Letters from Alice

by Petrina Banfield

  Alice was aware, she told Charlotte, of several cottagers in the north of the country who were open to offering board to young mothers in exchange for help on their farms, as well as several Londoners who might come to her aid.

  Charlotte’s blunt fingernails worked nervously on her lap. ‘You can’t pack me off to the country! I’ve got to get home as soon as I can. Have you spoken to me mum and dad? I need them to let me back.’

  The almoner shook her head. ‘I do not think home is an option, at least not for now.’

  Charlotte made a growling noise and slapped her hands down on her lap. ‘I’ve been so stupid. I’ll never manage it now.’

  Asked by Alice to explain what she meant, the teenager said: ‘It was a dream. I shoulda known it wouldn’t happen.’

  ‘What was a dream?’ Alice leaned forward but Charlotte closed her eyes. The almoner touched a hand to her leg again. ‘Charlotte, what was a dream?’

  The teenager blinked several times. She gave her head a little shake, leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered: ‘Me, being on the stage. I thought I could save us all. I shoulda known it would never happen. I shoulda known it weren’t safe.’

  ‘Not safe? Charlotte, whatever do you mean?’

  The teenager groaned impatiently. ‘I told you before. Bad people. They pretend they want to help, but none of them mean it. There’s no getting away from them either. They’re everywhere.’

  Alice fixed her gaze on the girl. Eventually she said: ‘Would you like me to make contact with –’ she paused, rolling her lips in on themselves ‘– your baby’s father?’

  Roused into sudden alertness, Charlotte reeled back in her chair. ‘No!’

  ‘But surely he should be told?’ Alice persisted. ‘If only so that we can secure some support for you, for when you leave here.’ The almoners did what they could to encourage fathers to do their duty and support their offspring, whether they were ‘born on the wrong side of the blanket’ or not.

  The girl made no answer, but shook her head, still agitated.

  ‘How would you describe your relationship with the child’s father?’

  Charlotte nibbled the ends of her fingers and shot Alice an angry look: ‘It’s hard to explain.’

  ‘Well, can you tell me what terms your relationship was on?’ Accustomed to interviewing patients, Alice would have been careful with her phrasing, so as not to lead or plant ideas in Charlotte’s head. When no answer was forthcoming, the almoner pressed on: ‘Were you even in a relationship?’

  The teenager flushed. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Friends, then?’

  Her head snapped up. ‘Definitely not.’

  The almoner nodded. She considered the girl for a moment and then asked: ‘How old is the gentleman concerned?’ The teenager shrugged. ‘Older than you?’

  Charlotte gave a small nod at this. There was a pause, and then Alice said: ‘How did you come to know Molly Rainham, Charlotte?’

  ‘I – said – I – mustn’t talk about it.’

  Alice stared at her. There was another pause and then she asked: ‘Is there ill feeling between you and Dr Harland? Anything untoward in –’

  Charlotte sprang to her feet and backed away. The woman in the nearby armchair stopped rocking suddenly. Her lips began moving quickly as she stared at the teenager, though no words came out. Alice stood slowly, her movements calm and measured. ‘It’s alright, don’t fret, Charlotte, please. There is so much more I need to ask you.’

  The teenager gave a small wail. Within seconds, the short-sighted nurse who had accompanied Alice to the day room appeared at the door. Her eyes widened as Charlotte’s howls grew more desperate, then she withdrew a whistle from her pocket and blew it. ‘No, please, it’s alright,’ Alice said, at the appearance of two other attendants. The nurse gave her an icy stare and shooed her away. There was a burst of activity, a struggle, and then the nurse was left to settle Charlotte back in her chair.

  ‘What have I told you, lovey?’ she said, tucking a sack-like blanket around the teenager’s legs and tutting. ‘You mustn’t take on like that. Getting all het up won’t do you any good, you know. No good at all.’ To Alice she said: ‘She’d do well to go without visitors for a while. She really isn’t up to it yet.’ And then to Charlotte: ‘Are you, my pet?’

