A Child's Voice Calling (32 page)

There and then she set about obeying the instructions it contained.

Dear Mrs Somerton,

I hope you will let me call you Aunt Nell, because I am your niece Mabel Court, and I have some very sad news to tell you . . .

The next day Mabel showed Albert their mother’s letter and they agreed not to share its contents with the other three. His presence in the house greatly lightened the atmosphere and, while not pretending to mourn for Jack Court, he avoided harsh words and encouraged them all to behave as normally as possible. He continued to share his old bed with George and that Friday night Mabel heard the brothers’ voices murmuring as she fell asleep. Albert never divulged what George had said, nor did he ask her questions about that fatal 13 June, but she felt sure that George had told him everything and was thankful beyond words for his solid support to them both.

‘Albert, ye’re a life-saver,’ she told him, while faithful Harry Drover found himself relegated to taking Daisy out to the park accompanied by a white-faced, silent George. Alice resigned herself to helping in the house and Mabel avoided being alone with Harry. There was too much that had to be concealed and she was feeling increasingly unfit to be his life’s partner. First a suicide in the family and now a . . . she could not even say the word to herself. Plus a grandmother who regularly carried out illegal operations for money. What kind of Salvation Army wife would have such a background?

The inquest on Court’s death was fixed for the following Wednesday, 19 June, and the thought of it hung like a cloud over them, including Dr Knowles. As a trusted, respected general practitioner, the son of a doctor and father of another, he had made himself an accessory to a concealment of manslaughter and would have to give false evidence to the coroner. He would need to choose his words with great care and hope that Mabel’s nerve held.

On the Monday as the courts had just finished a midday repast of soup and bread, there came a tentative knock at the door. Albert nodded to Alice who rose to answer it.

Two middle-aged women who somewhat resembled each other were standing outside, both soberly dressed in black; the older was the taller.

‘Please excuse us, but is this the home of Miss Court? Miss Mabel Court?’ asked the younger one nervously.

‘Who is it, Alice?’ Mabel called out.

‘Two ladies asking to see yer.’

When Mabel hurried to the door the women stared at her as if transfixed. Then they both exclaimed together, ‘Anna-Maria!’

Mabel knew at once who they were. Her face lit up and she held out her hands. ‘Ye’re her sisters – my aunts! Oh, ye’re more ’n welcome! Oh, my aunts, my own
aunts
!’

For Elinor Somerton had put her arm round Mabel, and was laughing and crying. ‘Yes, dear, I’m your Aunt Nell and this is your Aunt Kate – you’re so like your mother, I’d have known you anywhere as her daughter – oh, Anna-Maria!’

The other lady stared a little uncomfortably at Alice who was completely mystified.

‘This is my sister Alice, Aunt Kate,’ said Mabel eagerly. ‘An’ I’ve got another called Daisy – oh, here she is, look! An’ two brothers – but what’re we doin’ on the doorstep? Come in!’

The aunts were shown into the living room where Albert got awkwardly to his feet, nudging George to do the same. There was a moment of complete unreality as the women looked at the two boys, the elder one the image of
that man
– swarthy-complexioned with two strong front teeth – and the other fair like Mabel. Like Anna-Maria.

In a surprisingly short time the aunts felt that they knew their nieces and nephews, and the youngsters felt the same; the instinctive stirrings of blood relationship drew them together. The aunts explained that Mabel’s letter, posted the day before, had arrived that morning and Elinor had rushed round to show it to Katherine who lived at Pinehurst, the family home in which they had all grown up. They had agreed at once to set out for London and
from Waterloo Station they had taken a taxicab to the Battersea address that Mabel had given them.

‘So here we are, but our poor, dear sister’s gone for ever – oh, my God, what a dreadful thing to happen!’ Mrs Somerton wept. ‘I wonder if she ever got the letter I sent last year to that address in Tooting—’

‘Yes, she did, Aunt Nell,’ said Mabel mournfully. ‘She just couldn’t bring herself to answer it after all that time, though I told her she should. It was all so sad, the way her – your – father died, and I know it was like a shadow over her life, all that sadness in the past. She could’ve been reconciled with yer and we could’ve all met years ago.’

‘All those years,’ echoed Elinor, wiping her eyes. ‘And it’s been her death that’s brought us together at last. Oh, Mabel, you’re so like her, as pretty as a picture!’

