33. Christmas Eve

Emily was surprised at how empty the roads were.

‘Where’s everybody gone to?’

Tensely watching Jones just up ahead, Gloria muttered distractedly, ‘Probably indoors decorating their Christmas trees.’

The sporadic falling snow gave them some cover from Jones’s car, which the girls were puzzled to see turning off the main road – long before the turning for the cottage hospital.

‘What’s he doing?’ Gloria cried. ‘You can’t get to the hospital that way?’

Indicating right too, Gloria followed Jones, who swung on to the verge, where he pulled up. Thinking she’d been spotted, Gloria quickly reversed the van behind a garden wall.

‘Bugger!’ she swore. ‘Has he seen us?’

‘Pull back a bit further,’ Emily urged. ‘I’ll sneak out and take a peep.’

Once Gloria was safely parked, Emily struggled out of the car and walked to the end of the wall, from where she peered out. What she saw all but made her blood freeze. Jones was handing the carry-cot to Sir Percival, of all people, who was parked a short distance from the doctor’s car in a clearly pre-arranged lonely spot. Terrified, Emily tried to slow her breathing so that she could catch what they were saying.

‘Matron said you’d know what to do with her,’ she heard Jones mutter as he all but shoved the carry-cot on to the back seat of Percival’s Daimler.

‘Did anybody follow you?’ Percival barked.

‘No,’ the doctor replied as he hurriedly backed away. ‘Nobody.’

Obviously desperate to leave, Jones virtually ran back to his car, which screeched loudly as he drove off at top speed. Percival waited until the doctor had disappeared, then he too drove off, at which point Emily belted back to Gloria, who was already revving the engine of the old van.

Gloria drove on, filled in en route by Emily.

‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’ Gloria inquired when she heard Emily give a sharp gasp.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, just a stitch in my side,’ Emily replied. ‘Shouldn’t be running around at this stage in my pregnancy,’ she said with a feeble smile.

The country road was narrow and circuitous but at least it went only in one direction; the signposts all read GRANGE and CARTMEL, which baffled Gloria. ‘We’re heading back to where we came from,’ she muttered.

About a mile later, as the countryside became more familiar and they recognized some of the landmarks, the penny dropped. ‘Percival’s heading back home,’ Gloria cried. ‘He’s taking Heather to Crow Thorn Grange!’

Knowing that it would be too dangerous to follow Percival up the drive, Gloria parked Ada’s car behind some thick rhododendron bushes near the imposing metal gates of the Grange.

‘Stay here – I’ll creep up to the house and see what’s going on.’

‘No!’ Emily protested. ‘You can’t go on your own. I’m coming with you.’

‘Em, you’re exhausted; it’s my turn now,’ Gloria pointed out. ‘Watch out for anybody leaving – you’ll be safe – the van’s tucked well out of sight.’

Before Emily could argue, Gloria set off through the undergrowth, leaving her friend peering out of the car window.

‘For God’s sake, be careful,’ Emily called softly after her.

Back at Mary Vale, Matron could not have been more pleased with herself. She had remained there the entire day; she’d even been there when the Christmas tree, still covered in a pretty frosting of sparkling snow, had been delivered by the beaming farmer who owned Big Ears. Nobody could accuse her of ill practice this time, she thought smugly. Heather’s departure was seemingly nothing to do with her or her judgement. When Jones phoned to say, in a muffled, somewhat drunken whisper, that the handover was complete, Matron immediately put the phone down on the old fool; he’d done what was required of him and he was of no further use to her.

Throughout the day Matron’s thoughts constantly drifted to Crow Thorn Grange. Would Olive, who’d been recalled for the task, handle Heather with kid gloves as instructed? Were the adoptive parents still due to arrive on Christmas Eve, as planned? If they did manage the journey on the snowy roads, she hoped that Percival would be sure to take the full payment from them. He was turning out to be such a blundering fool – so disappointing in a man of his status. Noisy laughter and a sense of heightening festive excitement provided a timely diversion from Heather’s sudden departure; though nobody could fail to notice how upset Sister Dale was. She’d put her foot down good and proper, Matron recalled – for a moment she’d actually thought that she would seize the baby and bolt – but Matron’s timely professional chastisement had soon put an end to any silly ideas she might have had, Matron thought smugly.

On the ward, Sister Ann and Ada were taking it in turns to comfort and reassure one another.

‘The tension of waiting is bringing on a headache,’ Sister Ann confessed.

‘I’m worried sick there might not be enough petrol in the van,’ Ada admitted. ‘Imagine if it broke down in the middle of nowhere and Jones got clean away with Heather.’

Agitated Shirley came scooting by with Robin. ‘Any news?’ she asked in a nervous whisper.

‘Nothing so far,’ Ada quickly told her.

Looking anxious, Shirley was dragged away by Robin to clip streamers on to the tree that stood in pride of place in the hallway.

‘We need an angel to go on top,’ the child called out.

Sister Ann smiled indulgently at the little boy, who had successfully wound his way around everybody’s heart. ‘I hope his mother’s back soon,’ she fretted. ‘The last thing we want is Robin making a fuss and drawing attention to Gloria’s absence.’

Robin’s mother, at that precise moment, was creeping up the snowy driveway that led to the Grange. Her bulky tummy made it virtually impossible for her to bend over from the waist, but, if she skirted the edge of the drive, there were enough sturdy trees and rhododendron bushes to hide her presence. When she reached the front of the house, she was surprised to find the Daimler wasn’t parked up there; studying the tracks in the snow, she realized Percival must have driven his car round to the back of the house. Still avoiding the open drive, she made her way around the bushes to the back of the Grange, where she stopped dead when she heard voices close by. Dropping on to her haunches, she strained her ears to listen in on a conversation that was taking place not twenty feet away from her.

