A Child's Voice Calling (42 page)

Maudie Ling stared back at her. ‘
Mabel
! What the bleedin’ ’ell – oh, Gawd, fergit yer saw me – fergit yer saw me, Mabel, don’t let on.’

Thoroughly shaken and with a dreadful suspicion dawning in her mind, Mabel returned to her seat just as Mimi came down the stairs with her black bag, Elsie following in a hastily donned hat and jacket. ‘Be back tomorrow, most likely, Mabel – remember about Mrs Betts, get the doctor in if yer can’t manage.’ And they were gone.

Mabel hid her shock from Miss Lawton, though her mind was in turmoil. There could be no doubt as to who Mimi Court’s latest client could be. Maudie had told Mabel enough about Her Ladyship’s amorous exploits and the risks she took. Yet the
operation
had been on Thursday and this was Sunday – what had happened? What, thought Mabel fearfully, had gone wrong?

Mimi did not return that night, nor the following day. Another night passed and it was Tuesday morning. Miss Lawton’s nerves seemed stretched to breaking point, though she said nothing about Mimi’s absence; nor did Mabel want to speak of her own personal knowledge.

As breakfast finished a message was brought from
Betts’s Bakeries in Upper Tooting Road. Mrs Betts’s pains had started.

Thankful to have something to do to occupy her mind, Mabel fastened her box to the back of the bicycle and pedalled round to see what was happening. Mrs Betts was a chatty, plump woman of thirty who was expecting her first baby. She and her husband lived above the shop, and Mabel found her in her dressing gown, pacing between bedroom and living room. ‘Ooh, there’s another twinge – how long d’ye think it’ll be, Nurse Court?’

Mabel smiled reassuringly. Mrs Betts was getting a few tightenings, but labour was by no means established and the delivery might be many hours away.

‘My mother’ll be comin’ round soon, and I must say I’ll be glad to see her, Nurse Court. Yer need yer mother with yer at a time like this, don’t yer? Shall we have a cup o’ tea an’ look at the paper? We take the
Daily Mail
and it’s just been delivered.’

The woman’s voice faded to a background blur of chatter as Mabel’s eyes fell upon the news item. It first impinged upon her consciousness as a row of black capitals; then, as she stared at them, they arranged themselves into a headline that struck her like a blow between the eyes:

TRAGIC DEATH OF LADY CECILIA STANLEY

ICY FINGERS CLUTCHED
Mabel’s heart; her mouth went dry as she stared at the headline.

Mrs Betts followed her gaze towards the front page. ‘What is it, Nurse Court?
Whose
tragic death? Ooh, that’s sad, i’n’t it? Was this lady only young, then?’

She picked up the paper and held it so that she and Mabel could read the printed column together. ‘All of London society will be shocked by the sudden announcement of the demise of one of its brightest stars,’ they read. ‘At twenty-three, Lady Cecilia’s beauty and wit put her among the most sought-after hostesses of the season . . . wife of Sir Percy Stanley of Bryanston Square and Farleigh Hall in Hertfordshire . . . sudden death due to peritonitis . . .’

‘Peri-perimatitis, does it say? What’s that, Nurse Court?’

In an instant Mabel remembered her duty towards her patient, and forced herself to think ahead and keep outwardly calm. Her grandmother had not come home and after this calamity would not be likely to reappear in the foreseeable future. Which meant that she, Mabel, must obtain a properly trained midwife to attend Mrs Betts in labour. ‘I . . . I’m sorry, Mrs Betts, but I think I’d better call Mrs Taylor to come and see yer,’ she said.

The woman gave her a curious look. ‘You all right, Nurse Court? Yer gorn ever so white.’

Mabel plunged on breathlessly, ‘Well, I, er, the fact is, I don’t think Mrs Court’s goin’ to be around today – y’see, she’s got this other case that’s takin’ up her time. Look, Mrs Betts, I’ll go round and see Mrs Taylor an’ ask her to come to yer.’

At this point Mrs Betts’s mother arrived, full of concern for her daughter and wanting to know why the midwife could not attend. ‘My Susan’s booked for Mrs Court, not Mrs Taylor,’ she protested crossly. ‘I s’pose
she’s
cleared off to some woman with more money.’

‘I’m sorry, but it’ll have to be Mrs Taylor, unless yer got anybody else in mind,’ faltered Mabel, her own mind full of unnamed dread. ‘I’ll go off on me bicycle now and let her know.’ And without stopping to answer any more questions she left the bakery and headed for Fishponds Road.

