Chapter Thirty-Six

Dr Parker walked down the corridor, back towards the main entrance. His face was strained and deadly serious. Passing the door to one of the staff toilets, he stopped and went in. Splashing his face with cold water, he then raked his hair away from his face and walked back out. As he approached the main foyer, where he knew Helen and Dr Eris would be anxiously awaiting news, he took a deep breath.

As soon as Helen saw Dr Parker’s strained face, she burst out crying.

‘No, no, no!’ she cried out. Tears started to stream down her face.

Dr Parker saw an all too familiar devastation, one he had seen many times in his work. Too many times. He glanced at Dr Eris, who was staring at him, her hazel eyes trying to read his. Walking over to Helen’s side, he sat down next to her and took her hand.

‘She’s still with us,’ he said simply.

Helen gripped his hand.

‘Really?’ she asked, needing to hear the words again.

‘Really,’ Dr Parker reassured her. ‘But,’ he added, taking Helen’s other hand, ‘it’s going to be touch and go over the next twenty-four hours.’

Helen took a shuddering breath and tried to calm herself. There was hope.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ she asked.

Dr Parker took a breath. ‘At first, I thought it might be some kind of alcohol-induced poisoning, but it’s clear Henrietta hasn’t been drinking.’

‘But she’s got liver damage?’ Dr Eris asked.

‘She has,’ said Dr Parker. ‘We’re just not sure exactly what the underlying cause is. It seems to have come on relatively quickly – I’d guess weeks rather than months. Which is why I think she’s ingested some kind of poison – something toxic – but we’re not sure what.’

Dr Parker looked at Helen and then at Dr Eris.

‘And until we know what it is, we’re at a loss to know how to treat her.’

After Dr Parker went back to tend to Henrietta and to continue his discussions with the doctor in charge of admissions about what could possibly be causing her body to shut down, Dr Eris called a taxi to take her back to Ryhope.

‘Why don’t you go home and rest and come back later?’ she suggested to Helen. ‘You can always call the hospital and see how she’s doing.’

Helen shook her head. It was clear she was adamant. She wasn’t going anywhere.

‘As your grandmother’s doctor,’ Dr Eris said, ‘I have a duty to call Henrietta’s next of kin.’ She paused. ‘Your mother.’

Helen shot her a look. ‘Please, can you hold off?’ Her mother was the last person on earth Helen wanted here at the hospital with her. ‘At least wait until you’ve got back to the asylum.’ Helen looked down at her watch. ‘Perhaps have a cup of tea first, before you ring her.’ Helen knew that by then her mother would have left for the Grand.

Dr Eris nodded her understanding. She’d probably want to be left on her own too if she had a mother like Miriam.

After Dr Eris left, Helen sat staring at the pale green walls of the reception area, thinking. Her mind went over the past couple of weeks. Henrietta had been a little under the weather, but everyone she knew seemed to have colds or sniffles. And no one had much colour to them. But Henrietta wasn’t pale, was she? She was jaundiced. Why hadn’t she noticed it sooner? She tried to argue with herself that it was because of all that damned make-up her grandmother wore. But still, she should have noticed her eyes. Then again, she hadn’t seen Henrietta for a week. God, why had she cancelled her last visit? She might have noticed her grandmother was unwell if she had gone to see her as planned.

Helen wanted to scream. Her mind kept going round and round and round.

Then a terrible thought occurred to her.

Had Henrietta poisoned herself?

She had admitted feeling that she was to blame for what her husband had done to those poor girls in her employ. To Pearl and Gracie – and to God only knew how many other young girls with blonde hair and blue eyes who’d had the misfortune of finding a job in the Havelock household.

Had Henrietta tried to kill herself because she could not bear the guilt any more?

Suddenly, Helen remembered the documents that Dr Eris had shown her back in June – the original admissions forms. There had been two. One with Henrietta’s real name inscribed on it, the other had been a replacement, with her new, unmarried name of ‘Girling’. But they had both had the same date written in the top right-hand corner. Helen had remembered it because she’d always thought what an awful thing to have happened during what was meant to be such a happy time of year. The date had been 26 December. Boxing Day.

