Letters from Alice: A tale of hardship and hope. A search for the truth.. Petrina Banfield

agreement, and nothing you can say will change his mind.’ Alice’s gaze was still resting on Mr Redbourne. He flicked a regretful glance towards his wife and then turned, trudging back up the stairs.

      ‘She’s turned into one of those imbeciles you hear about,’ Mrs Redbourne shrieked as she led the way back into the parlour. ‘She’s beyond helping, she’s morally corrupt!’

      Dr Harland watched helplessly as Charlotte thrashed around, her lips contorting manically. He was a chest specialist with little experience in the field of psychiatrics, but any doctor was allowed to make a diagnosis and confirm a committal to a mental hospital, whatever their speciality. Tears painted white streaks down Charlotte’s blood-streaked cheeks. Her eyelashes were wet, her pale cheeks suddenly a bloody crimson.

      ‘Doctor?’ Alice said, her tone suggesting impatience.

      Her intervention seemed to snap the doctor out of his indecision. He glanced at Frank, who nodded grimly, then turned back to Charlotte. ‘Miss Redbourne, I have reason to believe you are suffering from an infliction of the mind.’ Charlotte continued to scream and the doctor raised his voice. ‘I fear I must commit you to a hospital for your own safety and that of your child.’

      He turned to Charlotte’s mother. ‘Is there insanity or instability elsewhere in the family?’ The Mental Deficiency Act provided local authorities with the power to lock away women deemed defective and, although there are no official figures on the number of unmarried women certified for becoming pregnant – most of those unable to support themselves were sent to the workhouse – some unfortunate victims lost their liberty. A repeat offender like Charlotte could be locked up without an official diagnosis, all on the say-so of one of her parents.

      Mrs Redbourne reddened with outrage. ‘Certainly not! It’s nothing to do with us. She’s possessed, I tell you. We were willing to put up with her lashing out, destroying property, we even put last year’s business behind us, but to do it again? That’s just not on. That’s madness!’

      Alice winced. Motioning Frank with his eyes, Dr Harland strode forwards and made his way around the end of the bed. Frank pocketed his pipe and followed. At the same time, Charlotte lunged over the other end of the bed and slipped off the side nearest the door. Her foot skidded out. A ghastly gurgle followed as the chamber pot upended and the putrid contents spilled out over the floor.

      For a moment everyone froze. The room fell silent, the only sound the relentless drum of rain at the window. It was then that Alice grasped the opportunity to take control. ‘Charlotte,’ she said gently, ‘pass the baby to me, dear. I’ll be very gentle, I promise you.’

      The young woman swung her head from side to side, feverishly checking the position of the others. Frank and the doctor remained still for a full minute, Alice speaking soft platitudes all the while.

      After weighing up her options, Charlotte seemed to reach a decision. Locking her eyes on Alice’s, she shuffled her feet forwards. There was an oddness to her gait as she rested the infant in the almoner’s arms, though she didn’t let go of her grip.

      Alice made a reassuring noise in her throat. ‘There, it’s all right, Charlotte. It will be fine.’

      Frank crawled over the bed then. Approaching Charlotte from behind, he rested his hands firmly on her shoulders. ‘That’s it, child, let go.’

      Her grip on the infant slackened and she backed away, holding empty hands in front of her. The sodden, meconium-streaked blankets loosened to reveal a tiny baby boy with a painfully thin body and sagging, greyish arms and legs. Alice looked down at him then fixed her gaze on Frank. She pressed her lips together and gave him a sombre, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

      Charlotte’s chest heaved. A terrible sound escaped her lips then, a mournful, inhuman howl. She sank shakily down onto the bed, put her head in her hands and wept. Her tears fell onto her gown and mingled with the dark splodges of colostrum staining her front. With an awkward manoeuvre, Alice shrugged off her cape and, discarding the filthy swaddling, wrapped the still infant in its soft wool.

      ‘We must get Charlotte to hospital,’ Dr Harland said grimly.

      The almoners were accustomed to dealing with society’s ills, the cases they became involved in so distressing as to sometimes keep them from sleeping soundly in their beds. Charlotte’s case was different though, because despite their involvement her immediate future still looked bleak.

      And so far there had been no indication that the biggest shock of the evening was yet to come.

       Chapter Five

      Sometimes the almoner is called on to find a suitable home into which young children can be temporarily admitted or find a foster mother for the baby either herself or through an outside agency, and probably raise the funds to pay for this. Her aim, in addition to arranging that the children shall be satisfactorily looked after, is to secure as far as possible mental peace for the patient, for worry is a bad bedfellow.

      (The Hospital Almoner: A Brief Study of Hospital Social Science in Great Britain, 1910)

      At just before 7 o’clock, Peter Harland guided Charlotte down the front step and onto the street. The rain was still hissing down in torrents, as if the sky itself were weeping for the small lifeless body Alice had gently swaddled and left in a drawer in the parlour. Shadows moved behind the closed curtains of the adjoining houses. Rainwater overflowed from their gutters, splashing onto the flagstones below. The young woman’s departure seemed to penetrate Mrs Redbourne’s hardened stance. Watching from the downstairs window, she wept as her daughter shuffled away, a flattened hand clamped over her mouth.

      Light spilled onto the pavement as several doors and windows opened along the street, neighbours leaning out to find the source of all the commotion. Once the doctor had settled Charlotte inside the cab he motioned to Alice, who was waiting just inside the hall. Frank held his coat over his colleague as she jogged to the cab, her soiled cape folded over her arm. There was a babble of whispers from the spectators as she climbed hastily inside, Frank’s mackintosh flapping noisily in the wind behind her.

      When Alice was settled inside, Frank closed the door discreetly and stepped back onto the pavement, watching as the taxicab turned in an arc and disappeared down the rain-drenched street, back the way it came.

      Inside the cab, Alice gave instructions for the driver to head towards the Royal Free Hospital.