A Sixpenny Christmas (4 page)

Flossy thought hard. Before she had gone off duty there had been two mothers in the delivery room; doubtless it was one of them, anxious about her new baby. Well I just hope she doesn’t go picking it up and
setting it wailing, Flossy thought apprehensively. If she does, she’ll set the whole lot off and one of the nurses will come in and find me, and if that happens Matron will sack me . . . oh please, please God, don’t let the stupid woman wake the dear little babies!

Anxious to see what was happening, she craned her neck and looked sideways. The woman was lifting a baby out of its cot and cradling it in one arm; she was actually singing a calming tune beneath her breath. Then she bent over another cot, murmuring words Flossy could not quite make out, and plucked up another child, cradling it in her other arm, and with a sudden stab of real fear Flossy remembered the gypsy woman who had come into the ward the previous day and given birth to a puny little thing, all straggly black hair and sticky, half shut eyes. Was the visitor the gypsy? Had she come to look at her odd little baby, to make sure that it was still alive? Flossy remembered that the doctors had had real worries over the state of its health. The mother was old; she had had a great many children before this one and had not taken care of herself . . . the woman turned unexpectedly and Flossy banged her head against the bottom of the cot in her anxiety to get back out of sight. There was not sufficient light to identify the woman, but it might be the gypsy; the thick grey clouds from which the rain was pelting obscured so much light that it was impossible to tell for sure. And even as Flossy withdrew once more, like a snail into its shell, the intruder replaced the babies in their cots and hurried out of the nursery, pushing the swing door so cautiously that it made scarcely a sound.

Flossy waited for what seemed like an age but was probably only a few minutes, then crawled out of her
hiding place, put the blankets back where they belonged and stole over to the babies the woman had picked up. Had she put them back in the right cots? Not that it should matter, because as a rule all the babies were labelled. But on this occasion the newborns who had arrived during the power cut had been placed in their cots without ceremony. Suppose, just suppose, that it was the gypsy who had lifted the babies from their cots, meaning to change her sickly baby for a healthy one? Flossy was telling herself that she should go to someone in authority and explain what she had seen when she realised that if she did so she would be in deep trouble. She had no right to enter the nursery when she was not on duty and in any case what could she say? She had not seen anyone remove a child from the nursery, merely lift a couple up. The visit might have been completely innocent, and anyway from what she could remember the gypsy’s baby had been very different from the others on the ward, brown and wrinkly rather than pink and white. If the woman had indeed changed the babies it would not need Flossy to inform the nurses; they would know at once and take the appropriate steps.

Reassured, Flossy went over to the swing doors and listened. Then she slipped out and unobtrusively joined the staff making their way towards the foyer. She would go home now and not worry herself about people changing babies; it was not her affair. Folk were always telling her to mind her own business and on this occasion at least she would obey them. She pushed out through the revolving doors and turned in the direction of home. It was awfully late, but because of the storm and the power cut it was very unlikely that she would be able
to catch a tram. At least the rain, which had poured down so hard, was beginning to ease. Flossy started to walk.

Police Constable Alex Jamieson had continued solidly to pound his beat throughout the storm and was actually approaching the maternity hospital when the rain started. He was wearing his thick overcoat but had not thought to bring his cape, and he sprinted towards the windows nearest him hoping to take cover whilst the rain lasted, for there was an overhang along here which he had used on previous occasions. He reached the shelter, which was in fact a sort of alcove, and backed into it; from here he could see what was going on, paying particular notice to the doings of his sergeant, who checked on his men at regular intervals. Alex would telephone in to his police station every hour or so, but that didn’t stop Sergeant Crawley from making spot checks, and though in his heart he might applaud Alex’s seeking shelter from the downpour, for he was a kindly man, it might still put a black mark against the young constable’s name, which was the last thing Alex wanted.

If he had had his waterproof cape, he told himself, he would have slogged on, but what was the point in getting his heavy serge uniform soaking wet? Surely any sergeant, even the most critical, would understand his decision to take shelter for a few moments, until the cloudburst – for it was no less – had passed over. The rain was pelting down, hitting the pavement with such force that each heavy drop made its own fountain of spray, when a movement in one of the long windows against which he was pressed caught his eye. He looked in and saw a row of what looked like cots, and a woman – he assumed it
was a woman, this being the maternity hospital – hurrying towards the end of the room furthest from him. He saw her bending over the cots and was wondering how these young women knew one baby from another when his tall helmet funnelled what felt like a river of icy water straight down the neck of his uniform tunic. Alex was unable to prevent a squawk of surprise from escaping his lips, and by the time he looked again the woman had gone. He was about to turn away when he saw another movement in the room to his right. The rain was beginning to ease and as the small figure crawled out from beneath its sheltering cot he had no difficulty in recognising young Flossy Manners.

