CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

She was in a house crowded with people. They were on shelves along each wall and all of them were dying. They were coughing and crying, calling for water. It was bitterly cold and right through the centre of the room there was a river, filthy and black and moving fast. She was searching for little Patrick, and even above the din she could hear him calling to her from the next room. She walked beside the rushing water, knowing that one false step and she would fall in. She was trying to move as fast as she could, but her limbs were so heavy and cold she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Then she was at the door. All she had to do was go through and she would be able to get Patrick and they would be safe. But a man was there, sitting on a high stool. He had a stick that he thrust out in front of her. She tried to tell him that she needed to go through to her child, but no words would come out of her mouth. The man paid no attention but began to push her backwards with the stick. She could see the pleasure this gave him. She couldn’t fight him and felt herself falling into the icy river. The foul water flowed up her nostrils and into her mouth and she thought she was going to choke on the stench of it.

Mrs. Crofton’s cries brought Georgina running into the room.

“Hush now, hush. It’s all right. I’m here, hush.”

Mrs. Crofton was gasping for air, her hands clawing at her throat as if she were drowning.

“Ruby, dearest, fetch a damp cloth,” Ruby had been asleep on a cot at the foot of the bed and she got up hurriedly and went to the washstand. Georgina stroked her mother’s face, uttering soothing noises as she did so.

“Here, ma’am,” said Ruby and she handed her a wet towel, which Georgina placed on the back of her mother’s neck. Mrs. Crofton shuddered and tried to shrug it away but her daughter held it on firmly.

“It’ll feel better in a moment, Mama. Ruby, light the candle if you please.”

Slowly, Mrs. Crofton was becoming calmer but her open eyes were wild, the pupils dilated.

“Lie back for a moment, my dear,” said her daughter and she plumped up the cushion for her mother’s head. “There, that’s better. Good pet. See, we’re here. Your own little Ruby and me.”

Unasked, Ruby reached for a glass of water that was on the small table beside the bed and offered it to her mistress, who took a small sip.

Georgina tucked a strand of grey hair under her mother’s night cap. Her touch was tender.

“You were having one of your bad dreams, my pet, but it’s all right now. See, you’re in your own pretty bedroom that you furnished yourself. Look around. There’s your bureau and your little stool that Mrs. Buchanan embroidered, just as they are.”

Mrs. Crofton caught her hand. “Oh Georgina, I had a terrible vision.”

“It was just a dream, Mama…”

“No–not a dream, a vision. I must tell it.”

“Of course, my dear. But first why don’t I send Ruby to make a hot posset. We can all use one, I’m sure.”

“No! It was one of my visions, not like the other dreams. I can tell the difference. I must say it now.”

Georgina stared at her. “Tell it to us then.”

“There was so much suffering and I could do nothing. I knew I would be able to save little Patrick but a man prevented me. Oh such a wicked man.” She sobbed, still in the dreamworld. “I was crying out for help, but no matter how hard I screamed no sound was coming from my throat.” Georgina signalled to Ruby to give her the glass of water and she drank greedily.

“Thank you, dearest girl. Did I call out?”

“Yes, ma’am, you did.”

“It was a vision. You must write it down, Georgina, you must write it down before it leaves me.”

“Very well, Mama. Ruby, will you be so good as to bring me pen and ink and some notebook from the escritoire.”

Ruby hurried to obey and Mrs. Crofton leaned back on her pillow while her daughter took a seat beside the bed, ready to take down what she said. As soon as she began to relate the details of her dream, Mrs. Crofton became distressed again and her Irish lilt was more pronounced.

“The foul water was up my nostrils and in my mouth so I thought I was going to choke on the stench of it.”

“Breathe in for a moment, Mama,” said Georgina soothingly. “See, there is no stench here. There is only the pleasant lavender cologne that Mrs. Buchanan sprinkles on the sheets and perhaps Ruby has the smell of baking bread in her hair.”

Mrs. Crofton was not to be consoled.

“You know whenever little Patrick appears to me in a dream it is a warning that we will hear of a death within the week. Don’t you remember, last summer, he came to me and we heard that your uncle Callum had died? Surely you remember me telling you my dream?”

“Of course I do, my pet, but Uncle Callum was very ill. His death was not unexpected.”

Mrs. Crofton ignored her. “This dream is a warning to us, Georgina.”

“If this is a warning, my pet, what should we take from it?”

“Somebody is in grave danger. Death is approaching. Kiss me, my dear one. And you too, Ruby. Oh kiss me so I know that you are quick and not dead.”

Dutifully, her daughter did so and Ruby managed a timid peck on her mistress’s cold hand.

“Oh it was dreadful. Such fear and sorrow coming from your poor dead brother and I could not help him and I knew that stinking river would take me.”

