While they waited for it, Knowles carefully examined the back of Court’s head and found grim evidence of a violent blow that had shattered the occiput. ‘Must have hit the edge of the bottom stair where the carpet’s worn thin,’ he murmured. ‘Can you bring me a towel, Mabel?’ There’s a fair-sized blood clot here.’ While he wrapped the towel around the head and neck, he continued to talk to them both, keeping his voice low and matter-of-fact. ‘He came in drunk and started attacking George who had just come home from school. George ran up the stairs to escape from him, and, er, Mr Court pursued him, but fell and hit his head on the bottom stair. Mabel came in from work and found him lying here. George was hiding in his room upstairs, not realising that Mr Court had fallen and knocked himself out. Do you both understand what I’m saying?’
Mabel and George looked at each other and then at Knowles.
Mabel steeled herself. ‘Yes, Dr Knowles, we understand.’ She nodded and managed an encouraging smile for her brother. ‘We heard that, didn’t we, George?’
The boy nodded dumbly. He looked terrified.
‘And then Mabel sent young Johnny for me and I got here as quickly as I could,’ went on Knowles. ‘I found that there was a heartbeat, so got him away to hospital as soon as possible, so that he could have one of those X-ray photographs taken of his head. Ah, now I think I hear Joe at the door, so remember what I’ve said about what’s happened. For your sister’s sake, George, keep your mouth shut, there’s a good lad.’
He went out to answer Joe’s cheery ‘Hello!’ at the door, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Sh-sh, Joe, we’ve got a chap unconscious here and he’s pretty bad, I’m afraid. I’ll need a hand to help get him into the wagon, only we’ll have to be careful, he’s got severe concussion.’
Joe turned down the corners of his mouth as they carried Court out of the house and into the wagon. ‘Jack Court’s a goner, ain’t ’e, doctor?’
‘No, I think there’s a chance of saving him if you can get him to hospital. I’ll get in at the back with him. Don’t hang around, Joe, there are enough eyes watching us already.’ He quickly turned to Mabel. ‘I’ll be back, my dear. Put the kettle on and make some hot sweet tea for George and yourself. You’ll get neighbours coming round, so just tell them what we’ve agreed happened this afternoon. Don’t let them question George, keep him quiet in his room and tell him I’ve got it all in hand. Oh, and Mabel – there’s a small bloodstain on the living-room floor, near to the hearth. Get it wiped away, my dear.’
She nodded and even managed a half-smile. ‘Yes, Dr Knowles, thank yer.’
‘All right, Joe, get going,’ he said and got in beside the corpse. Joe tightened the reins and the wagon rattled out of Sorrel Street.
Under Thursday, 13 June 1912, in the Admissions Book at the Bolingbroke Hospital, an entry was made concerning a John Court, forty-two, of 12 Sorrel Street, Battersea, London SW, who had arrived at 5.10 p.m. but had not been admitted, due to being certified as dead on arrival.
When Alice came home Mabel had to break the news to her of their father’s fatal accident, and how badly it had affected George who was resting in bed and not to be disturbed. Before Alice could start asking questions Mabel told her to go to Mrs Bull’s and bring Daisy home. From then onwards neighbours came and went, as they had done after Annie’s disappearance, and the news spread like wildfire through Sorrel Street and beyond.
Dr Knowles was very much in evidence, assisting the police by his presence when they came to interview Mabel and George, so soon after the tragic loss of their mother. George simply nodded dumbly to the questions gently put to him and the brief statements bore out the story already on everybody’s lips, interspersed with comments like ‘Drunken brute, ’e got what ’e deserved’ – though there were those who remembered how charming and open-handed Jack Court could be in the right mood. It was generally agreed that he had deteriorated in recent months. ‘Why ’e even went for Mabel’s young man, ’im in the Sally Army.’
Harry. Mabel’s heart sank at the thought of that excellent young man who had supported her throughout her mother’s disappearance and death, and since. How could she face him now, knowing what she knew, and having done what she had done? The deception that she and Dr Knowles were engaged upon was undoubtedly wrong, no matter how good their intentions; and for the sake of her fellow conspirator – and George – she could never tell another person the truth about how her father had met his death. Not even Harry. So either she must deceive the man she loved, or break with him and let him find a worthier wife. And how could she possibly do that when they loved each other so much and had promised to wait for years, if necessary, until they could be married?
