Letters from Alice

by Petrina Banfield

  It was just before 8 p.m. when Alice stepped into the corridor. A few feet away from the side room, she sank back against the wall and closed her eyes. She jerked upright a couple of seconds later at a noise across the corridor, pushing herself upright at the appearance of Dr Harland. ‘She’s gone,’ she said evenly, though her features were drawn tight.

  He gave a small nod.

  ‘I’ve told the family they can stay with her as long as they wish. I’m going to fetch some money from the office so that they can take a taxi home when they are ready. I don’t want them wandering the streets bereft.’

  The doctor took a long slow breath in. ‘It’s not for you to say who stays and who leaves, Miss Hudson,’ he said, moving past her. ‘If the room is needed, they will be moved into the corridor.’

  She stared after him. ‘You cannot bear a woman to make decisions without deference to a man, can you?’ she called after him.

  He stopped and half-turned, shaking his head. ‘It’s been a long day, Miss Hudson,’ he said wearily. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘You just don’t care, do you? Your sister was right. You don’t have a care for anyone.’

  He strode towards her then, his chin set in a hard line. ‘Can you not just stick to what you’re supposed to be doing, instead of trying to take over wherever you go? You’re a menace, woman!’

  ‘How dare you!’ the almoner said, her eyes burning. ‘I seriously fear there is something wrong with you!’

  His fists clenched at his side. ‘I don’t have the time right now to listen to any more of your melodramatic witterings or accusations! Just get out of my department.’

  He spun around and strode off along the corridor but Alice hurried ahead of him and whirled around, blocking his way. ‘You’re not normal!’ she shouted, the pins coming loose from her hair so that it fell down around her face. ‘You have the empathy of a lizard!’

  ‘And you have the devil’s own temper!’ he said in return, glowering. ‘Now, please, get out of my way.’

  She looked at him, then shook her head. ‘I refuse to be a part of this any longer,’ she hissed, but then her voice caught. She swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes and spilling over onto her cheeks.

  Dr Harland stared at her in alarm. He looked to and fro, then lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. There was a pause, and then Alice patted her gloved hands to her cheeks and made a move to step around him. At that moment the doctor flung his arm out and seized her by the wrist. She looked up at him scornfully and tried to free herself, but within seconds she allowed herself to be pulled against him. His arms enclosed around her and then he lowered his chin to the top of her head.

  ‘I’m alright,’ she said, after a minute or so. She released herself with a hand to his chest, then stepped away, her cheeks damp and flushed.

  ‘Get some sleep, Miss Hudson,’ he said quietly.

  Alice held his gaze for a moment, her eyes wary, then turned and walked hurriedly away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Co-operation between the doctor and the social worker is absolutely necessary if their common ideals – the raising of the standard of public health and the extermination of disease – are to be realised.

  (Surgeon at the Annual Meeting of the British Hospitals’ Association, 1913)

  The almoner passed under the flickering lamps of the main reception area of the hospital a few minutes later, her staccato steps echoing around the empty space. Lit only by the amber light from the street lamps on ground level, the stairs leading to the basement were shadowed and dim. Outside the heavy oak door to the almoners’ office, Alice stilled, head cocked to the side, her hand resting on the handle. Half a second later she burst into the room. The office lay empty, but the door to the medical records store stood open, a light glimmering faintly from inside.

  Alice crossed the room and paused at the door. After a moment she felt her way along the dark passage with a flattened hand on the domed wall, the only sound an occasional plink as drops of moisture fell from the domed ceiling onto the cold stone floor below. A dark shadow loomed on the wall at the far end of the first aisle. Alice rounded the corner, then reared back in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, when the figure turned to face her.

  Frank tucked the file he was holding under one arm and took a long drag on his pipe. ‘I might ask the same of you, Alice.’

  ‘I have been with a patient,’ she said, wrapping her cape around herself and folding her arms over the top. ‘I came down to get some money for the relatives to ease their way home.’

  Frank slipped the file onto a nearby shelf and gave her a half-smile. ‘That’s thoughtful of you, but you won’t find any money in here.’

  ‘Obviously not,’ she said coldly. ‘But I noticed the light.’ Frank removed the pipe from his mouth and nodded, still regarding her with mild amusement. ‘And what about you? What are you doing here?’

  Claiming that he was under pressure to complete his report to the Charity Organisation Society, Frank told the almoner that he was putting in some extra hours, to try and get ahead of himself.

  Alice swiftly refuted the claim and then added: ‘You have no business being down here after hours anyway.’

  Frank held his pipe between his teeth and struck a match on the wall. Cupping his hand around the flame, he relit the tobacco and took another long drag. He moved towards her and said: ‘I understand why the good doctor gets so frustrated with you now. You really are a bulldog, aren’t you?’

  ‘The doctor?’ Alice gave her head a small shake and blinked. ‘You mean Dr Harland? The two of you have been discussing me?’

  Frank’s half-smile faded. He set his chin and gave her a steady look. ‘Let’s just say I know a thing or two about the pair of you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  He nodded. ‘Enough to lose both of you your jobs, at the very least. Perhaps even more than that.’

