A Child's Voice Calling

by Maggie Bennett

  Nothing could bring his lovely Cecilia back again, and he now saw his prime duty as being to safeguard her good name and keep it untarnished by scandal. He would therefore drop the charges against the woman Court. The police now knew what her game was and would keep a watch on her in future; she would not be likely to practise her evil trade again. And as for Eastcote, let his conscience, if he had one, be his scourge and let the wretched maidservant Ling be discharged without a character, taking her misery with her.

  Sir Percy went to his lonely room and the maid suddenly stopped crying as she realised what he had just said.

  Maudie did not care what happened to her now that her beloved lady was gone. Charlie had been scared stiff by the catastrophe and had stayed well away from her: so much for men, she thought, at the first sign of trouble the bastards always took care of their own skins.

  But Mabel, her old friend – that was a different matter. If Mabel had landed in Queer Street because of this, something must be done to get her out of it. But what? In the circumstances Maudie wanted to keep away from the police and police stations, and to reveal their friendship would do Mabel no favours, quite the opposite. She thought hard. Whom did she know among her acquaintance who would go to Mabel’s aid if asked? Somebody who loved her and would do anything for her? Somebody thoroughly trustworthy . . .

  Maud Ling got to her feet, and put on her cloak and hat. It was almost ten o’clock and darkness was falling over the city.

  After a slow start Mrs Betts’s labour progressed painfully but steadily and a baby boy was delivered soon after midnight, to the relief of his parents and grandmother, not to mention the midwife. Mr Betts opened a bottle of home-made parsley wine and Mrs Taylor downed two glasses before she realised how potent it was. Worn out after her exertions, the midwife decided not to go home but to spend the night in an armchair in the Bettses’ living room, to be on hand in case of problems, she said. ‘She might ’ave a bleed in the night, or the baby might choke,’ she told an alarmed Mr Betts. ‘I’d rather stay ’ere in case I’m needed, y’see, I’m not a one to take chances, not like some I could mention.’ Saying which she fell deeply asleep in the chair and snored loudly until morning, when the neighbours came in to offer their congratulations and to share the incredible news that was on everybody’s lips.

  ‘’Ave yer ’eard the latest, Mrs Taylor? About them Courts?’

  ‘No, what?’ The midwife shook her head to clear it, her ears immediately alert. ‘’As that ol’ toe-rag turned up at last?’

  ‘No, an’ she ain’t likely to, neither. There’s a big scandal on, summat really bad, yer know’ – the speaker tapped the side of her nose – ‘up the West End. The ol’ girl’s done a runner!’

  Mrs Taylor’s puffy eyes popped. ‘No! Yer mean – ooh! I’ve always known she was up to no good, the way she visited women out o’ the district. So sommat’s gorn wrong, ’as it?’

  ‘Not ’alf – the woman’s dead, an’ she was a ladyship an’ all.’

  ‘Never!’ Mrs Taylor goggled.

  ‘Yeah, she went Sunday night, it’s in the papers.’

  ‘An’ what d’ye think,’ added another woman, ‘that poor Nurse Court, the granddaughter, she’s bin taken down to the police station and locked up!’

  Mrs Taylor’s jaw dropped. ‘Good Gawd! When?’

  ‘Been in the nick all night, she ’as.’

  Mrs Taylor was already putting on her hat and the navy coat she wore summer and winter for going out on her rounds. ‘Down the station, eh? D’yer mean Amen Corner?’

  ‘That’s it, missus.’

  ‘I’m on me way. I’ll go down there an’ tell them daft coppers they got the wrong one. Poor little thing, she ain’t a bad gal, it’s a cryin’ shame!’

  Mrs Taylor’s eyes gleamed at the pleasing prospect of doing a public service and getting a good story out of it at the same time. She’d show that old scumbag up for what she was!

  It had taken Maud Ling half the night to run Harry Drover to earth. She had first gone to Battersea, alarming his parents by appearing on the doorstep of 8 Falcon Terrace, and then she’d had to make her way on foot to Clapton in the north-east and enquire of some rather seedy looking characters where she would find the Salvation Army College. When she got there it took all her tears and pleadings to have young Mr Drover woken up and brought to the office at such an hour.

  As soon as he saw her, Harry knew that he was being summoned on the Lord’s business, though at first he questioned Maud as to whether Mabel herself had sent for him. ‘She wanted nothin’ more to do with me, Miss Ling,’ he said seriously. ‘She made it absolutely clear that our friendship was over. Yer heard what she said to me at the Hodgeses’ weddin’ – and yer could tell she meant it. I can’t force meself on her if she don’t want me.’

