The Forgotten Children Read online

  ‘They’re not ill. As far as it goes.’ Miss Finch sighed. ‘Most are small for their age and not exactly robust. If I had the choice, I would keep them here in order to build them up with clean water, good food and warmth.’ She lowered her voice slightly. ‘Most live in dreadful conditions; damp and cramped in the majority of cases, with inadequate food, little heating, and unsanitary water. They tend to be malnourished and contract infections easily.’

  ‘Can nothing be done?’ Bunny’s question was more of a challenge.

  ‘A great deal is being done, Mr Harrington. It’s simply never enough. The pollution from the factories and tanneries make full health impossible. Then there’s the added problem of cheap alcohol.’ She exhaled in a long sigh.

  ‘I cannot imagine how distressing this work must be.’ Flora changed the subject, conscious that whatever she said next would sound hollow and perfunctory. ‘Are the nurses trained here?’

  ‘Indeed, they are.’ Miss Finch nodded to a young nurse in a pink apron different from the white ones the other nurses wore. Little more than a child herself, she sat cross-legged on the rug pretending to drink from a miniature cup for the benefit of a small, enraptured girl.

  ‘Sixty years ago, nursing was seen as a disreputable occupation for young women because it was thought to contaminate their minds. Miss Florence Nightingale was reprimanded for dismissing staff who drank heavily and behaved like slatterns.’

  ‘I read about her when I was younger,’ Flora said.

  ‘Depending on who you speak to, she was either a “petticoat imperieuse” with a naked ambition, or a heroine who improved hospital practices and saved thousands of lives. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you which view I favour.’ A shadow crossed her features but was gone immediately. ‘But don’t pay any attention to me, I can be quite a bore on the subject when I get started.’

  ‘Not boring at all, it’s fascinating and very noble, if I may say so.’ Bunny bent and retrieved a ball that had rolled across the floor and landed at his feet. He held it out to a tiny boy who gazed up at him in wonderment as he accepted it. ‘What are the main illnesses you deal with here?’

  ‘Chest complaints mostly.’ Miss Finch gently guided the child back to his nurse. ‘Whooping cough, pneumonia, bronchitis and tuberculosis. We also treat a fair number of work-related accidents, like mishaps with machines in factories and delivery boys who fall off carts. Regrettably, it’s quite common, and legal, for children of ten to be employed nine hours a day in the factories.’

  ‘Really?’ Flora frowned. Why did she not know that?

  ‘Are these the youngest patients here?’ Bunny smiled down at the boy with the ball, who appeared to have taken a liking to him and had drifted back to his side.

  ‘We treat all ages, although at one time the governors didn’t permit patients older than twelve, or under two years to be admitted.’

  ‘Babies weren’t allowed?’ Flora asked, shocked. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Infants require constant monitoring and they are unable to explain their symptoms accurately.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Fortunately, that rule has been relaxed in recent years.’

  ‘That’s reassuring.’ Flora found the thought of any child being refused treatment when needed distressing.

  ‘Certain illnesses render us helpless,’ Miss Finch continued. ‘Diphtheria and tuberculosis, for example. In those cases all we can do is let the disease run its course.’ With a final, ‘carry on’ gesture to the nurses, Miss Finch led them through a set of double doors into a long hallway where a young nurse with vivid cornflower-blue eyes waited. Her distinctive pink apron clashed with a mass of curly red hair caught untidily beneath her cap; her hands twisting nervously in its folds.

  ‘Yes, what is it, Nurse Prentice?’ Miss Finch’s gaze slid to the unsightly creases in the girl’s apron.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Finch.’ She released the apron, her face flushed. ‘I wondered – I mean could you spare me some time this afternoon?’

  Miss Finch gave the hall a swift glance before answering. ‘I assume it’s connected with what we discussed the other day?’ At the girl’s swift nod, she added, ‘I’m sure I can spare you a few minutes when you go of duty. Perhaps—’

  A burst of noisy tears from the ward they had just left drowned out the rest of Miss Finch’s reply, combined with the flap of double doors that preceded the arrival of another nurse in the black uniform and white cap of a senior staff member.

