The Great Trouble (13 page)

As it turned out, Dr. Snow wouldn’t be able to start gathering evidence right away. “I have a tooth extraction to attend this morning,” he explained. “After that I will take the samples to Dr. Hassall for him to look at.”

“What about me? Am I supposed to start talking to people all on my own?”

“Not yet. First you are going to make a map,” Dr. Snow instructed.

“That sounds … important.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. It will only be in pencil. I will undoubtedly do one in pen later, when I write up my final paper on our investigation.

“But we must start somewhere, Eel,” he concluded. “And I believe I can trust you to begin.”

Trust
. The word stuck with me like a good, hearty breakfast. Not that I’d had many breakfasts as fine as the one Mrs. Weatherburn had given me that morning.

There was hardly anyone left who trusted me, except for Henry and Florrie. And after this morning, even Henry seemed to doubt me. As for grown-ups, well, Mr. Griggs was gone now. And the kindest men at the Lion Brewery, Abel Cooper and Mr. Edward Huggins, most likely had come to believe I was a thief. Maybe when the epidemic was over, I could try to explain what had happened.

For now, I felt the weight of the task the doctor had given
me. Dr. Snow was depending on me. And that counted for something.

He handed me a notebook and pencil.

“Include all the streets around Broad Street,” he instructed. “And be sure to mark the location of the public water pumps.”

“My friend Florrie Baker is a lot better artist than I am,” I said, looking at the blank white pages dubiously.

“Ask her to help if you like,” he said. “We’re not creating art, though. The key is to make the map clear and readable. And most of all, accurate.”

Now, it’s one thing to be able to find your way around London, and quite another to make a map on paper. I’d already crumpled up two pages of scribbled lines when I presented myself at Florrie’s door on Berwick Street.

She opened it herself, looking a little less tired than she had the day before. I explained about the map and showed her my third attempt. “I think I need help.”

She took one look and burst out laughing. “I’d say so, Eel. You’re supposed to be drawin’ streets, not wanderin’ streams. And Broad Street may be called that, but it’s not that wide. On your map, Broad Street looks like the Thames!”

“So … can you help me?”

But if I thought Florrie would do it all herself while I
stood by and watched, I was wrong. “I’ll draw the lines,” she told me, “but you’ll need to help with the street names.”

We decided to begin in Golden Square, which most folks thought of as the heart of the neighborhood. “If Dr. Snow is a scientist, he’s going to want his map to be precise,” Florrie said, opening the notebook to a clean sheet. “How large an area does it need to cover?”

“Pretty big, I think. Let’s go as far as Hanover Square, which is past Regent Street to the west. We can go south to Piccadilly Circus, east to Soho Square, and just past Oxford Street to the north,” I suggested.

“All right. Let’s put Broad Street just about in the center of our map. Now, to be precise, we should make Regent Street wide and other streets, like Golden Place and Angel Court, small and narrow. You can help with that part too, Eel.”

“How so?”

Florrie grinned. “You can count, can’t you?”

So that’s what I did. For hours Florrie had me count my steps going across roads, and up and down them too, while she carefully sketched a map across two large sheets of paper. It was hot, and my feet got tired. But Florrie insisted that we include every lane and court: Hopkins Street, Duck Lane, Portland Mews, Dufours Place, and many more besides.

Everywhere we went, especially close to Broad Street, we noticed the same thing: the streets were eerily quiet.
Most families had left; the shops were closed. All because of the blue death.

“Put a mark right there for the pump,” I said, looking over Florrie’s shoulder as we stood on Bridle Street. “We don’t want to forget that. Dr. Snow said it will be important to the investigation.”

She stopped to shake out her hand, which was cramped from holding the pencil for so long. She wiped sweat from her forehead with a corner of her apron.

“You haven’t been drinking the water anymore, have you?” I asked, noticing how pale her face was. “I mean, Dr. Snow’s not sure the Broad Street pump is bad, but just in case …”

“I haven’t. And I told my parents and Nancy and Danny to stop,” she said. “But they didn’t believe me. Nancy said the water from Broad Street has always tasted better than water from any other pump. She didn’t understand how it could be bad. Still, I dumped out her bucket and walked all the way across Oxford Street to the pump on Berners Street. Nancy said I was daft.”