  Maud’s own personal grief, her weariness and lack of sustenance had brought her to the limits of her endurance. She lost her temper with Drover. ‘For Christ’s sake, ain’t yer got no sense at all?’ she shouted at him. ‘Or are yer goin’ to be a bloody fool all yer life? Your poor Mabel’s in a bad way, couldn’t be worse, locked up in a police cell for doin’ summat she never done – so shift yer arse over to Tootin’ an’ do somethin’ for a gal ’oo’s always loved yer, yer stupid ape!’

  ‘But yer heard her say it, Miss Ling, she never wanted to see me again,’ he protested.

  Maud almost shrieked, ‘Can’t yer see she was ashamed? She was ashamed o’ so many fings, Mabel was. First ’er poor muvver drahns ’erself ’cause she got the pox – yes, the pox, ‘Arry,’ she affirmed, seeing his shocked reaction. ‘An’ Mabel ’ad to ’ave ’er own blood tested for it, just fink o’ that, an innocent gal like ’er. An’ the farver must’ve ’ad it as well, the dirty bugger, an’ somebody must’ve given ’im a push dahn them stairs, that’s why poor little George ’ad to be shunted orf to Canada pretty sharpish to stop ’im tellin’ what ’e knew. Only Gawd knows what Mabel’s bin frough!’

  ‘Oh, Miss Ling – oh, Maudie, are yer sure o’ this?’ gasped Harry, white-faced.

  ‘’Course I am, an’ that ain’t all – she’s banged up now in a police cell for killin’ my poor lady, when all the time it was ’er wicked ol’ grandmuvver did it, made a pig’s ear of it – and now there’s me lady layin’ dead – oh, me lady, me poor, dear lady, oh, Gawd!’

  Maud had collapsed in a fresh storm of sobs and had been despatched to a women’s shelter, while Harry, who had already hastily dressed, grabbed what little money he had with him and rushed out to the nearest Underground station which took him to Victoria. From here he got the first steam train out to Tooting Junction.

  His mind reeling under the series of shocks that Maud Ling had thrown at him, Harry Drover nevertheless began to understand many circumstances that had previously been unexplained, particularly the apparent inconsistencies in Mabel’s behaviour. It was after the death of her father that she had turned away from him and he now realised that it must have been the time when she had made the discovery of her parents’ syphilis. And the reason for the sudden despatching of poor George to Canada now appeared all too obvious. Why on earth had he not been more sensitive, more discerning of the agony that both Mabel and Albert had suffered on account of George? He now remembered the pain in Albert’s eyes at their last meeting when George was mentioned, and the edge to his voice when speaking of the parents’ deaths – because of that horrible affliction that had driven Annie to end her life. Harry stifled a groan as he sat in the train, thinking of Mabel’s lonely shame – and having to undergo a blood test for such a disease, his own sweet, innocent girl . . . and oh, he should have realised, he should have guessed that Jack Court’s death had been more than an unfortunate accident.

  Oh, Mabel, Mabel, forgive me, I’ve been a blind, stupid fool . . .

  And now some lady was lying dead because of what Mabel’s grandmother had done to her. Harry pictured Mimi Court on the day that he had accompanied Mabel to see her and recalled some of th
e things she had said. And not said. He had felt a peculiar revulsion towards her at the time, which he was sure Mabel shared.

  Then it all fell into place and he understood. He knew. She was an abortionist. No wonder Albert had been unhappy about Mabel living in her house, under her domination.

  Other passengers might have noticed Drover’s pale face and the grim set of his mouth on that early morning journey. Yet as he drew near to his destination they might also have observed a softening of his features, a new light in his eyes. Apprehensive he might be, but there was something else: something more than anger, more than pity, more even than his determination to save the girl he loved; something that was almost akin to joy . . .

  Mabel had no idea what time it was, only that a new day had begun. From the other cells came sounds of coughing, groaning and buckets being put to use. The early July sun filtered through grimy high windows overlooking a basement area, and the gaslights were turned off. The ever-present jangling of keys was heard and more footsteps echoing along stone floors. From the outside world came the noise of bakers’ vans and milk carts getting ready to go out on their rounds.

