A Child's Voice Calling (47 page)

‘You’re in time for the summer fête on Saturday, Mabel!’ Daisy told her. ‘They’re putting up coconut shies, an’ the Paddocks are sending ponies to give rides. Aunt Nell’s been baking lots of cakes, an’ Lucy Drummond’s brother’s giving a Punch an’ Judy show!’

Aunt Kate gently shushed her. ‘Give Mabel a chance to rest and recover from the journey, dear,’ she said, having been quite shocked by Mabel’s appearance. ‘My dear, you look dreadfully tired and you’ve lost weight. Have you been overworking?’

Mabel smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m all right, Aunt, it’s just been a bit busy lately on the district, that’s all. Oh, it’s so good to see all o’ yer again – and Daisy looks ever so much better now, doesn’t she?’ And talks more like the Somertons, she thought to herself, conscious of a difference in her young sister that was more than just improvement in health and spirits. The nine-year-old had an easy self-confidence
that had been lacking before. Daisy had in fact become a little lady, eager to show Mabel her new clothes, her kitten and the school exercise books proving her to be top of her class when school had closed for the summer holidays.

Mabel had made up her mind to say nothing of the recent events at Tooting and Mimi Court’s name was not mentioned. The aunts already knew that their niece had left Macaulay Road and would be going to the Booth Street Poor Law infirmary on 1 September. She guessed that they had been talking about her future when Aunt Nell glanced at her sister and spoke for them both that same evening after dinner.

‘Haven’t you ever thought of leaving London, Mabel, with all its sad memories? You could get just as good a training at Winchester and we could see you so much more often.’

‘But my fiancé lives in London, Aunt Nell,’ answered Mabel simply.

‘And do you really intend to join the Salvation Army?’ asked Mrs Somerton with another quick look at Miss Chalcott.

‘Yes, certainly, when I’m trained as a nurse an’ Harry’s a servin’ officer. An’ then when we’re married I’ll work with children in need o’ care, just like I’ve always wanted to,’ said Mabel, her eyes noticeably brightening.

‘When shall we have the pleasure of meeting Mr Drover?’ asked Aunt Kate.

‘Well, er, he says he’d like to come down here to take me back to London at the end o’ me visit,’ Mabel confided with shy eagerness.

‘Oh, very good! Please write and ask him to come for an overnight stay, so that we can all meet him and get to know him,’ replied Aunt Kate at once.

‘Oh, thank yer, Aunt, thank yer! I know he’d love that – it’s really very good o’ yer!’ said Mabel gratefully. She was still a little in awe of her aunts and did not take anything for granted.

As the sunny days went by she found herself missing Harry more and more, and not only Harry: in a strange and unexpected way she missed the south London streets she had known all her life, so far removed from the well-ordered lives of her country-bred aunts who would not have understood how anybody could prefer the kind of life that their poor sister had embraced, to her cost.

The church summer fête illustrated for Mabel the essential differences between their lives and hers. It took place on a warm, sunny Saturday, and people seemed to stream in from miles around to admire the gaily decorated stalls, the home produce from garden and kitchen, and the various entertainments on the rectory lawn. The aunts were busy on the cake stall, and Mabel walked between Daisy and her inseparable friend Lucy Drummond who wanted to try everything. The three of them watched and applauded the Punch and Judy show operated by the eldest Drummond boy, Cedric, and a college friend of his.

‘They’re both crazy with love for Alice,’ remarked Daisy conversationally and indeed, Alice Court at sixteen had become an acknowledged beauty, parading with her parasol between two girl companions and lowering her dark eyes demurely when young men looked at her, as they frequently did. She returned Mabel’s smile rather coolly when they passed each other.

‘There’s papa!’ cried Lucy. ‘Papa, please may we have a strawberry ice?’

The Reverend Mr Drummond drew a quick breath at finding himself face to face with Mabel. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Court. I trust you are enjoying your visit to Miss Chalcott?’

‘Er, yes, Mr Drummond, thank yer,’ replied Mabel, feeling tongue-tied.

‘My wife and I are particularly fond of your sister Daisy.’ He smiled.

‘Thank yer, Mr Drummond. I like Lucy, too.’

‘Please, Papa, may we have a strawberry ice? And Miss Court, may she have one, too?’ pleaded Lucy, jumping up and down.