Twenty-three years ago – almost to the day – Henrietta’s life had changed for ever.

Had she decided to change it again? Or rather, to end it? To pay the ultimate price for a wrongdoing she wasn’t guilty of?

Tears started to drip down Helen’s face.

Hearing the door swish open and feeling the blast of cold air, she automatically turned round to see who was coming into the hospital.

Through blurred vision she saw Gloria and Rosie, then Polly, followed by Martha and Hannah. The door was just swinging shut when it was pushed open again by Dorothy and Angie.

‘Helen, are yer all right?’ Gloria asked, hurrying over. She plonked herself down on the next chair, put her arms around her and gave her a big hug.

Helen tried to say she was fine, but the words were lost in the well of tears that instantaneously erupted. She sobbed and sobbed into Gloria’s denim overalls. When she came up for air, she looked around to see a semicircle of seven worried faces looking at her. She quickly wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

‘Here,’ Dorothy said, passing her a handkerchief and a small compact.

‘Thanks,’ said Helen. She dabbed her eyes and checked herself in the small mirror. She looked dreadful, but at least she’d managed to get rid of the the dark circles under her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

‘Did Kate call you?’ Helen asked, her voice still thick with tears. She looked at the women who were sitting around her.

‘She rang work,’ Rosie said. ‘Marie-Anne came and told us.’

Helen looked at the women – all still in their work clothes.

‘Do they know what’s the matter with her?’ Martha asked.

Helen shook her head. ‘No, not really.’

‘Kate told Marie-Anne that she thought there was something wrong with her liver?’ said Polly.

Helen nodded. ‘Yes, but they’re not sure what it is that’s causing her liver to fail.’ She looked at the women’s faces, so full of concern – for Helen herself as much as for her grandmother.

‘Oh, it’s been awful,’ she blurted out. ‘Grandmama was shaking, her whole body trembling, and then she just threw up everywhere.’ She nodded over to the foyer. ‘She was like a rag doll – it was as though all her strength had just left her.’

‘Poor Henrietta,’ Dorothy said. ‘I know we’ve not met her yet, but I think we all feel like we know her.’ She looked around for confirmation and the women nodded.

‘And we all know how much she means to you,’ said Gloria.

Helen blinked back more tears. ‘Thanks for coming.’

They were quiet for a moment.

‘When will they know more?’ Rosie asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Helen said, taking another juddering breath. ‘Dr Parker said it’s still pretty much touch and go. He thinks she’s been poisoned.’

‘Poisoned?’ Dorothy gasped.

‘Really?’ Polly was wide-eyed.

‘What? On purpose?’ asked Hannah.

‘I don’t know.’ Helen swallowed more tears, thinking of how frail Henrietta had looked as she’d been taken away in the wheelchair.

‘I wondered whether she might have poisoned herself,’ she said quietly.

‘Oh, I don’t think so. I’m surprised you’d think that,’ said Rosie. ‘I really wouldn’t have thought so – not from what Kate’s told me. She seemed really happy – excited about her new clothes, and about the Christmas Extravaganza.’

Gloria took Helen’s hand. ‘I agree – from what yer’ve told me yerself, that seems really unlikely.’

They were quiet for a moment.

‘You don’t think someone’s tried to poison her on purpose, do you?’ Dorothy whispered, even though there was no one else about.

‘Honestly, Dor!’ Angie exclaimed. ‘Yer read too many of them books by that woman writer – what’s her name?’

‘Agatha Christie,’ said Dorothy.

‘I think Angie might be right there,’ Polly agreed.

‘Yeah, who would want to hurt Henrietta?’ said Martha.

Again, they were quiet.

They all knew of one person who would benefit from her demise.

His name hung heavy in the air.

‘I hate the man, but even I doubt he’d try and poison his own wife,’ said Helen.

Hearing footsteps coming down the corridor, they all turned to see Dr Parker heading towards them. He smiled on seeing the women. The troops had rallied. He knew how much that would mean to Helen.

