Honourable Doctor, Improper Arrangement. Mary Nichols
his presence would make everyone happy again.
‘No, I mean he was born too weak to live. You see, he was not ready to come into the world and the woman who looked after him did not have enough milk for both him and her own child.’
‘We could have given him milk, we always have plenty. There is a whole herd of cows on the farm. And you let him starve to death.’ She was furious and stamped her foot. ‘That is what Papa meant, isn’t it? Oh, how could he? How could you?’ And she had burst into tears. ‘You lied to me,’ she said between sobs. ‘You said he was with a kind lady and he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.’
Her grandmother had grabbed her and pinned her arms to her sides because they were flailing about. ‘Don’t take on so, child. I see I shall have to try to make you understand or you will brood over it for years.’ And so Grandmama had taken her on to her lap and, after taking a deep breath, tried to explain about pregnancy and premature births and the need for human milk to make a baby grow strong.
Kate’s seven-year-old brain could not take it all in and it had not made her feel any less bitter at the loss of her mother, nor convince her that if her brother had not been sent away, he would have been well and happy and a playmate for her at the rectory where she was often lonely. She did not want to believe he was dead. Dead of neglect, that was the worst part of it.
As time went by and she grew up, she had begun to understand, to accept that both her mother and brother had gone and that her father was not the ogre she imagined him to be, but an unhappy man who had loved his wife, a little too well, for he had been told she should not have more children. That was why he felt so guilty.
She dragged herself back to the lecture, which was coming to a close.
‘Children are the future of our country,’ the doctor was saying. ‘If they are badly treated, they will grow up knowing nothing else but cruelty and indifference and will pass that on to future generations in the way they treat their own offspring. All children should be adequately fed, clothed and educated, even the poorest…’
There was a slight murmur of disagreement at the mention of education, but he ignored it. ‘We call ourselves civilized, yet we allow cruelty to our children that we would not condone if they were dogs. Foster parents should be licensed and controlled and their premises and the children they care for regularly inspected, but until that happy state is realised, we must do what we can privately. The Foundling Hospital is doing excellent work and there are orphanages who do their best for their inmates, while others are less to be commended. But what of those children who are not orphans, those who have at least one parent without the means and often without the will to look after them?
‘The Society for the Welfare of Destitute Children has been set up to remedy some of these ills. We find respectable and responsible foster homes for the children, until they are able to be returned to their own families, or, when they are old enough, found suitable occupations. We have many influential subscribers, but the list of children needing help in the metropolis alone is growing at an alarming rate, especially since the war, and we need your donations, however small. We also need foster parents to take a child into their homes on a temporary basis. Some of the women who apply are only doing it for the money and have been known to neglect and sometimes ill treat the children. We investigate everyone very carefully before we put them on our books and we pay them enough so there is no excuse to neglect the children.’
He sat down amid restrained applause. Kate turned to look at her father. He was very pale and his hands were trembling. Perhaps she should not have asked him to accompany her; some wounds never heal.
Lady Eleanor rose to introduce the treasurer, who outlined the finances of the society and told his audience what was needed to keep a child in a foster home and visit regularly and how much it cost to keep a child in the Hartingdon Home. The meeting was wound up by the Chairman of the Trustees, who said that their members would be on hand to answer any questions his listeners might have.
Although neither Kate nor her father joined in the debate, the question-and-answer session revealed the disparate views of the audience, some decrying what the society was trying to achieve, others praising it, while still more wanted more information about how the finances were managed. When there were no more questions, the evening was brought to an end and Kate and her father found their way to the front where Simon and Lady Eleanor were in conversation.
Simon’s eyes lit up at the sight of Kate. He bowed. ‘Mrs Meredith, your obedient. Reverend, how do you do?’
Lady Eleanor turned to them. ‘Cousin Thomas, I did not know you were acquainted with Dr Redfern.’
‘We met earlier in the week and he prevailed upon us to attend this evening.’
‘How do you think it went?’
‘You have given us all a great deal to think about.’
Simon smiled. ‘That is all we can ask—that people think about it and do what they can, however little.’
‘I should like to do more,’ Kate said. ‘Even if it is only helping at the Home or raising funds with soirées and concerts. I am sure there are musicians and singers willing to give their services free for such a worthy cause.’
‘We do that already,’ Eleanor said. ‘There is to be a subscription ball at Hartingdon House next Thursday. Would you like tickets?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I will have them sent to you,’ Simon said, mentally deciding to deliver them in person.
‘How is little Joe?’ Kate asked him as Lady Eleanor left them to speak to one of the other trustees.
‘He is well, but I think he misses his mother, for all that she was glad enough to hand him over to me. He would perhaps be happier in a foster home, but we are very short of those because, as you heard, we are very particular about those we employ.’
‘I am glad to hear that,’ Kate said.
The room was emptying; her ladyship and the other trustees had gone. They bade each other goodnight and went their separate ways.
‘Kate, I do not see how you can become involved,’ her father said as they settled in the family carriage to be driven home. ‘The Viscount will be back in England shortly…’
‘So? If he comes before the ball at Lady Eleanor’s, he can come too. His presence can do nothing but good.’
‘Kate, beware you are not assuming too much. You cannot dictate to Viscount Cranford what he should do.’
‘I would not dream of dictating, but I do not see why he should not listen to my views and support me in something I feel strongly about.’
‘It will not help, you know,’ he said quietly. ‘Regulating foster homes will not undo the past.’
‘No, but it might stop other families grieving as we did.’
‘You blame me, don’t you?’ It was the first time he had ever talked to her about it. ‘You think I did not make sure the wet nurse was clean and healthy. If I had had my wits about me at the time, I would have, then…’ He paused, swallowed and went on, ‘George might have lived.’
‘Papa, stop it. Stop torturing yourself. No one was to blame. I wish now I had not asked you to accompany me tonight. It has been too much for you.’
‘No, it has made me see that something must be done and I shall support Dr Redfern wholeheartedly. I think I will write a tract about it.’
‘Yes, you do that,’ she said, reaching out to cover his hand with her own. He could write tracts or whatever made him feel better; she would offer to help at the Home.
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