When the rector obligingly bought three ice cream cones, Mrs Drummond fluttered over to them, all lilac silk and condescension, with a wide-brimmed flowery hat. ‘How nice to meet you, Miss Court! You must come to the rectory for tea one day, and meet Lucy’s brothers and sisters.’ She glanced up at her husband and took hold of his arm. ‘If you’ll excuse us, Miss Court, the rector needs a word with the churchwardens – good afternoon!’ And she firmly led her husband away from the tired-looking girl with the jarring London accent, the very sight of whom seemed to have such an odd effect on him.

Mabel watched them retreating across the grass, reflecting that her own mother might have been in that woman’s place. Anna-Maria, his first love . . . ‘Come on, Daisy, let’s have our ices before they melt!’ she said and proceeded to lick hers with relish. Catching sight of her, Alice hastily changed direction and walked as far away as possible. Heavens, she thought, what
must
the Drummonds think of her sister’s manners?

The four weeks passed swiftly and there was no
doubt that Mabel’s looks and general health were improved by the fresh air and country fare. She divided her time between the two houses, roaming the summer fields with Daisy and sharing reminiscences with her. She had saved all of George’s scrappy letters to show her sisters, though Alice was usually otherwise engaged; she had become absorbed into Belhampton society, where her looks and ladylike airs gained her many invitations. She did not care to be reminded of Sorrel Street.

The arrival of Harry’s letters was always the highlight of Mabel’s days and not many went by without hearing from him. To her relief and thankfulness, he sent her news of Maudie Ling, who was still at the women’s shelter where she had been sent after she had despatched Harry to go and rescue Mabel from police custody. ‘They kept her on as a domestic servant and she helps in the kitchen,’ he wrote. ‘I hear that she cheers the poor women with her good humour so pray, dear Mabel, that the Lord is making a change in her life. Who knows what she may become? Praise the Lord for His goodness.’

Mabel found it difficult to envisage Maudie in the role of Salvationist, but she was grateful for news of her old friend and to know that she was safe, at least. She hoped that Harry would bring more news of her when he came down to stay at Pinehurst.

Pinehurst. The fine, solidly built Victorian home where the three Chalcott sisters had grown up and which was now so large for one single lady. Mabel’s imagination filled it with children in need of love and care: the unwanted babies, the orphans, the neglected victims of drink, disease, poverty and all the social evils that turn children into waifs and
strays. How she would love to open her arms and her heart to receive them under its sheltering roof!

On the evening before Harry Drover was expected, Mabel’s aunts tried once more to persuade her not to return to London and a Poor Law infirmary training. ‘If you’re not planning to marry this young man for three years, you could have a much better life here in the country, Mabel,’ said Aunt Kate. ‘Country families are always looking out for reliable nursery maids and you could care for children in the comfort of a country house – and with all found, you’d be able to save all of your wages. Elinor and I think you should consider it.’

Mabel’s reaction was one of bewilderment at their complete failure to understand her. ‘What?’ she cried. ‘Don’t yer see, Aunt Kate, I want to work with
poor
children, not rich ones! It’s somethin’ I’ve always wanted to do, ever since I first started takin’ children to school when their mothers were ill or havin’ babies. My first job was at the Babies Mission, an’ I saw how some o’ them little mites lived – one o’ my friends begged on the streets with her baby brother ’cause their parents were always drunk. Then I worked at the Women’s Rescue with babies that’d never know their own mothers. I used to pick ’em up out o’ their cots an’ try to comfort ’em when they cried. It nearly broke my heart.’ She got up and paced the room while her aunts looked on in astonishment. ‘Oh, can’t yer understand?’ she pleaded as tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘I grew up poor, an’ I
belong
with the poor, the children with nobody to love them. I’ve had a good rest here and ye’ve been very kind, but . . . but I couldn’t possibly stay. Me life’s in London with the man I’m goin’ to marry one day. It’s like a call I must answer, don’t
yer
see
?’ She turned to face the two women, clasping her hands together. ‘Alice is completely settled here and Daisy’s happy bein’ a Somerton. But I don’t belong here – I must go back!’

For a minute there was silence, then Aunt Nell gave a long sigh. ‘I think I understand you, Mabel. After all, you’ve seen so much more of . . . of another side of life than we have. You must do as you think best and I for one will support you.’

‘And you know that you always have a home here if you need one,’ added Kate quietly.