‘Just a quick update,’ he said, looking at his small audience, all staring expectantly at him.

‘Henrietta is stable – for now, that is,’ he said, his focus on Helen. She was staring back at him with those emerald eyes – eyes that were bloodshot and desperate to hear good news. He hated this part of the job – being torn between telling the truth and offering words of comfort.

‘Her heart rate is a little irregular and her breathing laboured, which is a worry.’ He looked at the women, who had all turned their attention to Helen. He saw Gloria squeeze her hand. ‘She’s got round-the-clock care. A nurse is by her bedside. I’m staying put to monitor her progress and to see if we can work out what it is that has caused this to happen.’

‘Could it be something she might have ingested at the asylum?’ Hannah asked.

Dr Parker looked at Hannah. If she had been one of his students, he would have praised her for her logical thinking.

‘Good question,’ he said. ‘Dr Eris has just called to say she’s checked with all the other doctors and the ward heads, but so far no one else is showing any signs of being ill – and certainly no one is presenting with the kinds of symptoms Henrietta has suffered.’

‘So, you need to find the cause?’ said Rosie.

‘Exactly,’ said Dr Parker.

‘And if you don’t?’ Helen’s voice was croaky.

Dr Parker was quiet. What could he say? Comfort over truth or truth over comfort?

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know, Helen.’ If her friends weren’t here, he would have liked to hold her. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to give you any false hope.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Why don’t I come back in about half an hour and I can take you to see her.’

Helen’s face lit up.

‘But it’ll just be for a few minutes,’ he said with a sad smile.

A solitary tear ran down Helen’s cheek as she mouthed ‘Thank you.’

When Dr Parker had gone, Angie stood up. ‘I reckon yer need a nice cuppa,’ she declared.

Helen forced a smile. She looked at Angie, still wearing her orange headscarf.

‘I reckon we all need a nice cuppa,’ Helen said, looking around at the women, who looked tired and pale, their noses red. She knew they’d been out in the cold most of the day. And now they were here – with her – when they could be home, having their tea and sitting in front of a roaring fire.

‘Why don’t we see if the canteen’s open?’ she said, standing up. The women followed suit and they all trooped off down the corridor.

‘But Dor’s banned from talking about the Christmas Extravaganza,’ said Angie, making everyone chuckle.

They did, of course, talk about the Christmas Extravaganza – anything to keep Helen’s mind off Henrietta. Dorothy and Angie assumed their roles as court jesters, and Hannah regaled them with descriptions of some of the lovely Jewish delicacies her aunty Rina was intending to make, though she would have to be inventive with them as nuts and apples were in short supply.

When they finished their tea and returned to the reception area, they found Bobby pacing about. On seeing him, Dorothy’s heart leapt, as it always did, and for once she offered him a smile rather than a scowl. Bobby gave her a worried look, before turning his attention to Helen.

‘How’s Henrietta?’ he asked. He had never seen Helen look so rough.

‘We don’t really know,’ she answered.

‘Time will tell,’ Gloria interrupted. She looked at Helen and then back at the women. ‘I’m gonna wait here with Helen until she’s been able to see Henrietta. Yer all get yerselves off home.’

‘You sure you’re OK to stay?’ Helen asked Gloria.

‘I’m sure,’ she said. There was clearly no arguing the point.

Helen was relieved. She really didn’t want to be left on her own but would never have admitted it. She looked at the women, who were hauling their haversacks over their shoulders. ‘Thank you – thank you for coming. All of you.’

They took it in turns to give Helen a hug.

‘Tell Henrietta that she’s got to pull through,’ said Dorothy.

‘Tell her we’re all rooting for her,’ said Martha.

‘And praying for her too,’ Hannah added.

‘Come on,’ Rosie said to the women. ‘Let’s go.’ She handed Helen a piece of paper with two telephone numbers on it. One was for Lily’s, the other for Brookside Gardens. ‘It doesn’t matter what time, just call if you need anything – even if it’s just to chat.’

Helen took the piece of paper.