Harry, of course, rushed to Sorrel Street as soon as the news reached him, intending to put his arms around Mabel and comfort her – and George and Daisy – as well as he could.
But Mabel drew back. ‘No, Harry, George is in bed and mustn’t be disturbed, and I’m too tired to think. Please, I can’t talk to yer tonight. Thank yer for comin’, but I need time—’
‘Harry!’ Daisy came hurtling down the stairs and ran straight into his arms. He rocked her backwards and forwards while he and Mabel looked helplessly at each other over the top of her head. There were so many things he wanted to say: that Jack Court had been a troubled soul but was now at rest, and God would be his judge – or, putting it another way, he would no longer be a menace to his family. Harry longed to sympathise and soothe, but for some reason words deserted him and, not being allowed to see George, he departed with a sense of loss that he could not understand.
A message arrived via police officers that Mr Court’s mother had been informed and was in a state of shock, unable to visit or receive visitors. No condolences were exchanged between Macaulay Road and Sorrel Street, which was a small relief to Mabel who had no desire to see her grandmother. She felt as if she were in the grip of an evil dream from which there would be no awakening and which nobody could penetrate.
Except . . .
The door of number 12 was open when Albert Court walked in just before ten. Seeing him, Mabel swayed on her feet and almost fell into his outstretched arms. ‘Bloody ’ell, ol’ gal, sod this for a lark, eh?’
He was the most welcome sight in the world and they held each other close for a long moment without saying anything at all. A police message had arrived for him only hours before he was due to join a merchantman at Tilbury Docks, his training days being over. ‘I got word from ol’ ‘Arry an’ all, it’s gettin’ a bit of a reg’lar thing, i’n’it, ’im fetchin’ me ’ome?’
How much should she tell her brother? Or rather, how could she conceal anything from Albert? As it turned out, there was no need to think about what she should say, because as soon as she took him to George’s room the boy burst into floods of tears and she left them alone together. Albert slept with his young brother that night and Alice was asked to let Daisy take her place in Mabel’s bed.
At midnight, when the house was silent, Mabel crept downstairs and turned on the gaslight. Sitting down at the table, she at last took out the envelope containing her mother’s letter and spread the scrawled and blotted sheet before her.
My dear Mabel best of daughters, I have not much time to ask you to forgive me. I have an illness which will kill me and I cant face the pain and lingering as I seen other poor women go that way. Your father may not come home again and he also may not live long.
Now Mabel, you must write to Mrs Elinor Somerton who is my sister Nell and tell her that you are orphans. I shoud ansered her letter but now you will anser it and ask her to come to her neices and nepews to give help if she can.
She lives at Pear Tree Cottage, Beversley Lane, Belhampton, Hampshire.
I pray you will be happy with the Drover boy who is a good Christian as you were all broght up to be. Time is short and I leave you with a mothers love my own beatifull little Mabel.
Anna-Maria Chalcott Court.
Mabel seemed to hear her mother’s voi
ce speaking clearly to her as she read and could picture her face as vividly as if she stood before her in life. Although her tears flowed freely, she was consoled by the message that had waited six weeks to be found. It brought her a measure of reassurance, even though it confirmed that Annie Court had taken her own life. Mabel had never believed that her death had been accidental.
There and then she set about obeying the instructions it contained.
Dear Mrs Somerton,
I hope you will let me call you Aunt Nell, because I am your niece Mabel Court, and I have some very sad news to tell you . . .
The next day Mabel showed Albert their mother’s letter and they agreed not to share its contents with the other three. His presence in the house greatly lightened the atmosphere and, while not pretending to mourn for Jack Court, he avoided harsh words and encouraged them all to behave as normally as possible. He continued to share his old bed with George and that Friday night Mabel heard the brothers’ voices murmuring as she fell asleep. Albert never divulged what George had said, nor did he ask her questions about that fatal 13 June, but she felt sure that George had told him everything and was thankful beyond words for his solid support to them both.