“It’s good that you did that. Dr. Snow could be right.” We were walking along Berwick Street now. In the distance I saw a horse and cart with coffins loaded in the back. Charlie must still be at work. The streets were almost deserted, but that didn’t mean the outbreak was over. How many more people had died these last few days? I wondered.

“Listen, you’ve done most of the work here, Florrie.
When I get paid, I’ll give you one of my shillings for this,” I offered. “You’ve earned it.”

“That’s all right, I’m glad to help.” Seeing the empty streets of our neighborhood had made her angry and sad. “I hate this Great Trouble. We have to make it stop.

“But you can buy me an Italian ice anytime,” she added with a grin.

At her doorstep, Florrie handed me the map. It really was beautiful.

“Florrie, remember how you said you wanted to make something that would last a long time?” I asked. “Well, I think you might just have done it.”

Tuesday, September 5

Tuesday morning I did a thorough job with the cages and washed all the water dishes. When everything was clean, top to bottom, I stepped back to look. I was proud of my work.

I wasn’t just a mudlark anymore, or even a messenger boy in a brewery. I was a real assistant to a famous scientist and investigator (even if I’d needed help from Florrie with my first assignment).

I imagined myself showing Florrie around the menagerie again. “These creatures help advance scientific progress, Miss Baker,” I’d say, trying not to sound too puffed up. “Our experiments help us discover the Five
W
’s, which will make it possible to prevent disease.”

Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. I wheeled around to find Dr. Snow looking at me with an amused expression. My face flushed. Had I spoken out loud?

“Good morning, Eel,” he said, handing me a meat pie wrapped in brown paper. “Mrs. Weatherburn has packed this for you. Let’s start walking.”

“Where are we …,” I began. Then I answered my own question. “Wait, I know. We’re going back to the Broad Street pump.”

It was, I guessed, only a half mile to Broad Street from Dr. Snow’s house. With the doctor walking briskly, as usual, we were there in minutes. Dr. Snow had brought his black bag. When he opened it, I saw that he’d packed Florrie’s map, which I’d dropped off with Mrs. Weatherburn the night before.

I held my breath as he turned the map this way and that, checking the names of the streets. I’d tried to spell them right and hoped I hadn’t made too many mistakes.

“Excellent work, Eel,” he said finally. “You’ve got a good eye for detail. It appears all the side streets are drawn accurately.”

“Florrie Baker did that, sir,” I told him. “I just did the lettering.”

Then I asked a question that had been on my mind all the time we’d been working on the map. “What’s next, Dr.
Snow? How will this map help us solve the mystery of the blue death?”

Before Dr. Snow could answer, a stout woman in a black dress bustled out from Mr. Griggs’s shop, pulling Betsy by the hand.

Betsy was crying, her cheeks splotched with tears. She was trying to hold on to Dilly. But Dilly broke away, barking feverishly and running in frantic circles.

“Off with you,” cried the woman. “I wouldn’t be surprised if dirty creatures like you were the cause of this horror.”

“I want Dilly.” Betsy sobbed harder. She ran to me then, throwing her arms around my legs. Her whole body trembled.

“Hullo, Betsy. What’s happened?” I looked at the woman. “Who are you?”

“I’m ’er aunt from Lant Street, though why it’s any of your business, I can’t say,” she grumbled, shifting a pillowcase stuffed with clothes from one shoulder to the other.

“That’s over in the Borough, south of the river, ain’t it?”

“That’s right. She’ll be living with us now,” the woman said. “I hope she’s a strong ’un and not afraid of hard work. My husband’s a cabbie and needs help with the ’orse and muckin’ out the stall we rent for it.”

Betsy’s aunt pulled her niece away from me. Dilly kept barking wildly.