And so they started to get to know each other in the course of that afternoon and evening. The girls were particularly fascinated by their aunts’ descriptions of their mother, first as a little girl and then a young woman. Mabel and Daisy warmed to Nell, while Alice found it easier to talk to the less emotional Kate. The two brothers sat as if hypnotised by this sudden revelation of a whole new family and two aunts they’d never known they had. It was unbelievable!

Arrangements were made for the aunts to stay overnight, and Mabel and Alice made up the double bed with clean sheets. The experience of sharing it gave Kate and Nell some insight into the cramped conditions in which their sister had brought up a family of five – Mabel had told them of the loss of little Walter. The constant struggle to make ends meet was visible in every crack and stain, the thin
curtains, the chipped ewer on the washstand. Compared with Pinehurst and Pear Tree Cottage, 12 Sorrel Street was a poor place in a poor area.

‘But she was a mother, Kate, which is more than either of us has been.’ Nell sighed as they got into their sister’s matrimonial bed. ‘And such nice children, too. That poor little Daisy looks so lost, I’d like to take her home with me – and Alice, too.’

‘That Albert’s a tough character, though, the father all over again,’ said Kate. ‘That awful London accent! I wouldn’t care to take
him
on.’

‘He’s in the navy, anyway, so he’s no problem,’ replied her sister. ‘I shall talk it over with Thomas and say I’d be happy to take the girls if they’d like to come to live with us, and George too – at least until they’re able to support themselves. Oh, Kate, it’s as if it was meant to be! Thomas and I have been so disappointed in having no family.’

‘I’m thinking of offering a home to Mabel as a companion,’ said Kate reflectively.

‘Look, shall we suggest taking the younger children back to Belhampton with us tomorrow – or Monday?’ said Nell eagerly. ‘It would make life easier for Mabel with that dreadful inquest to face next week, and then there’ll be the funeral. It would be better for her and the children, surely, to have them away from all that.’

Having made up her mind, Nell soon fell asleep beside her sister, but Kate stayed awake for several hours, staring up into the not-quite-darkness of the midsummer night, with its jarring noises from the street and more distantly from the river. For the rest of her life Kate Chalcott knew that she would regret
the cruel letter she had written to Anna-Maria following her elopement with Court, and all the bitterness that had resulted from it, the harm that could now never be put right. The least she could do was to offer a home to her sister’s daughter.

Lying beside Daisy in their bed on the other side of the wall, Mabel too stared up into the half-darkness, rejoicing at the arrival of their long-lost aunts. It was like a shaft of light piercing the gloom, and she felt as if the memory of her mother had become lightened in some way, easier to bear. For the past six weeks she had feared to dream of seeing again that pale, drowned face, but now when she closed her eyes she saw the young Anna-Maria, not in the cold blankness of death but alive and smiling, a bright-eyed girl looking down upon her first-born child who so closely resembled her.

Mabel and Albert talked over their aunts’ offer and decided to accept it gratefully. Alice could hardly wait to see Belhampton, but Daisy was not happy about parting from Mabel and neither was George who frankly begged to be allowed to stay near her. In the end Mabel told Daisy to be a good girl and go with Alice to her aunt’s, while George would stay at Sorrel Street.

She and Albert agreed that George was a worry. His eyes were haunted by what he knew and his sleep was disturbed by terrifying nightmares that woke Albert, and which could be disastrous if he were at Belhampton for what he might reveal. Dr Knowles prescribed a teaspoonful of syrup of choral each night to help him sleep and they could only hope that time would do its healing work.

So on Monday morning Mabel, Albert and George waved off their aunts and sisters on the train from Waterloo, while bracing themselves to face the next ordeal: the inquest.

THE INQUEST INTO
the death of John Masood Court was attended by his mother, Mrs Court, his eldest daughter Mabel and son Albert. It was mercifully brief as the facts were not in dispute and the coroner wanted to spare the relatives distress, so soon after the death of Court’s wife. George was not required to attend in view of his age and the fact that he had already been through so much; his evidence was read out by the police officer who had questioned him at home on the day of the accident, and corresponded with Mabel’s account and that of Dr Knowles.

Albert was allowed to stand beside his sister while she described how she had come home just after four o’clock to find her father lying unconscious at the foot of the stairs and George up in his room. She had sent for Dr Knowles who was once again the key witness. He told how he had discovered a weak heartbeat and made immediate arrangements to get Court to the Bolingbroke Hospital where they had arrived too late, Court having died on the way.

