Rack & Ruin

by Carol Hedges

  “Don’t leave me,” she cries, reaching desperately for Sarah.

  “She shall come with you, my dear woman, do not worry,” Lawton says as the trolley is wheeled towards one of the consulting rooms. “Will someone get this nurse a gown?” he calls over his shoulder as the trolley crashes through the double doors.

  A few hours later, Lawton and Sarah stand by the woman’s bedside. She is deep asleep, a combination of drugs and exhaustion from the birth. Her tiny new-born son sleeps in a crib by her side, his fists clenched as if defying a world that does not want him.

  “Well done, Miss Lunt,” Lawton says quietly. “You were a great help in there. It was not an easy delivery and your calm presence aided my efforts.” He glances down at the motionless figure in the bed. “Do you know anything about this woman? She is clearly unwed.”

  “All she told me was that she was a governess for a family in the country. When she fell pregnant, she was turned out and came up to London to throw herself upon the mercy of her child’s father.”

  “Whom she has not named?”

  Sarah shakes her head.

  “She only says he is from an upper-class family and he doesn’t want any scandal linked to their name.”

  “How unfortunate.”

  “Indeed. He has made arrangements for the child though, and she must write to him after it is born.”

  Lawton makes a wry mouth.

  “I can guess what those arrangements will be.”

  Sarah nods.

  “Sadly, sir, I agree with you. But if you or one of your nurses could get hold of the letter, it might be possible to persuade the young man to make other arrangements. At the London, we have a list of suitable orphanages and country places that will take unwanted babies and look after them. Properly,” she adds darkly.

  “I will give instructions to the ward staff,” Lawton promises her.

  “Then I shall leave her here now. If I may, I will come back tomorrow to see how she is getting on.”

  “You are welcome to visit at any time, Miss Lunt. If there is a problem, mention my name. And I wish you all success with your training. You have done well today.”

  Sarah Lunt walks out of the hospital with a light step, a broad smile on her face and Mr Lawton’s parting words ringing in her ears. One in the eye for the male medical students who are trying to get her banned from attending operations, she thinks. Yes, indeed.

  ****

  Letitia Simpkins is walking back home because there is nowhere else to go. The day is slipping away, and every minute brings closer Mrs Briscoe and all that she represents. It is the end of everything. Her heart aches with the pain of it.

  In a few days, maybe less, she does not know, she will be gone from London for ever. She did not say good-bye to Sarah. She did not explain. In the rush to get the woman inside the building, and from thence to the hospital, she ceased to exist. As she will soon cease to exist for real.

  She turns the corner into her street and sees William and Arthur hurrying along in the opposite direction. They are wearing their outdoor coats and best caps and carrying bags. She calls to them. The twins stop and turn to face her, guilt written all over their faces.

  “Where are you both going?” she asks sternly.

  “We’re running away,” William tells her.

  “You said you couldn’t look after us, so we’re going to look after ourselves,” Arthur says.

  “We have some cake and we are going to sleep at the railway station. It will be nice and warm and we will be able to watch the trains come and go. We shall offer to carry people’s bags. They will pay us and then we will buy more food,” William says.

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Letitia cannot help smiling. They are such dears.

  “Won’t you miss me?” she asks.

  “We shall miss you. Very much. But you can always come and visit,” Arthur says.

  Letitia puts an arm round them.

  “I promise you that I will come and visit you - wherever you are,” she says. “But please don’t run away. If father returns and finds you are gone, he will ...” she stops, suddenly unable to finish her sentence. Tears fill her eyes.

  The twins search her face, reading and understanding the unsaid message. Silently they pick up their bags and follow her back home. If she had been even one minute later she would have missed them Letitia thinks, as she unlocks the front door. The thought makes her feel cold and shaky inside. Maybe Somebody was looking out for her after all.

  ****

  It has been a long day for Mr Lawton too, but finally he is getting ready to leave the hospital and return to the bosom of his family. He hangs up his white apron and is just about to reach down his hat from the shelf where he always places it, when one of the night orderlies enters his room.

  “You wrote a note that you wanted to see any letters written by the new patient Jane Brown?”

  For a moment Lawton is confused. He has worked solidly since his arrival, with patients being trolleyed to the operating theatre in a steady stream. Then he remembers.

  “The young woman who was brought in earlier. Yes, I requested all correspondence to be given straight to me.”

  The orderly hands over an envelope.

  “She asked for writing material as soon as she woke. I’ve been waiting for the chance to slip out and bring it across.”

  Lawton does not hear the words. Nor is he aware that a few seconds later, the orderly has left his office. His whole attention is focused upon the envelope, or more specifically, upon the man’s name at the top of the envelope.

  For a long, long time he stands immobile, his face expressionless. Then he thrusts the letter into a pocket in his frock coat and goes to the porter’s lodge where Mr Horace Featherstone is surveying what he always refers to as ‘my little kingdom’.

  “Tell Winters I shan’t be in tomorrow. Urgent family business to attend to. He will have to split my list between whoever is on duty,” Lawton says crisply.

  Mr Featherstone, for whom the term a right little jobsworth could have been invented, raises his eyebrows in disapproval. Lawton ignores him and with determined stride, pushes through the main door and out into the street.

