The Lock Hospital – where had she heard it mentioned before?
Mercury and . . . some other strong substance. It sounded drastic and everybody knew that mercury was a deadly poison.
‘Contact such as kissing’ – and that intimate question about conjugal union and Jack’s state of health . . .
All at once the jigsaw pieces fell into place and Annie understood the truth with dreadful clarity. It was the streetwalker’s disease. She had syphilis – the pox!
She cried out loud, a howl of utter despair, and writhed in the bed, her hands over her face. The pox, the ‘hidden horror’ spoken of only in whispers, that attacked every part of the body, causing blindness, madness and paralysis at the end. The awful punishment of fornicators and lechers, visited on the innocent as well as the guilty, even upon the children.
Oh, Jack, Jack, what have you done to us both? You’ve gone away to die because of this.
And almost immediately she saw what had to follow: and so must I.
For of course she could not live with it. Life held nothing more for her, with this hideous thing in her flesh, the result of Jack’s infidelity – for she now squarely faced the truth that she had known for years, the women he had been with away from home, to which she’d turned a determinedly blind eye. She could not possibly face Mabel (imagine!) and her other dear children, knowing what was destroying her body. There was only one thing left for poor Annie Court to do now. And not much time to do it.
She got out of bed and dressed as quickly as she could. Downstairs she found a few sheets of writing paper in a drawer of the sideboard, which also yielded a school pen and a bottle with just enough ink in it. Annie sat down at the table and put a newspaper on it to protect the dark-red chenille cloth. She rubbed her hands together to stop them trembling and with difficulty penned a letter to Mabel. Being out of practice with writing, she had to cross out words and replace them with others; she would have liked to begin again, but time was pressing, and when she put it in an envelope and sealed it, she felt that it contained what she most wanted to tell her eldest daughter.
Where should she leave it? It must not be found too soon, or she might be pursued. She slid it under the chenille tablecloth, changed every four or five weeks; meals were laid on a white cloth spread over it.
She pinned up her hair and pulled on her brown velour hat, laced up her shoes and put on her seldom worn three-quarter-length coat over her plain brown skirt. She took her purse from the kitchen drawer and placed it in her straw shopping bag, along with an old handleless cup used for breaking eggs in and the little blue phial that Dr Knowles had given her.
It was time to say goodbye to 12 Sorrel Street. She picked up her bag and let herself out of the front door, she who had become almost a recluse, and looked up at the house that had been her home for eighteen years of marriage and family life. There had been a few good times, and in spite of much worry and disillusionment she had managed to maintain the image of a respectable suburban housewife. Locking the door, she pushed the key back through the letter box. It was nearly half past three and there was no more time to lose. And no going back now.
She wondered if she should go to St Philip’s church on Queen’s Road and kneel in a pew there for the last time; but she might meet somebody she knew, or worse still, Alice might see her from the doorway of the post office. No, she must board an omnibus to take her away over Battersea Bridge into the city where nobody knew her.
On the bus she kept her face lowered to avoid any neighbours who might see and try to speak to her, but it seemed there had been a serious accident on Lavender Hill and everybody was talking about it, so no one noticed the drab little woman clutching her shopping bag.
Getting off at Westminster, she looked up at the great Abbey and felt drawn to enter it for a last prayer. Wandering up the echoing vastness of the nave, surrounded by its soaring columns, Annie found a shadowy corner and knelt down on the bare stone paving to ask forgiveness for all her sins and especially for the one she was about to commit. She believed that God would be good to her and trusted that He would judge her mercifully because of the impossible burden she carried. How could He not? She was doing this for the sake of her dear children whom she loved with all her heart; she was taking herself away like an unclean leper of old, away from decent people and into the merciful arms of Him who healed the lepers. There she would be clean again.
Nobody approached her as she knelt and after concluding with the Lord’s Prayer she rose and left the Abbey, feeling a sense of lightness, strengthened to carry out her resolve.
