by Anna King
‘I doubt that very much,’ Nellie interrupted him. Striding to the door she opened it wide.
‘I’m authorised ter pay for any information…’
‘Please leave, you’re not welcome here.’
Micky shrugged his shoulders. There were other doors to knock on. Someone in this street would be willing to talk to him – someone always was, especially if there was money involved. If not, there was always the father. A good human-interest story, boring though it might be, was better than nothing.
Nellie closed the door hard behind him.
‘What a dreadful man, he… Emily, Emily, love, what are you doing?’
Emily was putting her coat on, her movements jerky.
‘I have to get to her, Mum. I have to find out if Doris is all right. I should never have told her about the baby, not when I knew she was on her way to work. I should have had more sense. We both know how dangerous her work is, and how she has to have her wits about her at all times. I don’t know what possessed me to tell her; I must have been mad… No, not mad, just bloody thoughtless. Thoughtless and selfish. I was so concerned about unburdening myself, trying to ease my conscience, that I never stopped to think of the repercussions.’
‘Hang on a minute, love, I’ll come with you. I just want to make sure that man hasn’t gone to bother Mr Mitchell. The poor man’s chest and arthritis are always worse in the winter, and there’s no telling what this news might do to him in his condition; not that that would worry a reporter on the hunt for a good story.’
Emily jumped guiltily. She hadn’t even thought of Mr Mitchell. Oh, the poor man. First his wife and now…
‘You wait here, I won’t be long. I’ll knock for Dot on the way down. She’s very good in a crisis, is Dot, then Mr Mitchell will have someone to keep him company while we go and find out exactly what’s happened.’
Nellie was at the open front door, agitatedly tying a floral print scarf over her dark, wavy hair. Seeing the despair on Emily’s face, she tried to comfort her. ‘There’s no sense in thinking the worse until we know for sure, love. You could drive yourself mad that way.’ Giving a nervous laugh she added, ‘If she is in the hospital, she’s probably giving the nurses hell right now. You know how she hates to be bossed around. Anyway, we’ll soon have her back home safely, you’ll see.’
‘If she’s alive.’
Nellie pulled the scarf tighter, her face sombre.
‘Alive or dead, we’ll see to her. Whatever’s happened, we’ll see that she’s taken care of – she’s family.’
Chapter Fifteen
Pausing outside St Joseph’s Hospice, Emily hunted around in her large canvas bag for her purse. Finding it at the bottom, she took out a sixpenny piece and handed it over to the smiling flower-seller.
‘Hello, duck, you back again. That’s the second time this week. Not that I’m complaining. Wish I ’ad more customers like yer.’ A grimy hand swiftly took the shiny silver coin and deposited it in the pocket of a tatty navy apron. ‘People in there don’t get many regular visitors, poor sods. The relatives usually come once or twice at first, then don’t bovver after that, ’cos them that goes in there don’t ever come out again – a bit like the workhouse. Still, there’s always the odd one, like yerself, who don’t ferget their loved ones. Yer muwer is it?’
Bright, inquisitive eyes peered up at the tall figure. The woman’s blatant, ghoulish curiosity brought a feeling of irritation to Emily, but she merely shrugged and took the small bunch of brightly coloured flowers from the flower-seller.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered politely, and walked quickly away.
She was about to enter the building when she heard her name being called. Glancing round, she smiled at the woman approaching her.
‘Emily, my dear, back so soon. Doris is a very lucky young woman to have a friend such as yourself.’ Sister Bernadette MacNally, the nun in charge of the hospice, held out her hand in greeting. She was a woman in her late thirties, with a thick Irish brogue and deep greenish-blue eyes. Emily imagined that beneath the nun’s wimple rested curly red or auburn hair.
‘Well, like I’ve told you before, the hospice is only a ten-minute walk from my workplace, and my employers have been very understanding. I don’t suppose there have been any dramatic changes since I was last here?’
The grey-clad figure sighed regretfully.
‘Not with Doris, at least… Oh, my dear, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to discharge her, and God knows I don’t often have the opportunity to do that. The good Lord Himself usually takes my charges from me.’
