Letters from Alice

by Petrina Banfield

  Charlotte’s head dropped back. Her bottom lip trembled. ‘I want you to pant through the next pain, Charlotte. Here it comes, now pant. That’s it, just breathe out.’ Charlotte moaned. ‘Almost there, my love. The next pain should do it.’

  Within a minute Charlotte raised her head and groaned again, chin tucked deep into her chest. In a gush of blood and amniotic fluid the body was born, the baby slipping into Alice’s waiting arms. Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘It’s a girl,’ she told Charlotte, her voice catching. The young mother gave a little sob and sank back, exhausted, onto a cushion. As Alice cleared the infant’s mouth, her small features pinked up. The baby gasped and coughed as the almoner worked, then her tiny pink lips pursed and she screamed lustily. Dr Harland reached for his bag and handed it to Alice. She tied off and then clipped the umbilical cord, the faint line of the linea nigra that ran the length of the baby’s body mirroring that of her mother and her twin.

  At the mahogany dresser, Elizabeth poured steaming water from a floral jug into a large bowl. Alice glanced up at the doctor and their eyes locked, fixed by the intensity of the moment. There were tears on her face. She brushed them aside with the back of her hand and glanced away. When she looked back, he was smiling warmly. The moment was broken as Elizabeth handed Alice the towel she had been warming by the fire. The almoner wrapped the baby up gently and passed her to her mother.

  Charlotte gave a cry of joy and cradled her daughter tenderly in the crook of her left arm, where her twin brother had lain barely an hour earlier. She smiled, the earlier parting temporarily forgotten. Another separation remained, but for now the infant lay serenely in her arms.

  ‘She’s beautiful, Charlotte,’ Alice said gently. The almoner kneeled beside the sofa and rested her hand gently on the towel. Charlotte beamed and gave her a teary smile, but when Dr Harland’s shadow brushed over her as he moved towards his sister, a curious flicker passed over her face.

  Chapter Six

  It is not correct to say that patients in this hostel are, in every case, suffering from illness incurred as the result of their own acts. The conditions under which many girls have worked for the past years involve very grave and unusual risks of infection.

  (Annual Report of the Women’s After Care Hostel in Highbury Quadrant, November 1919)

  The murder of illegitimate babies at the hands of their birth mothers frequently featured in the daily newspapers and so, of all their patients, the almoners worried most about mothers who were young, unmarried and alone.

  Driven by shame, some went to great lengths to conceal their pregnancies and scurried off when their waters broke, to give birth alone. The women were then faced with a heartbreaking dilemma – what to do with the baby. Panicked and petrified, some attempted to solve the problem by abandoning them. Every year there were cases of newborn babies being found on doorsteps, in churches, on the upper deck of a bus, in shopping bags and sometimes even rubbish bins.

  The almoners of the Royal Free kept records of compassionate sympathisers willing to throw a lifeline to society’s unfortunates when the need was dire. The Salvation Army (or Sally Bash, as it was known in some parts of London, on account of their marches through the streets ringing out messages of hope with trumpets and drums) and Dr Barnardo’s complemented their efforts, working hard to encourage the view of single mothers as victims rather than villains. They offered practical help to lone mothers, seeking out affordable rooms and accommodating employers, as well as issuing regular pleas among congregations for the donation of furnishings, blankets and clothes.

  Shortly before midnight, Peter Harland opened the shutters that had been fastened against the storm and peered out of the window. A single leaf twisted through the air and flattened itself against the pane, a reminder that, with a recently delivered girl and her newly born daughter, it would be unwise to venture outside.

  A few feet away, Charlotte was dozing, half-parted lips breathing softly onto her baby’s head. With a furrowed brow, Alice sank wordlessly into a deep armchair tucked into one of the alcoves near the fireplace, her boots and a large pair of rain-spattered shoes arranged side by side on a folded newspaper beside her. She started at the clink of china against metal as Elizabeth wheeled a silver tea trolley into the room.

  ‘The storm should settle soon,’ the older woman said. Her brother mumbled something inaudible above the clutter and clunk of crockery as Elizabeth arranged cups and saucers on an occasional table close to Alice.

