Chapter Twenty Four
To the envy of her fellow nurses May was awarded the following Saturday as her half-day off. Feeling very virtuous she decided to make a dutiful visit to Great Aunt Ursula, now very frail, but still in full command of her wits. Great Aunt Ursula had been annoyed when May had once come to visit her in uniform, claiming she saw quite enough of nurses as it was, and expected her niece to look like a lady. Since this view was expressed with some force in front of one of her own private nurses May avoided further embarrassment by always wearing mufti on future occasions.
In any case, as she changed after lunch, May had to admit that it was very pleasant to dress up in her finery while the rest of the hospital was working. She had made several enjoyable trips to Paquin’s and Konski’s recently, and with the support of Ada she was leaving the excessive frills and pastel colours of the débutante behind and creating a style of her own. An arrangement with the maid who acted as caretaker at the Andovers’ house in Arlington Street had secured her as much wardrobe space as she needed, as well as cleaning and refurbishing services; as a consequence May was now able to indulge herself as she wished.
The February day was mild, so she was able to wear her most recent purchase from Konski’s: a little Persian lamb coatee, cut en sac at the back but fitted and belted at the front, with a trimming of fine silver embroidery. Her sapphire velvet skirt fell into graceful folds below it as she fastened the braided loops. Satisfied, she reached for her hat and positioned it far back on her head. She had had the matching toque of Persian lamb with its silver embroidered wings and echoing touch of sapphire blue made specially to her own design, and she was very pleased with it. She eased on her fine kid gloves, picked up her muff and sauntered out, luxuriating in the transformation from flurried nurse to leisured lady of fashion.
Although so elderly, Great Aunt Ursula was at the centre of an intricate web of gossip. May had visions of her equally aged but more mobile friends infiltrating all the fashionable spots of England, and beyond. Great Aunt Ursula herself appeared to act as a clearing house. In the past Lady Clarence had regularly sent May off to the other end of the room, to look at the photograph albums, but now she was able to sit back and listen in amazement to the torrent of information which flowed over her.
The child of a more outspoken age, her Great Aunt clearly had no fear of action for slander. May found herself feebly protesting, ‘But surely, Great Aunt Ursula, they wouldn’t…’ but her objections were brushed aside as mealy-mouthed liberalism. ‘I have it on the best authority, my dear,’ and May subsided again, until brought up with a jerk by the words: ‘They say the Cussons-Della Hindlesham affair is coming apart at the seams.’
May blinked.
Great Aunt Ursula peered at her from under hooded lids and said, in a tone of satisfaction, ‘I knew you’d be interested to hear that, May.’
For one incredulous moment May wondered whether one of her Great Aunt’s cronies had been crouching behind the dusty shrubs in the Tunnel Gardens that December day two years ago, then common sense reasserted itself: the informant had obviously been Lady Andover. Rebuffed, Harry Cussons had poured out his indignation to her grandmother, who had made it abundantly clear to May that she held her personally responsible for the subsequent elopement. Now she remarked mildly, ‘They have the child to consider.’
Great Aunt Ursula snorted. ‘When did Della ever consider her children? Besides, their daughter’s legally a Vane-Lawson, George played very fair there; and Della’s hardly likely to breed again at her age, for all she’s still besotted by him. Harry’s got a roving eye, you know – and that’s not all that roves!’ Great Aunt Ursula cackled. May winced.
‘You think they won’t marry, then?’
Her Great Aunt shrugged. ‘Who knows? She begged George to divorce her, the case was splashed all over the papers – you must have seen it, May, even in your slum – so it becomes Absolute this spring. I think Della will be a very worried woman by the summer.’
May was definite. ‘I’m sure he’ll behave chivalrously.’
‘You youngsters are too starry-eyed.’ Great Aunt Ursula’s tone was robust. ‘Why should he bother now? If it was chivalry she wanted, she should have stayed with George – though I admit he’s not much to look at. Do you know, fond as I am of him, that man’s been a great disappointment to me, over the years.’ She leant forward and her small eyes glittered. ‘He has never told me one item of scandal in all the time I’ve known him – and he must have heard plenty, being married to Della!’
