The Lingering (4 page)

Bartholomew stepped away from the bed and shook his head. “We are all doomed to this fate. I must inform the authorities, and The Queen.”

Jenkins looked at the paralysed creature slavering in the bed. “But, sir, what of Mr Williams?”

Bartholomew looked at the poor soul, and replied coldly. “Dispatch him.”

Jenkins looked at him for a moment and then headed for a fire axe, which hung on the wall beside a bucket of sand. A few moments later he returned to Bartholomew’s side and mumbled, “We must find a better way than this. We are treating our sick like animals.”

The world weary doctor patted his young colleague on the shoulder. “I agree, my boy, but what else can we do?”

Jenkins approached the bed, and swung the axe high over his head. With a bellow of grief, he brought the blade down and split the Lingerer’s skull in two. For several moments the young doctor just stared at the carnage his act of savagery had caused. Finally, with trembling hands, he ripped the axe free and threw it across the room.

He turned his gaze to his colleague and tried to speak, but his barbaric act had robbed him of the ability of speech. Instead, he simply slumped to his knees and sobbed.

Bartholomew looked at him and felt nothing but pity. There had to be a better option than dispatching The Lingering one at a time. The creature in the bed had once been human, and it deserved better than having its head turned to pulp. There had to be a more humane way of dealing with them.

Bartholomew stumbled from the room and grabbed for the wall to steady himself. On seeing his distressed superior, Rogers heaved himself from his chair and dashed to his side. He took the doctor gently by the arm and guided him back to the chair, which he’d so recently vacated.

“Were you right, sir?”

“Yes, Rogers, regrettably my hypothesis holds true.”

Rogers crossed himself, and looked at the doors through which Bartholomew had just appeared. “I take it I have another body to deal with?”

Bartholomew just nodded and collapsed into the battered leather of the chair.

Location: 10 Downing Street, London

Date: March 29
th
1843

Time: 4:15 p.m.

Sir Robert Peel sat at his desk and stared out at Downing Street below. In his two years as Prime Minister he’d seen nothing that threatened the empire more than The Lingering. The disease had to be England’s greatest catastrophe. Two-thirds of the country’s population had fallen victim to the disease, and the remaining third still struggled with the disease’s aftermath.

He stood and slowly approached the fireplace. His eyes fixed on the portrait of his wife and seven children. The Lingering had robbed him of three of his five sons, and both of his daughters. His remaining two heirs now stood watch over his ailing wife, and if the reports were true, she would soon follow their five unfortunate children down the same path.

He rubbed a weary hand across his temples, and returned to his work. He still had much to do before he received The Queen and her party. The instructions she had sent on before her were very specific, and it would take all of his political skill to ensure they passed the house. But pass them they must.

He turned at the sound of a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

His butler, Mathews, entered. “Prime Minister,” he said with a bow. “The Queen’s carriage has arrived, as has Sir Bexley’s. Might I suggest I prepare the library for your visitors?”

Sir Robert got to his feet once more. “The library would suit our meeting admirably. I know The Queen is awfully fond of the cook’s shortbread. Maybe you could arrange for some with our tea.”

Mathews bowed low. “Of course sir. I have already taken the liberty of suggesting the cook make a fresh batch.”

Peel bounded by him and said, “Good man.”

Victoria sat in a large, red leather chair. Bexley, Bartholomew and Peel stood around her with cup and saucer in hand.

“Your Majesty, may I offer you another piece of shortbread?”

The Queen smiled charmingly, and tipped her head. “That would be delightful. You really must get your cook to give her recipe to my staff.”

He passed her a silver platter and she took a slice of the scrumptious treat.

“Now, gentlemen, as good as this shortbread is, I feel it is time for some work. Dr Bartholomew, would you kindly explain your latest findings to the Prime Minister.”

Bartholomew placed his cup and saucer down, then pulled a number of papers from the briefcase at his side and handed them to Peel.

