by Daisy Styles
Again, Percival recalled Matron’s words. Thinking fast, he realized that if he handled this incredibly delicate situation carefully, there might be something in it for him. Unfortunately, he was lacking in knowledge when it came to the nuts and bolts of adoption, but in order not to waste valuable time Percival reckoned he could research the finer details of the arrangement at a later date; right now he had to win Edgar’s confidence. Lighting up a cigarette, he said as casually as he could manage, ‘Have you considered adoption?’
Edgar rolled his eyes. ‘Never, but with poor Cicily so badly cut up’ – he gave a loud groan – ‘I suppose adoption is a possibility. The trouble is,’ he blurted out, ‘it’s a bit like playing Russian roulette – you never know what you’re going to end up with.’
Making sympathetic noises, Percival laid the seeds of his plan. ‘I totally understand, old chap; it can be a pretty random business. I should know,’ he said, dropping his voice to add, in a confidential whisper, ‘But I may be able to help smooth that path for you. I happen to be chairman of the board of a local mother and baby home near Kendal. We constantly have eager prospective parents knocking at our door looking for the child they can never have themselves. They’re usually decent enough folk, salt-of-the-earth sort who don’t mind the baby’s lineage, but, for the likes of you, where breeding is everything, I can see you wouldn’t want to be fobbed off with the bastard child of a scullery maid and a stable boy.’
When Archie saw Edgar’s eyes widen in what might have been horror, he speeded up his delivery. ‘A man of your rank would need a child of impeccable breeding.’
Looking a little less tense, Edgar nodded his head. ‘It would certainly help.’
‘Well, speaking from experience, I can tell you that, mingled in with the hoi polloi, there have been some rather fine girls from good families at Mary Vale over the years I’ve been connected with the place; their presence in the Home is, as I’m sure you can imagine, highly confidential.’ Archie topped up their brandy tumblers and pulled his chair closer to Edgar’s. ‘I’ve dealt with some of the families on a personal level. Some have been highly connected – of course, I can’t mention names – but I can say that one duke, several earls and a couple of knights were the fathers of just a few expectant girls who were placed in my care.’
By this time Edgar was registering considerable interest. ‘And the girls themselves, the mothers?’ he inquired.
‘Fine gels,’ Percival announced. ‘Good stock but in trouble. Generally speaking, they’re frightened, ashamed and in terror of their father’s wrath.’
Edgar shook his head in bewilderment. ‘How do you match the right child to the right parent? It must be frightfully complicated. And how do I make sure I am, er, allocated the … “right” sort of baby for us?’
Sweating with the effort of appearing to know what he was talking about, when, in fact, he was making it up as he went along, Percival glibly continued, ‘You can leave that to me – that’s if you want me to look into things for you, of course.’ He paused, waiting for Edgar’s response. When he nodded, Percival carried on with his delivery. ‘When we fill in the forms for adoption, we put down as much detail as we can get out of the expectant mothers and their parents too; it helps in the delicate process of finding the right match,’ he said, consciously repeating Edgar’s turn of phrase. ‘And, in your case, I would of course take a personal interest.’
By this time Edgar was on the edge of his chair. ‘Are you telling me that you could procure a child of good lineage for my wife and me?’
Even though he knew there were obstacles in his path, like Father Benedict for instance, Percival cruised on as if nothing could possibly go wrong. ‘Absolutely, old man!’ he said with a confident laugh. ‘Without a shadow of a doubt.’
Choking back tears, Edgar grasped Archie’s hand. ‘You could save my marriage,’ he gulped. ‘You could make Cicily and me happy again.’
‘It would be a pleasure to make you both happy, Sir,’ Archie fawned.
Making a little awkward noise in the back of his throat, he continued almost apologetically. ‘I’m sorry to mention the subject of, er, a donation …’
Leaving the sentence hanging, he waited for Edgar to pick it up.
‘Not a problem; rest assured, a fine baby, a son and heir to the Easterbrook title, is something one simply cannot put a price on.’