‘I don’t think they spoke much.’ May couldn’t resist adding, ‘But has he ever been involved in any scandal himself?’
Her Great Aunt shook her head regretfully. ‘No.’
May was pleased – so there were some honourable men, after all. But Great Aunt Ursula had not quite finished. ‘I did have hopes, you know, this time last year. He was seen in the Park with a strange young woman on his arm; we couldn’t identify her, dressed like a governess, apparently.’
May felt her eyes widen with astonishment. Really, her Great Aunt was unbelievable. Then she thought, ‘On his arm’ indeed, Ellen didn’t tell me that, and suppressed a smile. Great Aunt Ursula looked at her suspiciously.
‘I suppose you don’t know who she was?’
May felt it was cruel to deprive the old lady, but one had other loyalties.
‘I’ve no idea, Aunt Ursula; perhaps she was a member of the suffragist movement? I believe he has sympathies in that direction.’
Her Great Aunt looked disappointed. ‘I dropped hints, you know, when I saw him next, but one can’t ask outright – I wouldn’t wish to appear inquisitive.’
May murmured, ‘No, of course not.’
‘In any case, he’s got too much sense to play around in the middle of a divorce – you remember the Allison case?’
At this point May had a strong sense of déja vu. Fond as she was of the old lady she began to talk of having to be back. Great Aunt Ursula, who did tire, though she would not admit it, let her go, gratifying May by telling the footman to make a parcel of the rest of the cakes for Miss Winton. He looked down his nose at this but May, who thought that where food was concerned pride was an unnecessary luxury, smiled prettily, took her parcel and kissed her great aunt goodbye.
It was just after six when she arrived back at the hospital. She went along to Ellen’s room, stretched herself out on the bed and waited for her friend to come off duty. Ellen arrived in a rush, as always, smiled, and said, ‘May, you look an absolute fashion plate. Where shall we go?’
May suggested Chrisp Street market. ‘It’s very lively on Saturday nights.’
Ellen nodded her head and leapt for the wardrobe. ‘Too lively, sometimes. We’d better go now, rather than later. Wait while I change, I can’t go out in my uniform with you dressed like that.’
Within fifteen minutes they were out on the Dock Road and heading for Chrisp Street. Chrisp Street market had provided an endless source of amusement for May and Ellen since they had first come to St Katharine’s. Now they heard the roar of voices: yelling, crying, calling, before they had turned the corner and saw the streaming naphtha flares, hissing, spluttering and fizzling above the stalls. The flares were blowing out wildly in the wind. Their mingled reds and oranges, yellows and blues, gave a strange unnatural light, so that the faces of the stallholders and their customers looked like carved wooden puppets, all lines and shadows, their normal expressions grotesquely exaggerated. It was a scene May never tired of: like a great, colourful pantomime, yet one you could take part in yourself.
The cheap furniture, which in daylight was tawdry and ill-made, now looked sturdy and strong, with bold clean lines. Other stalls were a blaze of colour from the strong violets, magentas and carmines of the drapery to the piles of glowing orange carrots, subtle white turnips, and purply green cabbages. All were mingled together in the light of the flares, like an enormous, shining palette.
Ellen tugged at May’s sleeve. ‘Come on, May, I feel
as though those eels are winking at me.’
They edged away from the zinc trays of squirming black eels, past the doorway of the eel and pie shop, with its smells of vinegar, parsley sauce and sweaty bodies, and into the market. By unspoken mutual consent neither lingered by the blue-garbed butcher extolling his wares and waving his long knife over piles of brains and chitterlings, tripe and liver – there was just the hint of a reminder of the operating theatre here, and they were off duty. But they paused at the glowing red eyes of the chestnut seller’s brazier, with its mouth-watering aroma, then moved on to admire the mounds of bright-skinned oranges and shiny polished apples. As they stood in the street May felt a tug at her skirt, and looked down to see Benji Rook, who had been a mischievous but likeable patient of hers on Elizabeth Ward.
‘’Ullo, Nurse.’ His small face screwed up into a lopsided grin. ‘You goin’ ter buy some oranges? They sells the bruised ones cheaper.’
‘Would you like an orange?’
