A Child's Voice Calling (36 page)

‘Th-they have these little upsets, Mabel, it’s no business of ours. Don’t take any notice.’

When Elsie was heard clattering down the stairs and Mabel rose to go and speak to her, Miss Lawton intervened with uncharacteristic firmness. ‘No, Mabel, keep out of it – keep out of it, for God’s sake –
oh, I, er, beg your pardon, but it’s best to let Elsie get on with her, er, work.’

Mabel turned to face her and asked a direct question. ‘Why d’ye stay here, Miss Lawton: Why d’ye let my grandmother treat yer the way she does?’

The lady looked terrified. ‘Oh, I assure you, my – Mrs Court treats me very well, she’s been most generous to me and . . . and poor mother w-when she was alive. I don’t have anything to do with . . . with what she does and I . . . I hope you never do, Mabel. I . . . I’d better go to my room.’

‘Please don’t trouble yerself, Miss Lawton,’ said Mabel gently. ‘Sit down and wait till it’s clear up there. I shan’t ask yer any more questions, don’t worry.’

Mabel soon found out that in addition to local confinements and the women who came to the house there was a third group of clients, like the one Mimi had been visiting on the day that Maudie called. These lived at some distance, often at prestigious addresses, never in Tooting, and although Mabel was told nothing about them, she gradually learned that this group accounted for the greater part of Mimi Court’s income; in return for her services they paid for the daily running of the household, including the expense of keeping Miss Lawton and Mabel.

It was a tolerable life, and Mabel began to enjoy her work with the mothers and newborn babies; it was a long way from the hopes and dreams she had shared with Harry, but she believed that the Lord had given her useful work to occupy her hands and mind, and prevent her from dwelling on dreams that could now never be fulfilled.

But Mimi’s secret activities troubled her; what she did was both wicked and criminal, and although
Mabel played no part in it, she was always aware of the shadow that hung over the house, darkening all their lives.

And then – oh, then, on the very last day of July came the message that Mabel had been waiting and hoping and praying for: a letter from George! It was short but she kissed it and wept over it in her room. ‘Dear Mabel,’ he had written.

We docked at Halifax after two weeks on bord the city of
York
. And then it seemd like another week on a train but it must of been 3 or 4 days. We got to a place caled Calgary and a distribushon center. Was very hard for some yong boys but Davy Hoek says he wont go to Macbanes Farm if I dont go so the man took me on and we both go now. I hope you get this. God bless you Mabel and love from

your Brother George Court.

I will write to you again from Farm. It is McBanes, Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Davy’s father was dutch sailor but drownd at sea, name of Hoek.

Mabel knelt down by her bed to give thanks, tucking the precious envelope inside her liberty bodice, for she could not bear to be separated from it. Her heart overflowed with thankfulness, because he sounded happy enough, certainly not homesick. Though the whole world might disapprove of what she had agreed to, she now felt that she – and Albert and Dr Knowles – had been right. She must send the doctor a note. And she could write to George at this farm, and to Davy, whom she wanted to thank in person. In fact, she longed to share the news with the world.

On her way out of the house to visit a couple of delivered mothers she met Miss Lawton, also on her way out to play the piano for the old people at the Tooting home in Church Lane. She turned round in nervous haste when Mabel called after her with shining eyes. ‘Oh, Miss Lawton! I’ve heard from my brother George, he’s got safely to Canada and he’s working on a farm with his friend Davy Hoek!’

‘What? Oh, yes, of course, little Georgie – oh, I’m so happy for you, my dear! I . . . I’ve known how sad you’ve been about him – how anxious – yes, oh yes. Thank God, Mabel!’

And there at the gate they embraced in spontaneous joy at the news. Mabel caught the smell of lavender and camphor balls, and felt a wave of affection towards this lonely spinster. ‘Thank yer, dear Miss Lawton, thank yer,’ she whispered.

Neither of them noticed Mimi at the door, a look of scornful incredulity on her face. ‘What in the name o’ God’s goin’ on out here? Actin’ like a couple o’ maidservants ’oo’ve been at the gin – I’m surprised at yer, Mabel, and as for
you
, Ruth, yer might as well stay at the Tootin’ home when ye’ve finished strummin’ – ye’re ready to join ’em!’

Mabel opened her mouth to protest at such unkindness, but Miss Lawton, blushing and stammering, answered for herself. ‘Th-there are worse places I could go, M-Mrs Court. Mabel was only telling me about her brother George who . . . who’s reached Canada—’

‘All right, all right, spare me the details and get goin’, both o’ yer.’