  ‘You don’t realise what you’re getting into,’ the teenager mumbled feverishly, as Alice gathered her bag and cape. ‘There’s people in on it,’ she whispered. ‘People everywhere.’

  Chapter Twelve

  When a bastard child becomes chargeable to a union or parish … justices may summon the man alleged to be the father of the child to appear before any two justices … to show cause why an order should not be made upon him to contribute towards the relief of the child.

  (Secretary of the Charity Organisation Society, C. S. Loch, in his reference book for almoners published in 1895, How to Help Cases of Distress)

  There were a number of increasingly urgent duties awaiting Alice, back at her basement office in the Royal Free.

  A priority highlighted by the Head Almoner was the search for unskilled light work for soldiers who had been injured in the Great War. More than 2 million were physically wounded in battle, with many more bearing the less obvious scars of ‘shell shock’ or, in modern terminology, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Finding work for men who might shake uncontrollably, or weep without warning, was a task that almoners across London were happy to take on, despite the odds being stacked against them; unemployment had doubled from 1 to 2 million in the first six months of 1921, and was to hit 2.5 million by mid-1922. Many hours were spent helping returning servicemen to adjust to the emotional turmoil and practical difficulties of life as a disabled citizen, as well as making the transition from conquering hero to unskilled civilian.

  As well as the search for compassionate employers, Alice needed to arrange convalescence for recovering patients to free up some beds for new admissions and pen several applications to the Samaritan Fund for newly bereaved families. On top of that, she still hadn’t managed to persuade Dr Harland to carry out a home visit to Billy Simpkins, the Woods’ eldest grandchild.

  Nevertheless, the almoner made a detour after visiting Charlotte at Banstead Mental Hospital, arriving at Dock Street in east London at ten minutes past one.

  The notes Alice had scribbled in the pad tucked away in her bag revealed her commitment to uncovering the identity of Daisy Redbourne’s father during the visit, so that a contribution towards her upkeep could be secured. However good her intentions may have been, George Redbourne was distinctly underwhelmed when he saw her.

  The porter was standing in the front yard fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. He spun around at the sound of footsteps, his head jerking up. On sight of the almoner he pulled a face and glanced nervously behind him, towards the house. ‘The wife’ll be none too pleased to see you back,’ he said in a low voice of warning.

  Alice joined him in the yard. ‘No, I expect not. But there are a few loose ends that must be tied.’

  The porter blew his nose and stuffed the hanky back in his pocket. ‘Ah.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about. I just have some brief questions for Mrs Redbourne.’ She looked at him. ‘Although, perhaps you can help?’

  Dressed in his uniform, he drew the sleeve of his jacket across his shiny forehead and then scratched his pot belly. ‘I’ll do my best, as long as you’re quick.’

  The almoner opened with a ‘soft’ question, asking the porter about Charlotte’s interest in acting.

  He gave her a sad smile. ‘Ah yes. That was seeing Marion Davies at the pictures a few years ago what got her started on that. Sparked some fanciful ideas in her, it did. I tried to take her as much as I could after that but, well, you know what it’s like. We couldn’t go as often as she wanted. I wish now I’d made more of an effort.’ A bead of sweat dropped from his eyebrow and made his eye twitch. He blinked and sighed heavily then began tapping nervously
on the gatepost with his fingers. ‘Look, if that’s all, I gotta get to work.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but before you go … could you tell me, what was Charlotte’s relationship with Molly Rainham?’

  He sniffed and grabbed his cap from his head. ‘I ain’t sure I know too much about it. You know what teenagers are like. Secretive, ain’t they?’

  ‘But the name is familiar to you?’

  He nodded. ‘Charlotte might of mentioned her once or twice.’ He rubbed his cheek with the brim of his cap, wariness telling in the pulse that throbbed in his temple. ‘How is she, anyway?’

  ‘She is in an anxious state, naturally, but she is being taken care of.’

  The porter nodded grimly. His eyes flicked to the window again then he leaned in and said in a low tone: ‘I tried my best to convince –’ He stopped and spun around nervously at the sound of tapping.