  Upstairs at the front desk there was some sort of altercation going on between the duty officer, Sergeant Wragge, and a man demanding access to one of the women in custody, though it was too far away for Mabel to hear. In the end some sort of an agreement was reached and two pairs of footsteps made their way down to the cells. Mabel was crouched disconsolately on her mattress when she heard them approaching and bowed her head so as to hide her face from whoever might be passing the cell.

  But the footsteps stopped at her door and the guard took out his key to unlock it. Had they come already to take her to the Magistrates’ Court? What a sight she must look! She had not had a wash, her hair was uncombed, her clothes were creased and she felt nauseated, with an itching scalp and foul breath. She was at her very worst.

  ‘Court? Are yer awake? Yer got a visitor.’

  She heaved herself to her feet, shrinking back involuntarily from facing yet another figure of authority.

  A quiet, gentle voice spoke her name: ‘Mabel.’

  Harry Drover’s voice. But he couldn’t be here, he was at Clapton College doing his training to be a full-time Salvation Army officer.

  Yet the voice went on speaking: ‘Dearest Mabel, it’s me, Harry. I been sent to yer. Will yer look at me, Mabel?’

  Slowly as if in a dream – because this had to be a dream – she raised her head a little way. The dark uniform was a blur before her eyes. She felt her hand being taken and held.

  ‘I’ll leave yer with her, then, five minutes, all right?’ said the guard, and she heard the door being relocked and the man’s retreating steps.

  But she was no longer alone in the cell. A familiar steadying hand supported her as she swayed slightly, and when she raised her head she saw her love standing before her, real and substantial, his brown eyes alight with joy at the sight of her. ‘Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Is it really, really you, Harry?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Mabel, it’s me. Don’t be afraid, dearest girl, give me yer hands to hold – oh, ye’re so cold. God bless yer, me own dear Mabel, I’m that happy to set eyes on yer again!’ His words trailed off with a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.

  She leaned towards him and he caught her in his arms. She felt the rough material of his jacket against her cheek and the warmth of his body enveloping her, reviving her drooping spirits, giving back hope, bringing life and love to her broken heart. This was no dream; this was her Harry indeed! ‘I’ve been prayin’,’ she whispered. ‘The Lord must’ve sent an angel to fetch yer.’

  ‘Yes, Mabel, He did,’ he told her quietly, for though the angel’s message had been couched in very unbiblical language, he knew he would remain forever in debt to Maud Ling who had faced difficulty and danger to get to him. ‘I been sent to yer, Mabel, and I shan’t let yer send me away again, not ever.’

  She clung to him blindly, instinctively, asking no more questions but only giving thanks for this miraculous change from darkest despair to joyous reunion with the man she loved. There would be time enough for explanations later; her prayer from the depths had been answered, a lifeline had been thrown to her and she held on to it with all her might.

  As for Harry Drover, no words could describe his happiness. Just to hold her, to feel her living, breathing body close to him again after their long estrangement during which his love had never faltered, turned Amen Corner into a paradise. Here, in this gloomy cell, within sound and smell of fallen humanity all around them, his heart rejoiced and he thanked the Lord he served, happier than he had ever been since he and Mabel had first shyly declared their love. ‘Ye’re trembling, Mabel, let’s sit down. Here, I’ll take the stool and you sit on the bed and lean up against my shoulder.’

  She obeyed and kneeling up on the lumpy mattress she laid her head on his shoulder, encircled in his right arm. Closing her eyes, she savoured the incredible fact of being together again, oblivious to all else.

  When the guard came to fetch Harry, neither of them noticed him, and he stood regarding them for a minute before giving a shrug and walking away. The five minutes lengthened to fifteen before he returned. ‘Time’s up, I’m afraid, and Mrs Cheale’s here to see to, er, Miss Court.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mabel, I’ll be waitin’ for yer nearby. I’ll come to the Magistrates’ Court with yer,’ Harry assured her as he left.

  Mrs Cheale raised her eyebrows. ‘Got a good ’un there, gal, I’d ’ang on to ’im if I was you. Just the sight of a Sally Army uniform should do the trick an’ get yer orf.’ As she bustled around, she told Mabel that a strange woman was at the duty desk upstairs. ‘Brought ’erself in, poor ol’ soul, askin’ to go in a cell. A case for Springfield Asylum if ever I saw one. Yer see all sorts ’ere, I’ll tell yer!’

  Presently the constable on duty with Sergeant Wragge came down to speak to Mabel. He looked rather amused. ‘We got this old lady in, a Miss Lawton, lodges with yer grandmother and wants to see yer. Says she’s got somethin’ important to say, though she could be ravin’. Sergeant Wragge says ye’re to come up to the custody office an’ let her tell yer, only we’ll sit in on it, right?’

