‘DAN, IS IT TRUE THAT POOR JOHN CLERKE IS VERY ILL?’ HENRIETTA asked, for he and the bank manager were close friends.
‘I fear his condition is grave,’ her husband admitted, his voice breaking. ‘The Provincial Bank sent a replacement manager to take over the running of it, but apparently he has already fled the town for fear of contagion. The new official they sent is apparently no better as he too is threatening to leave!’
‘You can’t blame them, Dan. Anyone with an ounce of good sense would pack up and go,’ she said pointedly.
‘Unfortunately that is precisely what the matron, the apothecary and some of the staff in the workhouse have done,’ he told her, clearly worried. ‘And a number of staff there have also fallen ill.’
‘Oh, Dan, what will you do?’ she asked, shocked at such news.
‘We will have to manage with a limited staff.’ Her husband sighed, a heavy tiredness in his eyes. ‘We must treat the sick, feed the hungry and bury the dead. Fortunately, Mr Mahony’s graphic illustrations of the tragedy of our terrible situation have resulted in massive donations to help Ireland and our people. Hundreds of thousands of pounds by all accounts, not just from the readers of his paper but from all around the world.’
‘Oh, thank heaven,’ she said, relieved.
‘Such contributions are badly needed and we have now arranged to have soup brought to the sick in the town and delivered by cart to Kilcoe, Ballydehob, Rath and outlying areas to stop more people flooding into town. We are feeding near eight thousand people, Henrietta, and delivering fresh straw for bedding throughout Bridgetown and the lanes to try to cope with the filth and sickness. Unfortunately, there are even fewer people now to assist us with such work.’
‘Dan, you are working too hard. You must rest,’ she pleaded with him, ‘or you will fall ill yourself.’
‘I have a strong constitution, my dear,’ he reminded her gently, ‘and my duty is to attend to my patients.’
As she made her way to the market that morning, Henrietta was lost in thought. She stopped in her tracks when she bumped into Reverend Townsend, who doffed his black hat to her.
‘Good day, Reverend,’ she greeted him politely.
He paused, appearing upset by her words.
‘I’m afraid that as far as my household is concerned, Mrs Donovan, this is not a very good day. For we have suffered a great loss.’
‘Oh, no. Is Mrs Townsend unwell?’
‘She is quite well,’ he assured her, ‘but she is distressed by events. Our two servants were both stricken with fever these past few days. Despite our best efforts, both died during the night.’
Henrietta felt herself grow weak as she thought of the new pretty little maid who had played with her children only a few weeks ago.
‘I must call to her,’ she blurted out, knowing how deeply affected her friend would be by such loss. ‘Is she at home?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded gravely. ‘I need to attend to the arrangements for them. Please convey our gratitude to your husband, for he was most kind and attentive to them during their travails.’
Henrietta watched as he walked away, and decided to call to Glebe House immediately.
Through the long drawing-room window she could see Elizabeth sitting sewing, head bent in concentration. She rang the bell twice and her friend came to answer the door herself. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and she looked utterly grief-stricken.
‘I met your husband and he told me about what happened to your servants,’ Henrietta ventured. ‘I wanted to come and offer my condolences on their deaths.’
‘I still cannot believe it!’ Elizabeth’s voice broke with emotion. ‘The two of them taken from us like that in a matter of days. Young women with their lives ahead of them, taken by fever. How can such a thing happen?’
‘I am so sorry. I know how good you were to them.’
‘Kate had worked for us since she was sixteen years of age. She had such a kind heart and helped out with serving in the soup kitchen only last week. And as for young Jane, she was like a little bit of sunshine that came into our lives. They were part of our small family and will for ever be greatly missed,’ she sobbed.
Henrietta took hold of her arm gently and led her back into the drawing room, where Elizabeth lowered herself into the velvet armchair.
‘Do you need anything?’ Henrietta offered. ‘Can I help in some way?’
Elizabeth Townsend shook her head and slowly took up her sewing again.
Henrietta realized that the linen she was stitching neatly and carefully was a white shroud.
‘This one is for Jane,’ Elizabeth explained.
Another shroud lay spread out on a nearby chair.
‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’ Henrietta offered.
‘Thank you, but I just need to finish my sewing so these will be ready for the funeral of my two girls.’
‘I am so sorry for your loss,’ Henrietta repeated, words escaping her.
Tears ran slowly down Elizabeth’s pale face. ‘They were like our family. I don’t know how people can bear such sadness – children, sons and daughters, husbands and wives, parents all stricken by fever.’
‘These are terrible times,’ Henrietta consoled her friend.
‘Nobody is safe from this disease and torment, no one!’ warned Elizabeth.
Distressed, Henrietta hurried home, her head bent low as she avoided meeting or talking to anyone. Skibbereen had become a blighted town and she dearly wished that Dan would give consideration to fleeing as others had done. However, she knew well that, despite her entreaties, her dutiful and steadfast husband would never desert the town and people he loved so much.