‘Albert, ye’re a life-saver,’ she told him, while faithful Harry Drover found himself relegated to taking Daisy out to the park accompanied by a white-faced, silent George. Alice resigned herself to helping in the house and Mabel avoided being alone with Harry. There was too much that had to be concealed and she was feeling increasingly unfit to be his life’s partner. First a suicide in the family and now a . . . she could not even say the word to herself. Plus a grandmother who regularly carried out illegal operations for money. What kind of Salvation Army wife would have such a background?
The inquest on Court’s death was fixed for the following Wednesday, 19 June, and the thought of it hung like a cloud over them, including Dr Knowles. As a trusted, respected general practitioner, the son of a doctor and father of another, he had made himself an accessory to a concealment of manslaughter and would have to give false evidence to the coroner. He would need to choose his words with great care and hope that Mabel’s nerve held.
On the Monday as the courts had just finished a midday repast of soup and bread, there came a tentative knock at the door. Albert nodded to Alice who rose to answer it.
Two middle-aged women who somewhat resembled each other were standing outside, both soberly dressed in black; the older was the taller.
‘Please excuse us, but is this the home of Miss Court? Miss Mabel Court?’ asked the younger one nervously.
‘Who is it, Alice?’ Mabel called out.
‘Two ladies asking to see yer.’
When Mabel hurried to the door the women stared at her as if transfixed. Then they both exclaimed together, ‘Anna-Maria!’
Mabel knew at once who they were. Her face lit up and she held out her hands. ‘Ye’re her sisters – my aunts! Oh, ye’re more ’n welcome! Oh, my aunts, my own aunts!’
For Elinor Somerton had put her arm round Mabel, and was laughing and crying. ‘Yes, dear, I’m your Aunt Nell and this is your Aunt Kate – you’re so like your mother, I’d have known you anywhere as her daughter – oh, Anna-Maria!’
The other lady stared a little uncomfortably at Alice who was completely mystified.
‘This is my sister Alice, Aunt Kate,’ said Mabel eagerly. ‘An’ I’ve got another called Daisy – oh, here she is, look! An’ two brothers – but what’re we doin’ on the doorstep? Come in!’
The aunts were shown into the living room where Albert got awkwardly to his feet, nudging George to do the same. There was a moment of complete unreality as the women looked at the two boys, the elder one the image of that man – swarthy-complexioned with two strong front teeth – and the other fair like Mabel. Like Anna-Maria.
In a surprisingly short time the aunts felt that they knew their nieces and nephews, and the youngsters felt the same; the instinctive stirrings of blood relationship drew them together. The aunts explained that Mabel’s letter, posted the day before, had arrived that morning and Elinor had rushed round to show it to Katherine who lived at Pinehurst, the family home in which they had all grown up. They had agreed at once to set out for London and from Waterloo Station they had taken a taxicab to the Battersea address that Mabel had given them.
‘So here we are, but our poor, dear sister’s gone for ever – oh, my God, what a dreadful thing to happen!’ Mrs Somerton wept. ‘I wonder if she ever got the letter I sent last year to that address in Tooting—’
‘Yes, she did, Aunt Nell,’ said Mabel mournfully. ‘She just couldn’t bring herself to answer it after all that time, though I told her she should. It was all so sad, the way her – your – father died, and I know it was like a shadow over her life, all that sadness in the past. She could’ve been reconciled with yer and we could’ve all met years ago.’
‘All those years,’ echoed Elinor, wiping her eyes. ‘And it’s been her death that’s brought us together at last. Oh, Mabel, you’re so like her, as pretty as a picture!’
And so they started to get to know each other in the course of that afternoon and evening. The girls were particularly fascinated by their aunts’ descriptions of their mother, first as a little girl and then a young woman. Mabel and Daisy warmed to Nell, while Alice found it easier to talk to the less emotional Kate. The two brothers sat as if hypnotised by this sudden revelation of a whole new family and two aunts they’d never known they had. It was unbelievable!