  ‘Miss Lawton!’ cried Mabel. ‘But she was questioned by a policeman yesterday and said—’ She broke off, wondering if all the upheaval and anxiety had turned poor Ruth’s brain. ‘Can Mr Drover sit in on it, too?’ she asked as she followed the constable upstairs. ‘He’s very good with people in distress.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, miss,’ came the reply, but in fact Harry’s uniform gained him admission under Wragge’s watchful eye, provided that he stationed himself against the wall and kept silent.

  With her black coat unbuttoned and her black silk hat set at a rakish angle on straggling grey hair, poor Miss Lawton made Mabel think of a bedraggled old bird. Eyes darting, she backed away when Mabel approached her. ‘No, no, Mabel, I’ve found my courage and I’ve come to tell the truth!’ she shrilled. Turning to the sergeant, she went on, ‘This young woman is innocent, officer, completely innocent! She had nothing to do with Lady Stanley’s death, nor any of the other clients who came to my sister for her services. I’ve known what went on, I’ve known for over thirty years, but Mabel had nothing to do with any of them, nothing at all!’

  Mabel paled and did not dare to look at Harry. What was he about to hear?

  ‘Just a minute, Miss Lawton, did yer say yer sister?’ asked Wragge. ‘D’ye mean Mrs Court, the missing person?’

  ‘Yes, but she’s not Mrs Court, she’s Miss Prudence Lawton, my younger sister and I’ve never told a soul all these years. I promised I wouldn’t, but not any more. No more! No longer!’ Her eyes glittered as she looked around at the two policemen and Mabel, and in spite of her bizarre appearance there was a certain strength of purpose in her manner that Mabel had never seen before. Likewise her speech flowed freely: gone was the nervous stammer, the constant fidgeting with her h
ands. ‘I owe it to Mabel, don’t you see?’ she continued. ‘If anybody should be in a cell, let it be me! Oh, Mabel, I’m your aunt, your great-aunt, and you’re my niece, and I’ve never been able to say it – to be what I am to you – please forgive me!’

  She covered her face with her hands, and Mabel rose at once and went to her side. ‘There now, Ruth – Aunt Ruth – don’t cry,’ she murmured, though feeling utterly bewildered. ‘I . . . I’m glad ye’re my aunt, y’see, I’ve always wanted to be closer to yer.’

  Another aunt she hadn’t known she had – and Mimi not Mimi, but . . . who?

  ‘So yer sister’s real name is Prudence Lawton, is that right?’ asked the sergeant, writing in his notebook. ‘Did yer say Court was her married name, then?’

  ‘Oh, no, officer, she took the name Court after she had the boy, her son Jack. They were very good to her, the Masood family, and bought the house on Macaulay Road for her to bring up the child. The midwife who delivered Prudence took her on as an assistant and taught her midwifery – just as she’s taught you, Mabel. They worked together for a short while, until Prudence started taking special clients – that was about the time that she took in our poor mother and me when we were without means. We were practically starving.’

  Mabel trembled. The story which the police sergeant clearly found incomprehensible began to make sense to her. ‘Yer mother, Ruth,’ she said softly. ‘Was she the old lady that my mother knew?’

  ‘Yes, Mabel, that was my poor dear mother and your great-grandmother. A sweet and gentle soul who endured great humiliation all her life. Our father was a country clergyman, you see, and we grew up in a small village in Essex. But he was not – well, he was not what he should have been and there was trouble with a young woman, more than one, in fact, and it became a scandal. He had to leave the parish overnight and our mother was left with us two girls, quite penniless. We had to leave our home and go into lodgings. Prudence hated it and went off to London, and I stayed with mother. I made a little money with piano lessons, but mother never recovered, it was the strain, you see, her faculties deserted her and we had to move on from one place to another until there was nowhere else to go. We would’ve had to go to the workhouse if an old acquaintance hadn’t told us about Prudence, known as Mrs Court and living as a widow with her son. She thought she’d left her old life behind and she wasn’t pleased to see us when we turned up at Macaulay Road – but she took us in and kept us, only I had to promise never to say who we were. Thank God – oh, thank God that mother never knew how Prudence supported us all, though I knew, I always knew and never said a word. Jack never knew that I was his aunt, nor that my poor mother – our mother – was his own grandmother. We lived on sufferance all that time – my lips were sealed, you see.’