Even her grandmother’s venom could not touch Mabel today; she smiled at Miss Lawton and
mounted her bicycle, touching her bodice where the letter reposed.

‘There y’are, Mrs Hollis, she’s all dressed up an’ ready for her first breakfast!’

It was a happy morning at the Hollis household in Furzedown Road, and the August sunshine streamed in at the bedroom window as Mabel packed away her scissors, cotton wool, cord powder and methylated spirit. The delivery of the third Hollis baby could not have been smoother. Mabel had arrived just after four and the child had been born at half past six. The husband’s mother had been an able assistant, keeping the fire burning and the kettle boiling; baby gowns and clean towels were warming on the fireguard, and a delicious aroma of frying bacon drifted up the stairs. The Hollises were full of praise for Mabel and she was included in the happy circle that surrounded the mother sitting up in bed with the new baby. Mr Hollis smiled down on them and the two little boys in their nightshirts sitting on the bed and gazing open-mouthed at the new arrival who was to be called Anna.

‘And what about a second name?’ asked the father. ‘Something to go between Anna and Hollis. Has anybody got a suggestion?’

‘What’s
your
Christian name, Nurse Court?’ asked Mrs Hollis.

‘Mabel’ met with general approval and so it was decided that the baby would be called Anna Mabel, and the young midwife was invited to come to the christening.

Mabel had to make and effort to blink away tears, even though she was glowing with pride at this joyful outcome of the mother’s pain. Her pride in the
chorus of praise gave her a feeling very close to happiness again, something she had not felt for so long. A sense of renewed vocation sprang up like a green leaf in a desert and she foresaw a time when she might practise as a midwife independently of her grandmother, away from the secret shadows of Macaulay Road. If only all newborn babies could be as lucky as little Anna Mabel Hollis, compared with the poor mites born at the Rescue! Once again Mabel’s tender heart longed to care for all unwanted, unfortunate children, and her dream of running a refuge on behalf of the Salvation Army – but she must not think about that. Not any more.

Nevertheless her heart was light as she left the house and climbed on to the trusty bicycle. At the end of the avenue she turned left and cycled down to Mitcham Road where shops were already opening up and workers were queuing for the trams in both directions.

A woman suddenly called to her from outside a newsagent’s. ‘Nurse Court! ’Ave yer got a minute? Can I ’ave a word with yer, please?’

Mabel braked and put one foot to the ground.

The woman was nervous and apologetic. ‘I think I might’ve fallen again, Nurse Court, it can’t be more ’n a month, but I been sick twice an’ the baby’s only seven months,’ she gabbled in an undertone. ‘Is there anythin’ ye can give me to take, like? I got five already, y’see, an’ with ’im bein’ laid orf from the brewery with ’is back, I don’t know as I could manage with another so soon.’ She licked her lips and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I know Mrs Court ’elps women out if they’re not too far gorn, but if there was somethin’ I could take to bring the flow on again, like – oh, Nurse, what can I do?’

What, indeed, could she do and what could Mabel say? Tell her to consult Mrs Court? Tell her to take a large dose of castor oil followed by a hot bath (in a house that probably had no bath) and jump up and down a hundred times, with or without a skipping rope? Gin? Slippery elm bark? Mandrake root? Tell her that what she was suggesting was a criminal offence in which Mabel could play no part at all?

In the end Mabel told her to apply to Mrs Court for advice, but refused to act as go-between. Remounting her bicycle she pedalled away, but the woman’s pale, anxious face floated before her mind’s eye, dulling the happy satisfaction of the Hollis confinement. It bothered her.

‘Good girl.’ Mimi nodded on hearing about Mrs Hollis’s baby. ‘I’ll visit there this mornin’ and check on ’em. No need for yer to go back there today.’

It would be Mimi who presented the bill for attendance at delivery, but Mabel did not complain. The twenty shillings she received each week was entirely her own to spend as she chose: no rent to pay, no food to buy. She had never been so comfortably off.

A few days later Mimi called her into the parlour. ‘What’s this yer been sayin’ to that poor creature May Shotter?’

Mabel was puzzled. ‘
Who
did yer say, Grandmother?’

‘May Shotter, lives in Mitcham Road, five brats under seven, baby not seven months an’ a layabout husband. Remember now?’

