Alice frowned. ‘Marie Stopes’ clinic? The family-planning centre?’
Alexander nodded. ‘I have grave concerns about the abominable processes going on in that place as it is,’ he said, his mouth twisted in distaste. ‘But what piques me most is Stopes’ insistence on inflicting her evil onto the poor. It is an idea that I find particularly objectionable.’
‘The clinic’s advice is proving extremely popular for some of our patients. We’ve had some of them in tears because they haven’t managed to be seen. The queues have been known to reach a mile long on occasion.’
Alexander snorted. ‘They are pawns, with absolutely no idea that they are complicit in engineering their own downfall.’ The fundraiser leaned forward in his chair. ‘Stopes actually believes that the perfection of the human race can be achieved by the use of those vile contraptions she doles out. She thinks that if only mankind could rid itself of those lacking in moral or intellectual fibre, we could move onwards to a golden age. But who are any of us to judge who should be sterilised and who should not? It is outrageous.’
Alice tilted her head. ‘There are plenty of intellectuals who subscribe to the idea of eugenics. They see it as the only way to reverse mankind’s regression to the savagery of distant ancestors. Even one of the Royal Free’s own gynaecologists holds the view that better specimens could be produced, though she fears those most in need of contraception would be too stupid to use it.’
Alexander sagged back in his chair and stared at her. ‘Don’t tell me you share an enthusiasm for some of these views?’
‘Of course not. I absolutely resent the promotion of the idea that somehow the world would be a better place if only the poor were wiped from it. I’m simply saying that I believe there is some good in what they are trying to achieve. Some of our patients are so overburdened. I saw a mother recently who had given birth to ten children, and only two had survived. The poor woman had lost all of her teeth and was half-starved, and yet she was pregnant again, expecting her eleventh. Were it not for the Samaritan Fund covering the cost of dentures, I do believe she would have withered away with the infant inside her. I can see the sense in relieving someone like that from the relentless cycle they’re stuck in.’
Alexander pulled a face. ‘Nature has a way of resolving these things without having to resort to un-Godly methods.’
There was a pause, and then the almoner said: ‘What was the doctor doing there? At the clinic? Was he working?’
After making it clear that he was disinclined to stoop so low as to gossip, Alexander told Alice that he had heard rumours that Dr Harland was a keen believer in eugenics himself. ‘I felt morally bound to share my objections with him. I told him in no uncertain terms that I found his engagement with the clinic thoroughly distasteful, only to receive a steam of vitriol for my pains.’
‘Well, a man with such radical views does not belong at the Royal Free!’ Alice cried.
Alexander nodded. ‘I told him he would do well to hold his tongue, and that was it – he went off like a rocket. Such a disagreeable fellow. It was quite the spectacle.’
The almoner huffed out some air. ‘The poor are blamed for everything that is wrong with this country as it is. Well, the poor and the refugees! The very least they deserve is someone sympathetic to look after them when they are ill. I mean, if the doctor believes in eliminating people just because they’re destitute, what other dreadful practices might he be involved in?’
Alexander raised an immaculately groomed eyebrow. ‘Well, quite.’
‘The habit of begging naturally leads to the exaggeration of facts; often true and pitiable, which become the beggar’s stock-in-trade. The habit of responding to begging letters leads to the encouragement of lying. The fault is with both beggar and giver … the donor gives as a quittance a contribution; which is probably spent … turned to evil uses. The one lacks charity and gives money; the other learns the lesson of begging … [Donors should] support only useful and well-regulated charitable institutions … Many so called charities exist by begging of strangers … One worthy of mention is the Volunteer Fire Brigades, which appear[ed] in the dress of firemen [but were] quite useless for extinguishing fires.
(C. S. Loch, How to Help Cases of Distress, 1895)
The conference concluded at 3 p.m. on Sunday, 12 February with a rousing speech from Alexander Hargreaves. The philanthropist then bade farewell to his colleagues and set off for the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, where he was to meet with a society of Scottish fundraisers. Alice, Bess Campbell and Frank took a West Anglia line train back to London and disembarked at Liverpool Street Station at a quarter to five, plumes of steam billowing around their ankles.
The Royal Free Hospital must have been a welcoming sight in the dusk, the light from its many windows bestowing the pavements of Gray’s Inn Road with a silver glow. Like the medical staff resting in their rooms along the dark passageway of the nurses’ home, Alice sank into bed exhausted that evening, and woke to a misty dawn.
The faint click of Winnie’s typewriter keys was a familiar sound to the almoners as they descended the stairs to the basement. The typist got to her feet with a groan when Alice came into the office the following Monday. ‘Welcome back, dear,’ she said, dumping a thick pile of post unceremoniously into the almoner’s outstretched hands.
Alice sighed, perhaps in anticipation of the unpleasant task before her. Begging letters were regularly received by the almoners. Sifting through the post each morning and identifying those deserving of further investigation was a duty that usually fell to a junior almoner like Alice.
A number of sighs could be heard above the whistle of the boiler as Alice scanned the letters and then dropped several into the waste paper bin. When she was almost two-thirds through the pile, however, she stilled, one of the letters still gripped in her hand. She ran her eyes over the type several times, and then sprang to her feet.
Without a word she left the basement and hurried to the chest clinic, almost colliding with Jimmy when she reached the top of the stairs on the first floor. On sight of her, Jimmy dropped the luggage he was holding and pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her feet from the ground.
‘Jimmy!’ she said with a laugh, straightening her hat and smoothing her clothes when he’d released her.
He grinned. ‘You’re a tough woman, Miss, but you brought out my better nature, so you did. I feel so light on my feet with all the goodness in my heart, I think I could probably float home. All I need to decide now is which woman to bestow myself on first.’
Alice rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. ‘You are incorrigible, Jimmy Rose.’
Head nurse Nell Smith was in the process of shifting a pile of files from her high reception desk to the floor when Alice walked into the department, her thin arms quivering with the effort. ‘If you’ve finally turned up to claim that cup of tea, your timing’s dreadful,’ the nurse huffed. ‘I have six bed baths and a chest drain to organise, and two of my nurses have just come down with diarrhoea.’
Alice grimaced. ‘No, I would like to see Dr Harland, if he is here?’
At that moment, Dr Harland emerged from his office. ‘Miss Hudson, a word.’
If Alice had intended to conceal any dislike she might have harboured towards him after the revelations from Alexander, she most certainly failed. At the sound of his voice, her expression hardened. She gave Nell Smith a look before turning and walking towards him, her gaze fixed somewhere to the right of where he stood.
‘I spoke to my colleague this morning, the one treating that patient of yours,’ the doctor said brusquely as she came to a stop in front of him. The emphasis on the pronoun was heavy with the suggestion that her presence in the hospital was of continuing inconvenience