  Nurse Prentice backed away, her head down, and obviously uncomfortable with the arrival of the newcomer.

  ‘Shall we proceed?’ Miss Finch set off along the corridor, where Bunny fell into step beside her, the two of them already in deep conversation.

  Struck by the start of fear that appeared on Nurse Prentice’s face, Flora halted, as the older woman gripped the student nurse’s upper arm, her expression set and angry. The young nurse hunched her shoulders and stared at the floor, offering nothing in return. The woman said something too low for Flora to hear, the exchange ending as quickly as it had begun, and dismissed, Nurse Prentice bobbed a swift, if awkward, curtsey and fled.

  The senior nurse caught Flora looking at her, but stood her ground, with neither remorse nor embarrassment on her plain features. She was younger than Flora had first thought, with dark eyes and a sour expression.

  ‘Are you coming, Flora?’ Bunny called from further along the corridor where he stood beside Miss Finch, both of them turned towards her.

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’ She hurried after them down a short flight of steps into a half basement where a row of shoulder-height windows lifted the gloom, the space filled with the savoury smells of roasting meat and the clang of pots and pans.

  ‘The main kitchen is on this floor,’ Miss Finch said unnecessarily. ‘The door at the end leads to a rear yard containing the wash house, a disinfecting oven, and a post-mortem room.’ She stopped short as a young man in a faded waistcoat over a striped shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, stepped smartly into their path.

  ‘Pardon me, Miss Finch. I didn’t see you there.’ A lock of floppy brown hair in need of a cut slipped over one eye. ‘I was on my way to—’ He paused and frowned up at the ceiling. ‘Oh dear, I appear to have forgotten where I was going.’ He thrust both hands into his trouser pockets and rocked on his heels, his slow, confident smile on his lips. ‘I see you’ve brought more visitors to admire my domain.’

  ‘This somewhat fey young man is Dr Albert Reid, our radiologist,’ Miss Finch said in response to their combined look of enquiry. ‘Don’t let his air of distraction mislead you. He’s almost a genius and manages an X–Ray room here at the hospital.’

  ‘How intriguing,’ Bunny said once the introductions had been made. ‘I recently read an informative article in Knowledge Magazine about this technique of photographing bones. I would be most interested to see how it’s done.’

  ‘Splendid!’ Dr Reid ushered him through a door on his left into the room. A bed occupied centre stage beside which a series of poles had been arranged to support a large camera; the contraption allowing its adjustment to the required height. A round glass ball at the top of the poles contained what resembled an oversized cylindrical light bulb.

  ‘Is it not safe?’ Taking her cue from the matron, who had not moved, Flora remained on the threshold.

  ‘I have my reservations, Miss Finch whispered. ‘I realize progress in medicine is vital, but in the case of these Roentgen rays, there is such a thing as overexposure. Quite literally.’

  ‘It doesn’t look dangerous,’ Bunny said as he examined the contraption more closely. ‘How does it work?’

  ‘This glass is vacuum-sealed and electricity is passed through this tube here,’ Dr Reid accompanied his explanation with the use of extravagant arm gestures. ‘X–rays – that is, electromagnetic energy waves – are released at the positive electrode. These high-energy rays are synchronized with the camera shutter, so they pass through soft body tissue, but
are absorbed by dense material such as bone.’ He held up what looked like a sheet of black glass within a metal frame with cloudy white shapes on it. ‘That’s what the shadowing is on the photographic plate.’ He turned a bright smile on Bunny. ‘I would be happy to give you a demonstration.’

  ‘That would be excellent, I—’ he intercepted Miss Finch’s fixed expression and Flora’s brief shake of her head. ‘Um–perhaps another time.’

  ‘I see our esteemed matron’s misgivings have made an impression on you.’ Dr Reid sighed. ‘Surely, even you, Matron, must be aware this innovation is a major step forwards for the medical profession?’

  ‘I concede that, Doctor,’ Miss Finch replied carefully. ‘However, I would still advise you to exercise more caution with that light.’ Her lips formed a hard line as if she chastised a schoolboy.