‘Thank you,’ she said, fighting hard to choke back more tears.

Within minutes of the women going, Dr Parker appeared.

‘Is she all right?’ Helen asked, her eyes pleading with him to say yes.

‘She’s hanging in there,’ he said.

‘Can I still see her?’

‘Of course,’ Dr Parker smiled. ‘She’s conscious, although she is sounding a little muddled.’ He looked at Gloria and smiled at her too. He was glad she was there. ‘Are you OK to wait here?’ he asked her.

‘You don’t have to stay, you know,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll be fine. Honest.’

‘I’m not budging,’ Gloria said. ‘I’m going to sit here ’n enjoy the peace ’n quiet.’

Just then a drunk with a bloody gash on his forehead staggered into the main foyer, offering up a loud and robust rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas’. He was followed by two male nurses who guided him down the corridor towards the Emergency Department.

‘Spoke too soon,’ Gloria said, shaking her head. ‘Go on.’ She shooed them away. ‘Be as long as yer want.’

Dr Parker and Helen hurried down the corridor.

‘You might get a shock when you see her,’ Dr Parker said. ‘She looks very frail, but she’s not in any pain.’

Helen took a deep breath as they reached the admissions ward.

Dr Parker opened the door and Helen walked in.

Henrietta was in the first bed on the left.

As soon as she saw her grandmother, Helen nearly burst out crying. She looked like she was at death’s door. Before, Henrietta had always looked younger than her age; now, she looked like an old woman, so tiny and frail.

Hurrying over to the side of her bed, Helen pulled up a chair.

‘Grandmama,’ she said, taking Henrietta’s hand. It felt so small, so bony, her skin paper-thin.

Henrietta’s eyes opened and she turned her head to look at Helen.

Seeing who it was, a smile spread across her jaundiced face. Her eyes widened.

‘Helen,’ she whispered. ‘You must be careful.’

Helen was confused. ‘About what, Grandmama?’

‘Calling me –’ she dropped her voice so that it was almost inaudible ‘– Grandmama.’

Helen looked about the ward. There were only three other beds that were occupied. The patient on her grandmother’s side was two beds down and snoring loudly. The other two were on the opposite side of the ward. Both looked like they, too, were sleeping.

‘Don’t worry, Grandmama, I don’t think there’s a risk of anyone hearing us.’ Helen gently brushed a strand of Henrietta’s hair away from her eyes. It felt dry and brittle.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

‘Tired,’ said Henrietta. ‘So very tired.’

Helen felt her heart constrict. ‘We’re going to get you better, Grandmama. But we need to find out what it is that is making you ill.’

Henrietta looked at her granddaughter with soulful eyes. ‘Perhaps it is just my time … You mustn’t be sad.’

Helen shuffled forward on her seat. ‘No, it is not your time. You’ve got a lot longer. A lot longer.’ She looked at her grandmother. The nurses had washed off all her make-up. She looked different without her rouged cheeks and her favourite cobalt blue eyeshadow. ‘We just need to find out what’s making you ill.’ Helen took a breath. ‘Is there anything you have eaten or drunk that might not have agreed with you?’

Henrietta shook her head. As she did so, her eyes caught sight of a strand of tinsel that was hanging from the nurse’s desk.

‘How I used to love Christmas,’ she said, her words slurring a little. Her eyes started to close.

Helen panicked and looked over to Dr Parker, who was bent over, reading a file that had been laid out on top of the nurse’s desk. He caught her waving him over. Striding across, he saw Helen’s face was fraught with worry.

‘She seems terribly tired?’ Her tone spoke of her concern. Henrietta was dying.

Dr Parker walked round to the other side of the bed and checked her grandmother’s pulse, put his stethoscope to her bony chest and listened to her heartbeat. Then he took her temperature.

‘She’s fine,’ he said.

‘For now,’ he added, putting a comforting hand on Helen’s shoulder.

‘Oh, John …’ Helen said, putting her hand on top of his.

Suddenly, Henrietta’s eyes opened.