Alex grinned to himself. He had known Flossy since she was a toddler and though as a boy he had joined in the jeers caused by her name – the other kids had called her brothers Bad Manners and Flossy’s nickname for years had been Goody Manners, so meek and eager to please had the little girl been – he had always been carelessly fond of her. But even as he raised a hand to knock on the glass and ask young Manners just what she was doing, crawling about the floor, all the lights went on. Light streamed out from every window of the hospital, street lamps blazed, house lights shone once more and Alex, realising that he could have been taken for a peeping Tom, moved hastily away from the ward windows and headed for the wide entrance. As he approached the glass revolving doors he could see that the hospital, at least, was very much alive. Nurses, who he knew were not allowed to run, were gliding to and fro with the rapid walk they had learned to use. Doctors with case notes under their arms hurried about and Alex
realised that all this activity was due to the power cut and the subsequent restoration of electricity. Normally at this hour, as he well knew, the hospital was a hushed place, for patients slept, as did their babies, and the staff appreciated the quiet night-time hours.

There was little activity on the pavement, however, and Alex was just falling into the long slow strides he had perfected over the months of patrolling his beat when he heard, from behind him, pattering footsteps and a hushed but persistent voice calling: ‘Constable, do you know if the trams is still running? Only I’m awful tired and me home’s a good way off.’

Alex sighed. The telephone box was only another quarter of a mile or so. He had the necessary pennies in his tunic pocket, and if no one was already occupying the box he had planned to ring his sergeant and then turn for the police station to complete the last section of his beat. But duty was duty; he was here to give aid and succour to anyone who needed it, so he stopped to let the caller catch up. As he turned he could not prevent a slow smile from spreading over his face. He should have guessed who it would be: little Goody Manners herself, fair, stringy hair plastered to her small round skull, eyes wide with appeal and her thin coat clinging to her skinny person, making her look more like a child of ten than a girl of fourteen or so, which he supposed she must be since he knew she had left school. Now that he came to consider, though, he had no idea what she had been doing in the hospital. Visiting? But not between ten o’clock and midnight, surely? Come to think of it, what the devil had she been up to, crawling under babies’ cots during a power cut?
But she was tugging at his wet sleeve, beginning to repeat her question, and then as he pushed his helmet to the back of his head a smile of recognition dawned. ‘Oh, Alex, I didn’t know it were you! Well, of course, I knew you were in the police force, but you look different in uniform; I expect I do as well.’ She looked up at him, her face proud, and pulled open the top of her coat to show him that she was wearing, beneath the soaked and ragged coat, a uniform of some sort. Green cotton? It was difficult to tell since street lamps changed everything, but Alex knew enough to realise she couldn’t possibly be a nurse. He raised his brows enquiringly. ‘I’m a ward maid,’ Flossy said proudly. ‘I look after ward eight. Mothers and babies, you know. Only today, because of the storm, I missed me tram and now I’ve got to walk home, unless they’re running a special because of the power cut.’

Alex grinned. ‘You aren’t telling me a little pigmy of a thing like you is actually working?’ he asked with feigned astonishment. ‘Why, you can’t be more than twelve or thirteen at the most, Goody!’

Flossy stiffened. ‘I’m fifteen. Only just, mind, but I am fifteen,’ she insisted. ‘And don’t you go calling me names, Alex Jamieson, ’cos I can remember things an’ all. They used to call you Pally Ally, as I recall. And anyway, I asked you a civil question – as a police constable not as a person – so you should give me a civil answer.’

Alex looked down at the small figure by his side, and his heart smote him. ‘I’ve got to make a telephone call to my police station when we reach the box on the next corner,’ he told her. ‘I’ll explain to my sergeant that because of the power cut you missed your tram, and
ask his permission to let me see you home. Only you’ll have to wait while I make the telephone call, that suit you?’

