The Great Trouble (14 page)

“John, I was just saying that we would see you before the week was out.” A portly gentleman with a graying beard came forward to greet Dr. Snow with a smile. Behind him several clerks were bent over desks. “No doubt you’re here because of the outbreak in Soho.”

Dr. Snow shook his hand and told him, “It’s practically on my doorstep, William. I’m putting my other work aside as much as I can to look into this terrible business.”

Dr. Farr drew out a ledger from under a counter and began to page through it. “Ah, here we are. For that part of Soho, there were eighty-three deaths from Thursday through Saturday, with all but four of those on Friday and Saturday.

“Now, this is interesting,” Dr. Farr said, frowning. “It’s certainly a substantial increase above normal.”

“Seventy-nine in just
two
days,” I cried, unable to stop myself.

“The total is probably twice that by now, young man. Nor do we have reports from the nearby hospitals yet. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the death toll reach five hundred by the end of this week,” said Dr. Farr. Then he turned to Dr. Snow. “Is this young urchin with you, John?”

“As a matter of fact, he is,” Dr. Snow answered cheerfully. “Meet my new assistant. He goes by the name of Eel.”

I blushed. Assistant! If only Mum were here so I could tell her.

“Another of your experiments, I presume,” Dr. Farr teased.

“In fact, Eel has a well-developed sense of curiosity and is quite tenacious.” Dr. Snow smiled at me.

“Curiosity is an admirable trait for an investigator,” Dr. Farr said. Then he did something rather surprising. He leaned over the counter and peered at me closely. “Odd. I could swear there is something familiar about the boy. Such extraordinary eyes, almost black.”

My stomach lurched. Could Dr. Farr have heard about me from Fisheye Bill? But no. That couldn’t be. Dr. Farr held one of the most important positions in London. He wouldn’t know someone like Fisheye Bill Tyler.

“Well, perhaps it will come to me later,” he said, giving himself a little shake. “At any rate, young man, as a friend of Dr. Snow, you are always welcome here. I hope you will endeavor to deserve his confidence. And I imagine he has told you all about his theory on the spread of cholera.”

“You mean about the water, sir?”

Dr. Snow opened his mouth, ready to launch into an explanation. Then we both saw Dr. Farr’s wink. He put up his hands.

“No need to lecture, my friend. I’m not convinced that you are right, John. Not yet,” Dr. Farr said. “But my office will help any way we can. This is certainly a most alarming death toll in such a short time. Far worse than we normally see when cholera raises its nasty head.”

Dr. Snow nodded. “Just so. And I do need your assistance. I’d like a list of the names of these eighty-three dead, along with their addresses.”

“We have the records, of course. Unfortunately, though, I’m rather short of staff today,” said Dr. Farr. “Can your lad write a clear hand? I’d be happy to have him stay and undertake the task.”

“What do you say, Eel? You did all right with lettering yesterday. Can you handle a pen?”

“I’m a bit out of practice, sir. But … I can do it,” I replied. If I failed, Dilly and I might be looking for another place to stay a lot sooner than expected.

I can’t get used to a soft life
, I reminded myself.
There won’t always be tea and toast with jam for a mudlark
.

Dr. Snow tore out several pages from his notebook and handed them to me. “Eel, I want a list, clean and precise. Include the victim’s name, date of death, age, and address. Is that clear?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir, but …”

“But what?”

“You didn’t quite finish with the explanation, sir,” I said hesitantly. “And it would help for me to understand. Are we … going to write all their names on our map?”

“Ah, good question.” Dr. Snow moved toward the door. “I’ll meet you at the Broad Street pump at noon. I expect your list to be complete. Then you shall have your answer.”

“Dr. Snow,” I said as he put his hand on the wooden doorknob. “If you could … just remind Dilly to wait.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Dr. Snow said with a smile. “I’ll take her with me on my errand. Will she come, do you think?”

“Yes, sir.” I grinned. “I’m sure she will.”

After he had closed the door, I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. I felt nervous being left with Dr. Farr and his stern-looking clerks.