Then began a long, long walk towards Tower Bridge, keeping as close to the river as she was able. Passing the Tower itself she continued on towards the docks, the wharves and warehouses of the Pool of London where a couple of great seagoing vessels stood at quaysides and a swarm of lighters and barges moved swiftly from one landing stage to another. Gangs of men hauled on ropes to shouted orders from above and below as they landed huge wooden crates of tea and hogsheads of sugar.
Annie Court continued walking, only half aware of her surroundings but intent on her purpose. When the sun began to sink her footsteps slowed; she had had nothing to eat all day and felt chilled and empty, though with no desire to rest, not until the time came for it. Weak as she was, she was impelled onwards by her intention, which now appeared to her as both duty and destiny.
As riverside activity lessened, dubious characters of both sexes began to appear on shore, lingering on the notorious Highway as they had done from time immemorial. A couple of drunken men lurched towards Annie with lewd compliments, asking if she was looking for company.
Little do they know, she thought: a poor, anaemic creature old before her time and riddled with the pox! Yet she boldly stepped towards one of the gin shops on the landward side and emerged with a bottle in her shopping bag.
The light was fading and it was time to get down to the water. A twisted iron railing separated her from a row of gloomy buildings going down to crumbling wharves and she noticed a narrow alleyway descending to the river, a dangerous place where heaven only knew what evil deeds had been done. Annie had no fear – why should she? – and ducked under the rusty rail to make her way down between the damp-smelling walls. Halfway down, the path gave way to a flight of steep, worn stone steps once used for passengers boarding ferries in the days when there was only the one Old London Bridge and watermen provided the quickest means of transport.
Putting her hands out to steady herself on either side, Annie descended to a narrow ledge with a single iron mooring ring. It was very close to the water, being nearly high tide, and the stone was damp, but she sat down thankfully at one end of the small perch, pulling her coat around her. As long as she was not seen – or roused no curiosity if she was – this place would do. She got out the bottle and poured a generous measure into the old cup, as daintily as if she were serving tea into bone china. She added the contents of the phial and, taking a breath, raised it to her lips.
Aaah! The rough, fiery liquid burned her throat as it went down, and she gasped and coughed; Annie Court had never liked the taste of strong drink. She did not have to wait long before a glowing warmth began to spread over her, wrapping every part of her body in its rosy haze, infinitely comforting. Leaning her head against the cold stone, she took another mouthful and felt even better.
What was happening now at Sorrel Street? Were they out looking for her? But no, she would not think about that, it was all past, over and done with. She no longer belonged there.
The sun was now sinking low in the west and it was getting chillier; a stiff breeze was blowing upriver. There were few craft on the water now, though as she watched, a masted pleasure boat went by, its lights beaming out across the water. Nobody saw her in her dark little corner. A few seagulls wheeled above in the evening air, calling to each other in that melancholy way they have and, far above her inland, she could just hear the distant strains of music and raucous laughter.
The b
ottle was nearly empty, and Annie’s eyes were drooping and unfocused. A sense of unreality wrapped round her like a cloak, she looked down at the flowing water.
‘Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song.’ The words of the long-dead poet come back to Anna-Maria from the schoolroom at Belhampton and she smiles as she recognises them. Sweet Thames! Soon she will be done with the troubles of this world – and such a beautiful world, too – just look at that sky above Tower Bridge! Dusk is falling and deepens into darkness. Anna-Maria wakes up with a start, realising that she has been asleep.
But now she is awake and it is time.
She crawls towards the edge of the green-slimed stone where the muddied water has lapped it for centuries. Her hands slide, her knees follow and there she goes, slipping into the water with scarcely a splash. Cold greenness swirls round her as she sinks below the surface: the gin has done its work well. Above her in the pale sky a single star looks down.
Anna-Maria can no longer remember why she embarked on this journey, nor does she know how she has come to this place, this haven of love and light and peace. For look, there is her dear papa smiling at her and beside him her sweet mamma, Mabel, is holding out her arms.
Anna-Maria has come home.
