Blood Lines

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Slider said anodynely. ‘Please go on.’

  ‘Of course. Well, my idea in those far-off days was to offer a safe, clean, Christian home to these girls during their pregnancy, and afterwards to place the babies with Christian couples of my acquaintance, and to help the girls find respectable employment. But for them to begin a new life free of the taint of their error, everything had to be conducted with the most complete discretion. No-one must be able to point a finger at the girls afterwards; and for the sake of the babies and their new parents, the girls must never know their identity. So we rented a house in a village called Cooksmill, near Chelmsford – it was real countryside in those days, very remote and out of temptation’s way for the girls, but also out of the public eye. The girls could “disappear” there, and it was unlikely they would ever meet anyone afterwards who had seen them there. When the time came they went into the hospital in Chelmsford, and the baby was taken away at once, usually without their ever seeing it, certainly before they had any opportunity of forming a fondness for it. Afterwards they spent six weeks recuperating at the house, and then they were placed in suitable work.’

  ‘What happened if they wanted to keep the baby?’ Slider asked.

  Green looked as though he had said something mildly offensive. ‘That was not possible. The social climate in those days made it impossible for an unmarried girl to bring up a child alone.’

  ‘But if they were determined?’

  Green looked his loftiest. ‘It was a condition of our helping them that the child was given up. We could not have operated on any other basis.’

  Slider thought he understood. ‘How did you choose the couples who adopted the babies?’

  ‘On the grounds of their Christian commitment and moral probity. We were very thorough – otherwise it would have been “out of the frying pan and into the fire” as far as the poor infants were concerned.’

  ‘But how did they find out about you?’

  ‘Through the Church, or by word of mouth, usually. Sometimes couples were referred to us by doctors or almoners. But there was never a shortage. Childless couples are very determined about seeking what they want.’

  ‘Did they pay you?’ Slider thought the bluntness of the question might shock something out of Green, but he had evidently faced this ball before, and played it straight down the wicket.

  ‘There were expenses involved, and the applicants made a contribution to that. It was not a fee. Some paid more and some less, according to their resources.’

  ‘What if they were really poor?’

  ‘If they were unable to afford any contribution, it is unlikely they could have afforded to bring up a child in the proper manner. We did not,’ he added, lowering the brows sternly, ‘consider couples where the woman went out to work. A woman’s place is in the home, nurturing her child and caring for her husband.’

  Slider thought of Joanna’s version of that adage: A woman’s place is in the wrong. He was getting quite a clear picture of the frying pan and fire the ‘unfortunate girls’ alternated between. At that point the housekeeper brought in a tray, with a cup of tea, a cup of milky coffee, a sugar bowl, and a plate on which reposed two Nice biscuits, two garibaldis, and two bourbons. She placed everything within reach, looked the two men over carefully, as if gauging whether they were likely to come to blows if left alone again, and went.

  Slider took up his teacup and said, ‘Tell me about the case of Miss Giles. That was rather different, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was,’ Green admitted, as though seeing now it had been a mistake. ‘The identities of all the parties were known to each other, which was dangerous.’

  ‘And Miss Giles was not a common, ignorant girl. She was bright, ambitious, career-minded.’

  ‘She was very difficult, from beginning to end,’ Green said gloomily. ‘It was her sister who brought her situation to my attention. I had met her once or twice at the Mills’s home, and did not like her. She struck me as what we used to call in those days “fast”. It did not come as a surprise to me when Margaret came to say that her sister had got into trouble.’

  ‘Did Mrs Mills know about your activities in that field?’

  ‘She knew I had arranged adoptions for other couples, and I think she had a vague idea that I was connected with some kind of home. What she asked, that day she came to see me, was simply whether I could help Elizabeth. I asked in what way, and she said, “Betty doesn’t want the baby. I’m afraid she might try and get rid of it.”’

  ‘By that you understood abortion?’