‘Quite,’ Archie agreed, smiling. ‘We’d have to be discreet, and I would have to handle this matter personally to make sure I find the right gel, the right match for you; it all takes time and is extremely delicate, you understand. I can assure you, Sir, it’s a service I would only offer to a special friend.’
Archie was trying not to salivate at the thought of the funds, which he desperately needed to appease his bank manager, that could be making their way into his pocket soon.
‘I am in your hands, Sir Percival!’ Edgar exclaimed. ‘Let me speak with my wife, then we’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, here’s my card: phone me any time, day or night.’
Throughout this intense, private conversation with Edgar, Sir Percival had come across as an experienced, dedicated professional, when, in truth, his only interests, so far as Mary Vale was concerned, were the social status it provided him in the county and the little money he could filch from the pregnant girls’ admission fees. Up until now he’d never taken the slightest interest in where the bastard babies went: that was worthy Father Benedict’s department. But if Mary Vale’s adoptions were to become lucrative for him, he would have to find a way to sidestep Father Benedict and legitimately involve himself with the convent’s adoption process. He hadn’t a clue how he could achieve that end, but one thing was written in stone: he wasn’t going to let a nit-picking priest and a bunch of bloody pious nuns get in the way of his making money out of Mary Vale’s unwanted bastards!
10. Convent Business
In the cosy convent sitting room, Father Ben, Sister Ann and Ada gathered for their weekly staff meeting. It could not have been more different from the board meetings held at Crow Thorn Grange. There was no alcohol but plenty of tea and cake supplied by Sister Mary Paul. Knowing Father Ben’s passion for fruitcake, she made sure a rich cherry Genoa cake was always on the table, alongside china cups and saucers and a big pot of hot strong tea, at every meeting. Relaxing in big old armchairs and warmed by a crackling log fire, the small group appreciated not only the cake and tea but also Sister Ann’s precise weekly update. The nun was responsible for logging all the details of the comings and goings at Mary Vale: the number of mothers admitted, the babies born and adopted, the mothers leaving, and how many beds were available at any one time.
Father Ben’s first question was, ‘Tell me, Sister, how’s Shirley getting on these days?’
Sister Ann beamed as she turned to Ada. ‘You tell him: you have a better way with words than me.’
‘I’d say transformed, Father,’ Ada replied. ‘Happy and so relieved still to be here.’
‘That’s just great,’ Father Ben enthused.
‘The poor girl works her fingers to the bone as a way of repaying her debt to the convent.’ Sister Ann added, ‘We tell her not to, but will she listen?’
‘As long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters,’ Father Ben said. ‘Any progress on the job front?’ he inquired.
‘Not yet, I’m afraid. We’ve sent letters far and wide to charitable trust funds that we’ve heard about. Though I have to tell you, it’s an awful, long-winded process,’ she confessed. ‘I hope and pray something will come up soon.’
‘I’ll certainly offer up some masses for Shirley’s very special intention,’ Father Ben promised. Glancing down at his notebook, he said, ‘Moving on to other business, are any new residents due to arrive soon?’
Sister Ann ran her index finger down her logbook. ‘A Miss Emily Todd from Manchester came to inspect the Home recently,’ she replied. ‘Her baby’s due around Christmas time; she implied she’d like to start her stay here someti
me in August,’ she added.
Ada grinned cheekily. ‘Matron took a shine to Miss Todd when she discovered that she was a fee-paying customer – though I got the distinct impression the feeling wasn’t reciprocated by Miss Todd; she was obviously embarrassed by Matron’s overbearing and smarmy manner.’
‘The way she favours the fee-paying girls is a disgrace!’ Sister Ann exclaimed. ‘If she prefers to nurse the rich, why in God’s name did she ever come here to Mary Vale?’
Knowing how flirty and coquettish Matron was around Sir Percival, Ada giggled. ‘Sir Percival might have been the main attraction! Or should I say, “Archie”?’
Sister Ann burst out laughing. ‘For the love of God, stop putting uncharitable thoughts into our heads, Ada!’ she begged.
Father Benedict topped up their cups with tea, then helped himself to another slice of cake. ‘I’m afraid Matron is the cross we all have to bear,’ he said with a resigned smile.