  Behind him, Mrs Redbourne’s face was pressed close to the glass. Seconds later she hauled the window open. ‘Haven’t you got a job to go to, George? Or is she trying to get you sacked?’ After an icy glance in the almoner’s direction, the woman slammed the window but continued to glare at them.

  The porter grimaced and fumbled with the latch on the gate. ‘Mr Redbourne?’ Alice called after him.

  He half-turned around. ‘Look, I can’t,’ he hissed. ‘She’s got her dander up. I’ll have to go.’

  The almoner closed the gap between them and asked in a hushed tone: ‘I just need to ask … were you aware that your daughter was involved with anyone?’

  The man put his cap back in place on his head and, after another glimpse towards the house, pulled the brim down over his eyes. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Are you able to make a guess as to whom this person might have been?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ he said in a nasal tone, before turning hastily away.

  Alice knocked at the house several times before Mrs Redbourne answered. The almoner removed her hat with a stiff smile when she eventually opened the door. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you that can’t be said on the doorstep.’

  Alice’s eyes flicked to the neighbouring house. ‘I suspect that what I have to say, Mrs Redbourne, you may prefer to hear in private.’

  The woman smacked her lips then turned away, leaving the door open. As Alice stepped into the hall, she rushed ahead into the living room. Dozens of shirts were hanging from the picture rail inside the room, and a fire blazed in the hearth. On the floor were two baskets full of balled-up clothes, a plank of towel-covered wood resting between two chairs above them. The surface of a sideboard at the far end of the room was covered with dust, all except one corner, which was spotless, as if something had just been removed. When Alice arrived at the doorway, Mrs Redbourne was stuffing something hurriedly into the pocket of her apron. ‘What is it you want?’ she asked abruptly as she positioned herself behind the makeshift ironing board. There was no trace of the coyness Frank had elicited on their visit over a week earlier, but her face was flushed, two bright red spots high up on her cheeks. ‘I’ve got to get this lot finished before Elsa collects the rabble.’

  Alice ran her eyes around the room. ‘Such a lot of shirts,’ she remarked. There was an edge to her tone.

  ‘So?’ the woman snapped. ‘There’s a lot of us living here, ain’t there?’

  Alice gave a curt, disbelieving nod. After a moment she said: ‘I thought you might wish to hear news of Charlotte.’

  ‘Did you now?’ Mrs Redbourne said. She folded a cloth, wrapped it around the wooden handle of the iron that was resting over the fire and picked it up. There was a sizzle as she spat on the underside, then a thump as she slammed it down onto another shirt. ‘Well, you can think again, because I’ve no desire to hear about her at all, thanks very much. She’s caused quite enough trouble for this family.’

  Alice stared. ‘Surely you must be concerned?’

  The woman carefully draped the shirt over a hanger then turned around to place the iron back on its rest in the fire. When she turned back, she pressed her hands down on the board and glared at Alice. ‘Have you any idea what it was like, dealing with that – that thing she left behind?’ She ran her eyes over the almoner. ‘No,’ she said venomously. ‘People like you think you’re the cat’s particulars. I know exactly what you’re about. I don’t suppose you’ve known a moment’s hardship in your life, have you?’

  The almoner didn’t react. After a pause she said: ‘So the burial has been arranged?’ Funerals were an expensive burden for poor families. There had been several cases of women dressing their infants in death robes, packaging up their bodies and sending them off by train to convents or other institutions in the hope that the recipient might perform a proper burial.

  Mrs Redbourne turned and raked the fire, stabbing at it aggressively with the poker. When Alice repeated the question she dropped the poker and grabbed the iron and another shirt, attacking it with increased vigour. ‘It’s been dealt with, it’s in the yard,’ she said through gritted teeth, her eyes focussed on her work. ‘My George won’t forget having to do that in a hurry, I don’t mind telling you. The man was beside himself.’

  ‘He seems restored to reasonable spirits now. In fact, I found him to be a little more talkative than previously.’ The almoner levelled her gaze on the woman before adding: ‘If a little nervous.’

