The Forgotten Children

by Anita Davison

  Flora’s stomach performed an odd flip of excited anticipation as Alice Finch entered behind him. An embroidered bag swung from a cord around her wrist as she walked, her head held high and a half-smile on her lips. She wore a pale grey coat, a dusky pink scarf tucked in at her neck, the shade mirrored by the ribbon wound around the crown of her matching grey hat with a jaunty pheasant feather tucked into the side. Buttoned from neck to mid-thigh, the flared hem of the tailored coat swayed with each step as she glided into the room, she was greeted enthusiastically by the effeminate Frenchman, who fluttered his hands as he showed her to a table in an alcove.

  Flora debated whether to draw attention to her presence, or wait for Miss Finch to notice her. Undecided, she lingered over her rapidly cooling tea. The low buzz of conversation, the repeated jangle of the shop bell and the clatter of crockery filled the crowded room which had begun to feel uncomfortably hot.

  ‘What are you waiting for, Flora?’ she muttered to herself, picking up her bag and gloves. ‘Isn’t this why you came?’

  Rising, she crossed the room and halted beside the table where Miss Finch consulted the menu. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Finch. May I join you?’

  Chapter 8

  Miss Finch looked up from her scrutiny of the menu with a hint of mild inquiry that transformed to warmth. ‘Mrs Harrington, how nice to see you.’ She indicated the empty chair opposite with an elegant wave of her hand. ‘I would be delighted for you to join me.’

  Flora sat, conscious their exchange smacked of a performance as she waited for her companion to summon the waitress and change her order, though more tea was the last thing she wanted.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed your visit to the hospital yesterday,’ Miss Finch said when the girl had left. ‘And your handsome husband, of course, he of the unusual Greek name.’

  ‘He did indeed, and although he interrupted me at the time, we call him Bunny.’

  ‘Ah, I understand.’ Her eyes flashed with laughter. ‘A schoolboy nickname and now a constant source of embarrassment?’

  ‘Exactly, although most people think it suits him.’ Flora busied herself arranging her skirt and bag, while at the same time studying her companion’s features from beneath her lashes. Miss Finch had a similar nose to her own and symmetrical arched eyebrows above the same, wide, expressive eyes that confronted Flora in her mirror each morning.

  ‘She looked charming, your friend,’ Miss Finch said, making Flora wonder if she had waited outside until Flora was alone.

  ‘She is. And a professional woman like yourself. She is headmistress of an Academy for young ladies.’

  ‘Admirable.’ Miss Finch gave the now crowded room a sweeping look that lingered for a second on the beaming face of Mr Martell who still looked their way. ‘I do apologize for hurrying you and your husband away from the hospital yesterday, but I thought it best to keep you away from the police.’

  ‘That makes us sound as if we had something to hide, Miss Finch. Though I assume it was because we had nothing to contribute?’

  ‘Exactly, and please call me Alice. I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends.’ She acknowledged the waitress who lowered a tray onto the table between them, but if she noticed Flora had changed places and was about to embark on another afternoon tea, she gave no indication.

  ‘Do you live near here, Mrs Harrington?’ Alice asked once the girl had left, handing Flora a full cup to which she had added milk. ‘Oh, I’m sorry I forgot to ask. Do you take milk or do you prefer your tea with lemon?’

  ‘No, this is perfect. Thank you.’ Flora sipped the excellent but unwanted tea. ‘I live a short walk away. Yourself?’

  ‘I have lodgings in Birdcage Walk.’

  ‘Really? Isn’t that near St James’ Park?’ Flora’s eyed widened. ‘That’s quite a way from Quilp Street.’ In more ways than one, making her a neighbour of the king. ‘Does that not present difficulties with travel and so on?’

  ‘It’s quite an easy journey by omnibus.’ She twirled a spoon in her cup. ‘I like the distance it puts between me and my work. The journey also gives me time to marshal my thoughts in the mornings.’

  ‘How long have you been matron at St Philomena’s?’ Flora asked, unsure as to where this conversation was headed, although a conviction Miss Finch had mentioned the tea room for a reason persisted. Why had she suggested they meet? To swap trivia about their lives, or something else?

