Barney and the Secret of the French Spies

That was why the isolation hut was so far from the rest of the hospital. When Mr Johnson had rescued the crippled wretches from the Second Fleet, he’d stayed away from home till he knew he wouldn’t bring the infections home. But there was Mrs Johnson sitting with Elsie, while her two children waited for her by the fire … ‘Elsie doesn’t have typhus, Barney,’ said Mrs Johnson quietly. ‘But I don’t understand … The note said … What’s wrong with her? Will she get well?’ ‘She has a congestion of the lungs. A sudden one. We can only pray and hope, and try to feed her broth, just small spoonfuls so she doesn’t choke, and help her to sit when she coughs. The lavender and native oil will help her breathe. Surgeon White was sure the native oil has great curative powers …’ Somehow I’d found my way to Elsie, was sitting on the bed, her small hand hot in mine. ‘Why is she here then, not at home? Why did Mr Johnson say that it was typhus?’ Mr Johnson never lied. Then I remembered his exact words: Elsie is desperately ill. We fear typhus. Everybody feared typhus. Mr Johnson had never said typhus was what Elsie had.

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