Benji nodded. ‘An’ fer me bruvver?’ His voice was hopeful. May felt for her purse in the depths of her muff and dropped a shilling into his grimy paw.
‘Ta.’ He flashed across to the stall. As soon as he was served he sank his teeth into one of the fruit and in seconds it had vanished, peel and all.
May turned to Ellen and laughed. ‘Goodness, that was quick!’ As she spoke she caught sight of a man’s face, highlighted by the glare of the flares. It was sharply etched in black and white: black hair and white face, the gleaming white band of a clerical collar above broad black shoulders, and, staring straight at her, deep dark eyes which, as the flare blew up seemed to be burning in their sockets with an expression of anger and contempt. Then the crowd shifted and the face vanished. May suddenly shivered.
Ellen asked, ‘Are you cold, May?’
May thrust her hands further into her muff. ‘No, no of course not. These flares play strange tricks – they make people look so odd.’
‘Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Ellen’s voice was happy and May scolded herself for her too-vivid imagination.
They moved on to watch the gypsy with the enormous gold earrings and jangling coins sewn round her headscarf, who sold fortunes with her specially trained love-birds. She looked hopefully at May.
‘Fortune, pretty lady?’
May handed her two coins and the gypsy put out her stick; a bird flew down and daintily picked out a small piece of coloured paper with its beak. The woman passed it to May, then repeated the performance for Ellen.
‘Mine says I shall marry a lord,’ said Ellen. ‘Oh I’ve had that one before, what a fraud! What does yours say, May?’
‘It’s the one about meeting a tall, dark stranger who will be my fate – soon.’
‘Gosh, I’ve had that one before as well, May. I do wish she’d change her slips occasionally. I say, I wonder what happens if a man asks for his fortune, I mean he’d scarcely want to marry a lord, would he? Can the bird tell?’
‘Men don’t ask their fortunes, Ellen, haven’t you noticed? It’s always women. Men go out and make their fortunes,they don’t wait about for fate.’
Ellen laughed. ‘You sound exactly like Ada! Come on, I want to see the man take his chains off – I do love his tattoos, they come alive when he wriggles.’
They strolled on, up towards the quieter end of Chrisp Street; but there were still plenty of people about, and a small crowd was forming near the entrance to a side street in front of them. May noticed an anticipatory shiver run through the group, and a purposeful shifting of bodies, then a woman’s scream rang out. Instinctively May and Ellen pressed forward, and found themselves part of the throng. In a rough oval in the centre two women facing each other slowly circled round like a pair of dogs – it was a fight.
May gasped in surprise: she recognised both the combatants. She bent and whispered to Ellen, ‘It’s Big Liza – the woman who came into Martha and made that scene, and the other one is Dolly’s mother, Mrs Jones. They must be fighting over that wretched Billy!’
Trapped in the crowd May and Ellen stood staring in horror – what chance had tiny Mrs Jones against Big Liza? But a man nearby shouted, ‘Two to one on the littl’un – t’other’s drunk,’ and Big Liza did seem to be flailing with her fists, hitting Mrs Jones, but not hard enough to stop the smaller woman, who kept springing up like a bantam cock, hissing defiance to the other’s hoarse shouts.
‘But what can she do? She’ll never get Big Liza down,’ May gasped to Ellen.
Ellen’s fingers tightened on May’s arm. ‘It’s her hair, May, it’s her hair she’s after, don’t you see?’ And suddenly May recognised the purpose behind the smaller woman’s jumps and lunges. A handful of Liza’s incredible hair was already down, another tug and the rest tumbled. There was a flash of steel as Mrs Jones drew a large knife, seized a hank of Big Liza’s hair and began sawing it off. The crowd roared approval at this novel move and May found herself crying out with the rest, ‘Oh, well done, well done!’
‘What a disgusting spectacle!’ a deep male voice spoke from behind her. ‘And you, Madam, in your position, you should know better!’ The voice was outraged. May turned her head quickly and there, looking directly at her, were the dark burning eyes and pale face she had seen earlier; now there was no possibility of mistaking the expression: it was utter contempt. He shouted above the crowd, ‘I am fetching a police constable, at once,’ then turned and thrust his way out of the close-packed bodies.
