The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(13)

“What? In your own home?” Mrs. Tilling frowned with disbelief. “Did the hospital lend it out to you?”

“Yes, that’s it,” I said quick as a fox, hoping she wouldn’t check. “You’d be surprised how often I need it to get the baby breathing proper. First-time pregnancies can be hazardous, you know.”

“But you’re busy, too, and Hattie’s made her mind up to have me there.”

“I may be busy, but duty first!” I bounced back. “I feel a responsibility, deep down inside.” I thrust a fist up against my heart at this point, looking all patriotic. “And if anything should happen, I’d feel tormented for the rest of my days.” I tried to push out a few tears at this point, but there’s only so much you can do.

“Quite,” Mrs. Tilling said, stepping back, a look of distaste on her lips. I sensed that she smelled something fishy. I must have overdone the theatrics. So I quickly changed tack.

“But you do so much for our little community, what with the WVS always helping people out—all this on top of your own nursing duties.”

“Yes, the WVS is a great force. You should join. There’s a meeting in Litchfield a fortnight from today, distributing the Bundles for Britain from America. Why don’t you come along and see how it works.”

I smiled a gleeful smile, as that was precisely what I was looking for! A date when the Tilling woman would be out of town. And perfect timing, too—a day before Mrs. Winthrop’s due date, and a week before Hattie’s. “Is it an all-day event?”

“Yes, all day Friday the third of May.”

She looked slightly bemused at my enthusiasm. So I stopped smiling and added with my usual despondency, “I’ll have to check my dates, but I’ll try to come.”

Fortunately, Kitty descended on her with ludicrous cheers for the new choir, so I scooped up my bag and fled, dashing home before my elation exploded.

What a stroke of luck! Now all I have to do is check that she keeps her WVS meeting and hone my plan for the births.

I have become quite the professional, you see, Clara. My herbal potion brings babies out with impressive speed. Now, to give the potion to Mrs. Winthrop, who is a timid, compliant sort of woman, will be no problem. This is her fourth baby, so I expect the baby to pop out within the hour. After calling out that it’s a boy, I’ll pretend the baby’s not breathing proper, that I need to whisk it to my house for resuscitation with the mechanical ventilator. (Who’s to know I haven’t got one?)

Hattie, however, will be a more difficult matter. Not only will it be grueling to get her to take the potion as she is so nauseatingly proper, but then it’ll take four or five hours to get the baby out, it being her first child. Meanwhile, I’ll need someone to watch the Winthrop child.

That’s why I decided to enlist the Winthrops’ maid, Elsie. Not only could she lend a sense of propriety by coming with me when I whisk off the Winthrops’ baby, but she could also help look after the mite while I’m busy with Hattie. So when I spotted her in the shop yesterday, I invited her for tea and mentioned that I may be in need of her assistance at the birth.

“What you’re saying is you want me to help with Mrs. Winthrop’s birth, and then come to your house if you have to take the baby away for emergency help?” She screwed her eyes up with distaste, suspecting it was down-and-dirty business. But she didn’t ask questions, came from a background like that, see—ask no questions, take the money, leg it.

“That’s right, love,” I said, offering her another biscuit. “I’d just need someone to help me look after the baby for a short while.”

She took two biscuits, and I could see her thinking it through, her beautiful face pondering like a deer listening for danger. “I could do it,” she said at last. “But how much will you give me?”

“I’d give you ten bob for your trouble, provided you kept quiet.”

“Ten bob?” she uttered. “More like ten quid, I’d say.”

“Five quid then,” I said. What a pain this girl was being!

“Oh, all right then,” she said, getting up. “I’d love to get me own back on that cheating bastard, even if it’s just his family.”

“You’re worth a thousand of him, Elsie,” I said, leading her to the door. “You need to find yourself a proper gentleman.”

“Yeah, p’rhaps I will.” She poked her head out the door and looked up into the puffy gray clouds. “You just wait, I’ll find someone far better than that scoundrel.”

Then she darted out, her long slim form gracefully flitting through droplets of rain, and I settled back to my plan with relish.

This will work, sister! I wish you’d stop pestering me with your doubts. I have no time to think about whether it’s right or wrong, and who cares anyway? How can I think of all that morality nonsense when we’ve got a chance to get back to where we belong, safe and free? I shall let you know when the deed is done. Keep hush, as usual.

Edwina





Saturday, 20th April, 1940

Kitty told me to write a diary. It is good for my English. I have to write about our house. It is big and grand. Mrs. Winthrop is quiet. Nanny Godwin is old. Kitty is nice but a bit bossy. Venetia is my friend. Brigadier Winthrop is very angry. There is a grumpy maid and a strange butler who has a hump. The new baby is nearly here. I hope they will still want me then.