Joanna put her hand on Alice’s arm again and gazed at her with concern. “Please, do me a favor and go see a doctor. You do look awfully pale.”
Alice nodded, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was that baby farmers might have Eadie, and if she was taken overseas there would be no chance of getting her back.
Thirteen
London, March 25, 1943
Late at night Alice’s eyes flashed open. She was lying on her back, something misshapen and lumpy pressed against her side. She rolled over and reached down to lift the bedclothes, uncovering the tiny form of her newborn. But Eadie’s eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving, and Alice screamed and screamed.
She woke with a start and sat bolt upright, heart pounding as she panted into the darkness, her nightdress clinging to her damp skin. She gradually took in the unfamiliar surroundings, her breathing ragged as she struggled to work out where she was. Tears sprang from her eyes as she realized. She was at Penny’s house in Primrose Hill, and it was over a week since Eadie had been taken.
Alice wiped her eyes on the bedsheet as she tried to recover—to separate the real from the imagined, what she knew had happened and what was part of the nightmare.
Loud shrieks pierced the stillness, followed by a chorus of otherworldly cries. Then it registered: the cacophony was from the nearby London Zoo. Many of the creatures woke around dawn, and for the briefest moment Alice was drawn into a happy memory of zoo visits with her father.
She groped around on the bedside table until she found the lamp and switched it on, a small halo falling across the iron bed and the carved wooden cabinet. The rest of the room was still in shadow, except for the oak chest containing her few possessions that stood underneath the casement window. Her journal lay open on the bed, and she leafed through the pages of scribbled notes: not quite stories but memories her father had shared and which she’d recorded for Eadie. She reached the gray pencil-shaded face of the elephant, a child riding high on its back; she’d left the image in monotone but colored in the elephant’s vivid headdress. It was supposed to be Elor, who had been at the zoo since 1918, a favorite among the keepers and visitors. While the experts had said an elephant would never breed in captivity, Elor defied them by having two calves.
See, miracles do happen, Alice thought as she studied the picture.
She would find her daughter, and she would read her father’s stories to her.
Alice went to the window where she’d sat up late looking out across the rooftops, the panorama of London a checkerboard of dark and light because some buildings had been razed. The small attic window opened out onto a ledge that she’d climbed onto. From there she’d watched the sun set and wondered if Eadie was in any of the houses spread out before her.
Now she brought Eadie’s blanket up to her face and inhaled. It was losing its scent, and she worried that the image of her baby’s face was also fading, slowly slipping away—just like the chance of ever finding her. She needed to try something else, and quickly, putting all physical discomfort aside. She’d had no success with any of Joanna’s suggestions, and there was no news from the police. Of course she would keep visiting the foundling hospitals and child welfare organizations whenever she could, just in case.
Penny’s children woke up, squealing and chatting in the room beneath hers.
A gold light flowed through the half-closed curtains to the chest beneath the window, highlighting the stack of newspapers on top. She’d checked through all the local and national newspapers, and there were so many adverts for babies that she’d become totally overwhelmed. The Sunday Dispatch Wartime Aunts Scheme promised to organize at least two adoptions a week, and other regional newspapers carried adverts for organizations offering to do the same.
One name had kept coming up: that of a journalist, Olive Melville Brown, who had written the piece in the Daily Mail that Joanna Swift had shown her. That article appeared to be part of a bigger story that the journalist was following. As she stared at the papers, Alice realized that Olive probably knew plenty more, perhaps even the names of well-known baby farmers. And that the newspaper’s library would be a good resource for her too, if they would only allow her to look.
Alice couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner. She dressed as quickly as she could; she would tell Penny where she was going, then she’d visit the newspaper’s offices to see if she could find Olive.
Fourteen
“That’s Alice,” Ursula whispered, nudging Theo with her elbow.