Flossy took a deep shuddering breath and clutched Alex’s arm, gazing so worshipfully up into his face that he felt quite guilty. He was only doing his duty, after all. But clearly, his company meant a lot to the little waif by his side. So he set off with Flossy trotting beside him, and once the call was made and permission given he slowed his pace to match hers, and the two of them talked comfortably as they walked.

Alex noticed, however, that every now and then his companion started a sentence but did not finish it, and in the end he confronted her. ‘Whatever is it you want to say, young Flossy?’ he enquired rather crossly. ‘It’s pretty clear you’ve got something on your mind.’

Faced with a direct question Flossy, apparently, felt she had to answer with equal directness. ‘I saw you sheltering in that little alcove on the corner just before the light came back on – at least, I didn’t know it were you then, of course, but you were wearin’ that uniform – so I reckon you might have seen me crawling out from under the cots,’ she said. She looked shamefaced. ‘I – I shouldn’t have been there, so when one of the mums came in to tek a look at her baby, and lifted it out of its cot, I didn’t say nuffin’. Well, how could I? She had a perfect right to be there, which was more than I had.’

There was a long pause, which Alex broke. ‘So what?’ he said a trifle impatiently. ‘I saw the woman myself; of course I didn’t know her but she was definitely a patient. She was wearing a hospital dressing gown.’

‘You must have noticed if she was young, blonde, dark . . . oh, Alex, you must have noticed something!’

Alex shook his head. ‘I didn’t, but what does it matter? As you say, she had a perfect right to be there; a perfect right to pick up her baby as well.’ He added, with more than a trace of sarcasm, ‘I believe it’s customary for mothers to pick up their babies when the little blighters scream for food or need their nappies changing.’

‘Oh, Alex, will you be serious?’ Flossy begged. ‘She didn’t just pick up one baby, she picked up two, and I have a feeling that she might have put them back in the wrong cots. Of course, it shouldn’t make any difference because babies are labelled before they leave the delivery room, but tonight people were running around in the dark like chickens with their heads cut off. And there was this gypsy . . .’

‘A gypsy?’ Alex asked, surprised. ‘I thought they never entered hospitals, unless they were dying, of course, and couldn’t help it. So if what you’re asking me is whether the woman I saw was a gypsy, I’m afraid I simply can’t tell you. For a start she had her back to me and then the rain was streaming down the window panes, distorting everything inside. But I’m sure mothers know their own babies, so if I were you I’d forget it. It’s none of your business, after all, especially if you shouldn’t have been in there anyway. When you go to work tomorrow you’ll soon find out whether there’s a big ruckus going on over babies in the wrong cots.’

At this point they reached Dryden Street and Alex slowed beside the house which he remembered was home to the Manners family. He looked doubtfully at the house, which was in total darkness, then gave his companion a
little push. ‘Stop worrying and get yourself to bed,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll wait until you’re safe indoors.’

‘Thanks, Alex, you are kind,’ Flossy said, heading for the door. ‘I’ll let you know what happens next time we meet. Good night!’

Alex raised a hand, then turned smartly and set off to return to his beat and then to the police station. When he got there he would have to write a report before he could seek his own bed, and he thought almost enviously of funny, scrawny little Flossy, probably already crawling between the sheets. But then he remembered her bullying, impatient father, her sharp-tongued, ungrateful mother, and horrible Horace and hateful Hubert; no, she was not to be envied, but rather pitied. Still, she had talked happily of her work in the hospital, her ambition to become a probationer as soon as she was old enough and the fact that, hard though it must be for her, she was already borrowing books from the hospital library and studying anatomy and simple medicine. He decided that all things being equal, Flossy would go far. Only when he had almost reached the police station did he allow his thoughts to return to another of the nurses, whose corn-coloured hair and bright blue eyes had caught his attention when the pair of them had met at the Grafton Ballroom a couple of weeks earlier. Her name was Annabelle, and they had spent most of that evening together and had made a date to go to the cinema the following week. Ah, but she was beautiful! He knew that many girls were attracted by policemen and hoped that she would prove to be one of them. Certainly she was not indifferent. Thinking about her made the walk seem short, and by
the time he was reporting to his sergeant, and hanging his wet garments over the clothes horse in the back room, he had forgotten Flossy and her peculiar problem and had allowed dreams of the beautiful Annabelle to oust everything else from his mind.