‘Ah, so this is John.’ Henrietta’s words were slightly slurred. ‘Your doctor.’ She looked from Dr Parker to her granddaughter. ‘Your love.’ Her voice was barely a whisper as her eyes closed again.

‘What did she say?’ Dr Parker said.

‘I’m not sure,’ Helen lied.

Henrietta’s eyes fluttered open. This time they were focused on Helen. ‘Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne.’

Dr Parker looked at Helen.

‘It’s Danish. “The Little Match Girl”,’ Helen explained. ‘She’s talking about Pearl.’

‘Tell her I’m sorry.’ Henrietta’s eyes fluttered, struggling to remain open. Suddenly, she grabbed Helen’s hand with surprising strength. ‘And my little Gracie. Poor little Gracie. Tell her mother and father that I’m sorry. Their gorgeous little girl …’ Her voice trailed off. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes fighting to stay open.

Then her grip tightened again, and she looked at Helen. ‘Promise me you’ll tell them.’

Helen felt the panic rise again. ‘You can tell them yourself, Grandmama. When you’re better.’

As she spoke, Henrietta’s eyes closed. Her breathing was regular, but seemed shallow.

Helen’s head snapped up to look at Dr Parker.

‘It’s OK,’ he reassured. ‘She’s just tired. She needs to rest.’

Helen bent over Henrietta, so that her mouth was by the side of her grandmother’s head. ‘I need you, Grandmama. Please get better. For me.’ Helen saw a tear fall onto Henrietta’s cheek and realised she was crying.

Henrietta didn’t move. She had already dropped into a deep sleep.

As Dr Parker walked Helen back to the main foyer, he slowed down and then stopped.

‘I think you have to prepare yourself, Helen,’ he said gently. ‘It pains me to have to say it.’ He looked at her, expecting to see more hurt, but he was wrong. Instead, he found himself staring into a pair of angry green eyes.

‘I won’t prepare myself,’ Helen said. ‘Henrietta is not going to die. You’re going to save her. You’re going to find what it is that’s made her so ill and then you’re going to make her better.’

*

As Henrietta slipped in and out of consciousness, she kept thinking about her life. She knew she was dying. She wasn’t afraid, though. Had she ever really wanted to live after what she had found out all those years ago on that awful Christmas Day?

Henrietta felt her body tremble. These sudden sporadic bursts of shaking, which felt as though they were coming from her very core, seemed to be happening with greater frequency.

Were they perhaps shaking her free from life? Untangling her? Setting her free?

As the shaking subsided, her body started to relax again and as it did so, she returned to that afternoon on Christmas Day all those years ago. To her previous life.

All those poor young girls.

And Gracie. Poor Gracie. She would have happily swapped her life for that of her little maid. Why hadn’t she come to her and told her? She had been close to all her maids. Why hadn’t they confided in her?

It hadn’t been until this past year, when she had started to emerge from the fugue caused by the drugs, that she had started to think with more clarity. It had been like doing a jigsaw puzzle. And not a particularly pleasant one. Piece by piece, she had realised the awful truth. And how she had helped bring the lambs to the slaughter.

How stupid she had been, getting maids that looked like her daughters. Blonde and blue-eyed. She hadn’t realised at the time. Had not possessed the insight into her own psyche to realise that she was employing young girls who looked like her daughters because she missed her girls. They had been sent away to boarding school and their going had left a hole in her heart. The young maids she had employed, she had come to realise, were replacements. Surrogates.

Henrietta opened her eyes.

So like her daughters.

Thank God, Miriam and Margaret had been sent away and had had as little contact with their father as possible. At least until they were old enough not to warrant his interest.

Henrietta felt a nurse by her side. She was putting a damp cloth on her forehead, but she didn’t feel hot. Quite the reverse. She felt chilled to the bone.

Henrietta let out a deep sigh. It was such a long time ago. How old would Gracie have been now? Of course, she’d be roughly the same age as Miriam and Margaret.

Oh, Gracie, you could have had all that life. I’m so sorry.

Perhaps, if there really is a life hereafter, I’ll get to tell you myself. Soon. Very soon.