Letters from Alice: Part 3 of 3: A tale of hardship and hope. A search for the truth.. Petrina Banfield

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СКАЧАТЬ at the podium, and the fundraiser gave her a small nod of encouragement. Perhaps to put herself at ease, she opened by joking with the audience that when trying to decide on a career at the end of the Great War, she had drawn up an alphabetical list of the possibilities open to her and settled on the first one she came to after ‘actress’.

      Miss Campbell smiled and nodded as Alice spoke about some of the cases she had dealt with during her first year in post: the young child she had taken under her wing whose parents had delivered her to the hospital for treatment and then failed to return; the patient who had fallen into a deep depression after a leg amputation, who was now working cheerfully in the hospital kitchens.

      The almoner told delegates about her efforts to encourage prostitutes into more respectable lines of work and the lengths she and her colleagues went to in helping those addicted to drugs and alcohol. ‘The joy of my own work comes, not from meeting people when they are at their lowest ebb,’ she said, beginning to get into her stride, ‘but from offering a sanctuary away from what, for so many of our patients, is a hostile, frightening world. Witnessing their transformation as they begin the long climb towards self-respect and independence is such a privilege,’ she added, lifting her gaze from the podium for the first time, ‘and it chills me to think of what would become of them if the safety net of our department were to be removed.’

      She went on to describe how she had grown wise in recent months to the games people play, citing Jimmy’s case as an example in point. There was widespread mirth among the audience as she recounted her final visit to Jimmy on the ward, and when the almoner descended the stairs to the right of the stage, at just after half past ten, she looked like a woman who’d just received a pardon at the foot of the gallows.

      Sporadic, whispered conversations broke out across the floor as Alice took her seat, falling into a revering silence as Alexander Hargreaves, smartly dressed in a white shirt, colourful cravat and dark, waist-coated suit complete with a flower in the buttonhole, took to the stage. The philanthropist cleared his throat and surveyed his audience, then linked his hands behind his back. ‘I wonder how many of us,’ he enquired with melodious confidence, rolling back and forth on his heels, ‘can claim to be true social reformers, rather than mere thoughtful observers.’

      His eyes roved over those gathered in the manner of a priest delivering a sermon, and then he paused to allow his enquiry to sink in. After a few moments he began a slow walk across the stage, his hands still linked behind his back. He spoke about the stark inequalities on view in London day after day, the traders who blindly rode the trains into work while homeless children froze to death in the railway arches beneath them. ‘The time has come,’ he said stirringly, ‘for each and every one of us to transform ourselves into people of action, and to stop wasting our time espousing useless, empty words.’ He stopped pacing and turned to face his audience, whose zeal was beginning to mirror his own in intensity. ‘Let us reject those who dismiss the poverty of the masses as inevitable,’ he intoned, his arm outstretched towards them, his palm turned upwards to the ceiling. He made a claw with his hand and then clamped his long fingers into a fist. ‘Let us work together to bring an end to the misery of destitution. The success of our joint efforts, my friends, need know no bounds.’

      He dipped his head modestly as the audience erupted into spontaneous applause.

      The fundraiser was stopped by a number of delegates as the audience spilled from the foyer into the grounds later that afternoon, each of them keen to make the acquaintance of the most impressive speaker of the day. Skilled in steering any interaction towards furthering his cause, he managed to convert three vague enquiries into his work into hard donations before he and Alice had finished their stroll through the formal gardens.

      ‘Impressive,’ Alice said as they sat side by side on a stone bench. She tilted her head towards the sun and closed her eyes momentarily. The skies over England on the tenth day of the month were bright and clear, with seven to eight hours of sunshine being reported in the south.

      Alexander cradled his hands in his lap and looked at her. ‘What is?’

      She opened her eyes and turned to him. ‘The way you get people to bend to your will. It is quite something.’

      Alexander pursed his lips and smiled. ‘I suppose I can be rather inspired, when I’m passionate about something. And I do usually end up getting what I want.’ His eyes lingered on her and then he said: ‘But I’m nowhere near where I need to be yet.’ As they explored the woodlands, he told Alice about his drive to raise enough funds to build a new convalescence home in Eastbourne as well as increasing provision for inpatient care at the Royal Free.

      By dusk the temperatures had cooled significantly, the wind gaining in strength and driving all but the heartiest delegates back into the house. After a formal dinner, Alice retired to the drawing room, where a log fire was raging. Alexander joined her half an hour later, at almost 9 p.m., after extracting himself from a heated conversation about the recently established Free State in Ireland. ‘You appear to have carved yourself a rather decent hideout over here, Miss Hudson.’

      The almoner lowered the novel she was reading to her lap and grinned up at him. ‘Haven’t I just? But please, feel free to join me.’

      Alexander sat himself in one of the high-backed armchairs opposite her. ‘I shan’t mind if you object to my inflicting my company on you again. I’m afraid I have rather dominated you this weekend.’

      The almoner shook her head. ‘Not at all. Some men are not equipped to share a conversation with a woman unless it involves either a threat or an innuendo. It’s nice to be taken seriously for a change.’

      Alexander interlinked his fingers and cradled his knee within the arch, lifting it into the air without taking his eyes from hers. ‘Can I be so bold as to ask how a woman as handsome as yourself has managed to escape matrimony for so long?’

      The almoner’s cheeks coloured. ‘I am married to my work,’ she said quickly, and then added: ‘And I suppose I have never met a man who interests me enough to sacrifice it. I think that is good enough reason to remain single. After all, a woman should be able to function quite sufficiently without a man propping her up, should she not?’

      ‘Quite. Ab-so-lute-ly. Well, it pays to be discerning. But you must have had plenty that have expressed an interest?’

      ‘I generally have little time to ponder on it.’ She dropped her eyes to her lap, where her gloved hands were resting on her book.

      Alexander cleared his throat. ‘Listen, I’m not one to take an interest in rumours, but there has been talk’ – Alice looked up sharply – ‘of associations and the like …’

      ‘I prefer to mind my own affairs than to pay attention to idle gossip,’ Alice interrupted, picking at a grey woollen bobble on her skirt.

      Alexander tilted his head. ‘So a certain medical man has expressed no formal interest in you?’

      She looked up, eyes wide, the two bright red spots colouring her cheeks darkening. ‘If you’re talking about Dr Harland, I think I mentioned before that he has done nothing but obstruct my every effort since I arrived in the post. I have no idea why, though I suspect it may have something to do with the fact that I am on to him.’

      ‘You’re referring to his practising privately?’

      Alice nodded. ‘He has every right to run a private practice, but not on the Royal Free’s time. Anyway, that is not the half of it, believe me. He –’ She stopped abruptly and then clapped her hands down on her book. ‘Never mind.’

      Alexander stroked СКАЧАТЬ