Paid Servant (23 page)

“Where will you put the child?”

She reached under the bed and pulled out a small folding bed, and a screen of wooden framework and gaily patterned cretonne panels.

“We can set this up each evening,” she explained. She then showed me where, a short distance along the corridor, there were bathroom and toilet facilities which they shared with two other roomers on the same floor. Simple, unpretentious, not too comfortable, but I knew of many families of four or more housed in as much space or even less.

“What happens to him when you begin work?” I asked her.

“I can put him in a day nursery and collect him each evening.” She had evidently given the matter some thought; probably, between them they had carefully worked it out. Well, why not. Other parents were doing the same thing. It was her child.

“Why not sit down?” he invited. They both sat on the bed.

“Look here, both of you,” I was making my decision as I went along. “I want to help you. If one judges by the history of this case, you have not done much to encourage trust. As things are it would be well within our rights to keep the child at Campden Hill, until you make formal application to the courts to have the Council's rights rescinded. However, I am willing to take a chance on you. I will have Martin turned over to you, but I will come regularly to check that he is comfortable and happy; at the least sign of neglect he will be returned to the Home.”

Mrs Agumsah beamed with pleasure and relief. The African merely grinned. If they were merely putting on an act, then so consummate was their performance that it deserved to succeed. They asked if they could have Martin straight away.

“Not today,” I said, “because I'll have to notify Matron of my decision. And the child will need to be medically examined and cleared before he is released to you.”

They drove me back to my office, and I put through a call to Campden Hill. Matron was not available, so I asked to be connected with Miss Richardson; I told her what I planned to do.

“But you can't. You can't hand him over to those awful people.” She sounded very agitated. I repeated that Martin's mother would call for him soon after noon the following day—that should allow enough time for all the formalities to be completed.

“But he's in the Council's Care and Protection.” She made the words sound special and capitalized. “We can't let him go without special permission.”

“I'll take the responsibility for that, Miss Richardson.” She seemed to be taking it rather personally, so I took this tougher line. Little did I know just how much responsibility I was so casually undertaking.

“I'll have to tell Matron.”

“Yes, of course. I tried to tell her myself, but couldn't reach her. Tell her that Martin's parents will be there tomorrow.”

I suddenly had the misgiving that I might have acted too precipitately, so I went to the Chief's office to let her know what I had done; a bit late, but never mind. Neither she nor Miss Whitney was in, so, having gone so far with the matter, I'd have to see it through.

Next day was Saturday, but in the afternoon I went to the room near Tower Hill to check on progress. What I saw gave me a wonderful feeling of satisfaction and encouragement. Through the open door I saw Mr Agumsah lying on his back on the floor, with a lovely child astride his chest, bouncing up and down and squealing with merriment. He was fair-skinned, with large dark eyes and very dark hair which hung from his head in long glossy curls. On his head was a green ribbon tied in a big bow adding an attractive dash of colour. He sat still as I appeared and regarded me shyly. Then Mr Agumsah, looked around and said:

“Come in. This is my Martin.”

Very nice, except for the green ribbon. As I drew nearer the boy leaned down and hugged his father, for protection, I thought.

“Mrs Agumsah in?”

“No, she's out shopping. Will be back soon.”

He sat up, still keeping the shy child close to him, cooing soft nothings to him meanwhile. Mrs Agumsah soon appeared, laden with groceries.

“Was everything okay at the Home?” I asked them.

“It wasn't bad. Martin cried a bit at first, but he was soon all right. Well, you can see for yourself.”

Yes, I saw for myself, but I told her I would be dropping around from time to time and, when she decided to return to work, I'd like to know where the child would be placed ….

