Paupers Graveyard by Gemma Mawdsley Page A

pushed them aside and continued dragging the struggling boys over to the highest tree in the graveyard. Allowing the wind to lift him he sailed over a strong branch taking the ropes with him and landed smoothly in front of the terrified boys. Four of them stood on tiptoe trying to stop themselves from being strangled. The other two had lost consciousness either from fear or asphyxiation, and swayed drunkenly from side to side. The only thing keeping them upright was Black Jack’s grip on the rope.
    â€˜Please, Mister,’ one croaked. ‘Please. Let us go. We’ll do whatever you want.’
    The others sobbed as he laughed at their misery and the wet patches on the front of their trousers. Time after time Elizabeth and Timmy tried to take the ropes from his hands, only to be thrown aside.
    â€˜Get the book-man,’ Elizabeth whispered to Timmy as she made another assault on Black Jack. Timmy raced through the bushes and returned with the man in tow. It took Paddy a few minutes to force his way through the tangle of branches and during that time, Black Jack pulled on the ropes and sent the screaming, wriggling bodies skywards. The voices in the wind screamed louder, mourning the loss of so many young lives.
    Nothing could have prepared Paddy for the sight that met him when he finally broke through. Black Jack stood like some monstrous puppeteer holding the ropes of the thrashing boys who jerked and kicked in a crazed dance of death. Eyes bulging from sockets, swollen, protruding tongues that were turning black.
    â€˜Oh Jesus, Jesus!’ Paddy stumbled forward, his heart pounding.
    Sensing his approach Black Jack turned and, for the first time, Paddy saw what the devil looked like.
    â€˜Stay back or join them,’ he warned.
    Paddy tried to be brave, to save the boys, but his heart had never been very strong and couldn’t take any more. As he reached the tree he felt it slow to a dull thud as pain exploded in his chest. The crying of the wind faded as he fell against the trunk and slid to the ground. He lay staring up at the tangle of loosely hanging legs above him and watched the leaves tossing in the wind, sometimes allowing a star to peep through. He gasped just once, as his heart gave up and the darkness descended.

TEN
    December 1845
    Charles had revoked his order of eviction on Elizabeth and the children. He was worried by what was happening, and thought she could prove useful to him through her knowledge of the land and its people. He spoke of little else other than the collection of rents, and she was worn out from having to explain the enormity of what this potato rot meant to the country.
    â€˜Now, listen carefully, Charles,’ she sighed, in one last attempt to reach him. ‘You own most of the land around here. In order to run a successful estate this size you have hundreds of tenants. Each one has a small cabin and a half-acre or more of land with which to feed his family. For this they pay an annual rent, and that is what keeps you in whiskey and good food.’
    He was about to argue about her reference to his drinking, when she silenced him. ‘Wait, I am not finished. The people here have very little, and what they have goes on the rent and feeding their families. They rely on potatoes, because they’re easy to grow and take very little looking after. If the crop has failed, they will have nothing to eat. The price of food will soar and the money they would normally pay to you for rent will have to be spent on food. Do you understand? You will have no money coming in.’
    He was flabbergasted, no money? What was he supposed to do? He had debts, pledges to meet, and he was a man of honour.
    â€˜They will simply have to pay their rent. There are no two ways about it. They’ll pay or I’ll have them out.’
    â€˜And where will that get you? If they have no money what will you have to gain by evicting them?’
    â€˜When are the rents due?’ he