“It’s all right, Dilly.” I managed to grab the leather collar
Mr. Griggs had gotten for her. I remember how he’d given the shoemaker a nice wool vest for it. Dilly stopped and panted, her pink tongue hanging out one side of her mouth.

Dr. Snow stepped forward, his voice husky and low. He made a little bow in front of Betsy’s aunt and extended his hand. “Dear lady, it’s so good of you to open your home and heart to your poor niece. I hope this small gift may help ease your sorrow.”

I realized he was holding out a pound note. Betsy’s aunt made a curtsy and took a deep breath. “That’s very kind of you, sir. My brother was good to me, and I can’t rightly desert his little orphan now,” she said in a softer tone.

All at once, she let out a loud hooting sound and began to sob, fat tears running down her chapped red cheeks.

Betsy spoke up, trying to be heard over her aunt’s wails. “Eel, I’m happy to go with my aunt. I promise to be a good girl for her. But … can you take Dilly? Please?”

I glanced at Dr. Snow. Keeping Dilly might mean he’d fire me. Feeding a dog wasn’t part of our bargain. He watched me silently. I couldn’t read his expression. But I couldn’t let Betsy down.

“Betsy’s father, Mr. Griggs, was kind to me,” I told him. “He gave me extra work when I needed it. He found Dilly as a pup. I’ll feed her out of my pay, I promise. And she won’t bother your menagerie.”

Betsy’s aunt was still puffing and hooting. I waited. Betsy waited. I think even Dilly waited, sitting on her haunches very prettily now and looking up at Dr. Snow expectantly.

“She had better not go after my rabbits,” he said at last. Then he grinned.

I knelt and cupped my hands around Betsy’s face. “I’ll take good care of Dilly,” I promised. “We’ll come visit you on Lant Street sometime soon. It’s just across the river, after all. You know how Dilly likes a good walk.”

Betsy hiccuped loudly. “Don’t lose her, Eel. And be sure to scratch her ears the way she likes.”

Then she bent down and buried her face in the dog’s fur, whispering some secret message. Betsy squared her shoulders and put her hand into her aunt’s large one. “I’m ready now, Aunt.”

Dr. Snow watched them head down Broad Street.

“Her mum and dad would be proud o’ her,” I said. “Real proud.”

I felt Dr. Snow’s hand on my shoulder. “And wherever your parents are, lad, I expect they would be proud of you too.”

Dilly whined and walked in a circle for a while. Finally she rested her body against my leg and leaned into me with a great sigh.
You’ll have to do
, she seemed to be saying.

First a cat, now a dog. I was beginning to wonder if I had an invisible sign around my neck that only four-legged creatures could see: Takes Unwanted Animals.

Dr. Snow leaned down to scratch behind Dilly’s ears. She rolled over to have her belly rubbed. “You call her Dilly, eh? She looks like a border collie crossed with a spaniel of some kind. Reminds me of a dog we had when I was a boy.”

I looked at him in surprise. Dr. Snow was a dog lover, after all!

“Well, we’ve dallied enough here, lad,” he went on, straightening up. “We have an errand in Somerset House. It’ll be a good walk. How would you like that, Miss Dilly?”

Dilly looked up at him and gave two sharp barks. Now, if only she could charm Mrs. Weatherburn. Somehow I didn’t think that would be quite so easy.

When we got to Somerset House, I stopped in my tracks and whistled. “It’s so grand. Like a palace.”

Dr. Snow grinned. “It was once. In fact, the history of Somerset House goes back to the mid-1500s, though the building and its uses have changed many times since then.”

Dr. Snow paused before some stone steps.

“In here,” he instructed. “Dilly will have to wait outside.”

“You want me to come too?”

“Royalty doesn’t live here now,” he explained with a laugh. “This is the General Register Office, where the City of London keeps its records of births and deaths.”

I told Dilly to wait and followed Dr. Snow.

“My colleague William Farr can help us get a list of all those from St. James and St. Anne’s Parishes who have died since Friday,” he explained as we entered the building.

He stopped in front of a door. “Here we are. Mind you look sharp and pay attention.”