Quick to note the startled expression that flitted across Emily’s face, Sister Bernadette laid a comforting hand on her arm.
‘The point is, Emily, there’s nothing more we can do for her here. In fact, she should never have been admitted here. I only took her in because there was nowhere else for her to go, but I always imagined she would recover and want to leave of her own accord. A hospice is for the chronically sick, those who have no chance of recovering, and Doris doesn’t fall into that category, I’m pleased to say. I didn’t tell you before, but I was all set to discharge her months ago, but then her father died and she took it so badly. As you know, he was her only living relative, and to Doris’s way of thinking she is now all alone in the world. But that isn’t so, is it, Emily? She has you, and your mother. And may I say that you have both, and you especially, shown Doris more love and compassion than many a blood-relative I could mention. Oh, dear, I feel terrible about this, but… The slim shoulders shrugged resigningly. ‘I have a waiting list a mile long, and I cannot, in all conscience, allow Doris to take up a bed any longer, not when there are dying people desperate for a place to stay. And as I’ve already said, it isn’t as if she had no-one to care for her – she has you.’
Shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, Emily raised her eyebrows and sighed.
‘That may be so, Sister, but the point is she doesn’t want me. In fact, she doesn’t want anything to do with me… unless she’s said something to you!’ A hesitant note of hope crept into Emily’s voice, then died as she acknowledged the sympathetic look on the nun’s face.
‘Is there no way you can heal the rift between you?’
The same look of curiosity that Emily had seen in the flower-seller’s eyes was now reflected in those of the Irish nun. Yet not quite, for this woman was genuinely concerned for her patient’s well-being. As if reading Emily’s mind, the woman added apologetically, ‘Of course, it’s no business of mine why you two became estranged…’
‘No, no, don’t apologise, please.’ Emily touched the nun’s shoulder fondly, then deftly skirted around the painful subject and touched on another difficult problem that was facing her. ‘The thing is, Sister, there is no home for Doris to return to. We tried – that is, my mother and myself, and a few of the neighbours, we all tried – to keep up the rent payments on their house, but money’s tight all round, and I’m afraid we had to let it go. The council has already moved a new family into Doris’s house. But there’s room for her at our home. It just remains to convince Doris to move in with us. And seeing as she won’t even talk to me…’ She shook her head slowly, then in a brisker manner asked, ‘When will she have to leave?’
Sister Bernadette’s hands came together as if in prayer and then, raising her fingers to her lips, she said ruefully, ‘I can keep her maybe for another couple of days, then I really must discharge her. I’m very sorry.’
‘Well, don’t be,’ Emily reassured her. ‘Maybe it’s what Doris needs. She never was one to be coddled, but that was before…’ Her voice faltered and she quickly pulled herself together. She was about to enter the building when the quietly spoken voice stopped her.
‘She’s in the garden, dear. Would you like me to tell her, or…’
‘No, no, I’ll tell her. I’m an expert at giving Doris bad news.’
Putting a brave smile on her face, Emily walked towards the lush green gardens of the hospice.
There were several patients sitting in bath chairs on the immaculately cut lawn, one of whom was her friend.
‘Hello, Doris,’ Emily said cheerfully, ignoring the hostile look that immediately sprang into the grey eyes, the faintly scarred grey eyes that had almost been blown out in the explosion. Doris’s last words to Emily, about not wanting to set eyes on her again, had been terrifyingly close to coming true.
Looking round, Emily noticed a small bench nearby and, keeping up a stream of careless chatter, she gripped the handles of the bath chair and wheeled it round so that it was facing the bench.
She half-expected Doris to wheel the chair around again, but the seated figure remained impassively silent. Heaving a sigh of relief, Emily eased her heavy body down onto the hard wooden surface.
