A Mother's Courage (29 page)

Eloise felt her knees give way beneath her and
she sat down heavily on the bench at the table.
'It's not me. It's someone else.'

'Don't give me that, ducks. I ain't stupid and I
see all sorts coming through my front door. I
knowed there was something odd about you the
moment I set eyes on you, and I was right.'

'You don't understand . . .'

'I understand that I'll be out of pocket if I let
you stay any longer. You can't pay so you have
to go, but I'm a fair woman, and I won't send
Minnie round to Clerkenwell Green with a
message for Mr Hubble until she's finished
peeling the taters. If you leave now you'll have a
head start over the detective chap, but you've left
me out of pocket and I'm out to get that reward
so you'd better run fast, Mrs Cribb.'

With a sinking heart, Eloise met Mother
Hilton's steely gaze, and she knew that this was
no idle threat. It was an appalling coincidence
that the old harridan knew Nurse Jarvis, but
Eloise had always known that Pike was not the
sort of man to give up on the case. She also knew
that, whether or not Mother Hilton chose to
disclose their whereabouts, it was just a matter of
time before he discovered them for himself.
Eloise rose shakily to her feet. 'Just give me time
to collect my things and we'll go.'

Mother Hilton chuckled deep in her throat. 'A
head start – that's fair. Run, you little hare – the
hounds will soon be after you.'

Eloise had never moved so quickly in her
whole life. She threw their few belongings into
her valise and she put Beth, who seemed to have
recovered a little, in the old perambulator with
Joss, and they were out of the house in less than
ten minutes. She had no plan and no idea where
to go, so she headed northwards to the more
familiar streets of Bloomsbury. The children
were hungry and so was she, and Eloise stopped
to count out the pennies in her purse. With just
five pence left in the whole world, she spent three
precious pennies on bread, butter and milk, most
of which she fed to the children. It had begun to
rain, soft steady drizzle that would soak them to
the skin within a short space of time, and she
headed for the British Museum as the only place
she could think of where they could enter free
and gain shelter.

She walked the great halls for the rest of the
day, showing a largely uninterested Joss the
Elgin marbles, the Rosetta stone and the wonders
of the Assyrian galleries. Finally, at dusk, when
the museum closed, Eloise was forced to leave,
not knowing where to go or how they would
survive the night without shelter. She stood on
the steps of the museum as the door closed
behind them. The rain had stopped but the
streets were wet and carriage wheels sent up
great sprays of water from deep puddles in the
road. With two tired, hungry and increasingly
fractious children, Eloise was at her wits' end.
She had just tuppence in her purse and it would
soon be dark. She started walking blindly, and
when she came to the gardens in Russell Square
she sat down on a bench under a large tree that
was just beginning to shed its leaves. The lamplighter
was on his rounds, and one by one the gas
lamps fizzed and popped with their flickering
flames trapped inside glass globes like agitated
fireflies. Through the windows of the elegant
houses Eloise witnessed scenes of domesticity
and opulence that made her present homeless
state even harder to bear. She could see maidservants
bustling around inside the luxuriously
appointed rooms, turning down beds and drawing
curtains. She caught the occasional glimpse
of the inhabitants and their guests, dressed for
dinner and socialising with a drink before going
in to dine. It was a different world and one which
was as far away from her as the stars. Eloise
cuddled her children, rocking them in her arms
and murmuring words of comfort which she
knew were just words – empty and baseless.
How could she tell them that everything would
be all right when she could not give them food
and shelter for the night? She was lying to her
own children, and she had brought them to this
state. She was their mother and their lives
depended upon her. She had let them down
horribly, and she simply did not know what to
do next.

Eventually, worn out by hunger and tiredness,
Joss and Beth fell into a fitful sleep and Eloise
laid them side by side in the perambulator. She
was about to stretch out on the bench when a
constable on his beat came towards her with a
measured tread and a stern look on his face. He
told her that she must move on, and advised her
to go home to her husband, as if she was an
erring wife. There was no point in arguing and
Eloise left the shelter of the square, trudging on
and barely able to put one foot in front of the
other, until she found herself once again in
Guildford Street, outside the Foundling
Hospital. It was comfortingly familiar and she
pushed the perambulator into the deserted
gardens, where she slumped down on a bed of
fallen leaves beneath the tree under which she
had last sat with Annie. It was not so long ago,
but it seemed like another lifetime. She slept
fitfully, waking at the slightest noise, the snap of
a twig or the fall of a leaf. She could hear the
sound of horse-drawn traffic in Guildford Street,
and the lights in the Foundling Hospital
windows went out one by one until the whole
place was shrouded in darkness.