He was as taken aback by her action as he was by the young woman who stood talking with another woman behind the counter of the small café. Alice was surprisingly tall and strong-looking, with a mass of wavy blond hair. Her attractive face was devoid of makeup; in fact, she appeared in every way the opposite of his petite and elegant fiancée.
“Alice!” Ursula called, her voice brimming with relief. “Finally, we’ve found you!”
As Alice looked up and saw them, her mouth fell open. “Ursula . . . what on earth are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here is more to the point!” Ursula said, as she embraced her.
When Alice moved away, she gave her a weak smile. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, make it a short one.”
Alice glanced at Theo.
“Alice, let me introduce you to Theo Bloom—”
He smiled and offered her his hand.
“He’s visiting from our New York office.”
Alice looked startled and hesitated, then she shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bloom.”
“And you, Alice. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He had, but those descriptions didn’t seem to fit the young woman standing in front of him. Her hair wasn’t styled, just pinned casually back, and her clothes were loose-fitting and unflattering. She had lovely features—a heart-shaped face and unusually deep blue eyes—but her style didn’t match those of the rising stars he knew in the New York publishing world.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked Ursula.
“I remembered you talking about Penny and visiting her. We have been trying to find you, Alice. You did just vanish!”
“I’m sorry. Things have been . . . well, difficult.”
“Is your cousin’s baby all right?”
“The baby is fine.” Her gaze darted to the floor. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry to just turn up like this, but Theo wanted to meet you, and—”
“I can’t really talk now. I’m just on my way out.”
“You must have a few minutes, surely. We’ve come all this way.”
Alice gave Ursula an unfathomable look, then glanced at Theo. “All right, a few minutes. Do you want some tea?”
“It’s fine. We don’t want to hold you up, do we, Theo?”
“No, of course not,” he said, and smiled again, hoping it wasn’t going to be a wasted journey.
They found a table by the window, and Ursula launched into conversation, not leaving it to him to do the talking as they’d agreed beforehand. He waited, controlling his instinct to interrupt and hurry them along, while he smoked a cigarette. His mind turned to the difficult phone call he’d had the day before with Walter, which the switchboard operator had abruptly ended at the predetermined five minutes. Walter had wanted an update on George’s office, but Theo had barely had time to formulate an opinion, let alone one he was prepared to share. Walter’s impatience had already forced Theo to take a meeting at the Ministry of Supply, where Sir Duncan Castles had told him that the Board of Trade’s priority was supplying books to the Commonwealth to keep up the flow of knowledge and ideas, but that they faced obstacles like lack of shipping space. Theo had listened even more intently as he spoke of the opportunity for American publishers to satisfy the hunger for books in countries that Britain no longer could because they were under-resourced, and an islan
d under siege. There wasn’t time to relay the information before the operator cut them off, but he recalled Walter’s earlier words fading in and out as the line crackled. You need to consider yourself part of the family already, Theo. That way I know you’ll make the right decisions when you’re there. Theo pictured Virginia sitting beside her father, head tilted up and smiling at Walter’s sentiment.
“I thought you must have fallen out with your mother, Alice—she really was most unhelpful when I said I wanted to find you,” Ursula said, which caught Theo’s attention because it sounded so strange.
“It’s a long story,” said Alice. “I can’t really go into it now, but I’m sorry that she wasn’t very welcoming.”
“Oh, well, we know your mother is a drain and not a radiator!” Ursula said, but Alice didn’t smile. “Well, will you at least tell me why you’re here and why you haven’t been in touch?”
“Penny’s an old friend,” Alice said, lowering her voice. “And I needed somewhere to stay.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
Alice glanced again at Theo. “I’d rather not talk about it now.” She looked very uncomfortable, and for a moment he felt they’d been wrong to chase her down. Sounding apprehensive, she asked, “Why exactly are you here?”
“Theo wants to talk to you about your book, Alice.”
Alice turned to him, eyes searching.
“Theo?” Ursula prompted.
