have to bite this." He places a wooden stick in Thomas mouth and threads his suturing needle. Thomas cries out in pain as the needle punctures his skin, "Malachi? A hand?" He comes to the cot and holds Thomas still, a thick arm pressed across his chest, as Alan stitches.
When he has finished, Alan cleans up the blood around the wound while Thomas lays gasping and trembling. He is as gentle as he can be when he bandages the shoulder and adjusts the scarf into a tighter sling.
"You'd best keep this still. You'll thank me for it later."
"I have so many things to thank you for now."
"Oh?"
"You came for her. Thank god, you came for her. And you brought men with you. And you will soon take Edith far away from here."
"You tried to kill her."
"No. My sister tried to kill her. I was complicit, yes, but I tried to warn her. I had to be subtle and because of that, I was not obvious enough."
"I don't think she sees things quite the same way."
"I know."
"Goodnight, Mr Sharpe. Get some rest. And in the morning, I will check your wound." Alan leaves the cell, Malachi and Roger following, waiting outside the cell until Mr York returns to lock him in.
"Lizzie's just putting supper in bowls. Do you think you'll be able to eat, Mr Sharpe?"
"A little."
"Good. She'll be by in a moment." He turns to walk away, then turns back, "Just so we're as painfully clear as possible, my daughter is not to be trifled with. Keep your words kind and your mind pure about her, lest I take matters into my own hands." He leaves before Thomas can reply.
Not long after, Lizzie pushes a cart by him on her way to Lucille's cell. She slides her tray onto the carousel, unlocking the curved door so she can rotate it around, locking it again when supper available to Lucille.
Lucille glares at her with pursed lips, "Did you poison it?"
Lizzie shakes her head and mimes eating it.
"You ate it, too?"
She nods.
"Will you return for the dishes tonight?"
Again, Lizzie nods.
"Has Thomas eaten yet?"
Lizzie shakes her head and mimics sewing at her shoulder.
"And will he recover?"
Lizzie nods.
"Good."
Lizzie gives a slight bow of her head, then points to her tray and down the hall. Lucille says nothing, but tilts her head in acknowledgement. Lizzie walks away, her cart clicking on the slight gaps between each of the smooth stones in the floor.
When she gets to Thomas' cell, he is laying on his back with his arm over his eyes. She does not know if he is awake, so she is as quiet as she can be as she sets the bowl and spoon on the carousel and unlocks it to turn it into place. It squeaks a little and she flinches, adjusting her pace so the sound is more quiet.
"I'm not asleep." He very slowly sits up, gasping, his eyes squeezed shut, when he moves his shoulder.
She gestures for him to slow down.
He smiles at her, "This is...difficult." He stands and walks over to the carousel, holding his arm, "And that smells delicious. Thank you."
She bows briefly in response and returns to her cart.
He carries his bowl to the cot and tries to place it in the hand resting in the sling so he can spoon with the other, but even that is too much and he falters, spilling his soup, the bowl clattering to the floor. Frustrated, he hits his leg and then drops his face into his hand.
She approaches the cell again and taps the bars to get his attention.
"Yes?" There is a dread in his voice she does not expect.
She holds up a hand to tell him to wait, then points to herself and the door she is heading for. She then makes her fingers walk from that direction to the cell and after, mimes wiping the floor and holds out her hands in a bowl towards him.
"You will help clean and bring more soup?"
She nods, then shrugs and gestures it may be someone taller and traces a moustache on her lip.
"Your father."
She smiles and then holds up one finger to tell him to wait before disappearing with her cart. A few moments later, Mr York comes through the door pushing it. He enters the cell.
"Lizzie tells me you had a little accident."
"Yes. I didn't realise that my hand would not hold the bowl."
"Well don't worry. We've had far worse things spilled in these cells. Let me get this taken care of..." He scrubs the floor thoroughly, catching the splatter all the way across the floor. He then retrieves a set of clothes from the cart, "Let's get you cleaned up."
"I don't know how possible that will be-"
"If you let me help, it'll be plenty possible. Might still hurt your arm, but it'll be better than you struggling to do it yourself."
Thomas has never had someone help him dress, not since he has been capable of it himself, and it feels awkward and uncomfortable, but Mr York does not seem to think anything of not only giving direction, but gently assisting him in removing his clothes and redressing him.
"Do you have to help others do this often?"
"No, but I've done it enough."
"Ah."
"Mostly for those addled by too much to drink who come in hurt and soiled. You follow directions better."
"I am grateful for your assistance."
"Good. Because I'm not going to let you go hungry." He holds the bowl up, "Take your time. It's good soup. Lizzie's a wonderful cook. She calls herself the queen of soup."
Thomas hesitates to take the spoon, but the look on the other man's face assures him he is entirely serious, "You will hold it?"
"Of course."
He sips the broth and can't help but smile as it trickles, soothing and warm, down his throat, "This is quite good."
"That it is."
"I hope Lucille tries it."
"Lizzie says she asked if it was poisoned."
Thomas almost snorts his soup, "Oh did she?"
"The doctor tells me that someone's been poisoning the girl, Edith."
He sighs and sets down his spoon, "So it is time for confession?"
"No, not until the priest comes. But it seems interesting your sister would bring it up."
"She has had little kindness in her life."
"There were rumours when your father was alive of life so brutal at Allerdale Hall that the mine men wanted nothing to do with the house. They'd work, but none of them felt right about lining his purse."
"They were right to suspect something."
"Keep eating. You're going to need your strength to recover from that wound."
"What good is it to recover when I will hang?" He picks up the spoon anyway and carefully sips.
"You might as well enjoy what you can then. And it's damn fine soup."
Thomas laughs and continues his supper, "That much is certain." He quietly finishes and places the spoon back in the bowl, "Thank you, sir. For your assistance. And for clean, dry clothes."
"You're welcome."
"Sir?"
"Hmmm?"
"Are you so kind to all your prisoners?"
"If they'll let me be. Men aren't born cruel, Mr Sharpe- those that get mean are usually taught mean. I see no reason to feed that fire."
Thomas nods his acknowledgement and Mr York leaves the cell. Not long after, Lizzie passes by with blankets in her arms. She retrieves Lucille's bowl and spoon and places a blanket in the carousel. Lucille is still as a statue. She does the same for Thomas. He retrieves it quickly and huddles under it on the cot.
"Thank you, Lizzie. And goodnight."
She mocks shuddering, then wrapping a blanket close, wiping her forehead in relief. Then she mimes sleep.
"Stay warm and sleep well?"
She smiles.
"The same to you."
She returns to her father and then cleans up from cooking, placing the leftover soup in a jar and tucking it in the snow bank outside the kitchen door.
"Well, Liz, we'll see how many we have in the morning. I don't think they have anything on them, but you've seen as well as I how men will fashion a noose of their own clothing."
Lizzie nods and retrieves a book from the table before heading towards the narrow stairs.
"Goodnight. I'll be up before too late. Tomorrow we need to notify the crown we have a case for the assize. Gather our documents and all that. Let the law take its course."
She crosses herself and raises her arms in question.
"Ah. Yes. I've sent for Brother Morton. He'll be over."
She waves to him, and he waves back.
"I'll see you in the morning if you're not up when I go to tuck in."
In the cells, Lucille sits on her cot, still as stone while her brother has already fallen asleep, huddled under the heavy quilt.