  ‘I trained at the London Hospital where I was a ward sister for several years before being offered the post at St Philomena’s.’

  ‘Quite an achievement. Do you have a family?’ Flora halted, conscious she was prying. ‘I’m so sorry, how rude of me to bombard you with questions when we hardly know one another.’

  ‘Not at all. And no, I don’t. I have no parents and had I married, I would have had to give up nursing, something I was not prepared to do.’ She offered Flora a plate of almond biscuits before taking one herself.

  ‘Actually, there’s a reason I wanted to see you again.’ She picked the biscuit into pieces, though none reached her mouth. ‘You see, I have a problem at the hospital.’

  Ah, here it comes. ‘Yes, I know.’ Flora plucked a biscuit from the plate and nibbled at the edge, mainly for something to do rather than from hunger. ‘One of your nurses died.’

  ‘Indeed.’ She discarded a half-eaten biscuit on her plate with a grimace. ‘I’m afraid I don’t subscribe to Dr Reid’s accident theory. I believe Lizzie Prentice was murdered.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ Flora returned her cup to the saucer with a click.

  ‘Indeed, and you are remarkably calm. Exactly as you were yesterday.’ Her blue-green eyes met Flora’s steadily. ‘Most young ladies would have a fit of the vapours at the sight of a body, but you didn’t so much as flinch.’

  ‘I wasn’t completely unaffected, but yesterday wasn’t my first encounter with violent death, Miss F-Alice.’

  The woman’s eyes widened a fraction, but the gesture appeared more contrived than genuine. She exhaled slowly, as if coming to a decision. ‘I have a small confession to make, Flora. I hope I might call you that?’

  ‘I should be delighted if you would. What sort of confession?’

  ‘I read about your involvement in the Evangeline Lange case last year. You played a vital role in exposing the killer, I believe.’

  ‘I did, although it was more a coming together of events. I almost misjudged the situation completely.’ Flora buried her nose in her cup, giving this some thought. Her name had indeed been in the newspapers, but as she had remarked at the time, it had been included at the bottom of a column on page five of the Evening Post. That Alice had not only seen it but remembered her name sent a trickle of excitement up her spine.

  ‘Dr Reid was adamant Lizzie had simply slipped on the wet cobbles and struck her head, although Dr Marsh disagreed.’

  ‘Did you tell the police Lizzie wanted to speak to you urgently a short while before she was killed?’

  ‘I tried.’ Alice’s perfectly shaped upper lip curled in contempt, her thoughts evidently still on the police. ‘They didn’t think it was important. The sergeant decided she must have discovered a thief in the process of stealing morphine from the pharmacy, which is about twenty feet from where she was found. That he most likely panicked and hit her to get away before she raised the alarm. They appear to suspect the whole of Southwark of being opium addicts. I understand their dilemma. I mean, who would have a reason to kill a student nurse deliberately?’ She chewed a fingernail, though this gesture seemed out of character with her immaculate appearance.

  ‘Was there anything missing from the pharmacy?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Apparently not.’ Alice sighed. ‘Although our senior physician declared that proved nothing, other than Lizzie must have disturbed the burglar and he ran away empty-handed.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable. And what do you believe?’

  ‘That someone knew she had something important to tell me and didn’t want it known
, so they killed her first.’ She massaged her forehead with one hand. ‘Oh dear, said aloud that sounds overly dramatic, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all. I was there when Lizzie asked to speak to you. I got the definite impression she was nervous. Have you any idea what she was about to tell you?’

  ‘I’ll start at the beginning, or none of this will make any sense.’ Alice eased forward on her chair, her elegant hands folded on the table in front of her. ‘Some of the children brought to St Philomena’s suffer from chronic illnesses which cannot be cured in a few days. We offer long-term care, in that when they are discharged from the hospital we see them at a clinic in an effort to help keep them healthy.’

  ‘That sounds like a good policy, does it work?’