“Here are all the details of my findings, Prime Minister. But if you wish, I can give you a summary of them now.”

Peel took the papers and headed for a writing desk in the corner of the room. “Please Doctor, continue.”

Bartholomew straightened and placed his right hand in his waistcoat. “As I outlined to you a day ago, it is my conjecture that we all carry The Lingering in one form or another. I myself have witnessed two people, whom were previously untouched by the disease, pass from this world. To my astonishment, they then returned from the dead.

“I decided to contact other places of healing to corroborate my suspicions. Every hospital I communicated with confirmed that they had similar experiences. Regrettably, it would seem we are all doomed to linger this earth until our bodies simply turn to dust. However, I fear it may take decades of decay before The Lingerers find peace, for the disease seems to sustain the body throughout it’s slow decomposition. But if that is God’s will, then who are we to judge?”

He shook his head sadly and dabbed at his eyes. All in the room averted their gaze from his uncalled for show of emotion.

Bartholomew looked at those around him, and felt ashamed of his loss of composure.

“I apologize; it has been a rather harrowing week. Now, where was I? Ah yes, as you know, we previously dealt with The Lingering by dispatching them with a blow, or shot to the head. I can vouch for how terribly destructive this is to the poor soul administering the final remedy. I myself have dispatched over a hundred Lingerers, and God will judge me for it one day. This cannot be our permanent solution, especially considering most of The Lingering are docile and harmless.”

Peel approached Bartholomew. “Harmless you say? Why I saw one of those things rip apart a guardsmen at my very door. My dear sir, they are far from harmless.”

Bexley raised his hand in objection to the Prime Minister’s remark. “Of course those of The Lingering whom have feasted on flesh must still be dealt with this way. Nevertheless, I really must stress The Lingering only become violent once they have the scent, or taste, of blood. I have seen Rupert here herding dozens of them quietly into a room. Not once did any of them attempt to attack him.”

Bartholomew placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Sir William is quite right. Any man’s beloved dog is harmless and docile. But what if it tasted human blood, would you still trust it? The same goes for victims of The Lingering. Many of these poor souls will never inflict harm. So why should they be destroyed like the ones who have become blood crazed?”

“Dr Bartholomew, might I ask a question?”

He turned to Victoria. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You say The Lingering will fade if unfed, so what would happen if they had nourishment? Would they continue to live?”

Bartholomew looked at her, and puzzlement filled his face. “If they fed, then one could assume they would linger indefinitely. But, ma’am, they only seem interested in human flesh. Feeding them is not an option.”

Victoria flicked open a small black fan, and hid her reddening face. “Quite right, I am sorry for my foolish interruption. Doctor, please continue.”

Bartholomew bowed his head and smiled. “Your Majesty could never appear foolish. In fact, your genius may have found the way of addressing our issues.” He turned back to Peel. “The Queen has a very — personal — interest in how The Lingering are treated. Her Majesty has come up with the ingenious idea of sending The Lingering to one of the colonies … namely Australia.”

Peel nodded slowly and crossed his hands behind his back. “I am aware of Her Majesty’s idea. While commendable and completely sound, it will be hard to put into practice.”

Victoria snapped shut her fan, and said, “Pray tell, why is that? Surely you govern this country, do you not? If you pass the laws to make this happen, then happen it must.”

Peel turned, and tipped his head in a reverent bow to his queen. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken; However, I would still like an explanation as to why it cannot be done.”

“Ma’am, I am the Prime Minister of England, but all laws have to pass both Houses, namely the Commons and the House of Lords. This is a lengthy and slow process.”

“I am aware of how my country is run, but I think England’s situation might call for some swift lawmaking. Would you not agree?”

Peel bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty, but laws are not the only issue. Australia is a populated land. I admit the population is sparse, but it still exists. We simply cannot expect them to live among The Lingering.”