“I understand that you had reasons for leaving Partridge . . . family commitments,” he said, and cleared his throat. “If you’ve carried them out, then we’d like you to come back. I’ve seen the mock-ups of Women and Children First. It has a lot of promise, Alice. We’ve allocated the paper and the print run; the schedule works. It’s all possible. All we need is for you to help find the stories and edit the book. Ursula says you can do it.”
Ursula smiled at her encouragingly.
“That’s very kind of you,” said Alice, “but I don’t know if I can. My cousin still needs me . . . and, well, I don’t want to let her down.”
“Oh dear, poor thing.” Ursula sounded disappointed. “I thought it was only meant to be for a little while?”
“It was . . . I mean, is—”
“Well, I’m sure it’s easier to replace a babysitter than a book editor,” Theo said with a small laugh. He couldn’t believe she would pass up this opportunity; from what Ursula had told him, it was all she’d ever wanted.
Alice frowned, her gaze settling on the tabletop. “Look, I’m really flattered, and in one way I’d love to come back, but I think it’s too late.”
Theo glanced across at Ursula, meeting her puzzled eyes with his own. Then she shrugged at him and turned to Alice. “Partridge wants to go ahead with your book, Alice. Don’t you remember the ideas we talked about? Everyone can see how emotive it could be, how successful. And we’ve all missed you.”
Alice smiled softly.
“We did some testing with the mock-ups,” Ursula told her. “The readers loved them. George has agreed to dedicate more of the paper ration for it.”
“Really?” Alice said, brightening further.
Ursula nodded. “Even Emily was enthusiastic—imagine that!”
Alice’s smile widened, but then it faded and she grew serious. “Is Rupert back?”
“No, he’s still in Asia. I don’t think he’ll be back for some time. Don’t you listen to the news? The Japs have more firepower than us and the Yanks combined.”
Theo saw something resembling relief flicker across Alice’s face before her gaze returned to the middle of the table. Ursula chattered on about what had been happening at the office, while Alice appeared lost in thought. She seemed far too timid to be responsible for this big book idea. How had she become such a valued part of the team? It struck Theo that she lacked pretension, just like the girls in his neighborhood growing up, and so he decided to keep an open mind although his first impressions hadn’t filled him with confidence. He was even more worried by George’s unwise decision to allocate a lot—too much, in fact—of their precious resources to her first book.
So, it was up to Theo and Ursula to convince this nervy young woman to return to Russell Square, and to ensure the success of her series, or it could be the end of the London operation. Working in business affairs and on Book Row, he’d learned enough about human nature to know that people weren’t always what they seemed. Never judge a book by its cover, he thought, smiling inwardly at the cliché. Although he had the feeling that Alice Cotton wouldn’t surprise them in the least.
Fifteen
As Alice walked to the Underground later that morning, off on her search for Olive Melville Brown, she thought about Theo’s offer and the book Partridge wanted to publish. If the past few days had taught her anything, it was that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of missing or stolen children whom the public needed to know about, infants taken from their mothers and traded like food or fuel. For the briefest moment she’d been tempted to say yes, before deciding there was no way she could work and keep looking for Eadie.
She’d realized she had another problem to contend with: she was finding it difficult to go into confined areas. Ever since she’d woken to find Eadie gone, she’d felt increasingly uncomfortable in cramped spaces. She’d never experienced claustrophobia before—had even doubted its existence—but now she had a fear of being trapped whenever she was hemmed in. It was primal, and she had no idea what to do about avoiding small places when there were so many designed for Londoners’ survival.
She took a deep breath as she made her way down the charcoal-colored steps and through the painted barriers, following the crowd as they entered Chalk Farm station. When she reached the top of the steep escalator, she grasped the handrail and peered down, but she couldn’t see the bottom, as if the whole mechanism plunged into the center of the Earth.
Her breathing quickened, and she took off her coat as the heat of panic rose.