‘It’s her first baby and she’s only early yet, but she’ll need yer when she’s gettin’ her pains reg’lar,’ Mabel told the astonished Mrs Taylor on the doorstep of her home. ‘Me grandmother’s out on a . . . a very important case, so she can’t deliver Mrs Betts. Please, Mrs Taylor, ye’ll have to come, there’s nobody else near that I can call.’

Mrs Taylor swallowed a mouthful of buttered toast and wiped her lips on her apron. ‘Well! I call it a damned cheek, I do! Here’s me in the middle o’ me breakfast and don’t know the woman from Adam. Where’s this very important case, then?’

‘Oh, it’s out o’ the district, somewhere up the West End, I think, I . . . I’m not sure,’ replied Mabel, hoping that she did not sound as unconvincing as she felt.

‘Oh, yeah? Yer ol’ grandmother ain’t got no right
to clear off kowtowin’ to posh women when she’s got bookin’s ’ere in Tootin’. She got no business to leave yer on yer own, a young girl with no trainin’. I’ve said so all along, she’ll end up with a death on ’er ’ands one o’ these days.’

Mabel flinched at the grim aptness of the phrase and the midwife’s eyes narrowed. Nevertheless, Mrs Taylor was clearly gratified at being called upon to take over her rival’s case and she was not ill-disposed towards Mabel for putting her in a position to gloat. However, she was extremely curious as to Mimi’s whereabouts, and would have asked a great many more questions if Mabel had not quickly got on her bicycle and pedalled away.

Where should she go? Back to Macaulay Road? She was oddly reluctant to return there. She needed to think, to go over the possibilities of what might have happened and sort out what she should do.

Lady Cecilia Stanley was dead. This was a tragedy in itself and Mabel could imagine Maudie Ling’s grief – and almost certain involvement in the circumstances of her beloved mistress’s death. But the implications for Mimi Court might be equally devastating and as for Mabel herself . . .

Her breath came in uneven gasps as she cycled towards Graveney Common where she dismounted and walked, pushing the bicycle across the grass. She now saw the situation in all its frightful clarity. Lady Cecilia must have been expecting a baby that was not her husband’s but another man’s, probably Viscount Eastcote’s, and
he
must have been the gentleman who had come to see Mimi on her behalf. Faced with the awful prospect of public disgrace Lady Stanley had engaged the services of a woman recommended to her by some former client, possibly Rowena for all
Mabel knew, to perform an illegal operation. And it had gone hideously wrong: some perforation, some septic infection had occurred and rapidly led to her death.

Mabel’s thoughts went out to poor Sir Percy, that ‘bald-’eaded ol’ coot’ as Maudie had contemptuously referred to him. Had he guessed the reason for his wife’s sudden fatal illness and had he made her confess to him? Or had she confessed of her own accord and asked for a doctor to be sent for? No, she had sent Maudie to recall Mimi Court two days ago and too late – not that anybody would have been able to save her once the womb had become septic and the infection spread to the abdomen and bloodstream.

And where on earth was Mimi now? And Elsie her assistant? And Maud the devoted maid?

Mabel shuddered involuntarily. Too late she remembered Albert’s shocked reaction on hearing about their grandmother’s illegal sideline and his urgent warning that she could get away from 23 Macaulay Road as soon as Daisy had been returned to Belhampton:
Ye’ll find yerself tarred wiv the same brush – be the end o’ yer nursin’, Mabel
.

Mabel’s knees went weak as she pictured a terrible scandal with headlines in all the newspapers reporting Mimi Court on trial for killing a society lady and being sent to prison.

And herself, known to be living in the same house as her grandmother’s assistant on the district – what would happen to
her
?

She saw that it could mean the end of her only hope, the last remaining dream left to her after losing Harry Drover: her career as a children’s nurse. Was it too late to get away? She thought of running off to
Belhampton, but dismissed the idea at once, for what sort of a story could she tell her aunts? And if there was a scandal the police might come after her, and bring her back to stand beside her grandmother in court. ‘Oh, Lord, have mercy upon me!’ she moaned aloud, then thanked heaven that at least Daisy was safely out of the way, because of Albert’s insistence. He had been far more alert to the danger than she was and she had not paid him half enough attention. Now
this
had happened and suddenly it was too late . . .

