Bow Belles

by Bow Belles (retail) (epub)

  Damn, damn, damn! Punching the feather pillows, he tried again to slip into the waiting arms of Morpheus, but it was no use. Running a hand through his thick hair he turned on to his back, staring sightlessly into the semi-darkness. ‘What am I to do? Tell Anne the truth and watch as she walks out of my life; and she would go. She’s not the type of woman to turn her back on her family. Even if she wanted to stay here, she would put her family first and where would that leave me? Of course, I don’t have to tell her. After all, she would never find out. If I kept my mouth shut, we could go on living here in perfect harmony. She might, given time, even grow to love me. Oh, what am I thinking? I can’t go on like this any longer.’

  Ever since the elderly man had been brought into the hospital and Robert had seen the anxious young woman by his side, he had known, known beyond all doubt, who they were. When those beautiful green eyes had looked into his, he had been jolted into stunned disbelief, not wanting to believe the evidence of his own eyes. This was Anne’s family, Anne’s past, and with the knowledge had come a sinking, overwhelming sensation in the pit of his stomach that had left him feeling as helpless as a vulnerable child. Minutes passed by, minutes that seemed like hours, as he grappled with his conscience, then he heard soft footsteps pass by his room and a door closing quietly.

  Should he go to her now and get it done with? If he did, she might want to leave straight away, and he was in no fit state to accompany her at the moment. No, best leave it until he had rested. The news he had to impart would come as a great shock to her after all this time. She would need his strength to help her through the trauma of facing her family, so it really would be better all round if he kept silent for just a few hours longer. That was all, just a few more hours – they might be the last hours she spent under this roof. His conscience eased slightly, his body relaxed as he finally began to drift off into sleep. But his troubled mind had no intention of letting him go that easily, following stealthily along into his fitful slumber and taking him back to that cold, dismal morning nearly two years ago.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A ragged urchin stood by the wrought-iron gates of the London Hospital, his pinched face anxious beneath a large cap as he kept a watchful vigil on the carriages driving up to the entrance. When the well-dressed man alighted from a hansom cab, the boy’s face broke into a relieved smile. ‘Doctor, Doctor! ’Ave yer got a minute? I’ve got a message fer yer, from Mrs Carrington.’

  Robert Peakes-Brown turned at the sound of the shrill voice, then smiled as he recognised the young boy. Paying off the driver, he went up to his waiting visitor, his shrewd eyes taking in the ragged jacket and knee-length trousers from where a pair of spindly legs protruded, turned blue from the cold October wind.

  ‘Well, now, young Tommy! And what message is this that’s so important?’

  ‘I dunno wot it’s abaht, Doctor, Mrs Carrington just said ter bring yer as quick as possible.’

  Guessing the reason for his required presence, Robert pulled out a gold hunter, and thought quickly. As far as he knew, there was nothing urgent waiting for him inside the hospital, and Prunella Carrington wouldn’t send for him unless it was of the utmost importance. Fishing in his pocket, he extracted a florin, then bending towards the boy, said, ‘I want you to do me a favour, Tommy. Go to Miller’s ward and tell the Sister that I’ve been called away, but that I shall be back presently. And, here…’ he pressed the coin into the grubby hand. ‘Get yourself a decent meal.’

  ‘Cor, fanks, Doctor, you’re a real gent!’ The youngster looked down with delight at his windfall, his face breaking into a huge grin, then with a cheery wave he disappeared through the hospital gates.

  Striding out purposefully, his gold-tipped cane beating out a staccato on the cobbled pavement, Robert wondered what could be so urgent as to virtually kidnap him from outside the hospital gates. As he walked, his thoughts turned to the woman who had sent for him.