  Alice took a step backwards. ‘I’m not scared, Frank,’ she said, with a brief glance over her shoulder.

  He gave a low, croaky chuckle. ‘And nor should you be, my dear. At least,’ he added, blowing out a lungful of smoke, ‘not of me.’

  Alice frowned. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Frank withdrew his pocket watch and glanced at it, then cupped it in his hand and squeezed it. ‘Listen, Alice, all you need to know is that there’s a stink around here that needs airing, and that’s exactly what I’m here to do.’

  She ventured towards him again. ‘What stink?’

  ‘The details are not for the ears of a gentlewoman.’

  ‘I am hardly faint-hearted, Frank. You should know that by now.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, slipping his watch back into the pocket of his waistcoat and taking the pipe from his mouth. He waved the stem at her. ‘There’s no need for you to involve yourself in any of this. Go back to your room, speak of this to no one, and I’ll make sure I keep a lid on things my end.’ He gave her a wink and tapped the side of his nose then turned away as if to conclude their conversation.

  The almoner scoffed a laugh and spoke to his back. ‘Why does every man in this hospital think he can tell me what to do? You’re not the boss, Frank.’ She stepped towards him, stopping when she was about a foot away. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you are here to conduct an audit and to report back to the COS on the value of the almoners’ work. That should not necessitate examining the private records of any of our patients.’

  Frank turned back to her and sighed. ‘You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Alice.’

  Her gaze sharpened. ‘You may be right, but I think I’m getting close, Frank. And it’s making certain people very nervous.’

  There was a pause. He gave her a steady, considering look. ‘So, what do you intend to do now?’

  The almoner took another tiny step back. ‘I’m going to call a meeting in the morning,’ she said, her voice shaking slightly. ‘I’m going to tell everyone about our conversation and see what th
ey make of it.’

  ‘If you do that, my dear, I’ll make it known that you concealed the birth of a child and falsified your reports. You’ll lose your job and so will your doctor.’

  Alice stiffened. ‘How do you know about that?’

  Frank shrugged.

  A beat passed, and then Alice said: ‘He most certainly is not my doctor. And I wanted no part of any of this in the first place. It is time the truth came out.’

  The almoner turned to leave, but Frank grasped her shoulders and spun her around. ‘I can’t let you do that, Alice.’

  She tried to pull away, but his grip on her arm tightened. He pulled her back against him, clamping a hand over her mouth when she tried to shout out. ‘Listen to me,’ he whispered urgently in her ear. ‘I will tell you why I’m here, but only if you agree to keep it to yourself. Do you hear me?’

  Alice thrashed and struggled, but after a few seconds she gave in with a small nod of her head. Frank released her slowly then grabbed her upper arms and turned her around to face him. ‘I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Police,’ he said quietly, lowering his arms. ‘I’ve been working undercover for a number of weeks on an investigation which is close to reaching its conclusion. It’s vital that my cover is not compromised.’

  Alice stared at him agog. ‘How am I to believe that?’

  Frank withdrew a warrant card from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. She stared at it for a few seconds then demanded: ‘What investigation?’

  He slipped the card back into his pocket. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Is it regarding an assault on a young girl?’

  Frank looked at her with increased interest. ‘Why would you ask that?’

  Alice shared her suspicions about Dr Harland, revealing her conviction that there was a connection between him and Charlotte. She also told him about the times when Dr Harland went missing from duty and her concerns about some of the male visitors to Banstead Mental Hospital.

  Frank chewed the end of his pipe and listened in thoughtful silence. Eventually he said: ‘There’s no law against one person choosing to accompany another on a drive.’

  Alice stared at him, eyes blazing. ‘But these are vulnerable patients we’re talking about. Surely they lack the capacity to make that choice?’

  Frank shook his head. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘It’s morally reprehensible, at least?’

  The detective pursed his lips. ‘Arguably.’

  ‘And what about Dr Harland’s connection to Charlotte? She received a visit from someone, a male by the name of Cyril Gardner. I believe that he and the doctor are one and the same. I suspect that he paid her a visit using a false name to silence her, in case she intended to reveal that he is the father of her child. If that is the case, not only has he abused his position of trust, but –’

  Frank gave a low chuckle. ‘You really are in the wrong job, Alice. If only the force would admit females as detectives, I’d take you on as my protégee.’

  ‘So I am correct, then?’

  ‘Not exactly. But I admire your tenacity. It’s a quality that some in the force lack, and it’s not something you can teach.’ Alice continued to stare at him. ‘It was me,’ Frank explained eventually. ‘I am Cyril Gardner.’

  The almoner shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Frank admitted that it was he who had gone to visit Charlotte at the beginning of February, using Cyril Gardner as his cover name. In the course of his investigations, he said, he had questioned Elizabeth and met Charlotte’s daughter, Daisy.

  ‘How did you find out, about the baby?’

  Frank grinned. ‘I am a detective, my dear.’

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ Alice said, looking up at him. ‘Why would you have reason to question Elizabeth?’

  Frank levelled his gaze. ‘Alice, all I’m asking is that you give me your trust for a few more days. Go about your business as usual, and let no one suspect anything out of the ordinary. Will you please do that? It’s of the utmost importance that the people closest to you have no idea of my true identity.’