Luckily, Mrs. Weatherburn had washed my shirt and pants. I might still feel like a mudlark on the inside, but at least I didn’t smell like one. I sat down at the table that Dr. Farr had asked someone to clear for me and thought suddenly of my father.

Pa had been a respectable man, a clerk in an office, though I wasn’t sure where it had been or exactly what he did. I’d only been nine when he died, and now Mum wasn’t here to ask.

Still, it felt good to remember that I
was
the son of a clerk.

I can do this
, I thought as I found the first name on the ledger and took up my pen. And so I began.

It took more than two hours to make the list of dead people. My hand was cramped by the time I made my way back to Soho. The muscles in my back ached. I had a headache and my stomach was growling. Writing was hard work.

I found Dr. Snow standing in front of the Broad Street pump with his arms folded, Dilly napping at his feet. “Ah, here’s my assistant!” he greeted me cheerily. “Do you have the list?”

I handed it to him, my heart beating hard. I’d tried my best, thinking of my father and glad that Mum had taught me well.

Someone else had come to mind as I’d worked on the
list: Mr. Edward Huggins from the Lion Brewery. He’d had faith in me too. Now he probably believed I’d stolen from the business. I hadn’t seen him since that horrible day. If I ever did again, maybe I could get up enough courage to tell him the truth.

Dr. Snow scanned the list. “Excellent. Looks complete. Let’s get to it.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Knock on doors.”

We stopped before a house at the corner of Broad and Berwick. Dr. Snow pulled a small notebook and pen out of his pocket and handed them to me.

“We’ll start here. You write down the particulars while I conduct the interviews,” he instructed. “Once you see what to do, we can separate and get more done. Now, what information do you think we shall want to record about those who died?”

“Well, I guess we should start by making sure the list is right and the name of the victim and the age are correct,” I ventured.

“Yes, very good,” approved Dr. Snow. “Age is a clue to help us learn who is dying from the cholera. Are children and young people affected more than older ones? Asking these questions can help us find a pattern.”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. I was starting to feel jittery. I remembered how hard it had been to carry the
victims away in coffins. Now I would be going back into the same houses, talking to people who’d lost sons and daughters, husbands and wives.

“What are some of the other questions we need to ask?” Dr. Snow was saying.

“Well, we have a list of the days the people died,” I began slowly, trying to remember the Five
W
’s. “But it doesn’t tell us
when
they got sick.”

Another thought occurred to me. “We should ask about symptoms, and
what
caused each person’s death. We want to be sure it was the blue death.”

Dr. Snow nodded his encouragement. “Very good, Eel.”

I wasn’t sure if the Five
W
’s had to be in a certain order, but Dr. Snow didn’t seem to mind my rambling. “And we should ask
where
they worked or went to school.”

“And what else?” Dr. Snow prompted.

What else?
I didn’t know. All that writing had worn me out. Maybe because I’d recognized so many of the victims’ names. They were my neighbors, and kids like me that I’d seen on the street every day. Dr. Snow should just tell me the answers to all his questions.

“Take your time, Eel,” he said. “It will come to you. We want to know where people …”

“… get their water!” I finished. This, I realized, was the most important thing.

“But I
can
warn them not to drink the water from the Broad Street pump?”

“Yes, we should warn them. But be prepared: most
people won’t listen,” Dr. Snow cautioned. “They believe what they can smell and taste. The air is foul; the water from Broad Street tastes good. It looks clear, and it’s certainly less murky than the water from some of the other wells nearby.”

“Even Dr. Farr doesn’t believe your theory,” I said.

“Someday he will,” said Dr. Snow with fierce determination.

“How will we show all this on the map?” I wondered.

Dr. Snow spread out the map Florrie and I had made. “As we visit each family, we need to ask not just about the person you have on the list, but about every person who has died in that household.”

“You mean, in case other people have died since Saturday?”

“Yes. Then, on the spot on the map where the house is, we will make a little black mark, a rectangle, for each victim.”

“A mark in the shape of a coffin,” I said softly.

“Exactly.” Dr. Snow nodded.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Take this house in front of us,” Dr. Snow said. “For each death at this address, we make a mark on the map. Some addresses will end up with three or four marks beside them; others, one or two. Or none.”

