Baby Drop

by Jennie Melville

  ‘Pick up anything that’s there.’ Feather knew there was no need to make this order, it would be done as a matter of course, but it was a mark of his inner tension.

  Charmian looked at him and wondered: What does he know about this that I don’t know?

  Across the grass and beyond the trees to the road, a car was parked, with the engine running. Charmian saw the car without taking any particular interest in it, at this distance she could not see the driver who was a jolly-faced woman who was laughing, her face screwed up with merriment. Or pleasure. What Charmian could see was that the car was a bright, unusual yellow, but splashed with mud.

  Slowly the shroud of earth that veiled the figure was being lifted. A small round head showed itself, the hair was blonde but dirty and matted with earth. They uncovered the crown of the head first, then gently moved down the features: brow, eyebrows, closed eyes, nose and chin. A small-featured pale face over which a brushing of earth still remained.

  Charmian looked at the face, and frowned, her expression unconsciously echoing Inspector Feather’s. The professor had put on his professional mask of detachment and the dark thought which had concentrated itself in his eyes had now moved down to his hands which were moving with delicate swift care.

  On the other side of the road, behind where they all stood, and much nearer to the shrouded excavations, a small crowd of onlookers was standing. It must be raining, a woman had an umbrella over her head, but Charmian hadn’t noticed what was falling. A dog was barking somewhere. Out of the corner of her eye, Charmian saw a rangy-looking mongrel, brown and black with a feather tail and a big jowl, burst through the crowd and run towards where they were digging.

  Feather swore under his breath, a uniformed constable hurried towards the dog and tried to grab it, after a bit he succeeded, dragging the dog off. Neither reappeared.

  ‘Stand back, let me see.’

  Professor Drake was on his knees, bending down, using his hands, the rubber gloves stained brown. Softly the earth was being removed. The unmistakable sweetish smell of the breakdown of flesh into something that the earth and the creatures who live in it can use rose steadily to their nostrils, moving into the mouth and down the back of the throat. Life has many smells, death only one.

  Feather fidgeted irritably. ‘Why is he being so slow?’

  ‘He always is slow, slow and careful.’ Charmian kept her eyes focused on what the professor was doing. His large form blocked her view, until he moved away. He stood up, rubbing the soil from his hands.

  ‘Take a look.’

  The body had been placed on its back, the torn jeans, the blue and white trainers on the small feet, the striped shirt.

  Slowly she took in what she was seeing.

  ‘A boy,’ she said. ‘ Not the girl but a boy.’

  ‘So it is,’ Feather nodded.

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Thought so. The hand … I saw the hand.’ The small hand was battered and torn. ‘Looked to me like a boy’s hand.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Sharp of you, I didn’t see that.’

  ‘I’ve been a boy myself,’ said Feather with a wry smile. ‘But luckier than this poor little tyke. What’s he doing here when we were looking for a girl?’

  And how many of them were there around, waiting to be found? Some never to be found.

  The professor came up. ‘Not what you expected, not what you wanted, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I never want anything like this,’ said Feather. Charmian said nothing, she had seen the window curtains move in Kate’s room. ‘So what can you say now?’

  ‘Aged about eight, been dead some days, I can perfect that time scheme later. There’s damage to the skull, he probably died from a blow to the back of the head. Or he may have fallen.’

  ‘But he didn’t bury himself so we have to accept that it’s likely to be murder.’

  ‘Likely but not absolutely sure yet … I’ll be able to be more certain later.’

  Feather sighed, he knew what lay ahead: he had a missing girl child, and now he had a dead boy. ‘We shall have to establish an identity. The clothes may give some help. If he’s a local child, then we shall probably get on to it all quickly, if not, if he doesn’t come from round here and was just dumped, well …’ He shrugged. ‘ I’m going to need help here.’

  He moved to the side of the open grave – You had to call it that now, he thought – where photographs were being taken.