  Alice stared at Frank for a long moment, and then gave him a reluctant nod.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Inquests have been held on the bodies of several women in and out of Islington who died from the after effects of abortion. It is said that women come from all parts of London, and even from long distances in the country, to place themselves under the care of Islington abortionists … such practices under the very noses of the police would be impossible if they did their duty.

  (Islington Gazette, Monday, 24 June 1889)

  Early the next day, on the morning of Wednesday, 22 February 1922, Alice left her room in the nurses’ quarters of the Helena Building and made her way over to the main hospital. It was a little before 6 a.m., an hour from sunrise, and the air was sharp with cold.

  As it had been last evening, the outpatients department lay silent but for the clatter of mop and bucket as the hospital’s domestic staff, then known as ‘scrubbers’, prepared the space for the onslaught of a new day.

  The stillness peculiar to early mornings met Alice as she opened the double doors and stepped into the chest department. Sister Nell Smith, working the night shift, was usually to be found at reception, but on this particular day she was absent from her desk, perhaps busy calming a distressed patient, or instructing the ward’s scrubbers on the importance of cleanliness and hygiene. Like the almoners, the matrons employed by the Royal Free enjoyed a reputation for stoic fortitude, with an extraordinary ability to remain calm, whatever difficult circumstances were thrown at them.

  Alice, who had signed two shillings over to a shaky Ted Woods and his daughter last night to cover the cost of a taxi fare home, waited for a moment at reception, then turned at a clicking sound as the main door to the department opened behind her.

  A wheeled trolley clattered through the double doors, Sidney Mullins propelling it along from behind. The mortician’s ruddy face brightened when he saw Alice. ‘Morning, pet. Is Sister around?’

  ‘Not at the moment, Sidney. Are you here for –’

  ‘Woods,’ he said, checking his notes on the trolley in front of him.

  ‘Over there,’ the almoner said, inclining her head towards the side room on the other side of the corridor.

  Sidney gave her a grim nod. He emerged from the room a couple of minutes later, a shrunken, white-sheeted form stretched out on the trolley. Several sensationalist newspaper headlines about people being buried alive had led some members of the public to make living wills asking to be decapitated on their apparent death, or stabbed through the heart with a stiletto.

  Some families clung to their dead loved ones at home, releasing the bodies for burial only once maggots had taken such a hold of the flesh that they dropped onto the floor. With most unspoilt for choice when it came to living space, such precaution often meant sharing their parlour with a decaying corpse. As a conscientious mortician, Sidney would have been alert to any signs of a patient emerging from deep coma in his mortuary.

  Alice stepped aside and lowered her head as Sidney passed by. Several medical students and nursing staff had begun to arrive for their early morning shift. Three nurses who were standing in a circle fell silent at Sidney’s appearance. They flattened themselves against the wall and dipped their heads respectfully as he passed, but two male medical students further along the corridor continued their animated conversation, one of them cackling loudly.

  Sidney grabbed his notepad from the head of the trolley and knocked their hats from their heads. ‘Show some respect, lads,’ he barked. Stunned into silence, they grabbed their hats from the floor and then stood to attention, shame-faced, with their hands clasped behind their backs.

  When Sidney disappeared from view, Alice crossed the corridor and went into the empty side room. The steel-framed bed where Hetty had slept stood empty, the sheets that had been stripped from the mattress in a pile on the
floor and the oxygen mask back on its hook on the wall.

  Alice rested her hand on the bare mattress then turned and headed back to reception. At the empty desk, the almoner scribbled a note to Sidney Mullins asking him to furnish her with details of the undertaker who was to deal with the body of Mrs Woods, since it was her intention to make an application for some material assistance towards the cost of burial.

  About ten feet away from Nell’s reception desk, on the left-hand side of the corridor, the door to Dr Harland’s office stood ajar. Alice pocketed the note and walked past the office towards the stairs, then stopped and took a few steps back. She tapped on the door of the doctor’s office and waited. When there was no answer, she stepped inside.

  Half a minute later, Alice flew from the office and over to the stairs, a small card clutched in her gloved hand.

  At half past eight that morning, Alice arrived at Fenchurch Street and hammered repeatedly on Elizabeth Harland’s front door. After a delay of several minutes, the older woman appeared, her jaw dropping at the sight of the almoner. ‘It is not a convenient moment,’ the older woman said briskly, before attempting to close the door.

  Alice stepped forward and slipped her booted foot into the gap. ‘It is important, Elizabeth. This cannot wait.’

  Elizabeth hesitated for a moment then stepped aside. Alice followed her through to the back parlour and remained standing, despite the woman’s invitation to sit. The room had been restored to its former neatness, the only evidence of an infant an empty glass feeding bottle standing on one of the highly polished mahogany shelves. ‘Well?’ Elizabeth said with impatience. ‘What is so urgent?’

  Alice proceeded to ask where Daisy was, her face creased with concern.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ replied the woman curtly, before adding: ‘She has colic. She woke several times during the night.’

  ‘I should like to see her,’ Alice said, beginning to pace in a slow circle around the room.