  ‘Some girls found it preferable in those days to the shame of being an outcast,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘It was another reason for our operation.’

  ‘So it became not just a matter of saving Elizabeth from her predicament but of saving the baby too?’

  ‘Its life as well as its soul,’ he nodded. ‘I told Margaret that I could only help Betty if she placed herself entirely in my hands, and did exactly as I said. She said she would talk to her. But by the time they both came to see me on the next occasion, the plot had been hatched between them. Margaret had some fear that she could not have a child of her own, and would rather adopt her sister’s baby than a stranger’s. Elizabeth would sooner know what sort of a home her infant was going to. I said in that case they had no need of my services and could arrange matters between them. But they insisted,’ he finished gloomily.

  ‘What did they want you to do?’

  ‘It was a matter of maintaining secrecy. Elizabeth had a career which would be damaged by her shameful condition. She needed to be able to go somewhere discreet where she would be looked after. On their side Margaret and Arthur wanted an arrangement which safeguarded them, a proper, legal adoption, and no chance that Elizabeth would go back on it at the last moment.’ He sighed. ‘I warned them of the hazards, I told them it was not an arrangement I could recommend, and suggested alternatives, but they were adamant. Margaret had set her heart on having the baby, and Elizabeth wanted to be rid of it as conveniently as possible, and Arthur was in the middle hoping to keep everything respectable. So I helped them.’

  Slider said encouragingly, ‘I expect you did the right thing. It might have turned out much worse if you hadn’t.’

  Green inspected him for irony, and then nodded. ‘I think you are right. I did my best to build in safeguards. Any breach of the rules by Elizabeth while she was at Coldharbour House would terminate the agreement. The baby was to be taken from her immediately as with the other girls and she was to sign the adoption papers before leaving the hospital. And after her convalescence she was not to contact her sister again or go anywhere near the house. But of course she broke the agreement on every count. She was a troublesome inmate at Coldharbour, flouting the rules and disturbing the other girls. And she not only contacted her sister, she returned to live almost next door and to insist on contact with the child.’

  ‘She never told him she was his mother, though,’ Slider said, feeling driven to Miss Giles’s defence. He remembered what she’d said about the weeping girls in the home, and the ‘kindness’ of having the baby taken away at birth. Green, he thought, must have been a Mr Brocklehurst to them. ‘Steve doesn’t know even now what their relationship really was.’

  ‘I’m glad to know she had even so much decency,’ Green said stiffly. ‘I hardly think she was a good influence on the boy. And she made Margaret and Arthur very unhappy – good, decent, Christian people.’

  ‘It was a difficult situation,’ Slider said, needing to placate him as they approached the tricky part. ‘I’m sure on reflection you must be satisfied that without your help it would have been much worse.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, unwilling to be seduced. ‘So, Mr Slider, have you the information you required?’

  ‘Not quite,’ Slider said. ‘I need to know what happened to the other one.’

  ‘The other one?’ The words came out naturally enough, but the body had suddenly become still,
watchful.

  ‘The other baby. There were two, weren’t there?’ Green did not answer. ‘Twins,’ Slider said helpfully. ‘Miss Giles had twin boys, didn’t she?’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ Green said stiffly. ‘I can’t think where you have your information, but you are quite mistaken.’

  ‘Come, now, Mr Green, it’s pointless denying something that can so easily be proved. The hospital records will show it. I would sooner not have to go to the trouble, but I can get the documentary evidence and bring it to you if you insist. Don’t make me waste my time.’

  Green looked almost dazed. ‘Nobody knew. It was the most absolute secret. Of course, there were no scans in those days, and the girls were all as ignorant of these things as each other. The matron was under my instructions, and even Elizabeth herself knew nothing until she actually gave birth. If it could have been done by Caesarean section, as I wished,’ he added bitterly, ‘she wouldn’t have known even then. But the hospital wouldn’t play ball. They said the decision must be made by the doctor, and for medical reasons only.’

