Free The Great Trouble by Deborah Hopkinson

neighborhood,” he replied. “The atmosphere in these crowded streets is unwholesome indeed. Miasma is the cause of this pestilence.”
    Poor Mrs. Griggs
, I thought. She had just watched her husband die. She knew what would almost certainly happen to her. Mrs. Griggs was devoted to her children. It would break her heart to be so sick she couldn’t care for Bernie.
    Just then I caught sight of Dr. Rogers, about to turn onto Poland Street. He waved at Rev. Whitehead without smiling and shook his head. Annie’s mum, Mrs. Lewis, had mentioned that he was the doctor her family relied on. Probablymany other families did too. One look at his face told me he was powerless to help against this terrible disease.
    No, Dr. Rogers couldn’t help.
But what about Dr. Snow?
    It might be a foolish plan. After all, Dr. Snow treated the queen herself. Would he care about the poor people on the other side of Regent Street?
    It was worth a try. I’d given up on asking Dr. Snow to help me get my situation back. That was a small thing—just one mudlark who wanted to keep his job.
    But this—this was about a whole neighborhood suffering.
    And it was about Bernie.
    Fifteen minutes later, I’d snaked my way through the crowds on Regent Street and was banging on Dr. Snow’s back door. Mrs. Weatherburn opened it, adjusting her cap and looking at me with a keen, stern expression. “Yes, boy? What is it you want now? As you will recollect, I paid you last night.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Thank you. It’s just that I need to see Dr. Snow, please. It’s urgent.”
    She arched her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, that may be, but I’m afraid Dr. Snow left early to attend a surgeon in Kensington.”
    I felt panic rising inside. “But … we need him. The people on Broad Street need him.”
    She frowned. “For what?”
    “He hasn’t heard, then?” I asked. “The cholera has hit.Broad Street and Berwick Street, Poland Street and Little Windmill Street—the whole neighborhood near the Golden Square.”
    Mrs. Weatherburn stepped back, as if she might catch it just from being near me. I wondered if Dr. Snow would be too frightened to come to Broad Street; even doctors could get deadly diseases. Maybe he would think the air in our neighborhood was too dangerous.
    “I don’t believe he has heard about the outbreak,” she said. “He’s been so busy I’ve barely seen him myself.”
    “I’d like to at least tell him about it. Will he be back soon?”
    “Not until after dark.”
    I stared up at her for a minute, then turned and walked away. I kicked a stone on the path, swallowing hard, feeling tears sting my eyes. Mr. Griggs had barely lasted a day. How long could Bernie fight the blue death?
    “Have you given the cages a thorough cleaning lately, boy?” Mrs. Weatherburn called after me. “I’ve noticed quite a pungent smell the last day or two. It’s not enough just to feed them, you know. It’s probably time to change all the bedding.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I replied. You couldn’t put anything over on Mrs. Weatherburn.
    All I could think of as I cleaned the cages was how much Betsy and Bernie had liked petting the bunnies. I wanted everything to go back to the way it had been two days ago.
    “It ain’t fair,” I said. “It just ain’t fair.”

    Since Dr. Snow wouldn’t be home for hours, I headed back to Broad Street. Even though most families had escaped, I might still have a chance to make some money. And I did—though not at all in the way I expected.
    The first person I ran into was the cheerful-looking driver with the bright orange hair. “Hey there. Aren’t you the lad I saw yesterday?” he called out. “My mate’s taken off. Weak stomach. Want to earn a few pence?”
    “Yes, sir.” I couldn’t forget Henry. “What … what do you want me to do?”
    “Whaddya think? Just help me load bodies into coffins, and coffins into the cart,” he explained, wiping his sweaty face with a ragged handkerchief. He glanced