  ‘It’s quite harmless.’ He held both hands up, twisting them back and forth. ‘See! Not a sign of disfigurement. And it’s not a light, it’s a cathode ray within an evacuated glass bulb, that—’

  ‘I’m aware of the science,’ Miss Finch cut him off firmly. ‘I simply feel we don’t know enough about the long-term effects to be complacent.’

  The doctor’s shrug dismissed her. ‘Whilst we are on the subject, is there any news about moving my X–Ray department to a higher floor?’ His eyebrows rose into his hairline in eager anticipation. ‘The damp down here is injurious to the equipment. We have to spend the first hour of every day drying it out.’

  ‘I’ve submitted your request to the Board of Governors.’ Miss Finch’s tone implied she had been asked this same question numerous times. ‘It’s out of my hands now. All I can do is await their decision.’

  ‘Ah well, I suppose I’ll have to be patient.’ Dr Reid released a long-suffering sigh and brushed back an errant lock of hair that flopped over his eyes. ‘However, from a diagnostic viewpoint, it will make the surgeon’s lives easier.’

  ‘I cannot argue on that score,’ Miss Finch conceded. ‘But, please don’t let us detain you. You appeared in a hurry to be somewhere a moment ago.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ A light seemed to ignite behind his eyes. ‘I remember now, I was on my way to the pharmacy. Good day to you, Miss Finch, Mr Harrington, Mrs Harrington.’

  ‘Are you really worried about him?’ Flora asked, her gaze on the doctor’s retreating back as he loped away, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘I am, although mine is a lone voice on the subject.’ Miss Finch chewed her bottom lip. ‘Not in treatment terms, you understand. The ability to take images of bone damage is invaluable. What worries me is the amount of exposure to which men like Reid put themselves. He works with that equipment for ten hours every day and feels he’s immune to what has befallen others. Ernest Wilson for instance.’

  ‘Who?’ Flora asked.

  ‘I’ve heard that name.’ Bunny held up a hand as if a thought had just struck him. ‘He works at the London Hospital. He’s had articles published in the British Medical Journal about X–rays. Fascinating subject.’

  ‘Wilson is a pioneer of the technique and quite brilliant.’ Miss Finch sighed. ‘But his methods have become careless and he’s gradually losing his fingers.’

  ‘You believe these machines are causing actual physical damage?’ Flora eased away from the open door to the X–Ray room behind them.

  ‘Indeed I do. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees with me.’

  ‘I had no idea.’ Bunny massaged his chin with one hand. ‘That’s quite worrying.’

  ‘Are these machines used on the children?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Thus far the department is still experimental, so no children are exposed to the rays. Dr Reid has an agreement with the Board to do his research here, but that is all for the time being.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Flora suppressed a shiver. ‘What of his request to move the X-Ray room to another floor?’

  ‘And allow his damaging rays to infiltrate the entire hospital?’ Miss Finch sliced a sideways look at her. ‘Not while I’m matron here. Now, I imagine the other visitors must have left by now, so might I invite you to my office for some refreshment?’

  Without waiting for an answer, she set off towards the stairs that led to the main floor.

  ‘I had no idea you knew about X–rays.’ Flora said to Bunny as they followed at a distance.

  ‘I know lots of things. By the way, you haven’t explained your apparent fascination with the matron.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it that, but she’s an exceptional woman, don’t you agree? Perhaps I simply admire her dedication.’ She glanced to where Miss Finch had paused to wait for them at the end of the corridor, unable to explain the impact this stranger had made on her. ‘Come on, or she’ll think we’ve lost interest in her tour.’

  Chapter 3

  Miss Finch’s office was located at the rear of the ground floor; a spacious room that still managed to be cosy. A black leaded grate framed by Morris tiles, each decorated with a blood-red poppy, was set at right angles to a window that looked onto a walled garden. A sturdy oak desk sat facing a dresser that took up the majority of the opposite wall, the shelves tightly packed with leather-bound books with gold tooling on the thick spines.