  Even from this distance, he could see that the child’s clothes were grubby and stained, not only by the earth. ‘Has he been living rough?’

  ‘I should say he hadn’t washed for some days, but probably not living rough exactly. Under cover somewhere, I would guess.’ The professor started putting his equipment back into his bag. ‘Not exactly homeless, I’d say, but knocked about a bit. Or damaged himself. Who can say at this point … but at a first glance he had been eating, he’s not emaciated.’

  As they were talking Charmian, while still listening, knelt down to stare down into the shallow burial pit. She looked at the body, she didn’t touch, just looked.

  The shoes were of good quality, although not new, the jeans looked well made even if full of holes, but holes were fashionable still, weren’t they? The shirt was well chosen, the colours matched the blue of the jeans, small blue flowers, oddly feminine.

  The face was bloated, and bruised with death marks, but the features were neat, the hair was longish and curly.

  At a first glance it would be hard to say if this was a boy or a girl, but the professor had done his check and knew the sex and Feather had looked at the hands.

  She climbed back out. What had the missing Sarah been wearing? Had she bothered to ask?

  The professor was moving towards his car, his assistant trailing beside him, which was her usual spot; Feather was giving instructions to his own team, walking as he did so. Charmian joined him.

  It was going to be a lean, hard time for Feather, she thought, if she read all the signals right, and perhaps for her too. Her eyes moved to the window of the clinic, no sign of Kate, but she’d have to call and give her a censored version of what had gone on in Baby Drop land. Word would have gone round the hospital by now.

  Feather came with her to her car. ‘Called you out for nothing.’

  ‘No, don’t think that.’ She sat in her driving seat, considering what to say. ‘First, I don’t think he’s been there that long, my goddaughter who is a patient over there,’ and she nodded towards the clinic, ‘has a window overlooking the ground here, she saw movement one night, the night before last. It may have been when he was buried.’

  ‘Thanks for saying. I would have been asking over there, of course, but it’s a help to get a start.’

  ‘Kate’s not too well,’ she said carefully. ‘Nervous, but I think she saw what she saw.’

  ‘I won’t upset her.’

  ‘The little creature down there, an enigma. Good-quality clothes, money was spent on him … her …’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you think she was a boy all along?’ It was said in a halfway to serious voice. ‘In spite of those dolls?’

  Feather didn’t know what to make of it, schools, doctors checked on that sort of thing, and, it was true, there could be strange anatomical developments, not everything was straightforward in these matters. Equally no one ever laughed at Charmian Daniels these days, not ever, in fact. ‘People do strange things, cover up for years, I’m not saying you are wrong, but I’d be surprised.’ Then he stopped himself. ‘No, I’m wrong, I wouldn’t be surprised. Anything is possible.’

  ‘I agree. So it is.’

  ‘But we could get into bad trouble, asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. Maybe the mother knows more than she’s saying, maybe the child didn’t go off in that way and she knows it, produced the story and the doll to pad it out.’

  ‘And the child hadn’t been at school for three days,’ Charmian reminded him. ‘ If the mother is lying, then
we don’t know when and how she disappeared.’

  ‘Got to take that into account, I agree, but go careful.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid, and I won’t involve you.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘But what I’m going to do is just kick the idea around. Of course, if you get an identity for the boy that will be that.’

  She left her car where it was and walked round to the Mother and Baby Clinic where she took the lift to Kate’s room. The room was warm and comfortable, Kate propped up on pillows looked tranquil.

  ‘Lovely to see you, Char’. I’m feeling pretty good this morning.’ There was a vase of freesia by her bedside, a new book on her lap, and she had been reading a copy of Vogue, all good signs.

  Charmian kissed her cheek, far too thin it was, and prepared to give her an edited version of events outside.

  But there was no need, the nursing staff had got there before her.

  ‘Confined to bed again,’ said Kate gloomily. ‘Sister said I’d been doing too much walking around. Ridiculous, I only went to the window to look out. Forbidden.’