Chapter Eleven
MABEL COULD HARDLY wait to get home to find out what Dr Knowles had said and when Mrs James allowed her to leave early she practically ran most of the way to Sorrel Street, where she found George and Daisy hanging around at Mrs Bull’s house, unable to get into their own.
‘We ain’t ’ad sight nor sound o’ yer muvver, Mabel,’ said Mary Clutton and several other women stood waiting to see whether Annie Court was at home, asleep perhaps, or . . .
Mabel swallowed. More trouble – and she had to keep her head for the children’s sake. She straightened her shoulders and marched into the house. Annie’s key was on the doormat. ‘Hallo, Mum, we’re home! Mum?’
The house was silent.
‘You wait down here,’ she said to the children, ‘and I’ll go upstairs.’
She hesitated at the door of Annie’s room, then took a breath and went in. Nobody. The bed was neatly arranged, the counterpane pulled up to the bedhead. Mabel opened the wardrobe and saw at once that her mother’s best hat and jacket were not there. A sudden icy fear gripped her heart, but she went downstairs, as always hiding her own anxiety behind what she hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘Mum’s gone out,’ she told the bewildered children, ‘and I’ll have to go out, too.’
‘Where to?’ asked Daisy in alarm.
‘The doctor’s. I asked him to call and see Mum today, so he’ll probably know where she is. Now, George, ye’ll have to mind yer sister till I get back. Alice should be in soon, anyway.’
Daisy began to wail, ‘Where’s Mummy gone?’ It was a question that was to be repeated many times in the Sorrel Street home before they learned the answer.
With growing apprehension Mabel half walked, half ran towards the better residential area between the two commons. She knocked loudly on the door of the Knowles’s house in Hillier Road, to be answered by a young maid. ‘Is the doctor at home?’ she panted. ‘He called on my mother today and now she’s – I must see him, it’s very important!’ Her voice rose as she spoke.
‘Who is it, Susan?’ asked a man’s voice from within the house.
‘A young woman lookin’ for yer father, Dr Knowles. She seems in a bad way.’
‘All right, I’ll attend to her.’ And Stephen Knowles appeared, smiling down at Mabel. ‘Would you like to step inside? My father’s out on his rounds at present, but perhaps I can help you.’
Mabel followed him into a small study, puffing after her exertion. ‘It’s about my mother, Dr Stephen.’
On hearing his Christian name he turned and looked at her. ‘Now where have we met before? Yes! Your brother was injured in the Tower Hill riots last August and you came to look for him. Let me see – Miss Court, am I right? Mabel? You had a young man with you; he had a Salvation Army uniform – oh, yes, I remember you, Miss Court! So what’s the trouble now?’
She was amazed at his memory, though in fact Stephen Knowles had heard the Court family history in some detail from his father, and Mabel would have been both surprised and embarrassed by his knowledge of them if she had not been so concerned about her mother.
‘Take a seat, Miss Court, and get your breath back. Shall I ring for Susan to bring us tea?’
‘No, thank yer, I can’t stay, I’m needed at home. The fact is, I asked Dr Knowles – yer father, I mean – to call on my mother today and now she’s gone. She’s not at home, though she hardly ever goes out. She’s not well and he might’ve said somethin’ that upset her. Oh, I’m so worried!’
He nodded, frowning slightly. ‘I can understand how you must feel, Miss Court, though there’s probably a simple explanation. My father isn’t likely to be back until—’ He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘But the sooner he knows the better. Look, I’ve got my motorcar outside, so I could go in search of him and send him straight round to your house.’
‘Oh, that’s really good o’ yer, Dr Stephen. I’ll go straight home, then.’ She rose with a grateful look.
He too got up from his chair. ‘Let me take you in the car.’
‘No, no, I’d rather yer went to find Dr Knowles,’ she answered, following him to the front door where he held out his hand.
‘You never know, Miss Court, by the time you get home, she may be waiting for you.’
‘If only that’d be true, doctor!’ she said fervently, shaking his hand.
‘If not, Miss Court, I think you should let the police know. Anyway, I’ll send my father straight round to Sorrel Street.’
