“Are they certain it is cholera?” I asked.
“There is no mistaking that disease,” my father replied. “Those who have seen cholera never forget it.”
“As have I,” Joanna said, for the most part having regained her composure. “Watson, please call your contacts and determine the extent of this outbreak.”
Three separate phone calls were needed—two to specialists in London, one to Eton—before my father had acquired enough information to make an accurate assessment. As he placed the receiver down, the worry was obvious on his face.
“The outbreak is quite real and spreading, with the first cases being diagnosed late last night,” he reported in a most serious voice. “It is believed that a Spanish ship discharged its waste along the coast near Southampton and contaminated an oyster bed with the cholera organism. The infected shellfish were transported to Eton and the nearby area. To date there have been over a dozen cases and more are expected. The outbreak should shortly be brought under control, thanks in large measure to modern sanitation that keeps our water supply well separated from the sewage systems. Nevertheless,” my father went on, “a group of students from Eton are known to be among the ill.”
I hurried to Joanna’s side and tried to offer some comfort. “Surely the school would have notified you if Johnny was ill.”
“Perhaps,” Joanna agreed weakly. “But will they guarantee me that he will not be affected? Remember Watson’s words. The disease is still spreading.”
She dashed to the telephone and made an operator-assisted call to the headmaster at Eton. She asked him direct questions and relayed his answers to us.
“Is my son John Blalock affected?
“He is well,” Joanna repeated the answer.
“Are any of his roommates or classmates ill?
“Several are. How many are several?
“Four. Where are they being treated?
“In their rooms, for the hospitals are presently overcrowded.” Joanna paused, her tone of voice now becoming clinical. “What measures are being taken to protect the uninfected from the infected?
“Curtain between the beds and careful disposal of waste,” she reiterated, as her expression hardened. “That is not good enough, Headmaster, for it leaves my son at real risk. I shall arrive in a matter of hours. Please inform my son and have him prepared to depart Eton.”
Joanna slowly put the phone down and said, “Curtains are virtually no protection at all. All it takes is one misplaced hand and the inadequate disposal of waste, and the disease spreads.”
“Perhaps Johnny did not partake of the contaminated oysters,” my father hoped. “That would lessen his chance of being afflicted.”
“Oysters and other shellfish are among his favorites, and thus he most likely did ingest those contaminated oysters,” Joanna noted. “If that is the case, I want him here in our rooms on Baker Street where we can treat him effectively. And the sooner he is brought home the better.”
“But you cannot possibly reach him tonight,” said my father. “Coach and car travel are out of the question in this dreadful weather, and there are no trains at this late hour.”
“But every minute counts,” Joanna warned. “Once the disease strikes, one must make all efforts to replenish the fluid loss. Otherwise, the end result can be horrific, as I sadly learned when my former husband was so afflicted.”
“Let us pray young Johnny does not come down with cholera, but should he be ill on your arrival, begin treatment immediately,” my father advised. “All replenishment can be given by mouth, using the standard solution.”
Joanna nodded knowingly. “Saline solution with adequate amounts of glucose added.”
“And do not depend on the patient’s thirst to guide you,” my father cautioned. “Remember the disease begins with explosive diarrhea and a patient can lose as much as five quarts of fluid each day. So, to the best of your ability, estimate the output and attempt to replace it at once. Equip yourself with a large bucket and rubber gloves before entering the infected area. And always keep in mind that this vicious microorganism can be transmitted by incidental hand-to-mouth contact.”
“I am quite familiar with that mode of transmission, for that is how the disease came to me from my former husband.”
“Then you know the symptoms well.”
“All too well,” said Joanna and rose from her chair. “I shall now go gather my things, for I plan to be on the first train out of Paddington tomorrow morning.”
“I would be more than glad to accompany you and lend any assistance that may be required,” I offered.
“Thank you, John, but I am afraid you would only be in the way,” Joanna replied. “You see, the living quarters for the boys at Eton are quite crowded, with all the beds lying side by side in a large, single room. The only privacy would be a curtain between the beds, and those are now no doubt in short supply.”
“It would be most difficult for both of us to squeeze between the beds, if Johnny is ill,” said I, with a nod. “And of course crowding increases the chance of further transmission.”
“Exactly,” Joanna concurred. “You should stay behind and, with Watson, follow up on the available clues we now have at our disposal.”
“But I fear my mind will be elsewhere.”
“Then you must occupy yourself with the art vandal and leave the worrying to me,” Joanna said, with a wry smile that quickly faded. “I shall call you from Eton to inform you of the latest.”
I watched Joanna retire to our room and waited for her to close the door behind her, then spoke to my father in a concerned voice. “How serious is this outbreak?”
“Quite,” my father replied, his tone matching mine. “It is not yet under control and spreading at a rapid rate. Apparently the shipment of contaminated oysters went to more than a few restaurants and markets in the area, and all those possibly infected must somehow be tracked down.”
“Which may well be impossible when it comes to markets where strangers often come and buy the various foods without leaving behind any identification.”
“The same holds true for most restaurants,
