Jill Sees Life

The queer sound came again and Jill, jerking her hand round impatiently, realised that the girl at the other end of the bench was crying. Her perfect eyebrows arched scornfully, as she transferred her gazé to a bed of flowers. Really, some people had no decency! If one must cry, why choose a public park? Besides there was something peculiarly irritating about that sniff to one who wanted to think. And Jill, try as she would to convince herself that only a desire for peace had made-her seek the solitude of Kensington Gardens, could not honestly deny that there was much to think about. 

She saw again the scene of the night before, the hot, smoke-filled room, the noisy. laughing crowd -- the usual crowd, the usual noise -- and, under a shaded light, she and Jim, laughing with the rest. She saw him put down his glass and turn to her, the smile fading, and remark, in that abrupt manner of his: 

"I'm clearing out of this. Going to Canada to join my Uncle George.” 

It had been so unexpected that it had knocked her off her balance. Jim going away? Why, Jim was her property. everyone in the crowd knew it. She meant to marry him some day, not yet awhile, of course, and when she did, they would still form part of the crowd. But here wes Jim talking of farms, of acres of land, of the big fight ahead to save those acres from bankruptcy, with enthusiasm she had never heard before. She had gasped a protest, but with a casual wave of his hand which embraced the whole crowd, he answered :

 "I am fed-up with all this, it is narrow, small. I want some room to breathe," then, before she had time to think, he added, so casually that she misread his seriousness: 

"Would you like to come too?"

 “And she had burst out laughing. (Oh, she had not meant to laugh, had not realised how she had hurt till she saw his face!) . 

"Me?" she jeered, "Me making merry in a log cabin? My dear idiot, one wants to get a bit of zip out of life while one is young." 

"Life?" His voice was sharp. "You call this life? You don't even know what real life is." 

He roses to his feet, and without waiting for a reply, passed through the crowd and was gone. 

Over and over again Jill went through the little scene, hating herself for the laugh, justifying the refusal, and, punctuating it with disgusting regularity, came that sniff from the girl at the other end of the bench. Against her will Jill turned and looked at her again. Yes, she was certainly crying, miserably, hopelessly. With a touch of pity ousting her scorn, Jill realised that the stranger was little more than a child. Her eyes took in the bundle the girl was hugging, passed to her hands and there paused. Little, red, work-worn hands they were, but clenched so tight the knuckles were white. They held Jill's eyes and made her uncomfortable -- there was such a look of desperation about those hands. Dash it all, she argued with herself, one can't interfere, and even as she argued the girl ]aoked up and their eyes met. Jill found herself face to face with a dumb misery such as she had never seen before, a need so great it broke right through her defences to the essential woman beneath and, to her amazement, she found herself stammering. 

"What is it? Can I do anything?” 

"I don't know what to do with my baby," said the girl, with the simplicity of despair. 

"But must you do anything with it?" asked Jill, somewhat vaguely. " - meany why cant it stay where it has been?" 

The girl gave a shudder. "I had to take her away from her foster mother," she said, " and I have nowhere to take her." 

"But why did you take her away till you had found somewhere else?" asked Jill, pleased with her own common-sense. 

"Look at her," and the girl drew back the shawl. 

Jill looked, and recoilled in disgust. Could it be a baby, this wizened object, so coated with dirt and filth that the only recognisable part was.a pair of frightened eyes? At her exclamation of horror, the girl went on in the same monotonous tone. 

"The people in the next house to where she was they let me know. ‘You had better come soon and take her away,' they said, ‘or that woman'll do for her.' Starved her, she had, and knocked her about. I just been there, and when I saw, I picks her up, and comes straight out. I had to take her away, didn't I?" she ended, with a note of passion. 

Jill nodded, and they sat silent for a time, both trying to see the future. 

"I dunno," said the girl at last, "but what the river isn't the best place for baby and me."

"No, no," protested Jill, "there must be some other way. Arn't there homes for babies, or something?"

"They would take her from me, they would. Wouldn't let me see her. They do if the mothers arn't married." 

"A jumble of thoughts passed through Jill's head. It was not her concern, she was not responsible, but suppose the girl carried out her threat. Suppose in tomorrow's paper there was a dreadful little paragraph which she, Jill,might have prevented. She shuddered, and then squared her shoulders, There were worse things than interfering, and someone had to do something. 

"Come on," she said, "I've got my car parked outside. We'll find someone to look after the baby." 