  ‘At last,’ Alice said in a low tone. She craned her head over her lap and tilted her knees to the side, examining the dark patches on the hem of her skirt.

  ‘Would you like to borrow something of mine?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘You’re still drenched.’

  ‘That’s kind, but there’s no need, thank you.’

  Elizabeth’s eyes lingered on the floor, where the damp wool of Alice’s skirt was skimming her Persian rug. After a moment she planted an ornate strainer on top of one of the cups, angling her face away from the rising steam as she poured tea from an equally elaborate-looking pot. ‘What’s to become of them?’ she asked, dipping her head towards the sleeping pair. She held out one of the drinks to Alice, a silver spoon carefully balanced on the saucer beside the cup. Her expression faltered when Alice took the drink, her eyes snagging over the scars across the back of the almoner’s hand.

  Alice rested the drink on her lap, tugged briskly on the cuff of her blouse and then glanced across the room. ‘May I speak freely, doctor?’

  Peter Harland half-turned and, without meeting her gaze, gave a gruff nod.

  Elizabeth piled a couple of logs on the fire and pulled a chair up to the other side of the hearth, opposite Alice. A look of puzzlement was still evident in her expression. Alice cleared her throat and looked at her. ‘Anything concerning a patient is confidential, but, well, after the events of the evening, it seems only fitting to share some of what has passed with you.’

  Elizabeth blinked. ‘I’ll certainly not repeat anything.’

  Alice nodded and went on to explain the events that had led them to Elizabeth’s door. When she’d finished, she sighed and took a sip of her tea. ‘I doubt that the poor child will ever be welcome back home, even once the baby has been boarded out.’

  Elizabeth clicked her tongue. ‘No, well, it’s a delicate position the family finds themselves in. She can’t surely be left to her own devices though? I read only the other day about a poor young woman who drowned her infant in a dolly tub, through fear of what might become of them both. Can nothing be done for the girl?’

  ‘There may be something we can do,’ said Alice after a pause. ‘Her parents insist that she has lost her mind, but I question their motivation. I believe we can do better for her.’

  The doctor stiffened and mumbled something about ‘unqualified’ and ‘meddling women’. Elizabeth eyed him. ‘Why are you being so dour? Has such intimate exposure to a female’s travails really proved so terribly alarming for you?’ She huffed a laugh and turned to Alice. ‘I can’t remember the last time my brother courted anyone. He attracts enough interest, always has, though heaven knows, I can’t fathom the appeal. No, it’s just the retention he struggles with. He’s disappointed more girls in the last few years than the Prince of Wales. It’s that unfortunate demeanour of yours, isn’t it, darling? Leaves them somewhat mystified.’

  The doctor turned, his craggy features crumpling still further. ‘I mean, just look at that face; it looks like he’s been put through the mangle. Not the most comforting sight when you’re on your sick bed, I shouldn’t think.’ She looked at Alice, whose expression remained discreetly non-committal, though her eyes were shining. ‘How he ever got through medical school, I can’t imagine.’

  Peter Harland gave her a long-suffering look. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, take that look off your face and come and have some tea. You look dead on your feet.’

  After a moment he walked over and took the proffered cup, still scowling. ‘There may be other opt
ions we can explore, doctor,’ Alice said slowly, looking up at him.

  ‘Call him Peter,’ Elizabeth said before taking a sip of tea. He sighed in response to a speculative look from Alice. After flicking his sister a dark look, he returned to the window, the small cup dwarfed in his hands.

  ‘P-Peter,’ Alice said uncertainly. She sat up straighter in her chair and gave a small cough. ‘I think I may be able to arrange something.’ When he didn’t turn around, Alice directed her words back to Elizabeth. ‘We do have some sympathetic contacts in the community.’ She frowned. ‘They’re few and far between, but I may be able to find someone willing to help.’

  ‘What about the new hostel?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘I’ve heard excellent reports of the place.’

  Alice had placed several women and girls in the Royal Free Hostel, which had opened in Gloucester Road, Regent’s Park in June 1919 to care for expectant and new mothers with venereal disease in the infectious stage.