Back at Crow Thorn Grange, Sir Percival wasted no time in arranging to take Matron out to dinner. Matron blushed in delight when she found a letter from him on her office desk.
My dear Maud,
I have something I would like to discuss with you in private. Would you accept my invitation to take you out to dinner at the Commodore Inn in Grange next Wednesday evening? I shall pick you up from Mary Vale if that suits you?
Yours most respectfully,
Archibald
‘Archie!’ Matron almost collapsed when she read the letter. ‘Dinner, alone! Oh, yes, yes!’
In a daze, Matron wondered what Archie could possibly want to talk to her about, and in private too. Maybe he was finally divorcing that milksop of a wife of his and was looking for a woman of calibre to replace her? Maybe he would finally confess his admiration for her? How she’d waited for this moment; she could not have borne the grubbiness of Mary Vale without his noble presence; he alone had made her life worth living, and now she was convinced she was about to receive a sign of his devotion.
The days until their appointed meeting dragged, and when Wednesday finally came round Matron was as excited and gauche as a teenage girl on her first date. She could hardly dress herself for trembling and had to take sips of brandy to steady her nerves before she applied her make-up and jewellery.
‘Deep breaths,’ she told herself, as she descended the stairs to the Home’s spacious entrance hall, where passing girls gaped in amazement at a transformed Matron, with her dark hair swept into an elegant chignon and a fox fur draped over a sparkling black sequinned cocktail dress.
‘Gawd Almighty, she looks like bleedin’ royalty!’ one of the girls gasped incredulously under her breath.
When Archie proffered an arm to escort Matron to his car, her heart fluttered so much she thought she might faint and, sitting beside Archie in his chauffeur-driven old Rover, which smelt of expensive, manly tobacco smoke, she was giddy with pleasure.
The arrival of Sir Percival and his guest caused quite a stir at the Commodore Inn, where the head waiter, aware of Percival’s prestigious standing in local society, obsequiously led them to the best table in the house, in a spacious bay window that gave glorious views of the vast bay, where the tide was rushing in over the flat, silvery-green marsh. Once they were comfortably settled, gallant, smiling Archie laid a tender hand over Matron’s shaking hand.
‘It’s wonderful to have you to myself, Maud, dear.’
When Matron smiled tenderly at him, Percival thanked God for the soft candlelight, which hid her rather yellow teeth and the hard set of her mouth. He needed to sweet-talk the old bat if he were to succeed in getting her to do what he wanted, but he bloody well drew the line at physical intimacy, which she seemed to be eagerly working her way towards.
‘Archibald,’ she sighed softly. ‘It’s a joy to be alone with you.’
Luckily, the waiter reappeared with the menu and the drinks Percival had instantly ordered when he’d entered the restaurant; pretending to be studying the menu, he wondered how he could play this meeting to his advantage. If he overdid the flirting, he’d be stuck with kissing Matron, the thought of which made his stomach churn. However, if he pursued only the business angle, he could see from her glowing face that she’d be bitterly disappointed and therefore not so willing to play ball with him. He needed to deftly massage Maud Harding’s ego if he were to succeed in getting her to work alongside him in a new business venture.
‘Christ! If this game’s to succeed, I need the blasted woman to help me make it happen. Come on, man, get a grip – you can do it.’
Starting somewhat hesitantly, Percival said, ‘Do you recall what we discussed at our previous meeting at Crow Thorn Grange, Maud?’
‘Of course, your lovely home,’ Matron gushed. ‘Always a pleasure to be invited.’
Before she could shoot off at a tangent, Percival quickly added, ‘There was something particular you mentioned towards the end of our meeting.’
Looking perplexed, Matron said, ‘Oh, yes?’
Steadying his breathing so he didn’t rush it, Percival started with an ingratiating compliment. ‘I’ve always been impressed by your intelligence and ingenuity, Maud, gifts rarely found in a woman.’ Matron positively glowed as he flattered and praised her. ‘Over time and with due deliberation, I’ve come to the conclusion that your recent proposal for taking Mary Vale into a new era is enormously impressive.’
