A Child's Voice Calling

by Maggie Bennett

  Mabel nodded nervously. ‘Thank yer, Matron.’

  ‘I also note that you lost both your parents last year, Miss Court, which must have been a sad and difficult time for you. What was your father’s occupation?’

  ‘He travelled around racecourses and did a bit o’ – he was a bookmaker, Matron.’

  ‘I see. And you now live with your grandmother?’

  ‘That’s right, Matron,’ answered Mabel, who had said nothing about her work with Mimi’s maternity cases, for fear of what might be asked.

  ‘And your brothers and sisters, what has happened to them since losing your parents?’

  Mabel gave a brief account of each one and the Matron nodded, studied her papers and then looked intently at this honest, likeable girl before her. ‘I find you a suitable applicant, Miss Court, though you will have to be considered along with the others when the Board’s committee meets to make the appointments. I like your general attitude and will personally support your application. You’ll be notified within a week.’

  ‘Er, I see, Matron. Thank yer.’

  ‘So if you are accepted for training, Miss Court, would you be able to commence with the next new intake on Monday, September the first?’

  Mabel’s mouth dropped open and a look of incredulous joy lit up her grey-blue eyes. ‘Would I, Matron – would I? Oh, yes, I most certainly would!’

  ‘Very well.’ The woman’s stern face softened in a smile of appreciation – this girl she had liked at first sight. ‘All new appointments are on a three-month trial, Miss Court, with an examination at the end. Right! I shall look forward to seeing you again.’

  Mabel rose from her chair and took the offered hand. She very nearly kissed it.

  Looking out for the postman the following week, Mabel feared that she might be out on a case when the letter of notification arrived. She therefore confided in Miss Lawton who promised to look out for it each morning when the post arrived. Exactly a week after the interview she slipped the all-important letter into Mabel’s hand. ‘I . . . I’ve got it, I picked it up off the mat before M-Mrs Court came down,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, what does it say? Open it, do, do!’

  With trembling fingers Mabel tore open the envelope and read the brief typewritten letter: ‘We are pleased to inform you that . . .’ The two women hugged each other silently in the narrow hallway. Three months to go and then goodbye to Macaulay Road.

  Meanwhile life went on in much the same way, with only one untoward incident in the midwifery practice. On being called out to a woman in labour with her fourth child, Mabel was not sure that the child’s head was presenting, as had been assumed by the panel doctor. And if it was a breech presentation she was not competent to deal with it. She sent the woman’s neighbour to fetch her grandmother, only to be told that Mrs Court was out visiting another patient. Mabel therefore had no choice but to send for Mimi’s deadly rival. ‘Yer need a qualified midwife, dear, so I’ll ask Mrs Taylor to come and see what she thinks,’ she told the woman and the neighbour was accordingly sent to Fishponds Road.

  Mrs Taylor, who had been loudly complaining for some time that Mrs Court left half her cases in the charge of a young, unregistered girl, was highly delighted when that same young girl asked for her advice and opinion. The baby was indeed in the breech position and the doctor was called, but being a fourth child it slithered out with no difficulty and the story had a happy ending in that respect. The explosion came when Mimi heard of her detested rival’s triumph, and she was absolutely furious with Mabel.

  But her fury made no headway: Mabel remained calm because she was confident that she had done the right thing. ‘Yer weren’t there, Grandmother, and I wasn’t goin’ to risk a baby’s life just ’cause yer don’t like Mrs Taylor.’

  ‘Like her? The woman’s incompetent! She’s envied my reputation as a midwife for years and now what’s she goin’ to say all round the district? Yer knew it was the woman’s fourth baby and not likely to give any trouble, surely to God!’

  ‘It was a breech, Grandmother.’

  ‘An’ she dropped it like shellin’ a pea.’

  ‘It was a breech and I might’ve run into trouble deliverin’ the head.’

  ‘Yer shouldn’t’ve sent for that old fool.’

  ‘And you shouldn’t’ve been away from home.’

  Mimi glared incredulously at such defiance. ‘Ye’ll be too bloody clever for yer own good one o’ these days, my girl.’

  She knows I’m not afraid of her, thought Mabel with grim satisfaction, counting the days to her liberation. She kept the letter of acceptance under her pillow.

  The gentleman who called to see Mrs Court was tall and aristocratic in appearance. He was also obviously very worried, and fidgeted with his hat and gloves as he talked with Mimi in the front parlour. From her window Mabel watched him bow and replace his hat as he rejoined his waiting cab and driver.

  True to form, the next day Mimi set out dressed inconspicuously in black, saying that she might not be back that day, and giving instructions to the maids about meals and household duties to be done during her absence. ‘And if Mrs Betts at the bakery goes into labour, Mabel, and yer run into trouble, don’t send for that creature on Fishponds Road, get the panel doctor straight away.’

  ‘Yes, Grandmother.’

  Mimi did not return until the next day, but looked pleased with herself; the outcome of her visit had clearly been both satisfactory and lucrative. Nobody asked any questions, but Miss Lawton absented herself from the evening meal and stayed in her room.

  ‘Good riddance to the old black crow,’ muttered Mimi. ‘Gettin’ more an’ more of a problem, she is. End up in a private asylum at this rate and I’ll have to foot the bill.’

  Mabel made no answer.

  Two days later, a Sunday, Mabel and Miss Lawton had returned from the morning service and were about to sit down to Sunday dinner with Mimi when there was a loud knocking at the front door. ‘It’s a young woman for yer, madam,’ said the maid and Mimi rose at once, wiping her mouth on her table napkin. A brief exchange took place on the doorstep and Mabel gasped on hearing a voice she thought she recognised, shrill with anxiety. ‘Ye’ll ’ave to come to ’er, missus, she’s really bad!’

  ‘All right, all right, I’ll come, no need for all this to-do,’ she heard Mimi say crossly. ‘Wait there while I fetch me bag.’ She puffed her way up the stairs and they heard her call, ‘Elsie!’

  Mabel simply had to see who was at the door, and while her grandmother was upstairs she got up from the table and peered into the hallway.

  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 liv
ed 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

  Chapter Seventeen

  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 s
he 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.’