  The girls, often in a state of bewilderment, were invariably greeted on arrival by an indomitable, motherly matron, who guided them through an open hallway brightened with freshly cut flowers, and into their dorm. For most, it was their first experience of structure, cleanliness and the hope of a better life.

  The inpatients’ next of kin were asked by Alice to pay thirty-five shillings per week towards the cost of housing the girls if at all possible, but most parents washed their hands of errant daughters on admission and robustly refused to make any contribution. Since many of the ‘friendless’ patients, as the almoners referred to them, were domestic servants who had lost their only source of income once their pregnancy became apparent, the hostel relied heavily on voluntary donations from kindly benefactors.

  The girls were encouraged to contribute towards their own keep by learning handicrafts such as toy making, cobbling and needlework, basket weaving and raffia. In light of the reason for their admission, every item produced was disinfected before being sold to members of the public.

  ‘It is full,’ Alice said. ‘But I don’t believe Charlotte would be in need of the sort of care that particular hostel offers. I have another mother and baby home in mind for her, though I don’t believe there are any vacancies there either. I shall make enquiries with Matron first thing in the morning.’

  ‘If she is as volatile when she wakes as she was earlier,’ said the doctor from the window, ‘with all that hissing and scratching, she won’t be managed in the community.’

  ‘But Charlotte is restored to calm now,’ Alice said, an edge creeping into her tone. The almoners were particularly protective of lone mothers and invariably went out of their way to help them. ‘I think she was communicating with us, trying to tell us something.’

  ‘It’s telling me she’s a menace.’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  The doctor huffed out some air, misting the glass of the window. ‘I’m back on duty in less than six hours, Miss Hudson,’ he said through gritted teeth, his eyes brushing over hers. ‘So if you think that an asylum is not the right place for this girl, you need to stop flapping around and decide on an alternative quickly, because at some point tonight I would like to get some sleep.’ He turned and walked towards the two women, gulped down the last dregs of tea and then set his cup down on the side table. ‘The only other option is the workhouse. Would you rather she ended up there?’

  Alice placed her cup gently beside the doctor’s and looked up at him. ‘Charlotte is capable of reason, I’m certain of it.’

  The doctor gave a low growl in his throat and slumped heavily onto a nearby chaise longue. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on splayed knees, his chin cradled in upturned hands, a bored expression on his face. Alice threw Elizabeth a look of exasperation.

  ‘He’s impervious to anyone else’s point of view, my dear,’ the woman said loudly, as if the person to whom she was referring was no longer in the room. ‘He’ll only ever admit to being wrong if his error is dangled at the end of his nose, and only then if his arm is twisted halfway around his back. And I wouldn’t rely on appealing to any sense of compassion that one might expect to receive from a medical man, or you’ll be left sadly wanting.’ Elizabeth tightened her shawl around her shoulders, the twinkle returning to her eyes. ‘Give my brother pustules and bloody lesions and he’s as happy as a sand boy. The fact that broken bodies have conscious minds attached to them is nothing but an inconvenience to him.’

  Alice stared at Elizabeth for a moment, apparently lost for words, then turned back to the doctor. ‘A friendless young mother should not be going to a mental hospital, or the workhouse, Peter. Not in this day and age. We’re supposed to have moved on, aren’t we?’

  Peter Harland’s shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing in response. ‘Must the poor girl endure more sorrow?’ Alice persisted. ‘After what she’s already been …’ her words trailed off as Charlotte began to stir. The almoner sprang to her feet, Elizabeth rising a moment after.

  ‘I ain’t parting with her,’ Charlotte wailed, before her eyes had even fully opened. She sat bolt upright and hissed again as Alice approached, clasping the baby tight to her chest. ‘Get away from me. You’re not taking her from me as well.’

  ‘Just for a moment, my love,’ Alice insisted. ‘I need to see if you’re well enough to move.’ Without further preamble and ignoring the teenager’s warning hisses, the almoner lifted the blanketed infant from Charlotte’s arms. As Elizabeth neared, Alice pressed the small bundle gently against her chest. Almost immediately the baby became fractious and the blanket fell away, her small arms and legs waving around in a distressed, frog-like motion.