‘Phew, it’s getting warmer. Not that I’m complaining, I hate the winter. Mum sends her love. She would have come with me, but she’s got another job. You know Harry’s fish and chip shop up Mare Street? Well, Mum’s working three afternoons, and two evenings a week – or did I tell you that on my last visit?’ The young woman in the bath chair remained silent, her eyes now closed, but Emily knew that Doris was awake and listening to her. For a brief moment she was tempted to get up and walk away, walk away and never come back. But she couldn’t do that. Despite Doris’s attitude, she was still her friend, and Doris needed Emily now more than ever before. Still, perhaps if she copied Doris and stayed silent, it might just provoke her friend into acknowledging her. Minutes passed and still the figure, dressed in a garish candy-striped dressing-gown, remained mute and unmoving.
Lord, but she had a good mind to give Doris a firm shaking. Goodness knows, she’d tried everything else these past five months to get a response. Even if Doris were suddenly to open her eyes and scream abuse at her, it would be something. Anything would be better than this awful silence. Emily shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench and arched her aching back. Glancing upwards, she gave a startled jump as Doris’s eyes found hers, but even as Emily opened her mouth to speak, the eyes closed tightly shut once more.
‘All right, Doris, play your silly games. It doesn’t bother me any more. But I’m not going just yet. I’ll give you another five minutes, then, if you still haven’t spoken, I’ll carry on talking. Just rambling on and on, until you have to acknowledge me, even if it is only to tell me to shut up. And don’t think you can out last until visiting time is over. Sister Bernadette told me that I can stay as long as I like.’ The he came easily to her lips and she was rewarded by a slight movement inside the ill-fitting dressing-gown. Did she imagine it, or had Doris smiled? No, it had probably been a trick of the light.
Settling herself in for a long wait and with nothing else to do, Emily thought back over the last five months. Together with her mother, she had made a fraught journey to the munitions factory, and from there to the Woolwich Hospital, which was where, they had been informed by a sympathetic policeman, the injured women had been taken.
By the time they reached the hospital some hours after the explosion, Doris was being prepared for surgery and the two women hadn’t been allowed to see her. One of the nurses had told them that, compared to the other women who had been on the floor of the factory when the explosion occurred, Doris had been very lucky. One of the young munitionettes, a girl called Lucy Williams, had died instantly. Even so, Doris’s injuries had been bad enough to warrant surgery. Her upper body and face had suffered severe burns, which, although never life- threatening, had nonetheless been extremely painful.
At the first sight of Doris’s injuries Emily had had to summon all her inner strength not to cry out. Doris had been barely conscious, dosed up as she was with sedatives and painkillers. But she had been able to tell Emily to go away, that she had meant what she’d said about not wanting to see her again. Shocked by Doris’s appearance, and devastated by her cruel words, Emily had stumbled from the ward, breaking down in tears in a deserted corridor.
Nellie had stayed for over an hour at Doris’s bedside, however, talking to and comforting the young woman who had been like a second daughter to her since her early childhood. On the long journey home, she had tried to comfort Emily, telling her that Doris was still in shock and didn’t know what she was saying. But Emily had refused to be placated. Doris had known only too well what she was saying.
They had kept Doris at Woolwich Hospital for nearly three months, after which she asked to be transferred to Hackney Hospital to be near her ailing father, who was also, by that time, a patient there. At that time the hospital had no available beds and had asked the nursing Sister of St Joseph’s Hospice if they would take Doris in, until the hospital was able to admit her.
Tragically, Harry Mitchell suffered a stroke and died just two weeks after his daughter’s transfer to the hospice, and Doris, thinking herself to be the cause of her father’s stroke, had sunk into a deep depression. A depression that had lasted to this day.
Emily’s eyes began to droop. It was so warm out here in the strong sunlight, and she hadn’t slept well last night. Her eyelids became heavier as she struggled to keep awake.
Glancing down at her wristwatch, she noted with some alarm that it was nearly three o’clock. Despite what she’d told Doris about staying all day, in reality she had to get back to work. Both Mr George and Miss Rose had been very good these past few months, letting Emily have more time off than she’d ever had in her six previous years in their employment. But now there was Mrs Denton to take Emily’s place in her absence. Emily’s mouth tightened in anger. That woman!