  Slider looked at him in amazement. ‘Why? Why did you want to keep it a secret?’

  There was a flash of the power that must have once made him a formidable man. ‘To save something from the wreck! I knew the arrangement could never work, that Elizabeth would not keep her word. The child the Millses took would be in constant jeopardy. But I thought that if I could place the other as it ought to be placed, with neither side knowing the other’s identity, something good would have come out of it. It would not all have been in vain.’

  ‘And so what happened to the other baby?’

  Green was silent a moment, seeking escape. ‘It died.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Slider said gently. ‘You see, I’ve been puzzled by a number of things recently that didn’t make sense; someone I kept crossing the path of, someone who was so like Steve Mills people were willing to swear to his identity. But as someone pointed out to me, identity means actually being the same person, not just looking like them. And I found myself wondering about a person who looked like Steve; whose fingerprint was similar to Steve’s but not exactly the same; who had the same blood-group; but who was right-handed where he is left-handed. My Steve Mills, like other left-handed people, wears his watch on his right wrist. The Steve Mills I was looking for wears his watch on his left wrist, like the majority of the population. And there was the matter of the moving mole – a mole on Steve’s right cheek that suddenly wandered over to the left cheek.’

  Green was watching him warily, but following everything with an air of waiting for the inevitable blow to fall. Perhaps he had known what was coming. Perhaps he had been waiting for this blow for years.

  ‘It does happen sometimes,’ Slider went on almost conversationally, ‘that zygotic twins are mirror images of each other, like left hand and right hand.’ He lifted his hands and put them together to demonstrate. ‘And unless you see them side by side, you are not likely to notice the differences. It also happens that a tendency to have twins runs in families, and I knew there had been twin brothers in Miss Giles’s family. So when a friend of mine at St Catherine’s House told me that Miss Giles’s mother was also one of a pair of twins, I started to put two and two together, if you’ll pardon my little joke.’

  Green didn’t look as if he would. He said, ‘What exactly is it that you suspect?’

  ‘I think that you placed the other baby with a couple, that the adult that child became now lives somewhere not too far from here, that he has committed a crime, and that he knows, because he read it in the newspaper, that his twin brother is suspected of the crime and is happy enough to let that ride. I know a few things about him. He is very religious, fond of music, probably interested in scouting or something of that sort – an athletic, outdoor type. Probably unmarried. He is intelligent, too, a planner, not easily flustered. But a man of strong feelings and strong convictions.’

  Green looked shaken. ‘You seem to know a good deal.’

  ‘Am I right, then?’

  ‘How should I know? You are telling your own story.’

  ‘You haven’t corrected any of it. Where is the twin now?’

  ‘I placed an infant for adoption almost forty years ago,’ Green said loftily. ‘How should I know where it is now?’

  ‘But you said yourself that you liked to keep a distant, fatherly eye on them. Your children – in the spiritual sense. And you must have been particularly proud of this one – your success story, snatched out of disaster.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Green said suddenly in a weak voice, the last thing Slider would have expected. ‘Don’t mock me.’

  ‘I’m not mocking. Just give me what I want, and I will leave you alone.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to know what happened to Elizabeth’s other baby.’

  Green gripped the arms of the chair and breathed hard, as though he had been running and was distressed for breath. ‘I placed him with a couple – a very good, pious couple, churchgoers, total abstainers, very strict. The best start he could have had.’

  ‘And did Elizabeth know? Did she ever find out?’

  ‘Not from me. But I think – I suspect – he may have found her. There was a break-in – some of my papers, records, were taken from my files. They were returned later. The details of that adoption were amongst them.’

  ‘You suspect he was the one who took the papers?’

  ‘He had asked me several times who his natural mother was. I had always refused to tell him, and he got very angry.’ He swallowed. ‘He wasn’t a bad boy, but very determined. Very – single-minded. He felt it was his right to know.’

  ‘So he broke into your house and stole the papers.’