Mabel blushed as if caught out in some misdemeanour. ‘Oh, yes. The one who—’

‘The one who asked yer if there was anythin’ she
could take and yer kindly referred her to me. That’s the one.’ Mimi’s eyes were hard as she looked straight at Mabel. ‘Yer don’t have anythin’ to do with my other cases, so I don’t expect yer to go around Tootin’ recommendin’ me to all an’ sundry who wants helpin’ out.’

‘I didn’t recommend yer, Grandmother, I only—’ Mabel began in confusion.

‘Yer told ’er to ask me, that’s enough. Don’t do it again, d’ye hear?’

‘Yes – I mean no, Grandmother. I’m sorry.’

‘I select my cases very carefully and none of ’em from around here. Too close to home for one thing and nothin’ to pay me with. I ’ave to charge danger money for that sort o’ thing. So if anybody else asks yer, the answer’s no, I don’t do it, see?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry,’ Mabel repeated, feeling thoroughly uneasy. Now that she knew Mrs Shotter had asked for advice and got nowhere, she felt that she had let the woman down. She stared with downcast eyes at the floor, wondering if she was dismissed.

Mimi cleared her throat and spoke a little less severely. ‘As it ’appens, I sent her off to Dimmock, that old rogue of a chemist on the Broadway. He might sell ’er some o’ this herbal extract, comes from a mould that grows on rye, ’e says, an’ makes the womb go into spasm. I wouldn’t want the responsibility meself, but it’ll be up to ’im if ’e takes a chance on killin’ the mother along o’ the child. So there y’are, Mabel, no more sendin’ ’em to me, d’ye understand?’

Thus cautioned, Mabel made her escape, unable to shake off a sense of guilt.

Two days later she was accosted by a chalk-faced but grateful Mrs Shotter. ‘Thanks ever so much,
Nurse Court – nearly did me in, that stuff, but it did the trick!’

And Mabel was ashamed all over again, just for feeling thankful too. How long would it be before poor Mrs Shotter ‘fell’ again, she wondered; the incident had given her a disturbing insight into the lives of women living constantly in fear of further pregnancies. But remembering her mother’s horror at Mimi’s activities and her own instinctive recoil from the very thought of taking the life of an unborn child, even her sympathy for Mrs Shotter seemed wrong, an indication of falling standards.

As for what Harry Drover would say if he knew about this . . . and the truth about Jack’s death . . . and why she’d had to leave the Rescue in a hurry, for fear that she might have had a shameful disease . . . it did not bear thinking about. He would want nothing to do with her now.

At least there was Ada’s wedding to look forward to and Mabel heard that it was to be a big do. Thomas Tilling and Sons were engaged to supply one of their horse-drawn wedding carriages to take the bride from her home to St Philip’s church for three o’clock, and then the happy couple would drive to their reception at Woodlands, one of the fine old mansions on Clapham Common’s Northside. The guest list included practically all the staff at the Lipton’s store where Ada’s father and future husband were manager and cashier, but Mabel looked forward above all to seeing Maudie there.

The great day dawned with an early mist over the city that rose and cleared to fine, unclouded September sunshine. Mimi had graciously given Mabel the whole day off and breakfast time brought her a
wonderful surprise: another letter from George, with good news. ‘Dear Mabel,’ he had written. ‘I send my love and hope your well. MacBanes is a big prairie farm with grainfields as far as you can look. The old man is a hard case but the wife not so bad. She has give me new sherts and pants are a bit big but Im growing quick. Davy is the best frend I ever had more like a brother and stands up to the old man. We work hard and get brown in the sun is very hot. I think of you Mabel and Albert and Daisy and Alice and Harry but I am better of here. With love and God bless you from your brother George Court.’

Mabel kissed the pencilled scrawl, an undoubtedly truthful reflection of George’s new life. Whoever Davy Hoek was and whatever he had been, she blessed him from her heart. It was the best possible beginning to the day, as she confided to a sympathetic Miss Lawton.

At twenty to three the church was already filling up. Mabel knelt down beside Miss Carter from the Babies Mission and said a prayer for the health and happiness of Ada and Arthur, adding her thanks for George’s letter. Maud Ling, fetchingly dressed in blue and white silk with a flowery hat and matching folded parasol, came in with Charlie and sat behind them. She caused quite a stir, especially when Ada entered on her father’s arm, all in white with a gauzy veil over her head.

‘Ooh, look at ’er, Charlie – ain’t she a picture?’