In the early hours of the morning it began to
rain again, and water dripped through the
branches onto her head and face. Soon her skirts
were clinging damply to her legs and she was
stiff with cold. Eloise peeped beneath the hood of
the perambulator and saw to her dismay that the
rain had penetrated through cracks in the
canvas. Beth's cheeks were flushed and she felt
hot to the touch. Joss also seemed to be running
a fever and Eloise's blood ran cold. She glanced
up at the forbidding walls of the institution with
a sinking heart. The very lives of her children
were in danger. Without dry clothing, warm
beds and adequate nourishment, they would
almost certainly die. At this moment, she would
gladly have sold her body to any man who was
willing to pay for her services, but it was too late
for that now.

Eloise rose unsteadily to her feet, barely able to
move her cramped limbs. She walked the pathways
between the flower beds where the last
roses of summer were bowing their heads under
the weight of last night's heavy rainfall. The
rusty wheels of the perambulator squealed in
protest and the gravel crunched beneath her feet.
It was only a matter of time before Pike found
them and snatched Joss from her arms. It would
almost be better to allow the Cribbs to have him
than to allow him to die of want on the streets of
London. They would take Beth, too, even though
they did not really want her. Was that the life she
wanted for her children? When it came down to
it, Eloise was forced to face the fact that they
were now destitute.

She walked in circles, pushing the perambulator
before her as she wrestled with her
maternal desire to keep her babies with her at all
costs, and the small but insistent voice of
common sense that told her that there was only
one course of action open to her in this dire
emergency. There was just one place where she
could safely leave them in the certain knowledge
that they would be taken in and cared for. She
must let them go in order to save their young
lives. What happened to her was immaterial. Her
fingers were cramped with cold and trembling as
she took their tiny garments from her valise and
Eloise buried her face in their folds, drawing
strength for what she was about to do from the
knowledge that they would soon be safe.

It was still dark, but the first signs of dawn
were appearing in the east. Moving like an automaton,
she pushed the perambulator towards
the hospital entrance. She bent down to drop a
tender kiss on Beth's hot cheek and another on
Joss's forehead. With tears streaming from her
eyes, Eloise lifted her hand and tugged at
the doorbell. Its strident peal echoed through the
whole building. She waited until she heard the
tip-tap of leather-soled boots on a tiled floor, and
then she backed away, struggling to control the
sobs that racked her body. Hiding behind one of
the pillars outside the gatehouse, Eloise waited
for the great, iron-studded door to open.

Silhouetted against the sulphurous glow of
gaslight, Eloise could just make out the shape of
a tall woman dressed in black. In her fevered
mind, it was the angel of death who dragged the
perambulator and its tiny occupants through the
portals of the institution. Eloise stifled a low
moan of pain and she fell to her knees on the wet
pavement, burying her face in her hands.

How long she knelt there on the cold paving
stones she did not know. She seemed to have
entered a nether world; a strange place where
nothing was real. Her cramped limbs, hunger
and thirst were as nothing compared to the
agony of having given her babies into the hands
of strangers. There was a painful void where her
heart had once been and she wrapped her arms
about herself, rocking to and fro in her despair. A
chill mist had crept in from the river without
Eloise even noticing it, and the sky had lightened
to a grey dawn. The measured tread of booted
feet caused her to look up, and through eyes
blurred with tears she found herself looking into
the stern face of a police constable. 'Move along
now, miss, or I'll arrest you for being drunk and
disorderly.'

Automatically, her hand flew to her dishevelled
hair. She had lost her bonnet somewhere along
the way and her long tresses had come loose
from the chignon at the back of her neck. She
brushed a stray lock from her eyes and
scrambled to her feet, but she had lost all feeling
in her lower limbs and she stumbled against the
wall of the gatehouse. The constable was eyeing
her with undisguised contempt and she realised
then just what a sight she must present. 'All
right, officer,' she murmured. 'I'm going.'

'Go home, miss.'

Eloise nodded and turned away. She could not
bear to see herself mirrored in the eyes of this
complete stranger. A small vestige of pride made
her hold her head high and she limped away in
the direction of Doughty Street, but she turned
off at the corner of Mecklenburgh Square and she
waited there until the constable had continued
on his beat. By this time she knew what she had
to do. She was not going to be parted from her
children for a moment longer than was necessary.
Stopping a passing costermonger who was
pushing his barrow along the street, Eloise
enquired as to the whereabouts of the nearest
public bathhouse. Having thanked him for his
help, she set off to follow his directions. It was
just six o'clock in the morning, according to the
clock on the wall of the bathhouse, but it was
already open for business and Eloise went inside,
checking the prices carefully before purchasing a
ticket. She could not afford first class, but a warm
bath in the second class section would cost her
tuppence. It was an agonising decision, but she
must appear to be clean and decent if she was to
seek work at the Foundling Hospital.