“The people on shelves sound like the passengers in their bunks,” said Georgina. “And the stinking river running through the room is the bilge of the ship. You are dreaming of the crossing again.”

“Oh Gina, don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not at all, Mama, but we know how terrible the voyage here was. How many times have you dreamed of it? More than we can count.”

Mrs. Crofton was almost weeping. “No matter that it has the look of my memory, this was a premonition. It must be respected. That man in my dream was as wicked as the devil himself. He was evil, I tell you. I could see his delight as he forced me into the river. He was enjoying my suffering and that he had the power to keep me from my poor little boy. He was happy others were in such need and he was not.”

“That sounds very like any one of the English peers who let our people starve,” said Georgina.

Her mother shuddered. “It is true. There was the same cold indifference and I, alas, I was as helpless as I was then.”

Ruby moved closer to Georgina and they were quiet for a moment, watching Mrs. Crofton as she looked into the horror that never left her. She said with great weariness, “This is no mere dream. I have not lost the true gift, the sight. We are being sent a warning of tragedy. There is danger all around us and wickedness. We must beware.”

“And we will be, Mama.”

Georgina looked over at Ruby, who was pale and wide-eyed. “Remember how Mama was telling you last month about the Great Hunger when the potato blight destroyed the harvest?”

Ruby managed to nod.

“Her nightmares still visit her, alas.”

Mrs. Crofton had closed her eyes and already seemed to be drifting off to sleep. Georgina put the ink pot, pen, and paper on the side table. She said softly to Ruby, “The entire village where Mama lived was starving to death. Her own family was decimated. The landlord finally paid their passage to Canada. No, child, this was not an act of kindness. He wanted to get rid of them so he could claim their paltry sliver of land. There were others in the same plight, of course, and the boats were so overcrowded it is a wonder they could sail at all.”

Mrs. Crofton moved her head restlessly and Georgina waited until she settled down. Ruby was hardly breathing and even though her bare feet were icy cold by now, she dared not move. She wanted Miss Georgina to continue with her tale because she loved to be spoken to in that special way, but she could hardly believe that her mistress had suffered from the same poverty that she herself understood all too well.

Georgina sat back in the chair. “Mama was the only remaining child, and her father, my dear grandfather, died before they even got to the port. Her mother had no choice but to continue. The conditions on board the ship were almost too terrible for us to contemplate. The ship owners took on as many passengers as they could for the money…”

Ruby couldn’t bear it and she burst out. “But the captains, ma’am. Didn’t they refuse? Captains are the kings of their ships, you told me so yourself.”

Georgina sighed. “Perhaps one did, perhaps even two, but we have no record of them. All we know is that many, many people died on the journey over. Typhoid fever swept through the hold where the poorest people had been crammed and stuffed like so much baggage. There was no one to take care of the sick and the dying and Mama’s mother, my dear grandmother, died. For two days, Ruby, for two long days, nobody came down to tend to those who were ill. Mama, who was a mere child, much younger than you are now, was forced to lie beside the corpse of her own mother.”

Ruby was trembling, as much with fear and cold as with sorrow, but she whispered, “Oh Miss Georgina, I am dreadful sorry to hear it.”

“Fortunately for her, another family, who had lost their only child, took her in. They prospered when they came to Toronto, which was why Mama was able to make such a good match when she grew up.” She smiled at the girl. “But I am giving you such a long face. That part of the story is a happy one and I shall tell it to you another day. You looked perished, you poor little mite.” She lifted the quilt. “Why don’t you get into Mama’s bed. It will keep you both warm. I’m going to stir up the fire and sit in the armchair for a while. She’s be right as rain in the morning, you’ll see.”

Ruby did as she was told. Mrs. Crofton’s body was warm under the covers and soft. The older woman stirred for a moment and pulled her close, whispering drowsily, “What would we do without our precious jewel, Georgina? What a comfort she is.”

Georgina blew out the candle and went to the big armchair by the fire. It wasn’t long before Ruby heard her light snore. Mrs. Crofton’s breathing deepened and she knew that they were both sound asleep.

She lay watching the shadows of the flames flicker on the wall until the fire died down. The feather pillow smelled faintly of the lavender water that Mrs. Buchanan sprinkled on the pillowcase when she was doing the ironing. Mrs. Crofton was lying against her and her breath was on her neck. Ruby cautiously touched the silk of her mistress’s nightgown.

She had a good idea why Mrs. Crofton had dreamed what she had. She had met that evil man who took pleasure in others’ suffering. Ruby covered her ears with her hands as if she were blocking out cries. No matter what happened, she would never give up this sanctuary she had found. There was nothing she could do.