  ‘In the main, yes. Some parents find it difficult to keep the appointments, while others don’t see the benefit, or simply cannot be bothered. However, recently, Lizzie had alerted me to several instances of children having missed their appointments.’

  ‘Perhaps their parents didn’t feel it was worth bringing them back if they were no longer ill?’

  ‘Which is exactly what Mr Buchanan said when I broached the subject with him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you are being alarmist.’ Embarrassed heat spread into Flora’s face until she was sure her cheeks burned.

  ‘In a way you’re quite right,’ Alice waved away her apology. ‘I assumed their parents were too indolent or disinterested to bring them in again. Usually, we’re too busy dealing with sick children to worry about the ones who have gone home. Excuses I deeply regret now, since six of these children haven’t been seen in more than a week.’

  ‘They’ve been reported missing?’

  ‘No, that’s the problem. I contacted the police, but they said no reports have been made.’

  ‘You aren’t to blame for what happens when children leave your care.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I’m convinced something strange is going on. Lizzie was too. She told me she had seen the same man loitering outside the hospital these last few weeks.’

  Flora’s interest sparked and she leaned forward slightly, her tea forgotten. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Lizzie was not the brightest of girls, but she had good instincts. She grew up in Grotto Street; a dreadful place where survival to adulthood is a battle in itself.’ She took a deep breath before continuing, ‘She believed the man’s appearance coincided with the children being discharged. Acting on her suspicions, I visited the homes of each of these children, but in each case, I was given a plausible explanation as to why they weren’t there. Two of the boys had begun apprenticeships with a builder. A girl of eleven had been taken into service and one was visiting an aunt. I got no response at the other two houses but the neighbours told me the child I asked about no longer lived there.’

  ‘Something tells me this didn’t satisfy you.’

  ‘Six children?’ Alice raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘All living within half a mile of each other leaving home in the same week? Indeed it didn’t. Also, the stories I was given by the families seemed too perfect, as if they recited what they had been told to say by rote. When I asked for specifics, they simply repeated themselves.’

  ‘That does sound odd.’ Flora picked at the tiny pieces of almonds on her plate. ‘Did Lizzie say what the man she saw at the hospital looked like?’

  ‘That he always wore a brown moleskin overcoat, with deep pockets, that was too big for him. Something about it having lots of pockets; the sort of garment that might hide a multitude of dubious objects, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘No, I’m not sure I do. Lizzie’s information seems quite specific.’

  ‘I thought so too, thus I’m not sure she was being quite candid with me. As I said, she grew up locally, so there’s a possibility she knew who he was but preferred not to be associated with him. She also said he frequented a public house called The Antigallican on Tooley Street.’

  ‘Antigallican.’ Flora tried the name out on her tongue. ‘That sounds like a name contrived by someone who doesn’t like the French.’

  ‘That’s exactly what it is. A number of public houses were called that during the Napoleonic Wars. Most have changed their names to less confrontational ones since, especially now we have an entente cordiale over the French foreign territories.’ She gave an irritated wave with one hand. ‘But that’s incidental.’

  ‘Did you report all this to the governors?’ Flora took a sip of her tea and grimaced when she discovered it was cold, aware that Mr Martell watched them from the other side of the counter.

  Alice followed her gaze and stiffened. ‘Do you think he can hear us?’

  ‘I doubt it. He’s too far away,’ Flora said in an effort to be reassuring.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so jumpy at the moment.’ Alice tore her eyes away from the Frenchman. ‘What did you ask me? Oh yes, the governors. As far as they are concerned, the police are satisfied Lizzie died in a botched robbery. They will investigate, of course, but I feel they are looking in the wrong direction. And the governors say those children are no longer our responsibility.’

  ‘Alice, what do you think is happening to these children?’ Flora signalled to the waitress to bring them a fresh pot of tea. Not that she wanted one, but they couldn’t sit there with empty cups in a busy tea shop.

  ‘My heart hopes they are still alive. At least, no bodies have turned up in the immediate neighbourhood. That is to say, no children’s bodies. There is always the odd drunk who falls into the river,’ she added with pragmatic calm. ‘What we need is some evidence to make the police view my theory more seriously.’

