Finding Eadie, page 21
Thirty
Regents Park Road was in pitch darkness and the blackout blinds in all the houses were drawn by the time Alice stumbled through the cafe doors. The book group had finished, everyone long gone except for Ursula, who leaned against the counter, looking remote, and Penny, who threw her arms around Alice as soon as she appeared. ‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ Alice replied, ‘I just need to sit down.’ She sank heavily into one of the chairs, hands still trembling, while Penny scurried about, fetching her a mug of tea before sitting next to her. ‘How did you get on at the book group?’ Alice asked, sipping it slowly. ‘Did Rex have any news?’
‘Yes, he told us to remember the name Sidney Jardine,’ Penny replied, before exchanging a look with Ursula.
‘What’s happened?’ Alice asked, glancing from one to the other.
‘Ursula knows, Alice. I’ve told her everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Well, she guessed, actually.’
So that was it; Ursula knew now. Alice was uncertain how she felt; a mix of relief and regret that she hadn’t told her friend personally.
‘I’m so sorry, Alice,’ Ursula said. ‘I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through … what you must still be going through.’
‘Thank you. How did you guess?’
Ursula told her about the evening’s events. They’d all sat in the usual horseshoe around the table: Helena, Rex, Marjorie, Terrance, Henry, Penny and Ursula. Terrance had propositioned Ursula. ‘As if I would contemplate a relationship with him,’ she said, sounding amused and appalled as she threw some humour into the conversation. ‘It’s about as likely to happen as Churchill striding through the door and asking to join the book group!’ She went on to explain how the group had argued about whose turn it was to open the box of books, and they’d waited patiently as Rex retrieved The Body in the Bag and his eyes lit up. Everyone had seemed overjoyed—except Penny, who was gazing distractedly into space. ‘That’s when I knew something was wrong,’ Ursula said, looking at Alice.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, I just did—call it intuition. We were talking about the dramatic events of the book, when it struck me that the change in your behaviour was akin to that of any literary heroine who has suffered great tragedy—and grown more distant and troubled.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Not only that, but there’s the anxiety you’ve never suffered from before, the claustrophobia, the compulsive behaviour, all of which we’d noticed. And they’ve all cropped up since you left to look after your cousin’s baby.’
Ursula’s voice brimmed with emotion as she explained how she couldn’t stop thinking about how everything had changed: Alice’s disappearances, the secretiveness surrounding her cousin’s baby, the falling out with her mother. And then how she’d heard Penny’s children upstairs, their giggles and bumps and squeals as if they were jumping on the beds, and Penny’s glance upwards and the maternal frown followed quickly by a smile. It had clicked: the baby was Alice’s. ‘I’m sorry, I forced Penny to tell me. But I wish it had been you.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry, Ursula, but at least now you know.’
Penny had given her all the distressing details of the past six months—everything except for who the father was.
‘And what about tonight?’ Penny asked Alice. ‘Did you find out anything?’
‘It was a waste of time—the Pritchards didn’t know anything, and I couldn’t wait to leave,’ she replied. She didn’t want her friends to know she’d been too much of a coward to use the gun, or that she even had a gun at all. But she’d learned one thing for certain, that the Pritchards weren’t any of the baby farmers who Ruth had described, and that they no longer seemed to be part of that world either, as Olive had thought they might be. ‘No, nothing at all. Now I’m back to square one, apart from this name … Jardine. I’ll need to investigate that.’
‘Maybe, but you’re not going anywhere on your own this time,’ Penny said. ‘One of us is coming with you.’
It was a few days since her visit to the Pritchards, and Penny and Ursula had refused to let her out of their sight as they’d had no luck tracing Rex’s lead.
‘Hey, what do you say about going to the cinema?’ Ursula asked. ‘Women Aren’t Angels is on.’
Alice gave a weak smile.
‘It’s a comedy …’
‘I don’t really feel very much like laughing,’ she said flatly.
They were in Ursula’s bedroom, standing in front of a full-length mirror. Alice stared at Ursula’s masculine clothes: baggy trousers, white shirt with a woollen pullover and a striped Etonian tie, a jacket slung over her right shoulder.
‘You know, Alice, I think you’ve possibly been approaching this the wrong way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it should be a couple looking for a baby, not a woman on her own.’
‘How does that make any difference?’ Alice said grimly.
‘Think about it … a couple are much more likely to be considered suitable, whereas on your own you tend to arouse suspicion.’
‘That’s what Penny told me to do, with Michael’s help,’ Alice said. ‘You’re probably right. I did consider it, but I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. God, I’ve been such a fool!’
Ursula placed a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t say that. You’re not a fool—no one could be doing any more than you are now. I really don’t know how you’ve coped for so long.’
If only Theo were still there; if only she could have confided in him and got his help, she thought. But that seemed silly now.
‘I’m not giving up, you know,’ she said. ‘I’m going to keep on looking.’
‘Of course you are, Alice. And I’ll completely support you.’ Ursula withdrew her hand and started pinning back her hair. ‘I don’t think even my merciless family are capable of anything like this.’