Arrangements were made for the aunts to stay overnight, and Mabel and Alice made up the double bed with clean sheets. The experience of sharing it gave Kate and Nell some insight into the cramped conditions in which their sister had brought up a family of five – Mabel had told them of the loss of little Walter. The constant struggle to make ends meet was visible in every crack and stain, the thin curtains, the chipped ewer on the washstand. Compared with Pinehurst and Pear Tree Cottage, 12 Sorrel Street was a poor place in a poor area.
‘But she was a mother, Kate, which is more than either of us has been.’ Nell sighed as they got into their sister’s matrimonial bed. ‘And such nice children, too. That poor little Daisy looks so lost, I’d like to take her home with me – and Alice, too.’
‘That Albert’s a tough character, though, the father all over again,’ said Kate. ‘That awful London accent! I wouldn’t care to take him on.’
‘He’s in the navy, anyway, so he’s no problem,’ replied her sister. ‘I shall talk it over with Thomas and say I’d be happy to take the girls if they’d like to come to live with us, and George too – at least until they’re able to support themselves. Oh, Kate, it’s as if it was meant to be! Thomas and I have been so disappointed in having no family.’
‘I’m thinking of offering a home to Mabel as a companion,’ said Kate reflectively.
‘Look, shall we suggest taking the younger children back to Belhampton with us tomorrow – or Monday?’ said Nell eagerly. ‘It would make life easier for Mabel with that dreadful inquest to face next week, and then there’ll be the funeral. It would be better for her and the children, surely, to have them away from all that.’
Having made up her mind, Nell soon fell asleep beside her sister, but Kate stayed awake for several hours, staring up into the not-quite-darkness of the midsummer night, with its jarring noises from the street and more distantly from the river. For the rest of her life Kate Chalcott knew that she would regret the cruel letter she had written to Anna-Maria following her elopement with Court, and all the bitterness that had resulted from it, the harm that could now never be put right. The least she could do was to offer a home to her sister’s daughter.
Lying beside Daisy in their bed on the other side of the wall, Mabel too stared up into the half-darkness, rejoicing at the arrival of their long-lost aunts. It was like a shaft of light piercing the gloom, and she felt as if the memory of her mother had become lightened in some way, easier to bear. For the past six weeks sh
e had feared to dream of seeing again that pale, drowned face, but now when she closed her eyes she saw the young Anna-Maria, not in the cold blankness of death but alive and smiling, a bright-eyed girl looking down upon her first-born child who so closely resembled her.
Mabel and Albert talked over their aunts’ offer and decided to accept it gratefully. Alice could hardly wait to see Belhampton, but Daisy was not happy about parting from Mabel and neither was George who frankly begged to be allowed to stay near her. In the end Mabel told Daisy to be a good girl and go with Alice to her aunt’s, while George would stay at Sorrel Street.
She and Albert agreed that George was a worry. His eyes were haunted by what he knew and his sleep was disturbed by terrifying nightmares that woke Albert, and which could be disastrous if he were at Belhampton for what he might reveal. Dr Knowles prescribed a teaspoonful of syrup of choral each night to help him sleep and they could only hope that time would do its healing work.
So on Monday morning Mabel, Albert and George waved off their aunts and sisters on the train from Waterloo, while bracing themselves to face the next ordeal: the inquest.
Chapter Thirteen
THE INQUEST INTO the death of John Masood Court was attended by his mother, Mrs Court, his eldest daughter Mabel and son Albert. It was mercifully brief as the facts were not in dispute and the coroner wanted to spare the relatives distress, so soon after the death of Court’s wife. George was not required to attend in view of his age and the fact that he had already been through so much; his evidence was read out by the police officer who had questioned him at home on the day of the accident, and corresponded with Mabel’s account and that of Dr Knowles.
Albert was allowed to stand beside his sister while she described how she had come home just after four o’clock to find her father lying unconscious at the foot of the stairs and George up in his room. She had sent for Dr Knowles who was once again the key witness. He told how he had discovered a weak heartbeat and made immediate arrangements to get Court to the Bolingbroke Hospital where they had arrived too late, Court having died on the way.
A Child's Voice Calling Page 25