Big Liza chose this moment to make another grab at her assailant; she caught her by the bun and punched her on the nose. The knife winked dangerously and a hefty man leapt forward and seized Liza by the arms. ‘You ’eard, ’e’s gorn fer the p’lice.’ He dragged her away into the darkness. Mrs Jones still stood in the middle of the street: a small, bedraggled figure, clutching the wicked-looking knife, now stained with the blood from her nose – she seemed dazed and helpless. There was the ring of heavy boots on the cobbles and May, who had been paralysed by her encounter, sprang into action.
‘Ellen, go and get her, take her away, hide her somewhere – I’ll stop the policeman.’
At once Ellen was wriggling through the crowd. May wheeled round and ran across the road, towards the tall dark clergyman, who had a reluctant-looking policeman in tow. She dared not look back to see if Ellen had escaped with Mrs Jones. Instead, pushing her purse into the depths of her muff she held it well out of sight with one hand, while placing the other on the constable’s arm, barring his way as she cried, ‘Officer, officer – thank goodness you’ve come! My purse, I believe my purse has been stolen.’
The policeman stopped immediately, with a look of relief on his face as he turned away from the scene of the fight and the crowd melting into the shadows. He reached for his notebook.
‘Perhaps you could give me the details, Madam?’
The clergyman, whom May could see now was young and still very angry, tugged at his sleeve. ‘Officer, there is a woman over there attacking another with a knife – surely that is far more important?’
‘All in good time, Sir, but this young lady has lost her property.’
‘This young lady,’ the tone was biting, ‘would do well to go back where she belongs, and learn to stay away from street lights.’
May turned her back on him.
‘Now, when did you last notice your purse, Madam?’
May faltered, ‘I’m not quite sure – I bought our fortunes from the gypsy.’ There was a furious exclamation from behind her, she ignored it, and gazed expectantly at the policeman. Then, just as the official notebook was being ponderously opened and the regulation pencil receiving its preparatory lick, she felt it – a sharp pull at her purse. She tightened her fingers over it and was aware of the pressure increasing. May kept her wide-open eyes firmly fixed on the policeman while for several seconds an absurd tug-of-war took place in the silky depths of her muff. She edged her hand forward and tried to prise apart the intruding fingers, but they were too strong for her a
nd as she loosened her grip to manoeuvre, the purse suddenly vanished, only to immediately reappear in the hands of the young clergyman.
‘Is this your purse, Madam? You must have mislaid it in your muff, it was just about to slip out.’
May breathed, ‘You liar,’ but her face, gazing at the policeman registered only pleased surprise.
The constable’s countenance broke into a broad grin. ‘Now isn’t that nice, the gentleman finding it for you like that. All’s well that ends well, I allus say. And it do seem that them female harpies have given up and gone away. I do hate to see females fighting, it fair turns me stomach.’
The clergyman muttered, ‘So I noticed.’
May smiled sweetly and said, ‘Yes, it was dreadful, wasn’t it? Thank you so much, officer, you’ve been so kind.’
The policeman beamed at her. ‘Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, Miss, I’m not sure a young lady like you ought to be out alone in Chrisp Street. I’ll just see you to the cab stand, in case you have any more fears about your purse.’
May said hastily, ‘Oh, that’s quite all right, officer…’ but a voice broke in smoothly, ‘I’ll look after the lady, constable, and see she understands how to get home safely.’
‘Thank you, Sir, then I’ll be on my way.’
May’s companion took her elbow: his grip was light, and she braced herself to break free, but at this his hold tightened, and sooner than face another tussle she began to walk forward, addressing the air in front of her.
‘Please do not feel under any obligation to escort me, I know where I am.’
‘I doubt very much whether you do.’ His voice was level, but May could sense the suppressed anger in it. ‘You fine young ladies, who think you can come down from the West End for an evening’s entertainment laughing at the poor,’ May gasped and half-turned towards him, but he continued without pause, his voice rising, ‘“Slumming” I believe you so delightfully put it – you have no conception of the lives these people lead, yet you think you can interfere whenever it pleases you! I saw you earlier, tossing coins to children…’
Mayfair Rebel Page 22