  ****

  Next morning breakfast at the Lawtons is an unexpectedly sombre affair. Usually the master of the house likes to tease the female members of the family. This morning he merely contents himself with a brief greeting.

  “You are not eating much, my dear,” Mrs Lawton remarks. “And you are being remarkably quiet. I do hope you are not sickening for something.”

  Lawton stares grimly down into his cup of cooling black coffee. He spent a restless night trying to work out how to deal with the startling events of yesterday. Finally, in the small hours of the morning he rose, slipped silently down to his study and wrote a couple of letters.

  “Daisy-duck,” he says without looking up and meeting her innocent gaze because he cannot trust himself not to betray his emotions. “Are you busy spending all my money this morning?”.

  Daisy pouts prettily.

  “Oh Fa! What a thing to say! No, I am spending the morning with Mama. We are going to plan a grand dinner party to celebrate my engagement.”

  “Then I wonder if you might spare your poor old father a couple of hours?”

  “Of course, Fa - if Mama can spare me.”

  “I’m sure she can. Be ready straight after breakfast.”

  “How mysterious,” Daisy smiles. “Are we going somewhere special?”

  “I think so,” Mr Lawton says.

  He gets up, crumpling his napkin on the table, kisses his wife on the top of her head and leaves the room.

  “What is it about, Mama?” Daisy asks, intrigued.

  Mrs Lawton shakes her head.

  “He has said nothing to me. But you know your father - always full of surprises. I expect he has bought you something and wishes to show it to you in private.”

  Daisy claps her hands delightedly.


  “Oh, that is just like him! Dear Fa. I shall hurry and get my best bonnet. He deserves no less.”

  A short while later Daisy and her father enter University College Hospital by one of the side entrances used only by medical staff. Daisy, who has been quizzing Lawton excitedly about the ‘surprise’ ever since they left home, pauses on the threshold, wrinkling her nose.

  “Oh Fa! I thought you weren’t working today.”

  “I am not, Daisy. But there is somebody in here that I want you to meet - though it breaks my heart to introduce you to her.”

  He takes Daisy by the arm and walks her to the door of the maternity room.

  ****

  This is another room, somewhere else. A small poky room with a frowsty bed, bare floorboards and thin curtains that barely cover the grimy window. This is the room of dispensing chemist and would-be anarchist Georg Muller, who is currently below dispensing pills and potions to the local populace, who have constant headaches, horrible rashes which they insist on showing him, and fretful babies. Many have all three.

  By midmorning the rush has died down somewhat, allowing Muller to close the shop temporarily and venture out into the street to purchase a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee, which he consumes in the street while walking back.

  He returns to find two police officers peering through the small squares of glass, trying to see past the tall carboys filled with amethyst and red liquids that occupy most of the window space.

  Muller’s first instinct is to take to his heels. His second is similar. His third is to casually stroll by and listen to the conversation taking place.

  “Seems deserted,” says one of the officers, banging on the door.

  “Maybe just popped out for a minute.”

  “Middle of the morning?”

  “Don’t seem to be many people around.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Greig’s pretty keen on tracking down these bank clerks. Wonder why?”

  “That’s Inspector Greig to you, constable. And it’s none of your business why.”

  “It is when I’m the one wasting my time hanging around outside an empty chemist and druggist shop, Sergeant Hacket.”

  The other officer glances up and down the street as Muller turns his back and pretends to be engrossed in the contents of a fan maker’s window.

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, we’ll take a turn around the block. By the time we return, the shop will be open.”

  The two officers stroll off at proceeding speed. Muller waits until they round the corner. Then he darts over to the door, unlocks it and scoots inside. He is tempted to draw down the blinds, but realises that will alert them to his presence.

  Instead, he locks the door again, then mounts the stairs and goes into his room. He drags a chair over to the window from whence he can command a good view of the street. He sees the two policemen return, rattle the shop doorknob, peer through the window and then station themselves in exactly the same doorway he previously occupied.

  Muller watches them watching him.

  Time wears on. Every now and then some customers turn up, stand about, then go away. The men are relieved by other men. Muller manages to drink some water from the jug on his washstand.

  He thinks about Waxwing and Persiflage sitting at their desks, adding up columns of figures. He thinks about the overheard conversation, about the ongoing police presence outside the shop.

  The other men are stood down and the first pair take over again.

  Muller checks the time. Soon his two friends will finish work and come sauntering down the road. They will be expecting to see him in the shop. But he won’t be in the shop. And then what will happen, will happen. And there is nothing he can do to prevent it.

  ****

  Daisy Lawton sits on a bench. The sun is shining brightly and she is sobbing bitterly. Her father sits next to her, waiting patiently for her to regain her composure. It takes some time, but finally she arrives at the sniffing and eye-mopping stage.

  “I am so sorry Daisy,” Lawton says gently. “I would have given anything to spare you - but you needed to know from that woman’s lips the sort of man you are engaged to.”

  “Oh Fa - that poor dear little baby - what’s going to happen to it?”