‘Oh, I do, I
do
! And I’ll always be grateful for what ye’ve done for us – for Anna-Maria, in lookin’ after her children.’

Katherine Chalcott could not have asked for anything more.

‘Mabel! Oh, my own dear girl!’

‘Harry!’

Her heart leapt as he stepped down from the train and held her close for a moment. The very smell of his uniform jacket was sweet to her and to be in his arms again was bliss for them both. She had come alone to meet him and take him back to the house, which gave them a chance to talk as they walked, stopping every so often in the deserted lane to exchange a kiss. She told him of the conversation she had had with her aunts the previous evening.

‘Yer don’t know how relieved that makes me feel, Mabel. I been thinkin’ that maybe ye’d want to settle in the country after all ye’ve been through.’

‘Harry, how
could
yer? After all we’ve promised each other!’

‘God bless yer, Mabel, I should’ve known ye’d
stick to what yer said ye’d do! Oh, and guess what news I got about a friend o’ yours!’

‘Maudie Ling?’ she cried at once. ‘Oh, what’s happened to her? Tell me, tell me!’

‘Got herself a place in service, up St John’s Wood way – the woman took her on without references ’cause she’d been workin’ for the Salvation Army. I’m sorry we’ve lost her, Mabel, but I’ve heard that it’s a respectable family, so she’ll be looked after.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful news, Harry – an’ don’t yer see, it’s all because she went to the trouble o’ findin’ yer an’ sendin’ yer to me – look how it’s all worked out for her!’

‘Yes, my love, I suppose it has.’ Harry was not quite so confident that Maud had made a wise decision, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

Her aunts and uncle greeted him cordially, but it was Daisy who ran into his arms to be lifted up and hugged in mid-air, to her delight and his pleasure at such a show of approval from little Miss Somerton. He noticed a big change in Alice and told her that she had grown into a fine girl, at which she raised her dark eyebrows as if affronted by such familiarity.

Thomas Somerton went out of his way to make conversation easy at the table over the midday dinner and, when Harry refused a glass of wine, he was given lemonade without comment. Asked what he thought about Home Rule for Ireland, he said that surely the Irish should be granted what they wanted, it was their country, at which Somerton was highly amused and said that he should be in the Cabinet instead of the Salvation Army. Mabel glowed with pride, but her uncle was less satisfied by his views on a possible clash with a new industrialised and militaristic Germany.

Harry’s reply was as prompt as it was serious: ‘No country should ever go to war with another, Mr Somerton, and no government has the right to demand that men should shed each other’s blood. It’s against God’s commandment.’

‘But if one country is attacked by another, surely it has the right to defend itself?’

‘If the British Empire’s as mighty as we’ve all been told an’ taught, I reckon Germany wouldn’t dare take it on.’

‘I just hope you’re proved right, Mr Drover.’ And Somerton wisely left it at that. Taken all round, Harry acquitted himself well with Mabel’s relations, for as Aunt Nell confided to her sister, it was impossible
not
to like such a sincere, straightforward young man. And there was no doubt at all about his devotion to their niece.

On her return, Mabel went straight to the Tooting Home, accompanied by Harry. There they found her Aunt Ruth just as happy and contented as when last seen, and eager to hear about Daisy and the very different life she now led at Belhampton.

There was one question Mabel hesitated to ask, but knew she had to do so. ‘Has Mrs Court – has yer sister been to see yer, Aunt Ruth?’

The old lady’s expression was both sad and thoughtful. ‘Yes, Mabel, she has been here. Somebody told her where I was, and she came and asked to speak with me alone.’

‘Oh, good heavens, Aunt Ruth, this is what I’ve been afraid of – what did she say? What did she do to yer?’ asked Mabel in dismay.

‘Well, for a start, she didn’t see me alone, Mabel.
Matron insisted on being present, because I’d told her that my sister might come and accuse me.’

‘Oh, thank God. So what happened?’

‘She tried to accuse me of breaking my promise to her, but I told her that her treatment of you released me from it. I said I’d borne a burden of deceit for too long, and that now at last I was free. And do you know, Mabel, she said she’d take me out of here and put me in a private home and pay for me.’

‘
Did
she, Aunt Ruth? And what did yer say?’

‘I thanked her and said I was happy here, and had no wish to go anywhere else.’