Alice forced a smile.
‘Anyway,’ Ursula said, smiling at both their reflections, ‘the good news is that with me dressed like this, I think we’ll get away with it.’
Alice laughed for the first time in days.
‘I’m serious!’
‘You are?’
‘Of course. If we make our approach as a couple looking for a child, it might be your best chance yet.’ Ursula selected a trilby from her dressing table and tucked her auburn curls underneath so that only wisps showed above her ears. ‘I think I look the part,’ she said, linking arms with Alice. ‘See, I told you, there will be no questions.’
Alice examined Ursula’s reflection and decided to acknowledge what had always remained unspoken between them. She knew that Ursula understood what it felt like to be an outsider, and to be judged and isolated because of it.
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Alice gave her a meaningful stare. ‘I know, Ursula.’
‘Know what?’
‘I know why you dress the way you do, why you act as if you don’t care.’
‘About what?’
‘About not being like the rest of us … about not wanting to have a man in your life.’ Alice maintained eye contact. ‘But it doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter in the slightest.’
Ursula placed the trilby back in its place and shook her hair free, then she turned to Alice. ‘Is that why you didn’t tell me about Eadie?’ ‘Partly. I didn’t think that motherhood was something we could talk about so easily.’
The bed was strewn with clothes, but Ursula cleared a space and indicated for Alice to sit down. ‘Perhaps with other people, Alice, but never with you.’
Alice smiled. ‘Is there someone special?’
‘Yes,’ Ursula said, smiling. ‘Her name is Bridget, and she’s a wonderful companion.’
‘Does your family know about her?’
Ursula laughed. ‘Of course not.’
‘Are you going to tell them?’
‘Why on earth would I?’
‘Because … because …’
‘Because they’ve never been there for me before, because they won’t be there for me now. I haven’t seen my sister in two years, or heard from my parents since I tried to visit them three Christmases ago.’
Alice knew that Ursula was right; it was similar to what her experiences with Ruth had shown her.
Ursula told her the full story. She’d been sixteen when she read The Well of Loneliness and realised she wasn’t alone, but she also realised that lesbianism was frowned upon by most of society, including her family. Her parents confiscated her book collection and packed her off to university, where she completed an English degree before moving to London, landing a job at a newspaper and embarking on an affair with a young male reporter. The six-week relationship proved to her that there was no place in her life for romances with men, and she sought out a new circle of friends.
Now she told Alice that she’d tried hard not to laugh when George had asked the team to ‘dig deep’ into their personal lives; she was certain he wouldn’t want to publish any of her or her friends’ stories.
‘But none of that matters anymore; what’s important is finding Eadie. I’ll do whatever I can to help you,’ Ursula announced. ‘And for everyone’s sake, we need to finish this book and send it to print!’
Thirty-one
LONDON, 2 MAY 1943
The woman in front of Alice turned sharply and glared disapprovingly.
‘Sorry,’ Alice whispered.
She’d caught the woman’s heel as she’d joined the latecomers funnelling into the red brick church. It was a warm spring day, but the sun had done little to raise the temperature of the dark Gothic interior, and everyone still wore their hats and coats. Alice pulled her scarf a little tighter, for warmth and to hide her face. It had been two years since she’d been here for Will’s memorial service, and she’d forgotten how vast the inside was, with its four-bay nave and double-pitched roof, and how unwelcoming the draft was from the cavernous crypt below. Alice glanced towards the nave where several aisles led away to arches and porches, and a staircase climbed to the tower and bell turret four floors above. On the south side of the chancel, the vestries and organ chamber occupied the space, and Alice watched as the organist readied herself ceremoniously beneath the tall vertical pipes.
Maybe this is why Ruth’s grown so stony and cold—she’s spent too long in this dark and ancient place, the chill seeping into her bones.
Father Mitchell was in the midst of delivering his sermon, his deep voice reaching far beyond the altar as his gaze swept greedily across the congregation.
Alice found a seat close enough to the back that she wouldn’t be noticed, and looked around. The pews were nearly full, with some locals she recognised but mostly strangers. Then she spotted Ruth a few rows in front, head tilted up to nod as the priest talked.
‘… to all thy people give thy heavenly grace, and especially to this congregation here present—that, with meek heart and due reverence, they may hear, and receive thy Holy Word, truly serving thee in holiness and righteousness all the days of their life.’
But Alice wasn’t there to hear the Holy Word; she wanted to watch Ruth. She still couldn’t begin to understand how her mother could have chosen the Church over her family, especially since it meant she had no one now. Ursula’s situation had made her question this attitude even more, and as she listened to Father Mitchell she struggled to work out what he stood for that would make a person sacrifice their family. Perhaps if their father hadn’t worked every weekend, or if Ruth hadn’t forced her children to accompany her for years then she might have shared her mother’s faith, but instead she’d stopped going as soon as she was able to.