He watched her slender figure hurrying along the tree-lined avenue, then put on his jacket and peaked cap, and got into his car. Such a pleasant girl, he thought, and really very pretty; what a shame that she had to carry so much responsibility on her young shoulders.
No news awaited Mabel at home, though Alice had arrived and the house seemed full of neighbours who had brought tea, milk, sugar and gloomy observations.
‘First ’e does a runner, an’ now ’er,’ said Mrs Clutton significantly. ‘Makes yer wonder, eh?’
‘Shouldn’t we let Grandmother know, Mabel?’ asked Alice.
‘Not yet, we don’t want her puttin’ her oar in,’ Mabel replied somewhat irritably. ‘If yer want to do somethin’ useful, Alice, go up to the police station on Lavender Hill and tell them about Mum being missing. They’ll send somebody round, I expect. And be quick about it!’
If only Harry were here! He was due to start training at Clapton College in September and Mabel was resigned to seeing even less of the man she loved; but at a time like this she simply longed for the sight of his face, his honest brown eyes. Just to hear his voice would give her courage, she thought, her mind reeling away from the nightmare possibilities. Oh, Mum, where are yer? If yer only knew the trouble ye’re giving us all . . .
When Dr Knowles strode in she jumped up and faced him almost accusingly. ‘What happened when yer called today, doctor? What did yer say to her?’ she demanded, frightened by his worried expression.
‘My dear Mabel, I’m very sorry to hear this,’ he said. ‘Did she leave any word, was there a note in the house – under her pillow, under the clock on the mantelpiece?’
‘No, no, there’s nothing,’ replied Mabel impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake, Dr Knowles, what did yer say to my poor mother? Did yer tell her what yer thought was wrong with her? She’s not well, I know that, and she wouldn’t have been able to go very far, but—’
‘But she could’ve got on a bus,’ put in Mrs Bull.
Knowles firmly took Mabel aside, out of earshot of the others. ‘I told her I thought she needed to see a specialist, Mabel, and said I’d arrange it.’
Mabel nodded. ‘Yes, I thought yer might send her to see somebody who could do somethin’ for women’s trouble.’
‘And I als
o suggested a blood test.’
‘Yes, she’s so anaemic, an’ no wonder, poor Mum.’ Mabel sighed. ‘But why would she just get up and go away without tellin’ anybody or leavin’ a message?’
The doctor frowned and shook his head. ‘I’d better tell you, my dear, she may be – probably is – suffering from a form of bacterial infection.’
‘Is that what yer told her?’ asked Mabel in new alarm. ‘Oh, poor Mum! She could be wanderin’ around somewhere, thinkin’ she’s got somethin’ very serious. Haven’t yer got any idea where she might’ve gone, Dr Knowles?’
Her distress was painful to witness and Knowles decided not to talk of blood tests, nor of the Institute, at least not until Annie Court was found. ‘She’s probably not very far away,’ he said carefully, not wanting to reveal his own fears for Annie. ‘Perhaps she feels that she needs to be alone for a while, just to think things over. We mustn’t let our imaginations run away with us, my dear.’ Even to his own ears he sounded unconvincing and no wonder, for Mabel had put his uneasy suspicions into words.
He left the house soon after, patting Mabel’s shoulder and promising to keep in close touch.
Daisy began to cry again and Mabel’s first concern was to comfort the unhappy little girl. But what could she say to her? She prayed inwardly for courage and common sense.
And it seemed that her prayers were answered when Harry Drover arrived almost immediately after Knowles’s depature, thanks to a neighbour who had sent a message round to Falcon Terrace. Mabel practically threw herself into his arms and for the first time that day she wept.
Harry at once enfolded her and Daisy together in one loving embrace, proving himself once more to be a tower of strength. ‘We’d better send for Albert, Mabel dear. I can get a message to the Warspite through the Army, an’ maybe the commandant could get transport for him in a case like this. I’ll see what I can do, anyway. Yer’ll be glad to have ’im here until she’s found.’
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