The girl followed her unquestioning, and, in a few minutes, dazed and bewildered was sitting by Jill's side as she flung her scarlet two-seater through the Sunday emptiness of the London streets. As she drove, Jill's brain worked furiously. She had promised to do something, and she had not the least idea what to do. She ran over the list of her friends. There was Mops , perhaps she would have an idea, had not she helped last week at a bazaar for a baby clinic or creche or something? Jill drew up with a jerk before Mops' house, and leapt out. But Mops was late for an appointment, and was feverishly making up.

"What shall you do with a baby?" she drawled, in response to Jill's incoherent questions. "My love, I should drown it. The world is far too full of infants, as it is. If the poor can't be moral, they might at least be cautious." 

"What a foul mind you have, darling replied Jill, and flashed out. 

Back in the car, her thoughts went over the rest of the crowd. They would all be out, of course, but even if she tracked them, would any of them be more use than Mops? The married ones perhaps -- May and Toby? No, they were abroad. Well, then, Vivienne? Oh, certainly not Vivienne, with her pet monkey. Nancy, perhaps? What was that story Nancy was telling last night about the Dowager?. Jill's recollection flashed back, and she heard again Nancy's voice in brilliant mimicry relating a conversation with her mother-inlaw on the subject of an heir. It was a good story, as told by Nancy, but positive proof that Nancy was no baby-lover: Desperately Jill asked herself: 

“ Have none of them any babies?" and suddenly, out of the list of names, one leaped with startling clearness -- Molly. Heaven be praised, Molly: Jill swung the car round, recklessly speeding for a distant and unfashionable suburb. Why had she not thought before of the one likely person, Molly, who had dropped out of the crowd, who had insisted on marrying, in the face of all opposition, a no-doubt respectable, but hopelessly middle-class young man. Jill recalled the excitement there had been four years ago; for Molly had always been popular. 

"My dear," had gone in horrified tones from on to the one to the other  “She means to marry the mans and bury herself in the suburbs." 

But Molly had smilingly gone her way and dropped out of fashionable circles to become Mrs. Herbert Fisher of Finchley. At intervals Jill heard from her, at Christmas, and on her birthday -- Molly never forgot birthdays -  and there had been snapshots of babies, for Molly had completed the crowd's horror by having twins at the year end. Now the thought of Molly was the one hope to which Jill clung. She would know what one did with one filthy, neglected baby. She knew all about them, their baths and bottles and things.

With a shriek the scarlet two-seater drew up outside a pleasant suburban house, and there was Molly on the doorstep, a little plumper, perhaps, but as pretty as ever. Dancing round her were two fairy-like little girls, and in the background could be seen the figure of a diminutive person in cap and apron, nearly overpowered by the fat little boy in her arms. 

"Jill, how lovely to see you. It is just ages since you came out here," and  Molly was hugging her, and sending a welcome smile to the stranger. 

"We've got an infant here -~" began Jill, but Molly was already peeping inside the shawl. 

"Oh!" she said, and "Oh" again, a sound compact of love and pity and a deep indignation. "The poor wee! What have they done to you? Let me have her and come inside, all of you." 

The girl dumbly surrendered the baby, and Molly's orders fell like rain. "Nurse!" (The diminutive person pulled herself to her full height of some four and a half feet) "Take the twins and baby into’ the garden. Mr. Fisher is there, digging. Tell him they can do what they like, but they must stay out for half-an hour. Then come back quickly; I want you to help me. Jill, stoke up that kitchen fire, will you, and pop a kettle on the gas. Now, Minnie is it? sit down and hold baby a minute. I must find some of Stumps’ baby clothes: That you, Nurse? Cotton-wool, vaseline and olive oil off the medicine shelf, and a couple of bath towels." 

"Yes, Mum," said Nurse beaming and, in a moment, short of breath but full of pride was spreading the things on the kitchen table. Jill, perched on the kitchen cabinet, watched in something like awe as Molly took the baby and, crooning over it with little pitiful cries. pulled off its rags, to be stuffed officiously on the fire by the waiting nurse, tenderly washed away the layers of dirt, dressed the terrible sores and the little neglected head, and finally wrapped the child gently in clean baby clothes. 

"I'm warming some milk, Mum, for the baby," announced the little nurse, who was enjoying every moment, "and I've put some tea in the drawing room. I’ll keep the children out of the way while you have it." 

"That is good of you, Nurse," said Molly, with the smile that so easily made slaves wherever she went. "Come and pour out for me,Jill, there's a dear. You sit here, Minnie, and I'll keep baby. She'll drop off to sleep after her milk." 