An autopsy had been performed on the body and the report showed a severe depressed fracture of the back of the skull with extensive intra-cranial haemorrhage, corresponding to a violent impact with the edge of the stair. There was a high alcohol level in the blood.

In addition, it was revealed that Court had
recently been treated at the Lock Hospital and that his condition was seriously advanced.

Albert gasped. ‘Bloody ’ell,’ he muttered under his breath.

Mabel looked at him in surprise. ‘Sh!’ she whispered, shaking her head. Mimi Court, seated alone on a bench behind them, momentarily closed her eyes.

The coroner did not hesitate to bring in a verdict of accidental death and extended his sympathy to the doubly bereaved family. He praised Dr Knowles for his prompt action in attempting to save Court’s life.

The hearing was over. Knowles took a deep breath and assumed a deliberately bland expression to hide his profound relief as he joined the brother and sister, little suspecting that the worst was still to come. As they left the courtroom Mabel told Albert that she would have a word with their grandmother.

‘What for? She ain’t honoured us wiv a visit.’

‘But she’s lost her only son – her only child. It’s worse for her than for us, isn’t it? Come on.’

Out in the corridor they came face to face with Mimi. Dressed in black silk, her shoulders back and her eyes leaden, she spoke to Mabel with businesslike directness. ‘Yer won’t be able to stay at Sorrel Street now – yer can’t support that lot. The offer I made yer’s still open, Mabel, and yer won’t get a better. There’s bed and board for you and yer sisters at Macaulay Road, and I’ll pay yer a pound a week to assist me with local births. I don’t want the boy, though – he can go to the Barnardo home in Clapham.’

Her mouth hardened as she mentioned George and it was this last remark that stung Mabel into a proud retort. ‘My mother’s sisters have taken Alice
and Daisy to live with them at Belhampton in Hampshire, so I don’t need yer offer, thank yer. They’ll get a good standard o’ livin’ there and Daisy’ll go to a church school.’

‘Better ’n what Tootin’ can offer,’ added Albert incautiously.

Mimi’s jaw had dropped, but she quickly recovered herself. ‘Oho, so
they’ve
turned up again, have they? My, oh my! Them Chalcotts must’ve made a tidy little fortune out o’ their drapery an’ furnishin’ store, and I dare say they think ’emselves somebody when they’re nobody but jumped-up tradespeople. Jack an’ Annie never ’ad a penny orf ’em.’

‘An’ ’oo was Jack Court, then?’ demanded Albert. ‘Nuffin’ but a waster an’ a womaniser – couldn’t even run a bleedin’ book so’s to make a profit.’

Mimi rounded on him, her eyes blazing. ‘Guttersnipe! Jack’s father was somethin’ more than yer country tradesmen, he was a prince among men – a
prince
! And Jack could’ve done a lot better ’n he did, only he went an’ made a foolish marriage to a woman who hadn’t got the sense to – oh, get out o’ my sight, the lot o’ yer!’

She was about to walk away, but Albert would not swallow this insult to his mother. ‘Oh, so it was our muvver ’oo gave ’im the pox, then, was it?’

There was a stunned silence and Dr Knowles put a hand on Mabel’s arm.

Mimi visibly shrank back from the burning scorn in her grandson’s eyes, so like Jack’s. ‘No need for that kind o’ talk in front o’—’ She nodded towards Mabel who stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide and unbelieving.

‘No, it was the ovver way rahnd, wa’n’t it?’ went on Albert, leaning forward with his face menacingly
close to Mimi’s. ‘’E got it orf ’is fancy women, an’ passed it on to ’er, don’t yer reckon? I’d say it was ’
er
, poor woman, that made the foolish marriage – eh?’

‘Be quiet, Albert, for heaven’s sake,’ hissed Knowles. ‘Have some thought for Mabel!’

But Mabel had found a voice. ‘Never mind me, Dr Knowles, I want to know what they’re talkin’ about. What
was
my father treated for in – what was the name o’ that hospital?’

Knowles cursed silently under his breath. The inquest had gone off better than he had dared to hope, but now there was to be another kind of reckoning. He would have spared Mabel this.

‘
Now
ye’ve set the cat among the pigeons, yer young fool,’ Mimi told Albert, who had the grace to look shamefaced.