  Prunella Carrington, a widow in her late forties, had set up the Whitehall Mission with the money her late husband had left. Her action had brought howls of outrage from her two sons, who had hoped to persuade her to invest the legacy in their failing businesses. The protests had made no impression on the formidable woman, who had set to work immediately to look for suitable premises for her work. When the two, men in desperation had brought a doctor in to assess their mother’s mental state, the irate woman, armed with a large frying-pan, had chased them all from her home, but not before delivering some well-aimed blows on their unprotected heads. The incident had caused a great stir among Prunella’s circle of friends, with some voicing the opinion that she must have indeed have taken leave of her senses, but not Robert, who only wished he’d been at hand to witness the spectacle.

  Now, almost a year after its opening, the Whitehall Mission had become a boon to those living in the surrounding area. Not only did Prunella provide hot food for the hundreds that regularly streamed through the wooden doors, she had also turned the top half of the building into an infirmary for those in need of a place to rest while they recovered from any number of the various ailments that were prevalent among the poor. The Mission was also a haven for many seeking temporary accommodation, especially at this time of the year, when to be out on the streets meant certain death for those already in poor health. On hearing of her efforts, Robert had gone along to offer his services. They had come to an arrangement whereby he would call every Wednesday to attend to those too weak or too frightened to come to the hospital.

  It was a hectic schedule for Robert. Not only did he spend three days a week at the hospital, he also ran an extremely profitable clinic in Harley Street where he resided during the week, returning to his home in Eltham at the weekend for a much-needed rest. Well-meaning friends often queried his work at the London Hospital, pointing out that he made enough money from his private patients to allow him more leisure time. But, to Robert, his work there and at the Mission was far more rewarding; besides which, he preferred to keep busy.

  At forty-two, he was still a bachelor, living in the house his parents had bought as newly-weds, with only Mrs Palmer, his housekeeper, Albert Collins, a stalwart man of some sixty years who doubled as butler and valet, and Gertie Smith, the fifteen-year-old maid who helped Mrs Palmer run the five-bedroomed house in Eltham. There had been many women in his life, each one hoping that she would be the one to snare the eligible bachelor, but so far he had met no one he would want to spend the rest of his days with, and had resigned himself to devoting his life to his work.

  It was a twenty-minute walk to his destination. The journey would have taken a further twenty minutes if he had chosen to travel by a hansom cab that would have had to use the main roads, being unable to negotiate the narrow alleys that provided a short cut to the Mission.

  Removing his high hat, he entered the red-brick building, walking straight into a large room, in the centre of which were long wooden tables and benches that, even at this early hour, were crammed with hungry, ragged men, women and children, bent over bowls of steaming porridge.

  A few of them stopped eating to smile a greeting as they recognised the well-dressed man. ‘Wotcher, Doc! ’Ow’s fings?’

  ‘Wednesday’s come round early, ain’t it, Doc?’

  Robert smiled back in genuine pleasure, feeling as he always did a small niggle of guilt at his comfortable, warm attire in the presence of such abject poverty. Despite the large stoves in the far corner of the room, the air was icy cold at this early hour. It would be mid-morning before they generated enough heat to warm up the building. In the meantime, the crowd of people would have to rely on the proximity of their neighbours’ huddled bodies to keep them from freezing.

  ‘Robert! Oh, thank you for coming so promptly. It’s very good of you.’ A well-built woman dressed in a simple grey frock came bustling towards him. ‘I didn’t know what else to do in the circumstances.’

  Finding himself pulled unceremoniously towards a small flight of stairs, Robert let himself be
propelled along without question, knowing that the reason for his summons lay in the upstairs room.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, the woman paused, then, clasping her hands across her flat stomach, said worriedly, ‘Maybe I should have sent for the ambulance but, as you know, Robert, they’re not always eager to come here, and the poor woman needs help urgently…’

  ‘Prue, please calm yourself. I’m here now. If you’ll let me see the patient, I’ll see what I can do.’

  Nodding her dark head, Prunella Carrington moved forward into the long room with Robert close at her heels. It was sparsely furnished, holding ten narrow beds, five to each side of the white-painted walls. Walking down the aisle, Robert looked at each bed, wondering which of the occupants needed his attention so urgently.