The storm broke over my head on Monday morning. Hardly had I entered my office when my telephone rang and the crisp voice of the Chief called me to her office. Sitting straight behind her desk, she shot at me:

“I have heard from Campden Hill of your extremely high-handed action in the Devonish case. Without any authority whatsoever you have undertaken to remove a child from the Council's care and deliver it to persons of whom the little that is known could not reasonably be quoted to their advantage. I want to make it clear, here and now, that your conduct in this matter will, in all probability, have very serious consequences for you; furthermore, because you saw fit to act without reference to me, I hope you will appreciate that you have placed yourself outside the influence of any protection I would otherwise have extended to you as a member of this staff. Before you leave your office this morning you will please prepare a full report on this matter to be attached to my own report to County Hall.”

Gradually it was getting to me; there was more to it than just that. I stood where I was, just inside the door.

“You came to this office without any formal training in this work, and you have completely overstepped your terms of reference.” She stopped; probably she was finding it difficult to control the things within her which were clamouring to be said. “Well, have you anything to say?”

My surprise had now given way to a cold, incisive anger. At such times the damnedest things pop into my head.

“Secondly,” I replied, “a full report on the case is in that tray there on your desk, where it has been since Saturday, and, firstly, my terms of reference clearly allow me to do everything I can to resolve the hard-core cases, among which the Devonish case has been included. It seems to me that you have already made up your mind purely on whatever you have heard from persons at Campden Hill, therefore it would be pointless for me to say anything other than what is already in my report.”

With that I bade her good morning and returned to my office, a prey to a sudden spate of misgivings. Perhaps, after all, I had fallen for a lot of sentimental nonsense from the Agumsahs … Yet, was not the sight of that little family, united and happy, sufficient justification? I sat at my desk, unable to concentrate on the work which needed attention. Suppose anything had happened to the child over the weekend. Suppose, suppose … I hurried downstairs and, half-running, rushed to the nearest taxi-stand and got a taxi for Tower Bridge.

Well, I need not have worried. I could hear their laughter as I ran up the steps. I knocked and Mrs Agumsah let me in; she and Martin were at breakfast.

“Ali goes to work very early, so we didn't hurry to get up.” She wore a woollen dressing-gown over pyjamas, and the little boy was in a warm, fleecy combination garment.

“Everything okay?” I asked, trying to hide the fact that I felt rather foolish to be spying on her in this absurd way; she was kindness itself and gave no hint that she resented my intrusion.

“Yes, just fine.” Then suddenly, “They won't try to come and take him from me, will they?”

“Nonsense, Mrs Agumsah. Nobody can take him away as long as you take good care of him.”

She smiled in relief. When I left them I felt more than relief; I felt strong and ready to defend my decision, precipitate and arbitrary though it might seem. If the Council wanted these cases cleared up, they'd have to go along with me, red tape or no red tape. Whatever the Chief might say in her report, somebody would have to ask me some questions, and I had a few good answers ready and waiting.

Two mornings later the Chief rang me.

“I would like you to come to my office immediately, Mr Braithwaite.” The peremptory tone spelled further trouble. She could hardly wait to tell me: “Miss Devonish, or whatever she calls herself, has disappeared again, this time taking the child with her.” No anger in her voice now; the flat I-told-you-so statement, with the faintest hint of vindication for her own opinion of the woman. Or was it her own opinion?

“When did this happen?”

“Last night, I suppose. Miss Richardson came to see me yesterday and together we went to the address you supplied in your report. Someone in the house told us that the woman was out. We went back again later in the evening and discovered that she had paid her rent and gone, taking the child with her. According to the landlady, they put their stuff in a car and drove off, without leaving any forwarding address.”

“Why did you take Miss Richardson?”

“Because she knows the child and would have been better able to judge if it were being properly cared for. Well, just as I said, the woman is completely unreliable.”

“I think you frightened her away, you and Miss Richardson.”

“That could hardly be true; we didn't see her.”

“She probably saw you. What happens now?”

“You will be expected to find her and return the child to the Council's care.”