By this time Matron really was flummoxed; trying to keep a smile on her face, she wondered what on earth she might have said that had had such a profound effect on Archie. Seeing her struggling, Percival leant closer to fill up her glass. ‘An elitist sideline to our adoption business,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘I simply haven’t been able to shake off your clever idea, and I’d be grateful if you could elaborate on it.’
The cogs started to turn in Matron’s brain. ‘Ah, yes, I remember.’
‘You suggested – and please correct me if I’m wrong,’ he said with a humble smile, ‘that Mary Vale could offer – for an enhanced fee – a child of good breeding and status to the more discerning couples seeking adoption.’
‘I do recall saying that,’ she smirked.
Percival lowered his voice to repeat another thing she’d said that night: ‘They might be bastards, you said, but at least one line of their genealogy is respectable.’ He gave a soft chuckle.
Looking rather pleased with herself, Matron replied, ‘How very bold of me.’
‘To use your words again, dear Maud, you said it was such a waste not to exploit what’s right on our doorstep.’ He stopped to take a thoughtful sip from his glass. ‘However, there is one rather large stumbling block.’ He paused to look her levelly in the eye. ‘As I mentioned before, how do we circumnavigate the little problem of the convent and Father Benedict’s role if we want to pursue such a venture?’
Holding his breath, Percival waited; if the old bat didn’t come up with a satisfactory answer, he didn’t know how he could possibly progress the idea further. ‘We can’t just smuggle babies out of the Home,’ he said, pressing her by stating the obvious. ‘We have to find a way for it to appear, at least on paper, a respectable and legitimate operation.’
A look came over Matron’s face, which slightly alarmed Percival; he didn’t know it, but it was the same forbidding look she’d thrown at any doctor who questioned her authority when she worked on the Front during the Great War.
Dropping the smiles and simpers, she spoke with steely authority. ‘In my position I am at liberty to peruse the convent’s documents; I also keep details on the Home’s adoptions in my office. Their rules are so simple and Christian, charitable to the point of homespun,’ she mocked. ‘I’m sure two clever people such as you and I can find a loophole.’
‘Maud,’ he murmured as he emptied out the last of the Chablis into her glass. ‘I believe you could move mountains if you have a mind to. But …’ he added with a slightly wistful smile, ‘how quickly can you look at these documents? You see, I’m rather anxious
to get our new venture under way.’
‘I’ll have you know, Sir, that when I have a mind to I can indeed move mountains!’ Matron answered haughtily. ‘Sourcing a few little documents is certainly not a problem for me,’ she added with a dismissive toss of her head.
Thrilled at Matron’s confident responses, Percival quickly made a suggestion before the food arrived and diverted her attention. ‘Perhaps after you’ve had time to check the files, we could meet again to discuss the matter?’
Matron positively gushed. ‘Of course. Another dinner à deux would be most enjoyable,’ she murmured. ‘And, as for getting around the problem of Father Benedict, there are ways and means.’
‘Really?’ Percival said, a little over-excitedly. ‘What do you have in mind?’
Matron wagged an authoritative finger in his startled face. ‘Leave that matter with me, Archie, dear.’
Percival made a servile gesture. ‘I bow to your wisdom, dear lady.’
As Percival had anticipated, the arrival of their food did indeed divert Matron’s attention. Digging into his rare fillet of steak, Percival hoped he wouldn’t have to go through another restaurant scenario as Matron had just suggested; he didn’t want to be involved in a business relationship with Maud Harding that was blurred around the edges. However, for the time being, Percival, with his ultimate money-making goal in mind, did not have a choice.
‘Right now, if the old bag asked me to try to walk on water, I’d no doubt agree to it!’
11. Arrangements are Made
Emily’s time to check into Mary Vale had come. She’d been hanging on for as long as she could in order to save money, but she knew with certainty that it would be unwise to wait another week longer. While she’d been just about able to conceal her condition in the early months of her pregnancy, a sudden growing spurt resulted in her developing a noticeably large tummy, which was becoming almost impossible to conceal.