She half-listened, concentrating on Ruth, on the strands of greying hair that brushed the collar of her worn coat; on the ivy-green of her sensible hat, the one she no longer needed in church but chose to wear. She and Alice had never shared the same taste in clothes, music, people—in fact, if Alice hadn’t seen the birth certificate, she would have sworn she was the one who didn’t share Ruth’s flesh and blood, not William.
‘And we most humbly beseech thee of thy goodness, O Lord, to comfort and succour all them, who in this transitory life are in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity,’ Father Mitchell continued.
Ruth bowed her head as the congregation joined in the general confession, their voices uniting in a chant that echoed across the transepts and sent a shiver up Alice’s spine as she recognised his words.
‘Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Maker of all things, Judge of all men: we acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed.’
The priest’s tone was loud and intimidating, and Alice struggled to see why anyone would choose to be bullied with these centuries-old words. But absolution was more important to Ruth than her daughter’s forgiveness or trying to protect her grandchild.
Alice felt a gentle nudge against her right arm and turned to see an older woman looking at her solemnly, a white handkerchief scrunched in her outstretched hand. ‘Father Mitchell often moves me to tears too,’ the woman said and smiled. ‘May the Lord be with you.’
‘Thank you, and with you,’ Alice forced herself to say before turning away. She hadn’t even known she was crying.
As the chanting steadily rose, her heart began to race—but not in excitement, in panic. How would she ever find her daughter?
‘So God loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son.’
Is that why Ruth could bear to sacrifice her only granddaughter?
‘To you all my blessing. May the Lord be with you.’
Where can I go now? Who else is there to turn to? I’ve run out of options.
The greeting reverberated through the congregation; she was drowning in the sea of voices, swamped by their prayers. Time was slipping away, as if she was standing on a peninsula watching water rise over the isthmus, cutting off the only escape.
Think, Alice, think. Think about the secrets people keep and the lies they tell. Who can be trusted?
Not Theo, unfortunately. She’d had no idea until Ursula told her that he’d returned to New York because of his sick father—and his fiancée, Walter’s daughter. There had to be a reason he’d kept it hidden, and Alice could only assume he wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be. The knowledge had thrust her into even more of a depression, a spiral of regret for the trust she’d placed in him and all that they had shared.
But she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on Theo Bloom, another man who’d deceived her; she needed to focus on who told the truth. Penny hadn’t lied to her. Neither had Olive—the journalist was doing all that was possible to help her … or was she?
‘No, it’s out of the question,’ Elizabeth said, adamant.
‘It’s my last chance. I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.’
Alice had gone straight to the Daily Mail offices when they had opened the following day, and now she stood, hands braced against the counter, pleading with the librarian.
‘Absolutely not. You don’t know what you’re asking, Alice. I could lose my job, not to mention getting Olive in trouble. She’d lose all credibility and trust.’
‘But my cousin could lose her baby. Forever.’
Elizabeth dropped her head into her hands.
‘Your paper ran the advert that led to her being taken, you know—’ A silence stretched out between them, and Alice let it settle, giving Elizabeth time to think. Then Alice reached over to squeeze her hand briefly. ‘I only need his name. And I’ll be discreet, no one ever needs to know—not even Olive if you don’t want her to.’
‘Of course she’ll know! Don’t be silly, Alice. Do you think her informer is ever going to trust her again after you turn up? There’ll be no more stories, no more information she can publish to keep the baby farmers in people’s minds. We could be sacrificing thousands of other kids for your cousin’s if I do what you’re asking me to.’
‘But the law is coming in anyway. There’s only a month to go. Yes, Olive’s reports are important, but she’s achieved what she set out to do—mothers and babies will be more protected. Her reports aren’t going to make as much difference as they have in the past … not as much difference as they could to my cousin’s baby and possibly others imprisoned by the same people.’
Alice’s intuition that there was someone else who had been helping Olive—a contact on the inside—had been right, but Elizabeth was being resolute in her loyalty.
‘Please. I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.’
‘You could wait until Thursday and ask Olive yourself.’
‘But I thought she wasn’t back until the weekend.’
Elizabeth grew silent again, her fingers playing across the edge of the desk, eyes trained down as if searching for the answer.
Their acquaintance had grown into a friendship over the weeks of visits, and Alice sensed that the librarian felt the same. Alice hesitated briefly and then followed her instinct and reached out her hand, placing it over Elizabeth’s. ‘She’s mine, Elizabeth,’ she whispered. ‘The baby that I’m looking for. She’s mine.’
The librarian looked up and her eyes filled as she bit her bottom lip, and Alice tried not to cry too.
‘I don’t know if it’s even his real name,’ Elizabeth replied as she blinked away tears, ‘but I know where you can find him.’
Alice squeezed her hand. ‘I don’t know how to—’
Elizabeth gently withdrew her hand and picked up a pencil, scribbling on a scrap of paper, then pushed it across the counter. ‘It’s best if we still keep it between the two of us, though. For the time being.’
‘All right,’ Alice replied, reading the hastily written name and address.
‘And Alice?’
‘Yes?’
‘Olive has good reason to want justice, and she trusts him … but be careful.’
Thirty-two