  Good idea, Charmian smiled with sympathy.

  ‘And the annoying thing is that I’m quite sure that something interesting was going on out there, I could hear the noises: cars, voices, even shouting. I mean quiet shouting and that’s even more interesting.’

  Charmian nodded without saying anything. Yes, lying there, sick and tense, hearing sensitized by this long period of illness, she would pick up noises that were strange and unusual.

  ‘I could even smell it,’ Kate burst out.

  Yes, that too, Charmian thought. Probably the diesel oil from the police cars.

  ‘And you’re keeping quiet,’ said Kate crossly.

  Attack being the best form of defence, Charmian said: ‘I think you are looking better.’

  ‘It’s not me that counts.’ Kate was still cross, she patted her middle. ‘It’s this creature in here. Nature’s on this one’s side, not mine.’

  ‘Well, they are busy interfering with nature where you are,’ Charmian reminded her. ‘That’s what medicine is all about, never mind what they say.’ And all the better for it, she thought, nature left to herself was too brutal.

  ‘So tell me what’s going on, please.’ Kate turned to wheedling. ‘I know it’s a mystery.’

  ‘OK, yes it’s a mystery.’ Give her something to think about, to take her mind off herself, but sanitize it. ‘You know about the missing child; without giving yourself nightmares, think about it. Treat it as a problem in a book, ask yourself why and how. There has to be a reason, probably a family reason.’

  ‘My child will never be lost,’ said Kate fiercely.

  ‘Of course not, your child will be what you have been, extremely privileged.’ Over-privileged, some say, but Charmian loved Kate. ‘You’re a clever girl, think about it, and if anything interesting comes of it, tell me.’

  To her relief, the door opened to let in Rewley. ‘And here’s your husband, talk to him.’ She kissed Kate, said goodbye to Rewley and said she would telephone him and took herself off.

  She walked to her car where it was parked in Bowen Street. She was always glad to see her car again, unscathed, unvandalized, it was kind of home to her in which various possessions like a special rug and torch and bag of make up rested.

  She got her keys out of the bag slung over her shoulder, she was still thinking about Kate, but looking across Baby Drop land and automatically assessing what was going on.

  Too much. She could see the sturdy form of Professor Drake again and Dan Feather was back, they were talking. She dropped the keys back in her bag and strode across the

  grass, the rain had stopped and the sun was coming out.

  Feather looked up. ‘Ah, glad to see you again. I was trying to

  get you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  He beckoned her across the ground around the grave, which

  was being searched by the police team. ‘We have another body.’

  Whispers from the Past

  ‘The good girl knows how to behave, you tell her, Emmy.

  No good girl has a baby out of wedlock.’

  ‘Gran, don’t go on like that, she’s only a baby herself.’

  ‘Never too young to learn.’

  In bad years, infant mortality was about 74 per cent. Among parish children and workhouse children it was closer to 80 or 90 per cent.

  Chapter Four

  ‘But the small waxen form … had been composed afresh and washed and neatly dressed in some fragments of white linen: and on my handkerchief, which still covered the poor baby, a little bunch of fresh herbs had been laid.’

  Bleak House

  Charmian stood staring into the damp brown earth. She held a long moment of silence. There was something about what she saw that checked speech. ‘What’s this? A body, you said.’

  Inspector Dan Feather let her continue to stare before he broke the silence. ‘Not what you expected, eh? Shook me too, I can tell you. Not what I thought we would find.’

  Charmian turned away. ‘If you hadn’t found the boy, then we should never have found this little creature.’ She turned back for a closer look, her face sombre. ‘ I suppose it is a baby?’

  ‘The professor says so.’ Feather looked at Professor Drake, his face gave nothing away but he answered.

  ‘I do say so.’

  The small bones and tiny skull were brown and stained with the earth, but it was perfectly articulated, even the delicate finger bones were in place. A few, scraps of material, once white but now darkened by the years in the soil, rested on the torso and around the head as if the infant had worn a bonnet. Or it might have been a shawl.