  “I have every hope that it will be taken somewhere safe, and not left to the mercies of some so-called baby-minder who will slowly starve it to death - for that is what Digby had arranged.”

  “Oh Fa, how could anybody be so cruel?”

  Lawton does not answer. Cruelty is something he witnesses every day of his working life in some form or another. He is also currently awaiting the response of the engineer’s father to his letter describing the young man’s declining mental health. More cruelty, he is sure. He cannot trust himself to speak without adding to his daughter’s heartache.

  Daisy twists her handkerchief between her hands.

  “Tishy was right all the time. Why didn’t I trust her?”

  “Oh? What did Little Tishy have to say?”

  “She saw Digby in the street arm in arm with another woman. But I don’t quite understand because the woman I just met doesn’t fit the description. Tishy said that the woman she saw was blonde and very slight - she even mistook her for me from behind. It was only when the woman turned around that she realised her mistake.”

  Lawton’s face darkens.

  “I see. So he has another lady friend in tow as well, does he? Daisy, I hate to deny you anything you have set your heart upon, you know that. Your old father loves you very much, but if you do not break your engagement and throw off this worthless young man, I am afraid I shall have to refuse my consent. I shall not be able to attend your wedding. And I shall never welcome him into my house.”

  “I do not want to marry him, Fa. I never want to see him again. I have lost my best and truest friend on account of him - I actually accused Tishy of being jealous. Can you believe it? Why was I so stupid?”

  “Love makes us blind, according to the sort of people who say such things. Now take off your ring, Daisy-duck; I shall return it to the giver with some thoughts on his treatment of my daughter.”

  Lawton opens his hand. Daisy gives a shuddering sigh, then drops the diamond ring into his palm.

  “What shall I do, Fa? People will soon get to hear that I broke the engagement. I will be a laughing stock. They will shun me. Mama will -”

  “Leave Mama to me,” Lawton says firmly. “As for society - I doubt that it will care. I have arranged a meeting with the young man’s father after luncheon. It is my intention to make sure that no blame will ever attach itself to you.”

  Daisy gives his arm a little squeeze.

  “Thank you, Fa. What happens now?”

  Lawton smiles.

  “Now, I put you in the carriage and you go and make your peace with a certain best friend. Who has been a very brave best friend, even though you did not appreciate it at the time.”

  “Oh Fa - do you think she will ever forgive me?”

  Lawton gets up and offers her his arm.

  “There’s only one way to find out. Your carriage awaits, m’lady. Go and make your peace with Tishy, and then come home. I will tell Mama what has happened. With a bit of luck, we may never have to undergo another grand dinner party in our lives.”

  ****

  The Right Honourable Richard Barnes Baker MP is enjoying a post-prandial brandy and cigar in the Members Dining Room of the House of Commons when one of the waiting staff approaches discreetly with a note on a silver salver. Barnes Baker reads it, then gives the man his instructions.

  A few minutes later Lawton enters the dark wood panelled room, his face set and grave. Barnes Baker rises, smiling broadly, and holds out his hand.

  “Lawton, my dear chap! This is a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Carruth - a brandy here.”

  Lawton places his own hands firmly in his pockets.

  “I have not come to exchange pleasantries, Barnes Baker. And I do not want
a brandy. Please read this letter - it is addressed to your son, but I have permission from the writer to show it to you.”

  He hands over the letter.

  Frowning, Barnes Baker skims the contents. He looks up, anger in his eyes.

  “Who is this person? Why is she accusing my son of such behaviour?”

  “The writer of this letter is under my medical care. Her history with your son is written in the pages you have just read. Your son, sir, is a blackguard and a scoundrel of the first order. I am here to tell you that both you and he may consider his engagement to my daughter to be at an end.”

  Barnes Baker’s face colours up angrily.

  “How dare you, Lawton! You come barging in here accusing my boy of fathering a child on some lying lower class slut - who is probably only trying to make money out of her situation.”

  “She does not lie,” Lawton replies. “And as for her class - she is, or rather was a governess before she was turned out of the house. I knew the address of her former employer and I am quite prepared to write to him to corroborate what she has told me.”

  “Rubbish!” Barnes Baker blusters. “The woman is clearly lying through her teeth. She has probably never met Digby in her life.”

  “She has given a very accurate description of him to my daughter then,” Lawton says drily. “Including some details that only a person in intimate contact with him would know - of course if you say she is lying, there is an easy way to prove it: let your son come to the hospital and face her. What do you say?”

  “I say this is a concocted plot to get out of the engagement for some reason. Perhaps your daughter has another beau in the background, eh? Yes - that’d be it. My son is to be thrown over for another man. Well, I tell you straight I won’t stand for it, Lawton. If your girl breaks with Digby, I shall make sure everybody knows what sort of people you are.”

  Lawton’s mind circles the comment and compares it to the earlier one about lying lower class sluts. He smiles brightly.

  “You are, of course, free to take whatever course you wish. But before you do, let me make clear certain sentiments expressed in the letter. Apparently, your son has arranged via his man, whose name I believe is Hunter, for the baby to be quietly disposed of. Infanticide is a crime, Barnes Baker. Planning to kill somebody - however young, is a crime also.