I nodded. “But … how will this help us convince the committee and prove your theory?”

“Ah, well, if my hypothesis is correct and there is one source of contamination causing the disease, I believe that
when we are done, our map will show that most of the deaths are clustered around a single point. I think you can guess what that is.”

I could. “The Broad Street pump.”

By late afternoon, I’d been doing interviews on my own for several hours. Every time I knocked on a door, my heart pounded. I never knew what I might find behind those shuttered windows and closed doors. The neighborhood might be almost deserted now, but there were still folks fighting for their lives.

Maybe it was easier for Dr. Snow, who had done this work before in different parts of London, in other epidemics. He was also a grown-up and a physician. He didn’t know the families the way I did either. I might not remember everyone’s name, but I recognized faces. And those faces were full of sorrow and fear.

My first interview without Dr. Snow was one of the hardest. I knocked nervously, half hoping no one would answer. The door swung open and a boy of about four stood there. He reminded me of Henry, with large, dark eyes and pale skin.

“Hullo there,” I said. “Is your mum in?”

From behind him, a woman called out in an angry voice, “What do you want? We’ve trouble enough, if you’ve come begging.”

“No, ma’am. I’m helping Dr. John Snow,” I explained.
“He’s got some questions he’d like me to ask you about the cholera outbreak.”

I took a breath. This next part was harder. “I’m … sorry to hear your family has been struck with it.”

She sighed heavily and glanced behind her, where a young girl lay on a pallet on the floor.

“Milly’s resting now, so you better be quick,” she said in a low voice. “I lost my husband, Jack, on Saturday. Milly … she’s been holding on since Sunday night.”

“It won’t take long, ma’am,” I said, making notes in my book. “Could you tell me where your family gets water?”

“Why, from the Broad Street pump, of course,” she said at once. “It’s just round the corner. Milly usually fetches it.”

“Did your husband … that is to say, has anyone in your family been drinking water from the pump lately?”

“Yes …,” she began, and then she stopped. A frown creased her brow. “Now, why are you asking about water? I thought the cholera was caused by bad air.”

“Most people do think that. But Dr. Snow believes it might be from the water. That’s why what you’re telling me will help,” I said. I repeated my question. “Do you recall whether you all drank from the pump last week?”

She glanced back at the still form behind her. “I expect Milly did, and Jack, my husband. But I was gone a good part of the week. My sister lives in Southwark, and she’s been feelin’ poorly since her youngest was born.”

“And you went to see her?” I prompted. The woman
nodded and pulled the little boy toward her. He hid his head in her skirts.

She continued, “I took my boy with me and left Milly to keep house for her pa. She’s a responsible girl for twelve. We come back Friday night to find Jack struck. He was gone the next day. And then Milly got it.

“The little one and I, we’re not sick. And here you are, asking about the water,” she said thoughtfully. “Was the pump water poisoned, then? It looks so clear, compared to what we get in the pipes.”

“Dr. Snow believes the water from the Broad Street pump may be the cause,” I said. “That’s what he’s trying to prove. So please don’t drink it for a while.”

At the door, I dug into my pocket. I found a halfpenny and handed it to the boy. Henry had been about his age when Pa died.

We had good shoes when Pa was alive, and whenever my feet got too big, Mum would carefully oil the leather on my old shoes and wrap them in brown paper. “Henry, you’ll have these to wear to school one day. So eat your porridge up so your feet will grow, grow, grow!”

But after Pa died, there wasn’t much money for shoes. At first Mum tried to keep us by doing fine sewing. We had to move from two rooms into one. We sold her pianoforte and all of my father’s books. But she still scrimped to send us to school.

I remember she had a little trunk that she kept linen
in, with plain brown sides and a top decorated with yellow tulips and pink roses and purple lavender, painted by hand. I’d always imagined that she’d painted it herself, and I liked to think of her as a girl, making her paintbrush into a tiny point to capture the delicate petals.

One day we came home from school and found her kneeling before the trunk, tears staining her cheeks. She was holding a faded cotton pillowcase.