As she soaked in the tub filled with warm
water Eloise washed her hair and scrubbed her
whole body with the tablet of harsh carbolic
soap. She lay back and watched the thick scum
float to the surface, taking with it the worst of the
ingrained grime from the dust yard. At home she
had always taken cleanness for granted, barely
understanding why Papa bothered to mention
the need for bodily as well as spiritual cleanliness
in his sermons. Now she felt so much older
and wiser. Although she had rebelled against her
father's strict moral code and rigid rules, she felt
that she understood him a little better now that
she had experienced the harsh realities of life
first hand. She had been such a green girl before
her marriage, sheltered by her parents and
pampered by those who loved her. Even after
she had married Ronnie, she had still been
protected from the grim spectres of poverty and
disease. What a spoilt little simpleton she had
been in those far off days, she thought, as she
wallowed in the rapidly cooling water. She
might have helped to raise money for good
causes at church fetes and musical evenings, but
she had not truly understood the desperate
wants of the poor and needy. As she dried
herself on a coarse huckaback towel, Eloise felt
ashamed of the person she had once been: a silly
girl who thought only of herself. She had
thought that Papa had been both unkind and
unfair in his treatment of her, but now she could
understand his reasons for sending her to live in
Yorkshire with the Cribbs. He had done what he
considered to be right, and he had known just
how difficult life could be for a young widow
without the means to support herself and her
children.

Eloise scrubbed at her skin until it glowed
pink. She glanced down at her slender body,
which was now too thin to be considered
beautiful in the artistic sense. Her breasts, which
had been full and voluptuous when she was
feeding her babies, were now small, and her
waist so tiny that she had no need for stays,
which was just as well since hers were frayed
and the whalebones broken or had come out
completely. She sighed as she put on her only
change of clothing, a calico blouse and a navy blue
serge skirt, both of which were patched and
darned, but were reasonably clean, and she
slipped her bare feet into her down-at-heel boots.
Having towelled her hair until it was dry enough
to twist into a knot at the base of her neck, she
secured it with some hairpins which she had
found scattered about on the floor. Then, with
renewed strength and purpose, Eloise left the
bathhouse and set off at a brisk pace towards the
Foundling Hospital.

She marched up to the entrance with a determined
lift of her chin and her head held high. She
rang the bell and waited. Her pulses were racing
and her hands were damp with sweat, but at last
she heard footsteps and the door opened. A
young maidservant eyed her suspiciously. 'Yes?
What d'you want?'

'I've come about the position advertised in the
newspaper.' The lie tripped off her tongue in a
manner which would have shocked Papa, but
Eloise did not feel guilty. She was going to get
into the building even if she had to break a
window or batter down a door.

'I dunno nothing about that,' the maid said,
shaking her head. 'You'd best write to the
matron.'

She was about to close the door when Eloise
pushed past her. 'I would like to see the matron
now, this minute.'

'They're all at breakfast.'

'Then I'll wait here.' Eloise moved to a wooden
bench and sat down. They would have to carry
her out; she was not going to budge until she had
seen someone in authority.

Muttering beneath her breath, the young maid
scuttled off down the echoing corridor and then
there was an eerie silence. Eloise was desperate to
find Joss and Beth, but somehow she managed to
control the impulse. She clasped her hands
tightly in her lap as she took in her surroundings.
The high vaulted ceiling was supported by
marble columns, and a wide stone staircase rose
majestically from the black and white tiled floor.
A stained-glass window on the mezzanine
imbued the vast entrance hall with a solemn
church-like atmosphere. It was hardly home from
home, and Eloise felt for the poor little foundlings
who grew up in this impressive but austere place.
She thought of Annie and hoped that she would
not think that she had deserted her, but most of
all her thoughts were with her babies who were
somewhere in this building, confused, frightened
and wondering where their mama had gone.
Eloise heard someone coming and she rose to her
feet. As the woman approached her, Eloise was
certain it was the same person who had taken the
perambulator into the building. Her heart leapt
inside her breast, but one look at the woman's
hard features and Eloise's optimism took a
tumble. This was no kindly mother figure. The
woman's face was thin and lined with deep clefts
between her eyebrows creating a permanent
frown. 'What can I do for you?' she demanded in
clipped tones.

Her shrewd eyes reminded Eloise of green
glass beads and they seemed to bore into her
soul. 'I came in answer to the advertisement in
the newspaper.'

'That's impossible. We haven't advertised for
months.'

'It might have been slightly out of date, but you
required a teacher.'

'You are mistaken. I must ask you to leave.'

Eloise stood her ground. 'If you do not need a
teacher, perhaps you require an assistant or a
nurse. I am quite capable of turning my hand to
anything.'

'No. We need no one. Please go, or must I
summon the porter to have you thrown out?'