Victoria smiled politely. “Prime Minister, I never suggested they should. We will repatriate them to other lands. India, The Americas, South Africa, Canada, the list of possibilities is endless. In return for these countries’ help, we will allow them to send their victims of The Lingering to Australia too. We will also extend this kindness to our European neighbours. But for them, it will come at a price.”

Peel’s eyes widened slightly. “Ma’am, are you suggesting we profit from The Lingering?”

Victoria dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief. “Profit is such an ugly word. All I am suggesting is the cost of this exercise should be carried by all. The countries which accept our citizens from Australia have paid their bill in kind. Those who do not receive our people must pay in cash. Prime Minister, you must remember England will be giving up one of her finest colonies. Why should we carry the entire burden?”

Peel nodded slowly. “You make an excellent point, Your Majesty. However, this will be an ongoing endeavour. Should not the countries which receive our people pay too? Might I suggest a twenty year reprieve from payment, after which they must also pay?”

Victoria nodded. “That seems like a perfectly sensible proposition.”

Peel turned back to Bexley and Bartholomew. “We will need to procure ships. Have either of you considered this?”

Bexley nodded. “It is all in Bartholomew’s papers, but in essence here is our idea. We will use the Royal Navy to help with clearing the vast numbers of Lingering. They will also deal with the repatriation of our antipodean citizens. We will use a private shipping company once the initial rush is over.”

Peel tapped a finger to his lips. “I cannot see any reputable shipping company wanting to get involved in this. Plus, where would we find the ships?”

Bexley reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “As you know the slave trade was abolished over thirty years ago. Nonetheless, I have discovered close to one hundred slave ships scattered around England and its colonies. These ships are in complete disrepair, but we can have them all shipshape in a matter of months. As for a shipping company, Bartholomew and I are meeting with a man first thing tomorrow. His business is at the brink of bankruptcy, and he has a reputation of being less than particular about what he ships. I propose the government pay off his debts, and gift him these vessels. We will also agree to cover all the expenses for two years, after which he will be on his own.

“None of this must come to light, so the funds and property will be handled by private investors. All the investors will be working on the governments behalf.”

Peel blinked with disbelief. “And why should we treat this man with such generosity?”

Victoria laughed, and Peel turned to look at her.

“Your Majesty, did I say something to amuse you?”

“Yes, Prime Minister, you did. I cannot believe a man of such political awareness as you, cannot see what Sir William is trying to do. This is an unsavoury matter, and he is trying to distance the establishment from it. The Navy will help at first, and the public will applaud us. However, as time goes by, the public will see this as something shameful. Who better to deal with a shameful thing, than a shameful man?

“The government can later lament on how sad, but necessary, the shipments are. Such things are always better handled by independent companies. The government must never look like it is washing its hands of The Lingering, but rather it is handing the issue to someone more suited to the task.”

Bexley smiled. “Ma’am, your astuteness astounds me. Her Majesty is right. We must make it clear that this is our only option. We must also make it clear that the matter is to be dealt with without government intervention or assistance. Of course, we will always be pulling the strings from the background.”

Peel nodded and let out a sigh. “Very well, gentlemen, I will make sure the bill is passed and the funds are made available. You just make sure this man of yours is up to the task.” He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and studied it. He then turned and looked at the calendar on his writing desk. “We will aim to make the first shipment one month from today. Now, gentlemen, I believe we all have much to do, so might I conclude our meeting is at an end.”

Bexley and Bartholomew bowed first to The Queen, and then to Peel. Sir William gestured towards the door, and Bartholomew strode towards it enthusiastically.

“Gentlemen, one more thing.”

Both stopped in their tracks and turned to see Victoria walking towards them.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” replied Bexley.

“This man of yours, I wish to meet with him — in private.”

Bexley turned and looked at his old friend, and then turned his gaze back to his queen. “To what end, ma’am?”

“I simply want to make sure he understands that The Lingering are to be treated respectfully. I also want to meet the man soon to be the richest in England.”

Bexley bowed again. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

This time both men left uninterrupted.