  The same woman who had upbraided Nurse Prentice earlier arranged ledgers on the oak desk. She barely looked up when they entered, her bland gaze sliding over them without recognition. Her black hair was pulled into a severe bun from a centre parting, above a heart-shaped face and close-set pebble eyes. The black uniform dress on her angular frame reminded Flora of a spider, her movements awkward as if she was uncomfortable in her own skin.

  ‘Ah, Sister Lazarus, there you are,’ Miss Finch greeted her. ‘Would you be so kind as to fetch some tea for both myself and my visitors?’ She waved Flora into an upholstered chair she hoped would be more comfortable than it looked.

  ‘As you wish, Miss Finch.’ Sister Lazarus dropped the last ledger onto the desk with a thud, flint in her swift glance at the matron as she left the room; the first sign of animosity towards the matron by her staff Flora had seen. Or did she regard making tea as a task beneath her status?

  ‘Sister Lazarus can be reserved, but she means well. Most of the time,’ Miss Finch said, catching Flora’s contemplative look at the closed door.

  ‘I do so admire young women who follow a career.’ Flora settled into the chair and arranged the folds of her skirt. ‘I’m afraid I took the first post offered to me as a governess and never thought to look further.’

  ‘Where was this?’ Miss Finch took her seat behind the large desk, her hands clasped on the tooled leather inlay.

  ‘In the country.’ For reasons she could not yet fathom, Flora was unwilling to reveal too much about herself. ‘My former charge is now an impressive young man of seventeen.’

  ‘I should imagine you were a very successful governess,’ Miss Finch said.

  ‘She was,’ Bunny broke off from his examination of a row of certificates displayed on a wall.

  ‘You must be proud of your former charge,’ Miss Finch added.

  Flora smiled, self-conscious at their combined compliments, although a possessive pride in his achievements and hope for his future was exactly what she felt for Eddy, the boy she had been responsible for. In any other circumstances, they would have retained contact through polite birthday and Christmas greetings and a sepia photograph on a bureau. However the revelations of two years before meant he was her cousin. Their relationship had grown closer since Flora’s marriage, though at times she found it difficult to forget she had once been his main disciplinarian; a fact he reminded her of with good natured teasing when she became too authoritarian.

  ‘Young women these days have more independent spirits than in my day, though at times I fear they venture into dangerous territory,’ Miss Finch continued, apparently happy to share confidences. ‘Several of my nurses flirt with the idea of joining the Women’s Social and Political Union.’

  ‘Do you disapprove of votes for women?’
Flora debated whether to mention her affiliation with the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, but decided this was not the time.

  Bunny had turned from his scrutiny of the pictures, his arms folded across his chest regarding them both steadily; a clear message that he was interested in what Miss Finch had to say on the subject.

  ‘Not at all,’ Miss Finch said. ‘I encourage modern thinking, however, most men of my acquaintance regard women as incapable of using the privilege of a vote wisely. They think we would select the candidate purely on a handsome face or a well turned-out suit.’

  ‘I agree, although if the former were true,’ Flora said, ‘Arthur Balfour would never have become Prime Minister.’

  Miss Finch’s uninhibited, joyful laugh sent blood rushing through Flora’s limbs. It was familiar, as if reminding her of someone or maybe a place and time she couldn’t remember. Her inability to recall it one way or the other frustrated her.

  ‘I do feel that the aggressive manifesto of the WSPU causes some concern,’ Miss Finch continued. ‘Partly because they appear to have commandeered my favourite tea room in Ebury Street where they sit and put the world to rights.’

  ‘I think I know of it.’ Flora searched her small repertoire of such establishments. ‘Is it called Martell’s, and is run by a natty little Frenchman?’

  ‘The very same,’ Miss Finch replied.

  Flora saw anticipation in the look the matron levelled at her across the desk, but perhaps she had imagined it.

  ‘Is your Sister Lazarus one of these militant suffragists?’ Bunny braced both hands on the back of a chair, his body tilted forward.

  ‘Not that I am aware. However, now I think about it, her character is entirely suited to throwing bricks through windows. Perhaps I should suggest she join Mrs Pankhurst’s ladies?’