Settled an an armchair, gently rocking, Molly crooned the baby off to sleep and, at the same time, without apparent effort, drew out Minnie's story. It was a simple one, but none the less tragedy. She had been only sixteen, a chambermaid in a hotel. The man -- Minnie was vague, the details seemed blurred. 

"I dunno how I came to do it," she puzzled. "It was just his talking. I never meant to do anything bad." 

Then had come the baby. She had carried on as long as possible and managed to leave without suspicion, so that afterwards she was able to get another post without difficulty. 

"I did want to do right by my baby. I thought if I paid well the woman would care for her." 

"What did you pay?" put in Molly. 

"Fifteen shillings a week." "That was a lot to afford. Did it leave you any?" 

"Not much, but I got a rise. I am doing well there, they say I'm willing. You see, I didn't mind how hard I worked, so as I could make a bit more for baby. I make about a pound = week now, or a bit more: You see, there's tips and such. It's good for my age." 

"It is," said Molly, And patted her hand. "You have got on well,"but Jill just sat and stared. Fifteen shillings out of a not too certain twenty, and Minnie had been paying it without a murmur. Last week -- Jill tried to squash the memory -- she had refused five shillings for Tootle's Hospital Fund, said she broke and could not afford it. Jill squirmed at the thought. 

Suddenly Minnie locked at the clock in panic. 

"I must go, please. I only had the aftérnoon off to-day. I'll never, never be back in time.” 

"That's all right. Jill will drive you back and she is a noted breaker of records. Put your hat on and run for it." 

"But a baby?" stammered Minnie. "Baby?" Molly raised surprised lids. "Baby will stay here, of course, for the time being." She spoke as if no other alternative were possible. -"She wants lots of care and love to get her right and Nurse and I are just going to enjoy looking after her. As for the twins, they will adore her. She is going to sleep in Stumps' old cradle to-night -- when she is really well, we can make plans for the future."

Minnie was on her knees like a Catholic before the Madonna. 

"I never knew there could be anyone like you," she sobbed. "I didn't know there was kindness like that in the world." 

Molly bent across the sleeping baby and kissed the tear-stained face. 

"There, that's all right," she said. "Come down next Sunday, and you won't know her; we will get her right in no time. No, sill, hurry her off. We don't want her to get into trouble." 

The scarlet two-seater flashed back like a streak of lightning, and tumbled out a bewildered Minnie at the Blue Boar on the stroke of six. 

"Pick you up next Sunday?" queried Jill and, without waiting for thanks, made for home. 

Hastily she slipped up the stairs to her own room and, locking the door, cast herself on the scarlet-covered divan. "Golly, wot an afternoon!" she said coarsely, and, tossing off her hat, ran a hand through her dark curls. A reflection waved back at her from the mirror and, springing up, she confronted the face in the glass. 

"You pie-faced idiot, you," she remarked to it. "Thought you were getting a zip out of life, did you? and didn't even know what life was." The afternoon had opened doors on aspects of life of which she knew nothing -- Minnie, working her soul out to make extras for her baby; Molly, with her three, taking in another as a matter of course; these were the ones who knew life as it was, stark and real and cruel, but with amazing depths of goodness beneath, She, Jill, had only known the froth on the surface. 

Suddenly, as if the act was symbolic, she snatched up a decadent-looking doll which lounged on her dressing-chest and sent it hurtling through the window. A shriek of joy came up and Jill, peering out, saw a rapturous urchin speeding away with the treasure. A smile came to her lips and with a sudden resolution, she turned to the telephone and dialled a' number. 

A deep voice replied and Jill made hers more casual than usual. 

"Doing anything to-night, Jim?" 

There was a gasp at the other end of the wire: and then, with forced indifference came the reply: 

"Yes, I was going out." 

"That's a pity," drawled Jill. "I am all on my own and I thought you might come round and tell me some of the qualifications for a backwoods wife. But if you are going out --" 

"I am -- now. Expect me in three and a half minutes." 

Jill  glanced at the clock, and whisked out of her frock. Jim could sprint when he liked, and the streets were clear. There was a splashing of water, a cloud of powder, a flurry of silk, and Jill smiled approvingly at the reflection in the glass. 

"We shan't ' ave much money " she chanted, as , far below, she heard the doorbell ring, " but we shall see life." 

Notes and Comments:

Another short story piece exploring what seems to be one  Doris' favourite themes, and again its difficult not to wonder about the possible sources of the inspiration for them. I get the impression that some of the characters and scenarios may be inspired by individuals and their personal stories that were known to her.