  ‘Not in here, Robert.’ Prunella called over her shoulder. ‘I’ve put her in my room. I thought it best in view of her injuries.’

  At the end of the infirmary was a stout door, behind which lay Prunella’s private quarters. She often stayed at the Mission overnight in order to keep an eye on a particularly ill patient. As he entered the room, Robert was pleased to see Prunella had taken his advice and fixed a heavy bolt to the inside of the door. She was well respected in these parts, and it would take a brave man to attempt to invade her domain; but, as he had pointed out on several occasions, one couldn’t be too careful.

  ‘I’ve been afraid to touch her for fear of adding to her injuries… Oh, dear, Robert, I feel so helpless. I can normally deal with any situation, as you know, but this…’

  Robert moved past the distraught woman to the misshapen form lying still as death beneath a quilted cover in the comfortable double bed. Dropping to one knee, he carefully pulled down the quilt that was partially covering her head, then gasped in shock. In his twenty years as a practising doctor he had seen many terrible examples of man’s inhumanity to man, but few could equal that of the blood-soaked face and head that met his startled eyes. It was the brutal savagery of the injuries that momentarily stunned him. Then, his natural professional instincts coming to the fore, he began issuing orders. ‘Bring me plenty of hot water and towels, please. Prue, and shut the door behind you. I don’t want to be interrupted by prying eyes.’

  Before the door had closed behind Prunella, Robert gently set about ascertaining the full extent of the woman’s injuries, his brown eyes mirroring his alternating feelings of anger and supreme pity for the wretched victim. Within minutes of Prunella’s return with the necessary equipment, they gazed at each other across the still form, then with the utmost tenderness bathed the crusted blood from the body. Not once during their ministrations did the unconscious woman show any sign of movement. When, finally, the floor was littered with blood-soaked towels, Robert made a further examination of the wounds. The face had been slashed on both sides, though the right side had suffered the worst. The open scar extended down the slender throat, travelling through the hollow of the breasts before stopping at the top part of the groin. Her nose had been completely smashed, and her blackened eyes gave the appearance of having been stamped into their sockets. Only the lower part of her face seemed to have escaped injury. As if that wasn’t enough, the woman had been brutally raped. Whoever had perpetrated this deed deserved to be hung, drawn and quartered!

  ‘Will she live, Robert?’ Prunella asked anxiously.

  ‘I don’t know, Prue,’ Robert was secretly wondering if it was worth trying to save the poor wretch, and, if he succeeded, which he very much doubted, would the woman thank him for his efforts. Women such as this one relied on their looks to earn a living, and lived in constant dread of an old age that would inevitably rob them of their livelihood.

  When he voiced this opinion to Prunella, she shook her head vigorously. ‘She’s not a prostitute, Robert. At least, if she is, she’s not working this patch. The two women who brought her in told me they’d found her lying in their doorway covered in blood and without a stitch of clothing on her. They almost fell over her… They were coming home from work at the time; the work you so casually attributed to this poor soul.’

  The rebuking tone wasn’t lost on Robert, who was busy feeling for the woman’s pulse to make sure she was still alive. ‘I know the two women who brought her in and, despite their profession, they’re good-hearted souls. Like most people of their class, they have little faith in hospitals, and so they brought her here. It must have taken some doing to carry her all this way, but they managed somehow. Like you, I immediately assumed she was a prostitute who had had the misfortune to accost the wrong man, but Ada and Jessie – that’s the two women who found her – assured me she wasn’t known to them… And before you ask how they could possibly know, it’s because of her hair; that’s about the only thing recognizable about her. Both Ada and Jessie swear there’s only two women with that kind of hair working this area – Polly Steele and Rose Nyland – and they’re both accounted for, so…’