‘Here’s the child; you’d better take good care of her,’ he snarled. ‘No slip-ups, like before.’

‘That were now’t to do with me,’ Olive snarled back.

Recognizing the familiar whining voice talking with Percival, Gloria peered out through the snowy leaves, from where she got a brief glimpse of Olive. Gasping in shock, she ducked back down again. Her blood froze when she heard what Olive said next.

‘It weren’t my bloody fault that Bertie went and died!’ she snapped. ‘That were Matron’s fault for taking the poor kid out of the ’ome in’t first place.’

As the pair bickered on the doorstep, Gloria’s head spun as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Bertie had been stolen from Mary Vale and removed to the Grange, where – Gloria had just heard with her own ears – the poor little boy had died. So what had happened to Baby Tom after he’d been removed from the Home? Had he ended up at the Grange, and had he died too?

‘Oh God,’ Gloria groaned in terror. ‘What’re they planning to do with Heather?’

Trying to suppress the hysteria that was rising up in her like a hot wave of fear, Gloria headed carefully back down the drive in the fading light; if it hadn’t been for the brilliant white snow guiding her, she might have stumbled and fallen but, luckily, she made it back to the car with only a few scratches to her face caused by overhanging brambles. Relieved to see Emily safely in the passenger seat, Gloria hurried to open the door. When she saw Emily’s strained white face, she froze. ‘Em! What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

Emily clutched Gloria’s hand. ‘My waters have broken,’ she gasped in fear.

Without a second thought, Gloria jumped into the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition.

‘NO! NO!’ Emily cried. ‘We can’t leave – we’ve got to rescue Heather!’

Ignoring her protests, Gloria reversed the car, then set off as fast as she could for Mary Vale.

‘Gloria!’ Emily implored. ‘We can’t leave Heather – please go back,’ she begged as she started to cry.

Pressing hard on the accelerator, Gloria drove as fast as she dared in the falling snow.

‘Don’t you worry, I’ll go back for Heather – but only after I’ve dropped you off at Mary Vale. I need to think about what to do.’

Events were in full swing at Mary Vale. Though Robin had shed a few tears when his mummy failed to turn up to dress the tree, he was quickly distracted by clever Shirley, who said that Big Ears needed a good grooming in readiness for the evening play. Shirley, Sister Ann and Ada had only one thought in their minds throughout the afternoon, constantly checking the driveway and praying for Heather’s safe return. Shirley, fearful that Gloria might not arrive back in time for the play and thereby cause Robin to have a tantrum, suggested to the edgy little boy that she could play the part of Mary, which outraged Robin.

‘You can’t be Mary!’ he loudly protested. ‘You haven’t got a baby in your tummy!’

Grabbing at straws, Shirley said, ‘I know, but your mummy’s a bit too big and heavy to ride a donkey in the dark; she might fall off Big Ears and hurt herself!’

Robin gave her a long, sad look. ‘I wish Mummy was here.’

Frantic Shirley completely agreed with his sentiments. ‘Me too, sweetheart,’ she said, hugging the disappointed child. ‘Me too.’

Driving back to Mary Vale, Gloria didn’t care who saw her arrive. Em needed help: that’s all she could think of. Screeching to a halt by the front door, she cried out to Ada, who’d come running to open it.

‘Em’s in labour.’

Ada’s heart went out to poor Emily, sweating and exhausted in the passenger seat. Reaching out to take her hand, she said softly, ‘Come on, lovie, let’s get you indoors.’

Yet Emily hung back, incensed beyond words. ‘Tell them what you saw,’ she cried to Gloria.

‘It was all a con,’ Gloria explained, as she hurried after Ada, who was supporting Emily. ‘Jones had no intention of going to the cottage hospital; we saw him meet up with Sir Percival just after he left here. Percival left Heather with Olive at the Grange. Jones is just the go-between.’

As if winded, Ada gasped in terror. ‘What in God’s name are Matron and Percival up to?’

Frantic with fear, and terrified of wasting precious time, Gloria blurted out, ‘I heard Olive telling Sir Percival that it wasn’t her fault that Bertie died.’

Ada paled and swayed on her feet. ‘Bertie died!’ she cried incredulously.

Desperate Gloria hurried on. ‘We’ve got to get Heather out of there before she disappears, just like Tom and Bertie did. I’m going back to the Grange, no matter what you say.’

Though utterly exhausted, Emily grabbed Ada’s hand. ‘Don’t let her go alone,’ she beseeched. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

Seeing the pain in her patient’s face, Ada moved swiftly. ‘Let’s get you settled on the ward and concentrate on that baby of yours, eh?’

Emily gratefully leant on Ada, who led her slowly down the corridor to the ward, where Sister Ann swiftly took the situation in hand.

‘You look worn out, lovie,’ she said gently. ‘I need to get you out of those clothes and into bed.’

Before she disappeared behind the curtains that she was drawing around the bed, Ada quickly whispered, ‘Can I leave you to manage for a few hours, Sister?’

‘We’re fine, Ada, off you go – God go with you,’ she said with tears in her eyes.

Ada gave her a brief smile before she dashed back to Gloria, who was pacing the hallway.

‘Em’s right, Gloria, you’ve done more than enough, I’ll take over from here.’

‘NO!’ Gloria loudly protested. ‘I’d wear myself out if I stayed here worrying about you up there on your own – please let me come with you. I promise I won’t do any more dashing about. Please …?’

Seeing the steely determination in her friend’s dark eyes, Ada sighed. ‘You could finish up in the bed next to Emily if you carry on at this rate,’ she said wearily.

‘We can’t stand here arguing when Heather’s life is in danger,’ Gloria cut in impatiently.

Grabbing her cape, Ada said resignedly, ‘On your own head be it.’