Then she squeezed the handrail, gritted her teeth and kept her eyes fixed on the steps as the escalator began its long journey down.
The platform was busy and the first train overcrowded, so she waited for it to pass through and for the platform to clear. She focused on taking measured breaths as the platform started to fill again, nearly as populated as before. As soon as the next train came she settled into a carriage, pulled out the copy of To Have and Have Not that she’d plucked off Penny’s bookshelf, and tried to concentrate on reading, but a woman with a baby girl got on at Angel and sat opposite. The baby looked about six months old with soft brown locks curling from beneath a knitted yellow bonnet, and her arms and legs pumped the air on either side of her mother’s embrace. The mother smiled, and Alice tried even harder to focus on the pages of her book but couldn’t look away as the baby drooled, her big blue eyes flashing around the carriage. Then she fixed her gaze on Alice, staring expressionlessly through long spider-leg lashes as if waiting for something, and Alice found she couldn’t help staring back. There seemed to be so much locked behind those eyes; the girl hadn’t existed long enough to have the knowledge she appeared to possess, and it confounded Alice.
“She’s a terrible distraction,” the mother said.
“She’s beautiful,” Alice said, smiling. “What’s her name?”
“Jessica.”
Hearing her mother call her name, the baby abruptly turned toward her, neck and head wobbling unsteadily, and she bumped her nose against her mother and cried out.
“Come on, you’re all right,” the mother said, jiggling her up and down. “That was such a tiny bump.”
“I’m sorry,” said Alice.
“Goodness, wasn’t your fault, you know what they’re like at this age. Do you have children?”
“Soon.” Alice’s smile tightened, and she turned her attention back to her book. Yes, she had a daughter, and she needed to focus her mind and
decide what she was going to do next to find her. Miss Swift had already shown her that there were other avenues to pursue; the National Adoption Society, Dr. Barnardo’s Homes and the foundling hospitals, but they would all take time—time she didn’t have. The National Adoption Society was known for sending children overseas; Dr. Barnardo’s Homes were also committed to fostering older children, so it would seem obvious that she should keep looking at the foundling hospitals. But Alice sensed the exercise was pointless; Eadie was in the hands of baby farmers, and trying to track her down through other avenues was just a waste of time. She’d lain awake most of the night growing more upset and frustrated at why her mother hadn’t given Eadie to one of these more trusted institutions—at why she’d given her to the least legitimate of them all. And placed her in unnecessary danger. That was why she needed to talk to Olive Melville Brown: the most obvious place to try to find out about the baby farmers was with the journalist who was following their story.
As the train hurtled through the tunnel, wheels scraping along the track, Alice kept rereading a sentence before she finally gave up. The light spluttered as the train slowed on its approach to the next station, and the mother stood, steadying herself on the handrail as she waited by the doors. Alice watched as she stroked her daughter’s back, whispering soothingly into the blanket. When the doors slid open, the woman glanced up at Alice and smiled. Alice smiled back, then watched her progress along the platform until she disappeared through the white tiled archway, feeling the simultaneous ache of longing and relief that they had gone.
* * *
The unmistakable gray-white dome of St. Paul’s floated on the horizon, merging with the pale gray sky, as Alice hurried east along Fleet Street, looking for the Daily Mail. Buildings on both sides of the road dwarfed her—vast neoclassical stone structures and Art Deco blocks, and smaller offices with Tudor or Gothic frontages, all with one thing in common: a guard at their entrance. She’d never had reason to visit this part of the city before, and the atmosphere was markedly different from Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia; there was an air of quiet authority, a seriousness with which those who brought the nation their news took their wartime role. And as Carmelite House came into view and she climbed the steps to the entrance, she considered that since the newspaper had been reduced to only four pages, the office staff would likely have been cut too. The author Evelyn Waugh was also a regular contributor to the paper, but since reporters were rarely at their desks, there was little chance of seeing him either.
When We Meet Again Page 12