  Her unconscious use of the word ‘we’ made Flora smile, but Miss Finch made no attempt to retract it or apologize. It occurred to Flora then that joining forces would be a perfect opportunity to discover more about Alice’s past.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking.’ Her apologetic smile made her seem much younger. ‘I didn’t know what else to do, not after the police dismissed everything I said. When your name appeared on the visitor’s list of prospective subscribers to the hospital, I thought I would ask your advice. However, should you prefer to have nothing to do with it, I quite understand.’

  ‘Not at all. In fact I’m intrigued,’ Flora mused. ‘What do you plan to do next?’

  ‘I’m not sure, although maybe another visit to the homes of the missing children might be in order. Only,’ she grimaced, ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t exactly subtle with my questions the first time. I doubt another would produce better results.’

  ‘I’m not sure how I can be of any help, although—’ Flora bit her lip as a thought struck her.

  ‘You’ve thought of something. I can tell. What is it?’ Alice wrapped an errant curl around her middle finger, a gesture that made Flora’s heart skip. She did the same thing herself when nervous or agitated.

  ‘What if I volunteered to go in your stead?’ The thought was only half formed but when voiced aloud, it made perfect sense.

  ‘You?’ Alice blinked, although Flora doubted her suggestion was entirely unexpected. ‘That’s reasonable. No one in the area knows you. I must say, though, you don’t look much like a slum sister.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘That’s what they call the Salvation Army nurses and midwives who visit poor and needy families. They swap food for prayers and promises. Are you sure you want to do this? Bermondsey is not exactly Fitzrovia.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, but why not?’ The details crystallized in Flora’s head as she spoke. ‘I could certainly take food with me to help things along. If these families are as poor as you say, they won’t suspect my real motive.’ She brought a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, that sounded awful.’ Her rationalization had not seemed quite so bad inside her head.

  ‘Not at all, and you’re right. As long as you aren’t too persistent with your enquiries. They’re a wary lot down there and hiding things from those in authority is a way of life to them.’ />
  ‘I hope you don’t think I would treat this lightly.’ The last thing Flora wanted was Alice to think she regarded the enterprise as a game. ‘I’m also a mother and know how I would feel if my child had been taken from me and no one was looking for him.’

  ‘Yes, you are, aren’t you?’ Alice blinked. ‘A mother, I mean.’

  Flora couldn’t recall when exactly she had told her about Arthur. Though she must have done.

  ‘It’s an excellent idea. But you shouldn’t go alone. I would hate to be responsible for anything happening to you.’

  ‘I’ll take my maid with me. I also have a friend who might be persuaded to come too.’ Lydia would definitely be eager to help if missing children were involved. The mention of Sally also reminded Flora to collect the cakes she had asked for when she left.

  ‘I’m not sure how much you should reveal to your friend. I wouldn’t wish to alarm her.’

  ‘You don’t know Lydia.’ Flora smiled. ‘Besides, she’ll get every detail out of me in minutes, none of which would discourage her. She’s a headmistress of a ladies’ academy in Belgravia, and is also a member of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies.’

  ‘She sounds a fascinating young woman. I hope to have an opportunity of meeting her. What progressive company you keep, Flora.’

  ‘I do, don’t I?’ She contrived a smile as it occurred to her that such effusive praise for her friend made her own character less interesting.

  ‘I really appreciate your help.’ Alice rummaged in the small handbag she had placed on the table between them and withdrew a sheet of paper. ‘The addresses are here, together with the names and ages of the children.’

  ‘You came prepared, I see.’ Flora reached to take the paper, but at the last second, Alice retracted her hand.

  ‘Oh, I have completely disregarded your husband. What would he say about this scheme of ours?’

  ‘Leave Bunny to me.’ Flora plucked the page from Alice’s fingers, barely looking at it before she tucked it into her bag. That she had been manipulated reinforced her conviction that she shared a bond with this woman that transcended the formality of strangers.