People of Abandoned Character

still with his back to me, pretended he was organising books, but I knew he heard me. Aisling used to say that the past existed only to remind us to leave it behind. That this was the only way we could be free. Telling him about Mabel had not been enough, so I offered him a torrid little piece of myself. I told him that my parents had not died of scarlet fever and that in fact I had no knowledge of who my father was at all. I was born a bastard and my mother was still a child herself. I told him about how we lived together in a sordid little room in a dank little courtyard in the Nichol and how my mother was a prostitute who was strangled to death by a man whose company she kept. I couldn’t believe I was speaking these things aloud. I never had before. My voice shook as if it was trying to choke the words before they came out.

‘It is not necessary to leave things to chance, Dr Shivershev, or to God. How will Mabel end if I don’t help her? How will I end knowing I could have helped her? Isn’t this what science is for? So we can save each other when our Holy Father leaves us to suffer?’

The dust stopped floating between us, and after a long while Dr Shivershev dragged a piece of paper towards him as if it were the weight of a rock and started to write. When he’d finished, he folded it and pushed it across the desk towards me.

‘There is a woman who takes on this type of business. You are to give this to your friend. She is to go to this address and follow the instructions. This came from you and you alone. Do not mention my name. I will speak to them so they expect a woman with red hair.’

‘So you do remember Mabel?’

‘There is a cost attached. I assume you will take care of that,’ he said.

I took the folded paper, put my bonnet on and made my way to the door. He stayed in his chair. I was at the door when he said, ‘You should tell your friend this is not without its risks. And one more thing, Mrs Lancaster. I don’t suppose I need to stress that you are not to mention this to your husband. He is not a man I trust. I warn you, if this comes back, I will ruin you with what you’ve told me.’

‘As you can imagine, Dr Shivershev, I am very good at keeping secrets. I only hope you are too. And I do not blame you – I would not trust my husband either.’

*

I waited for the moment I could pass Mabel the envelope. Inside was the note and money. My own money. There was no way I could explain that amount to Thomas.

Mabel glanced around the interior of the milliner’s to see if anyone was watching, then gestured for me to wait. Once she was sure it was clear, she came the other side of the cash register and ushered me to a dark corner at the back of the shop. She stood with her back to the corner so she could see down the aisle.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ she whispered. ‘Anything! Name it.’

I could not think of a single thing, and yet there was a multitude of things I did want. I wanted to reverse time and go back to the day before Aisling left me. I wanted to grab her hand and run away. I wanted never to have married and to still be a nurse. I wanted to have taken my chances with Matron Luckes, thrown myself on her mercy and asked for help and guidance. In hindsight, I’m sure she would have given it. I wanted to find others like myself. But what could Mabel do with any of those things? What was I meant to ask for? I supposed I did need new gloves.

‘You don’t need to do anything for me. I have everything,’ I said. I realised how smug this sounded and hoped Mabel didn’t think I was trying to make her feel worse.

‘I will pay you back,’ she said. ‘You’ll see. But now I’d better get on.’ She moved to leave and instinctively I grabbed her tiny arm. How would someone so fragile and small survive what was to come?

‘Mabel… you know, marriage isn’t everything, it’s more a concept really. The reality is a bit like being a nurse – or a Catholic, so I hear.’

She stared at me, confusion in her eyes.

‘That was a joke,’ I said.

‘Oh, I couldn’t tell.’

‘Aisling used to say that. I’m not very good at making jokes.’

‘No, I… On reflection, it was amusing, I think,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you must have found it terribly difficult after—’

‘Yes. I’m much happier now, thank you. I’ve been most fortunate.’ Now it was me who moved to leave.

‘Susannah?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you all right? You aren’t unwell, are you?’

‘No.’ I laughed, then remembered I was meant to be discreet, for Mabel’s sake. ‘Good luck,’ I whispered, and then said in a louder voice, ‘Your assistance has been excellent, Miss Mullens.’

‘Thank you, madam.’ Mabel smiled, then whispered back, ‘I’ll write to you when I get home. I’ll pay you back. I will.’

20

The odd heart-shaped pendant was the first of a flurry of gifts. Our Chelsea home had been sparsely and tastefully furnished up to that point, decorated with a restrained awareness of what was proper. I had not added to it myself; it was never my house or my money. But it began to be filled with curiosities and ornaments seemingly purchased by Thomas when drunk or in some kind of excitable fit. The money worries that had been the subject of letters from Helen had clearly disappeared. There were boxes upon boxes of hideous cigars, despite the fact he didn’t smoke, and disgustingly