  ‘He returned them later. And he would not have done anything like that unless he felt he had good reason.’

  ‘How old was he when this happened?’

  ‘Eighteen – nineteen perhaps.’

  ‘You had kept in touch with him all that time?’

  ‘I – he – I looked upon him as my special trust. I felt almost like a father towards him. I watched him grow up, and took a delight in seeing how he developed.’ He stopped abruptly, frowning, as though some memory did not please him.

  ‘So he found out who his mother was, and went to see her?’ Slider prompted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Green said forcefully, looking at Slider now. ‘I think he may have, but I don’t know. I never spoke to him about it, and Elizabeth certainly never said anything on the few occasions after that when I met her. But he was not the sort of boy not to act. He liked to be doing – a very practical Christian. He was a leading light of the Boys’ Brigade, loved camping and mountaineering. Later he ran adventure holidays for disadvantaged boys and young offenders. He’s a good man. Whatever you suspect him of, you are quite wrong.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘I won’t tell you,’ Green said heatedly. ‘You want to persecute this good man to try to get your friend off the hook.’

  ‘He can’t be persecuted, or even prosecuted, if he’s done nothing wrong. If he is a good man as you say he is, he has nothing to fear.’ Green said nothing, his thin mouth pressed shut. ‘Mr Green, Betty Giles has been savagely murdered. It’s very important that we get the right man into custody, in case he attacks again.’ Silence. ‘I believe she was killed because she was in a position to tell me the secret of the existence of a twin brother to Steve. How many other people know that secret? How many others are at risk?’

  ‘You don’t know,’ Green cried, ‘that he has done anything! You are only guessing! For all you know it could be someone else entirely!’

  ‘All the more reason, then, for me to find him and ask him some questions, so that the shadow of suspicion can be lifted from him. What has an innocent man to fear?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Green swallowed. He looked shaken. ‘Nothing, of course. Very well, his name is Gilbert, Geoffrey Gilbert.’

  �
�And his address?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He set his jaw stubbornly. ‘That’s the truth. He used to live in Acton, but he moved about ten years ago, and I haven’t seen him since. We had a – a disagreement at about that time and I haven’t had any contact with him for years. I’ve no idea where he is now.’

  The door opened again at that point, and Mrs Hoare came in. She gave Slider a stern and significant look, and then said to Green, ‘I’m going to have to disturb your little talk now, because you know the doctor said you hadn’t to sit still all morning, so if you’re going to have your walk before lunch—’

  Green seemed happy to take the excuse of dismissing Slider. He became almost courtly in his relief. ‘You’ll excuse me seeing you out, I hope. The weight of years, you know. I hope I’ve been of some help. It was pleasant meeting you, though it was sad news indeed to hear of poor Miss Giles.’

  ‘I’ll just see the gentleman out, and then I’ll come back and get you ready for your walk,’ Mrs Hoare said, and hustled Slider away. Alone with him in the hall she said, ‘You’ll forgive me disturbing you, but I knew you’d get nothing more from him after that. He’s as stubborn as a donkey, and I don’t want him upset for nothing.’

  ‘You were listening?’ Slider said, half-shocked, half-amused.

  ‘At the door.’ She bridled a little. ‘I always listen. He’s an old man, and we get some very funny customers in here. I have to protect him.’ She looked at Slider with grudging approval. ‘You did all right with him. You’re good at handling people. But when I heard that tone of voice, I knew you’d not shift him any further. You’ve got your job to do of course,’ she added sympathetically. ‘You might get more out of him another time, but you’d have to wear him down. Isn’t there some other way you can find out what you want to know? Surely an address shouldn’t to be too hard, with all your computers and everything?’

  ‘When all you have is a name,’ Slider said, ‘and the whole country to search – the whole world, for all I know.’

  She made an impatient movement of her head. ‘Whole country, nothing! When he moved from Acton, he went to Askew Road. If he’s not there still, you can trace him from there, can’t you?’