must have given half the neighborhood cause to believe the police themselves had come in search of criminals. It was a neighborhood where to see a motor car was still a rarity, and where residents lived in damp, cramped conditions, most with no running water, and windows that had to be shut tight against the fetid air that came up from the docks.
Billy’s wife stood at the already open door as Maisie leapt from the MG, reached behind the seat for what she called her “medicine bag” and rushed into the house.
“We’ve got her downstairs, Miss Dobbs.” Doreen Beale had been crying but followed Maisie as she made her way along the narrow passage through to the kitchen at the back of the house. A pregnant woman sat holding Lizzie Beale, who was whimpering and, it seemed as her eyes rolled back, was on the brink of unconsciousness.
“Clear the table, and set a blanket and sheet on it for me—and Billy, bring over that lamp so that I can see her.” Maisie reached for Lizzie, cradling her in one arm as she pulled open the shawl that swaddled her, and then the buttons on her flannel nightdress. “She’s burning up and fighting to breathe—and you say you couldn’t find the nurse or the doctor?”
Billy shook his head as Doreen laid out a blanket across the table and topped it with a clean sheet. Maisie set Lizzie down.
“No, Miss,” replied Billy. “And every time we tried to pick Lizzie up, she screamed, so I knew we’d never get ’er to the ’ospital, that’s if they would take the nipper.” He paused, shaking his head. “The ’ospitals might be run by the council now, but it don’t seem to ’ave changed much, not really.”
Maisie nodded, wishing that one of Maurice’s clinics were nearby. She reached into the bag that Billy had set on a chair next to her and pulled out a white cotton mask that she placed over her nose and mouth, then secured with ties knotted behind her head. She reached into the bag again and took out a thermometer, along with a wooden speculum that she would use to depress Lizzie’s tongue. She also unpacked a small, narrow pan with a handle at each end, which she set on the table and filled with hydrogen peroxide, a makeshift form of disinfection. Taking up the thermometer, she shook it a couple of times before placing it between the soft folds of skin under Lizzie’s armpit. Then, leaning closer to Lizzie’s face, she lifted each eyelid and studied the child’s eyes. She shook her head, gently opening the cherry-red lips a little wider, and pressed down on Lizzie’s tongue.
“Closer with the light, Billy.”
Billy leaned over, holding the oil lamp close with both hands.
“She’s been sick for about four or five days now, hasn’t she?” Maisie removed the instrument, and set it down on the table, running her hand across Lizzie’s forehead as she did so, then reached for the thermometer, leaning toward the light to study the result.
Billy and his wife nodded together, then Doreen spoke. “At first we thought she was getting better, then she started to get worse, and now this.” She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and leaned against Billy. “What do you think’s wrong with her, Miss Dobbs?”
Maisie looked up. “She has diphtheria, Doreen. The tell-tale thick gray membrane has formed across her throat, she has severe inflammation of the tonsils and adenoids, she has a temperature like a furnace and she must be taken to the fever hospital immediately. There is absolutely no time to lose when the disease has progressed this far.” She turned to Billy. “If I’m right, I think the nearest is in Stockwell. If we take her to another hospital, we will most certainly be turned away, money or no money. But we must act immediately. Doreen, come with me, we’ll go now. I have room for only one passenger, and you’re the child’s mother. We’ll use this sheet and blanket to wrap her.” She took off her mask and went to the sink to rinse the instruments, which she wrapped in a clean cotton towel before replacing them in her bag. “Now, here’s the important thing: You have got to disinfect this whole house. Normally I would say to burn the sheets, but linen doesn’t come cheap, so take all the sheets and blankets and boil them in the copper—and I mean all of them and I mean a rolling boil with disinfectant. As soon as you can, get all the children up and into a tin bath with disinfectant. Scrub everything, Billy, everything. Scrub yourselves, the children, everything and everyone. Throw away any milk in the larder. Keep the windows closed against that air out there. Leave no stone unturned. Boil the children’s clothes. You’ve got four more children in this house, and they’re all at risk. Make sure they’ve all got handkerchiefs, and check for cuts, which you must cover with a clean dressing. Here—” She took a roll of paper-wrapped bandage from her bag. “Children get cuts and you don’t even know about them, but it’s a way to spread the disease. You’ll probably have the inspector around tomorrow in any case, and they may take them in as a precaution. Now, we can’t spare any more time.” She gathered her belongings, but stopped to issue one last instruction, directed at Doreen’s pregnant sister, who was already banking up the fire to heat the water. “You must be doubly careful, madam.” She took a clean mask out of her bag. “This may be overdoing it, but please wear this whenever you are with the children. At least until they have all been examined.”
It was almost midnight when Maisie sped off once again, this time balancing regard for the comfort of her passengers with the need to get Lizzie to the fever hospital. She had not said as much to Billy and his wife, but Maisie knew only too well that Lizzie’s chances of clinging to life would have increased greatly had she been admitted to hospital three days ago. Each day without medical care following onset of the disease increased the mortality rate in young children. The knowledge that one in five children left untreated at five days after first signs of sickness would die caused Maisie to press down on the accelerator. Parking the car in front of the hospital, Maisie put her arm around Doreen’s shoulders as they rushed into the dour Victorian building. A doctor was summoned and Maisie gave an immediate diagnosis and details of symptoms and Lizzie Beale was taken away. The women were instructed to remain in the waiting room until the doctor came out to give a prognosis, though Maisie suspected it would be a long wait, for she knew that the child was bound for the operating theater, where she would be given injections of antitoxin to protect her vital organs from the vicious disease. Without doubt, she would have a tracheotomy to clear the upper airway obstruction, plus removal of her tonsils and adenoids. Would her little heart be able to bear such a dangerous operation?
“Oh, my precious Lizzie. My precious girl.” Doreen Beale broke down in Maisie’s arms, tears coursing down her face. “We could’ve sold something, pawned my wedding ring. I blame myself, I should’ve said to Billy, ‘Sell my ring.’ I wish I had, I wish I had known. I didn’t think.” Her heaving sobs seemed to crush her chest, such was the grief and self-recrimination.
“Don’t blame yourself, Doreen, you mustn’t. It’s not your fault. Some children don’t display the usual signs until the disease has progressed. It must have looked just like a cold to start with.” As she clutched the woman to her, she concentrated on pouring strength into the mother who would need every ounce of resolve in the hours and, if they were fortunate, days ahead. It had been a long evening, and as they stood in the hospital waiting room, Maisie thought back to the party, to those who would never need to think twice about money to help a sick child, or adult, for that matter. Though she had taken an instant dislike to him, she could see why the man whom Georgina predicted would one day be prime minister had begun to appeal to both rich and poor alike. He promised a government that would look after its own first. He promised hope. And the people desperately needed reason to hope.
Maisie’s thoughts turned to Billy. “Look, Doreen, Billy should be here with you and Lizzie. The doctor will be out as soon as he has some news, and after he’s seen you, they’ll likely advise you to leave. I’ll go and get Billy, and”—