  Mrs Redbourne gave her a curious look and then made a scoffing noise in her throat. Alice’s eyes drifted to the door and back again. ‘I imagine it has been a traumatic time for the whole family.’

  The woman nodded grimly. ‘You can say that again.’

  There was another pause, then Alice said: ‘Charlotte is refusing to name the father.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t want to hear no more about it. She’s made our lives a misery these last couple of years. No, I’ve washed my hands of her.’

  Alice clasped her gloved hands in front of her. ‘It is not possible for you to wash your hands of her entirely, Mrs Redbourne. You are financially responsible for her, for the time being, at least.’

  There was a strong belief, even among the most charitably minded citizens, that parents should not be allowed to shirk their responsibilities, only to reclaim their children when they were old enough to work.

  In response to a considerable amount of bristling from Mrs Redbourne, Alice continued: ‘Of course, if I were able to make contact with the gentleman who led Charlotte astray, he may be persuaded to make some recompense, thus relieving you of the burden.’

  The woman looked up with interest at that, but then her expression clouded over. She hung another shirt on a hanger and muttered: ‘Can’t you get it into your head? We just want to put it behind us.’

  Alice stared at her back as she shifted the shirts hanging from the rail around to make room for another one. ‘Were you aware that Charlotte was involved with anyone?’

  Mrs Redbourne leaned down and snatched another shirt from the basket. She slung it over the ironing board and then said: ‘Course not.’

  Alice expressed surprise that a relationship of such an intimate nature could be concealed by someone of Charlotte’s tender age, but Mrs Redbourne merely shrugged her shoulders and reached for the iron again.

  ‘Do you think that the man who fathered the baby that Charlotte lost last year is also the father of the tw –’ Alice stopped. She bit her bottom lip and then continued: ‘Is also the father of the recently deceased infant?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Did you not discuss the incident?’

  ‘What incident?’

  ‘Charlotte’s previous miscarriage.’

  Mrs Redbourne, keeping her eyes on the task in front of her, mumbled: ‘No.’

  ‘And the first you knew about the latest pregnancy was when Charlotte gave birth in the privy?’

  The woman nodded frostily, her lips pressed tightly together. Alice allowed another moment to pass and then asked the date of Charlotte�
�s miscarriage.

  ‘I can’t say as I remember.’

  ‘Was it not December just gone but the one before?’

  Mrs Redbourne stopped what she was doing for a moment and cocked her head. ‘I believe so.’

  Alice nodded. ‘And she lost the baby here, at home?’

  ‘No. She came home and it was already gone.’

  ‘She miscarried in hospital, or alone somewhere?’

  The woman expelled some air, the iron held aloft in front of her. ‘Oh, I dunno, do I? I was just glad it was over. Why all the questions? It’s not unheard of, is it, to lose one? Happens to the best of us.’

  Alice gave a small nod. ‘Did Charlotte receive treatment in hospital for breathing difficulties around the same time?’

  ‘What? No. Why d’you ask that?’

  The almoner swiftly changed direction; a ploy that was sometimes used to disorientate, when a case of fraud was suspected. ‘What was Charlotte’s demeanour after the pregnancy ended?’

  ‘I dunno. A bit sulky, I suppose. That’s right, I remember because she moped around the place, making everyone’s Christmas miserable. Wouldn’t talk about it. Rewarded with some filthy words and worse I was, if ever I brought it up.’

  ‘Were you not concerned that she might continue in her reckless behaviour?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so, not particularly. Her father gave her a good hiding. We thought she’d learned her lesson, didn’t we?’ The woman slammed the iron down on its rest and turned back to Alice. ‘Look, I’m sick of this. If it’s not people like you, it’s the Sally Bash, sticking their noses in where they’re not wanted. Now, tell me, are you just here to criticise, or do you actually want something?’

  Alice took a breath. ‘When I was last here I noticed that John had a rash.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I suspect it may be a scabies infection. If that is the case, every one of you will need treatment.’ She glanced behind her and peered into the hall. ‘Where are the children?’