The morning hours passed, and Mabel remembered a woman who was due to be confined any day now and should be advised to book with another midwife. She forced herself to call upon the woman to tell her that Mrs Court was unavailable. She wondered how Mrs Betts was progressing, but kept away from the bakery, unable to face Mrs Taylor’s insistent questions.

There was now nothing for it but to return to Macaulay Road, dreading what she would find there. Would Miss Lawton have heard anything of Mimi? Or Elsie? And if she had, would she tell Mabel? The nervous lady had always been evasive on
that
subject.

The first thing she saw was a black bicycle propped up outside number 23. Attached to the front was a police badge, bearing the initials GR. So they were on to Mimi already . . .

As soon as she turned the key in the lock and stepped into the hallway the very air seemed charged with fear and tension. One of the two housemaids rushed out of the living room and started babbling at her. ‘There’s a policeman with an ’elmet in the parlour, an’ Miss Lawton keeps tellin’
’im she don’t know where Mrs Court is – do
you
know, Miss Court?’

Mabel forced a smile. The house without Mimi was like a ship with no captain on the bridge and there was only herself to take charge. With an awful sense of responsibility she made up her mind to answer all questions as truthfully as possible but not to volunteer any information not asked for.

The parlour door opened to reveal a distraught Miss Lawton, her face flushed and hair dishevelled. ‘Thank heaven! Oh, thank God you’re here, Mabel. I . . . I keep telling this man I know n-nothing of M-Mrs Court’s whereabouts, I’m only a lodger here, only a lodger—’

‘All right, Miss Lawton, yer can go.’ The constable sighed in some relief, rising as Mabel came in. ‘Miss Court? Good afternoon.’

Mabel nodded as Miss Lawton made her escape, muttering that she knew nothing, it was nothing to do with her, nothing at all.

‘Close the door and take a seat, Miss Court,’ he said politely. ‘I’m Police Constable Derrick and I’m making enquiries about a missing person who’s wanted for questioning in connection with a criminal offence. A woman generally known as Mrs Mimi Court who normally resides at this address. I’d like to ask yer a few questions about her.’

He waited until she was seated before he sat down again and Mabel braced herself. ‘Yes, constable.’

A barrage of questions followed: her name, age and occupation, her relationship to Mrs Court, the length of time she had lived with her and a brief family history. ‘Can yer tell me the lady’s full Christian name, Miss Court?’

Mabel could not. She had only ever heard her grandmother referred to as Mimi.

‘Now, Miss Court, can yer tell me where Mrs Court is now?’

‘No, constable.’

‘No idea at all?’

‘No.’

‘What about the woman known as Elsie? D’ye know where she is?’

‘No.’

‘Now, Miss Court, was yer grandmother here last Thursday night, the tenth of July?’

‘No, she was away that night.’

‘D’ye know where she was?’

‘I don’t know – I think she said she was going to London.’

‘D’ye know why?’

‘No.’

‘When did she return?’

‘Friday.’

‘The following day?’

‘Yes.’

‘And when did she go away again?’

‘On Sunday, at midday.’

‘The thirteenth?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did she go?’

‘Somebody came for her.’

‘D’ye know who?’

‘No.’ It was a lie. (
Fergit yer saw me, fergit yer saw me Mabel
.)

‘Was it a man or a woman, did yer notice?’

‘I . . . I was at Sunday dinner and didn’t see.’ Another lie.

‘Who answered the door to this person?’

‘One o’ the maids. She came and told Grandmother there was somebody askin’ for her.’

‘And Mrs Court left straight away, with the woman Elsie?’

‘Yes.’

‘And yer haven’t seen her since?’

‘No.’

He made a note to speak to the maids. ‘Now, Miss Court, was yer grandmother in the habit o’ going to see her patients and staying overnight?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘How often?’

‘About once or twice in a month, not so much lately. And she didn’t always stay overnight.’

‘And were these patients, er, maternity cases o’ hers?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Yer say yer work as her assistant with her local cases?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not with these others that she goes further afield to see?’

‘No, I don’t have anything to do with those.’

‘What’s different about ’em, Miss Court?’

‘Well, they . . . they’re better off than the locals, they pay her more, and she . . . she gives ’em her personal attention.’ Mabel was aware that she was breathing more quickly, her heart was racing and her forehead was moist with perspiration which she could also feel trickling down from her armpits. So far so good. She steeled herself to keep still and appear calm.

But the policeman looked searchingly into her face as he asked the next question. ‘And did yer know nothing at all about who yer grandmother went to
see last Thursday and again on Sunday, Miss Court? Think before yer answer.’