  Getting to his feet, Robert stared down at her, his face sombre. ‘I’m not concerned with what she is, Prue, and I apologise if my remark offended you, but you must admit it’s the obvious assumption to make. However, as I say, her profession is of no importance. My only concern is to do my utmost to save her life, and for that I shall need some assistance.’ Taking her arm, he steered her away from the bed. ‘She should really be in hospital, but I can’t risk moving her in this condition. The journey, short as it is, could possibly kill her. Now, I shall need someone to go to the hospital for me to fetch Mr Brookes. He won’t be very pleased to be called here, but he’ll do as I ask. The hospital will also have to be informed that I won’t be attending today.’

  Not one to waste time with idle chatter, Prunella left the room swiftly, returning within minutes with the erstwhile Tommy, his face split into a huge beam of anticipation of another florin for his endeavours.

  ‘I gave the Sister yer message, Doc. She wasn’t very pleased. She’s a right old battleaxe, ain’t she?’

  Suppressing a smile at the accurate description of Sister Mills, Robert gave the boy further instructions, making him repeat them twice before allowing him to leave, then he pulled up his sleeves and set to work, trying to keep the unknown woman alive until help arrived.

  * * *

  It was gone five before Eric Brookes, one of the hospital’s senior surgeons, finished his work, watched closely by an admiring Robert. Pulling the last piece of thread through the torn flesh, he carefully knotted the end and sighed wearily. ‘That’s the best I can do, Robert, though why I’ve wasted the best part of the day I don’t know. I may have mended her on the outside, but Lord knows what damage has been done to her internal organs after a beating of this severity. You were right not to move her. Yet, even so, I doubt if she’ll last the night.’

  Although he shared the same opinion, Robert felt a brief spurt of anger. Then, noting his friend’s tired face, his attitude softened. ‘Thank you, Eric, I appreciate your help. And if the lady does recover… Well, she couldn’t have had a better man to repair the injuries to her face.’ Giving a wry smile of affection he added, ‘I swear, Eric, your needlework would put many a seamstress to shame! I never cease to be amazed at the delicate intricacy of your handiwork!’

  The older man gave a disparaging grunt. ‘Don’t try your soft talk on me, Robert! I’m not one of your first-year students who go into raptures of delight at the slightest word of praise.’ Snapping his black bag shut, he put on his grey overcoat and hat, then stood for a few moments looking down at the results of his labour.

  ‘Even if she does survive, I doubt whether she’ll thank you. As I said, I’ve done my best, but with injuries of this nature, the scars will still be highly visible. Obviously there is nothing either of us can do to repair the damage done to her nose. You’ll need a rhinoplastic surgeon for that, though, at this early stage, I would imagine a broken nose would be the least of the poor wretch’s problems. But, knowing you as I do, if she recovers… and I stress the if, you’ll do your utmost by
her. I hear Dr Mueller is currently in attendance at Bart’s, so you can try your charm on him if she pulls through, although I doubt he’ll be as amenable as I. He might even do the unthinkable and insist on being paid for his services!’ A rare smile played at the corners of his lips. ‘Anyway, I still have two operations to perform before I can get to my bed tonight. And a lengthy explanation to warrant my absence for the best part of the day. I dare say Sister Bowers will be waiting to pounce on me the moment I show my face around the ward door. Which brings up the matter of your own dereliction of duty. Are you coming back with me, or following on later?’

  Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Robert answered. ‘I think I’ll stay with her for the night. It would be a shame to let all our good work to go to waste for want of a night’s vigilance.’

  The taciturn surgeon gazed at his friend of over twenty years and shook his head in a knowing gesture. It wouldn’t be the first time Robert had sat up all night with a patient; nor himself, for that matter. Issuing a gruff goodbye, he let himself out of the room and into the infirmary, his trained eyes scanning the row of beds, all filled, their occupants seemingly unaware of the critical condition of their fellow inmate. Or maybe they were past caring about their fellow human beings.