  The older woman’s eyes widened, and for a moment she simply stared at Alice, her arms dangling at her side. ‘Just for a moment,’ Alice repeated encouragingly, this time to Elizabeth. The almoner’s hands remained firm around the now mewing baby. Hesitantly, Elizabeth gathered up the blanket and wrapped her arms around the child. With a look of utter bewilderment, she pivoted cautiously on her heel, as if the package in her arms might explode at any moment. She took slow, shuffling steps back to the armchair, elbows aloft, shoulders stiff and uneven.

  After washing her hands in the marble-topped sink located in Elizabeth’s bedroom, Alice took up the position at the end of the sofa that she had vacated an hour earlier. Charlotte lowered herself uncertainly back against the cushions. Peter returned to the window, his face angled discreetly away.

  ‘I’m going to try and get you booked into one of the local hostels, Charlotte,’ Alice said softly, as she lifted Charlotte’s skirt. ‘I believe there might be a place coming up in one of them, and you should be able to take the baby along with you. For now though, we shall get you booked into the maternity ward at the Royal Free.’ There was a loud gasp and Charlotte snapped her legs closed.

  Peter Harland swivelled around as Charlotte threw her nightgown down over her knees and sat up sharply. ‘I’m not going there!’ she screeched. Her eyes were wide and wild once more, her chest heaving rapidly up and down.

  ‘Charlotte, they’ll take good care of you,’ Alice said.

  ‘Not there,’ the teenager squealed. ‘Anywhere but there. Home. Take me home.’

  Dr Harland stared at the trembling girl, his brow furrowed. ‘There is every chance you can take the baby with you to the Royal, Charlotte,’ Alice said soothingly. ‘But for now, I do not think that going home is an option for you.’

  Charlotte leapt wordlessly from the sofa. As her feet touched the floor, blood trickled down her ankles and onto the rug. From across the room came a strangled groan from Elizabeth. She stared with a pained expression at the red stain expanding at the girl’s feet, though she stayed where she was, one of her forefingers finding its way into the tiny palm of the infant in her arms.

  Seconds later, Charlotte lurched over and snatched the baby away. Elizabeth gaped up at her in alarm, and then down at the floor, where more red spots were plopping onto the rug. The teenager backed away, narrowly missing th
e low table behind her. When the backs of her heels had reached the wall near the window at the far end of the room her feet kept on moving, as if she thought she might be able to pass through brick with the sheer strength of effort.

  ‘We’ll make our way to Banstead Asylum as soon as we can,’ Peter Harland said quietly from a few feet away. ‘There are beds free there and for now there’s no other option.’ Banstead Lunatic Asylum in Surrey had been renamed Banstead Mental Hospital four years earlier, in 1918, but it was to be a few years before the new name caught on. Thanks to the growing understanding of mental health, asylums throughout the country were being renamed as hospitals, inmates were becoming known as patients and lunatics as ‘persons of unsound mind’. ‘Insane’ and ‘incurable’ were soon to become words consigned to the past.

  Charlotte looked across at him and then down at her baby. ‘If I go, I’m taking her with me.’

  He shook his head. ‘You can’t. Let’s be realistic, you have nothing to offer the child. She’ll be placed in a good Christian home and you can put this unfortunate episode behind you. She won’t even register the change.’ Alice turned to look at him with eyebrows raised. She shook her head disbelievingly, then returned her attention to Charlotte.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Charlotte spat in a tone laden with bitterness. ‘She’ll know.’ She looked beseechingly at Alice, whose eyes flickered as she glanced away. ‘You,’ Charlotte pressed, staring at the almoner, ‘you know, don’t you?’

  The almoner flicked her tongue over her lips. ‘How are we to know what goes on in a tiny mind?’ she said, her eyes on the baby. ‘But I suspect that the doctor is correct to a degree, in so much as to say that the separation will be far worse for you than for her.’