If I had remained another moment with her I might have said things later to be regretted. I went to my office and carefully looked through the files, to try to find something that would give me a clue to her whereabouts. I was sure, or very nearly sure, that somehow Miss Richardson had been responsible for the woman's flight. The only clue I had was her remark about working at the mattress factory. I went there but the personnel officer had no news of her. I went back to see her landlady, hoping that either she or Mr Agumsah might have returned for some reason or other. Another blank. I could think of nothing else to do. Perhaps, after all, I was wrong to trust her.

Early next morning the man telephoned. He came immediately to the point.

“Why you send woman to take baby?”

I hastily assured him that there was no intention to take Martin away from them; the visitors had merely called to see how the child was getting along.

“That woman not come to take baby?”

“No, of course not, believe me.” No answer, maybe he was making up his mind. I said: “Mr Agumsah, I trusted you when I let you take the boy home. I think you should trust me when I say he will not be taken from you.”

“Okay, I trust you.”

“Where are they, Mrs Agumsah and Martin?”

“In Brixton.” He gave me the address. “She scared they take baby away.”

“Don't worry. I'll go to see her and explain.” I felt a little weak with relief. I'd get over there to see her as quickly as possible; but it might be a good idea to take someone else with me, so that someone less involved would be able to view the situation.

Ruth Martindale was busy at her desk nearby; I'd always found her helpful, sympathetic and rather more progressive in her outlook than most of the others. I gave her a quick rundown on the case and asked her if she could come with me to Brixton to visit Mrs Agumsah. She agreed.

It was a ground floor room in a small, two-storeyed, semi-detached house, which looked like any of the hundreds of its neighbours in the narrow streets of Brixton. I knocked. A curtain twitched behind the window which overlooked the street, then the door opened. Before she could say anything I spoke.

“I'm very annoyed with you, Mrs Agumsah; running off like this without letting me know where you were. I told you that either I or one of my colleagues would have to visit you for a while. Why did you do it?”

“Won't you come in, Mr Braithwaite?” She looked inquiringly at Miss Martindale.

“Miss Martindale is a Welfare Officer. She came with me to see Martin.”

“Okay, come in.”

The room was somewhat bigger than that at Tower Bridge. Martin was on the floor playing with several clockwork replicas of automobiles. We sat down.

“Well, why did you disappear?”

Her face looked haggard with the strain of worry.

“It's that woman from the Home. I'd been shopping in the market with Martin, and while I was coming up the street I saw her and another woman stop at the house in a car; then they were talking with my landlady. I pulled Martin into a shop until they left, then I went and asked the landlady and she said they were asking about me. She thought I'd done something. She said they'd be coming back and I thought they'd come to take Martin. I stayed indoors till Ali came home and I told him, so we left and stayed with his friends that night, and somebody told us of this place, so we came here. I was sorry we didn't tell you, because you had been so kind to us, and this morning I told Ali to ring you, but not to tell you where I was.”

“I persuaded him to because I wanted you to know that as long as your baby is well cared for no one will take him from you.”

“Then why did they have to send her, that woman from the Home?”

“Just to visit, because she knew Martin.”

“I don't want her to come near me.”

“Anyway, now you're here, will you promise to keep in touch with me and not do anything unless you have a chat with me?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Christ! I was sounding like a damned schoolmaster.

“Okay, and don't forget. Nobody is trying to take the child away.”

She nodded in acceptance.

Outside I asked Miss Martindale:

“Well, what do you think?”

“She certainly had the wind up, didn't she? But she seems all right. I don't think the little boy will come to any harm with her.”

Back in the office I made my report, indicating in very positive terms that Mrs Agumsah had been frightened on seeing Miss Richardson at her home; I more than hinted that there was no justification for Miss Richardson's appearance on the scene, as Tower Hill was a long way from Campden Hill where her duties were located. I reported that Mrs Agumsah and her son were well and comfortable and that I would maintain regular contact with them until Mrs Agumsah's application against the Council's Rights and Privileges order was dealt with.