  ‘How long has the body been here?’

  Professor Drake shook his head. ‘Can’t say at the moment. Might be twenty years or two hundred. I’ll try to get closer.’

  Feather wanted something better than that. ‘Which end of the margin do you go for? I do have a professional interest here. If it’s twenty years then I have to do something about it. A hundred years, then we can leave it to the historians. So which is it?’

  ‘At a guess nearer the older date.’

  Feather drew in a sigh of relief. ‘Good. Don’t want to sound heartless, but I’ve got plenty on my plate already and if this little creature has been dead that long then everyone connected with her will be long dead.’

  This one looked a female to him.

  Charmian had gone back to studying the bones, she was looking at a filigree of dark brown something on the skull. ‘I think the little creature wore a cap …’ Her voice was soft.

  ‘Might have been a shawl.’

  ‘No, I think I can see the ghost of lace.’

  How strange that the softness of cotton should have left a stain on the skull. There was no accounting for the way decay set it, leaving a shadow here, a ghost there.

  Plenty of ghosts around.

  ‘You know what they used to call this plot of land?’

  ‘Fiddler’s Fence, isn’t it?’ said Feather.

  ‘No, in common parlance, in the nineteenth century and before’ – because it must have been a custom going back through the years – ‘it was called Baby Drop.’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Drake absently. ‘ Think I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘It’s where poor girls, married or not, usually not, I suppose, left their babies by the Foundling Hospital which stood where the Clinic now does. The babies were usually left on the hospital steps, but sometimes on the grass.’

  ‘This one was buried,’ said Feather.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was born dead or died soon afterwards. Infantile mortality was very high. A lot died.’

  ‘Or were murdered.’

  ‘That too,’ said Charmian.

  A shameful, secret birth, a suffocating death, a silent, secret burial.

  ‘I suppose it is a baby and not a monkey.’ Feather did not make it a
question, he was pondering aloud.

  ‘It’s a baby, that’s the sort of thing I’m trained to know, as you well know.’ Then Drake relented. ‘It does look slightly simian, I admit. That’s due to immaturity, probably a neonate.’

  ‘Stillborn?’ said Charmian, seeking to establish something more. Perhaps the child had not been murdered but dead.

  ‘I don’t think even I will be able to tell you that. If it matters.’ He gave Charmian one of his famous winks, which did not mean anything friendly but were more like the drawing back of lips over teeth on a Jack Russell, and meant: Keep out of this or I will savage you too.

  Not an especially friendly man to anyone, he particularly disliked women in the police. A top woman police officer like Charmian aroused his deepest wrath.

  He was irritable with Dan Feather too, as a matter of course, but also for private and personal reasons (must be personal, they said, he got so ratty, and Dan Feather pretended not to notice but did), which had long since been observed by all their colleagues, who had tried hard to find out the reason. The popular belief was that a woman was behind it. Charmian cried down the personal side, she thought that he just didn’t like people too much. After all, he so often saw them at their worst. If you constantly looked death in the face, and death in some of its fanciest and least delicate forms, it was bound to alter how you felt about life and people.

  Not much was known about the professor outside his police work, even in the university, where he had long held a Chair, he was something of an enigma, and an alarming one at that. Charmian knew he had a wife, a pretty, plump woman, because they had met once at a Windsor dinner party, but as soon as the professor saw how well the two women were getting on, he had taken his wife away.

  Secrets there, perhaps?

  ‘The remains look very fragile,’ said Charmian.

  A halt had been called to the work while the three of them stood there.

  ‘Perhaps you ought to call the archaeologists in.’

  She knew Dan Feather would resent this, and he did. ‘Not that old for sure,’ he said gruffly. ‘But it’ll all be handled with care, everything measured and photographed. We know what to do. But the first thing is to get the professor here to give a judgement as to death and approximate date and so on, and then we’ll go on from there.’ He gave Professor Drake a questioning look.