'But you must need some help. Please won't
you give me work, Miss . . .'

'Miss Marchant. I am the matron of this
hospital and I can assure you that I don't employ
women of your sort.'

'How dare you!' Eloise felt as though something
had snapped in her head and she quite
literally saw a flash of red before her eyes. 'Don't
speak to me like that, Miss Marchant. Everyone,
no matter how humble, deserves to be treated
with respect.'

'What on earth is going on here?'

An angry voice from the doorway made both
women start and turn round to face Barton
Caine, who had just entered the building and
was standing quite still, staring at Eloise with a
look of puzzlement. 'Do I know you, young
woman?'

Eloise bobbed a curtsey and bowed her head,
unable to meet his gaze. 'No, sir.'

'Then who are you and why are you creating a
disturbance here?'

Miss Marchant moved forward to place herself
between Eloise and the governor. 'She forced her
way in, sir. I was telling her to leave just before
you arrived.'

Caine walked slowly towards them and came
to a halt in front of Eloise. 'What can I do for you,
ma'am?'

Quick to detect a softening in his tone, Eloise
raised her head to meet his eyes and was once
again struck by their intense shade of blue, and
despite his stern expression she sensed that this
was a man of intelligence and reason. 'I need
work, sir.'

'You need work.' His tone was measured. 'Is
that all?'

'Allow me to deal with this, Mr Caine,' Miss
Marchant said stiffly. 'This woman is obviously a
beggar or a woman of the streets. Let me ring for
the porter and he will send her on her way.'

Caine eyed her coolly. ' I 'm sure that you have
pressing duties elsewhere, Matron. Go about
your business and I will deal with this.'

Miss Marchant bristled visibly, but she nodded
her head and sailed off with an offended hunch
of her thin shoulders. Eloise breathed a sigh of
relief, but a wave of dizziness washed over her
and she swayed on her feet. She must not faint,
she told herself severely. She would not faint . . .

'Sit down, please.'

Caine had placed his hand beneath her elbow
and guided her back to the bench, where Eloise
sat down more suddenly than she would have
wished. This was not going as she had hoped.
'I'm all right, thank you, sir. It was just a little
dizzy spell.'

'What is your name?'

She hesitated. She had not given it much
thought, but it occurred to her suddenly that it
would be foolish to give her own name. 'Ellen,
sir. Ellen Monk.'

'Well, Miss Monk, tell me why you want to
work here so badly?'

'I just need work, sir.' Caine was silent for a
moment and Eloise could feel his eyes upon her
as if he was trying to read her thoughts. She
glanced up and met his cold scrutiny with an
attempt at a smile. 'I was a servant, unfairly
dismissed without a character, and I have no
money.'

'And no family?'

'I am an orphan, sir.'

'And for what offence were you dismissed?'

'I was innocent, sir. Falsely accused of – of . . .'
Eloise hesitated. If she said she had been accused
of theft that would leave some doubts as to her
honesty in the governor's mind. She thought
quickly. 'It was said that I was on intimate terms
with the butler, but it was not the case. I was
dismissed instantly and he was not.'

'And where did this incident occur? Who was
your employer?'

'I was lady's maid to the wife of a prominent
gentleman who would not thank me for bandying
his family's name in public'

'I admire your loyalty, even in such dire
circumstances, or I would if I believed this taradiddle.
I think that you are a liar, Ellen Monk.'

It was true, of course, but Eloise was acting a
part and she was angry for the sake of the
wronged servant girl, Ellen Monk. She leapt to
her feet. 'It's true, sir. Every word is true.'

'You are no servant girl. You speak like an
educated young woman, Miss Monk. Would you
care to tell me the truth?'

'I need work, sir. You can think what you like
of me, but I am begging you to give me a chance.
I'll scrub floors if necessary. I don't mind what I
do.'

Caine angled his head, staring at her thoughtfully.
'Let me see your hands.'

Startled, Eloise held her hands out for him to
examine. His fingers were long and lean, but surprisingly
gentle as they turned her hands palm
upwards. Despite her attempts to scrub them
clean, there were still traces of dirt beneath her
chipped fingernails and small blue scars where
cuts and blisters had healed, trapping coal dust
beneath the skin. A slight twitch of his winged
eyebrows betrayed his surprise and he gave her
a long, calculating look. 'These are not the hands
of a lady; nor, I would imagine, those of a lady's
maid.'

'I am a hard worker, sir.'

'And you are willing to be a maid of all work?'

'As I said, I will scrub floors if necessary.'

'Very well then, but I must warn you that the
work is hard and the hours are long. You will live
with the servants, obey Matron at all times, and
your wages will be six pounds a year, paid
quarterly. Do you still want the position?'

Eloise nodded emphatically. 'When do I start?'