Emily knew that she had placed another advertisement in the Hackney Gazette for a live-in maid, and not only there, but in several shops in the neighbourhood, putting small cards into shop windows for those not in the habit of reading the newspaper. And there wasn’t a day that passed when she didn’t make some sly remark or observation. Nothing that Emily could tackle her on outright – oh, no, the woman was too devious for that – but the insidious remarks and the sly looks were wearing Emily’s temper thin. If she hadn’t been pregnant she would never have put up with the woman’s treatment.
But, much as she disliked admitting it, things had changed. She now needed her job. Miss Rose had already said that Emily could have the child with her in the house – as long as it wasn’t too disruptive, of course. Her mother had offered to look after the child, if Emily decided to seek alternative employment, but that wouldn’t be fair to Nellie, who was enjoying her new-found freedom and independence after the restrictive and abusive years with her husband.
No, Emily now needed to stay with the Winters. It was the only way she could envisage keeping her child close to her. But, as determined as Emily was to stay, so Cynthia Denton was determined to be rid of her. Emily could have taken her grievances straight to the Winters, but that wasn’t her way. She had never been one to expect others to fight her battles, and she wasn’t going to start now. The outcome would ultimately depend on whom the Winters were more fond of. And Emily felt sure that, after all these years, the friendship that existed between her and her employers was such that she need never fear for her livelihood.
Of course a lot would depend on the baby, and she could only hope that her child would be a contented one. Most of all, it had become very important to her to have her child grow up in that comfortable house, away from the drabness and poverty of Fenton Street.
The sound of the afternoon tea bell from the hospice building jerked Emily from her day-dreams.
‘Lord, I was nearly asleep then.’ She gave a soft laugh, and then, taking another look at the time, her manner became brisk. ‘Look, Doris, I know I said I’d stay all afternoon, but I have to get back to work. The Winters have been very kind in letting me have time off, but I can’t abuse that kindness. I’ve taken time off twice this week already and I…’
‘Nobody asked yer to.’
The shock of hearing Doris speak nearly knocked Emily off the bench. Recovering quickly, she leant nearer the chair.
‘Wel
l, I see your disposition hasn’t changed… Oh, now look, Doris, don’t go pretending you’re asleep again. All right, play it your way. I’ve neither the time nor the patience to humour you any more.’ Her tone and attitude turned to sharpness. ‘Now I’ve tried, my mum’s tried and the nuns have been marvellous. We’ve fussed round you and been careful what we say, in case it upsets you, but there isn’t time for that any more. So no more soft soap. I’m going to tell you how things really are, then it’ll be up to you to decide what you’re going to do.
‘First off, Sister Bernadette is going to have to discharge you within the next couple of days. I know it might be a bit of a shock, but it can’t come as a complete surprise. You must have known you couldn’t stay here for ever. You know you can’t go home, and you also know you’ll be more than welcome to come and live with me and Mum. Of course, that would mean you’d have to put up with seeing me from time to time, when I come back home on my days off, but I should imagine that would be preferable to sleeping on the street.
‘You would also have to see my child… Oh, yes, my child, Doris,’ she said loudly, as the silent figure gave an involuntary jerk. Snatching hold of Doris’s resisting hands, Emily stared hard into the grey eyes, which were filled at that moment with raw hostility.
‘It’s not going to go away. I’m having Tommy’s child, and I’m not going to apologise for it any longer. It was a mistake, something I never planned to happen any more than Tommy did, but it’s too late to change things now. And I’ll tell you something else, while I’m at it. I’m sick to death of trying to appease you. These past five months I’ve grovelled and apologised, and done everything I could think of to get you to forgive me, but not any longer. All right, so you’ve had a lot to put up with these past months, and I don’t just mean me and Tommy. You were in a terrible accident, and I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like. But you were lucky compared to your friends. So for the very last time, I’m sorry. Do you hear me, Doris? I’m sorry about what’s happened. I never meant to hurt you, but it’s done, and we both have to get on with our lives. And that’s the last apology you’re going to get out of me… Oh, to hell with you, Doris Mitchell.’ With an angry, despairing cry Emily almost threw Doris’s hands back into her lap.