The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir. Jennifer Ryan

old envelope and done up neatly with a piece of string knotted twice. In less than a month, the deed will be done, the money will be double, and we can away, you and I, to our new life in Birnham Wood.

      Yesterday I met the Brigadier for the exchange, the bundle of money gripped firmly in his sinewy fingers, the tight old git. To say he was reluctant to hand it over would be putting it mild. But I finally wrenched it away and fled, the money safe in my hands.

      That was the easy part.

      Now I have to deliver the boy.

      You see, much to my infuriation, Mrs Dawkins from the farm gave birth last Friday. I wanted to push its scrawny head back in, but then I saw that it was a girl, so it wouldn’t have been any good anyway.

      Now my hopes are pinned on goody-two-shoes Hattie. She’s due a week after Mrs Winthrop, so at least I won’t have any issues with early births. Problem is the Tilling woman’s hovering around like a bleeding fairy godmother. Now she’s gone and promised to be midwife at the birth, even though I tried to talk Hattie out of it. I mean, who would take a misery like Mrs Tilling instead of an experienced, well equipped professional like myself? But she was adamant, whining that Mrs Tilling was the closest to family that she has in a pathetically sentimental way. God damn the girl!

      Unspeakable as it was, I decided to befriend the nauseating Tilling woman. I had to persuade her out of it, or find out when she’d be out of town. If all else fails, I could give her a major injury, push her down some stairs or collide into her with my bicycle. I hadn’t wanted to go that route frankly. There’s a fine line between a broken arm and manslaughter, after all.

      As a first effort, I joined the new choir to cosy up next to her, and I couldn’t believe my luck when I walked in and spotted a place right beside her.

      ‘I’m surprised to see you here, Miss Paltry,’ she said snootily, shuffling over. ‘It’s not often we see you in church.’

      ‘I always come on Sundays,’ I smiled warmly, although I bet she’s the type to count and see who’s absent.

      There was a lot of kerfuffle about starting a women’s choir, which was patently ridiculous. Of course women can sing without men. I do it every week in the bath.

      Then we sang some rather dreary hymns, and after practice was over, I saw my chance.

      ‘I feel it my duty, Mrs Tilling, to lighten your load and take over Hattie’s birth,’ I began. ‘I live next door to her, after all, and you’re so incredibly busy these days. I have all the equipment and medicines at my house should anything happen. I even have a mechanical ventilator,’ I lied.

      ‘What? In your own home?’ Mrs Tilling frowned with disbelief. ‘Did the hospital lend it to you?’

      ‘Yes, that’s it,’ I said quick as a fox, hoping she wouldn’t check. ‘You’d be surprised how often I need it to get the baby breathing proper. First-time pregnancies can be hazardous, you know.’

      ‘But you’re busy too, and Hattie’s made her mind up to have me there.’

      ‘I may be busy, but duty first!’ I bounced back. ‘I feel a responsibility, deep down inside.’ I thrust a fist up against my heart at this point, looking all patriotic. ‘And if anything should happen, I’d feel tormented for the rest of my days.’ I tried to push out a few tears at this point, but there’s only so much you can do.

      ‘Quite,’ Mrs Tilling said, stepping back, a look of distaste on her lips. I sensed that she smelt something fishy. I must have overdone the theatrics. So I quickly changed tack.

      ‘But you do so much for our little community, what with the WVS always helping people out – all this on top of your own nursing duties.’

      ‘Yes, the WVS is a great force. You should join. There’s a meeting in Litchfield a fortnight from today, distributing the Bundles for Britain from America. Why don’t you come along and see how it works.’

      I smiled a gleeful smile, as that was precisely what I was looking for! A date when the Tilling woman would be out of town. And perfect timing too – a day before Mrs Winthrop’s due date, and a week before Hattie’s. ‘Is it an all-day event?’

      ‘Yes, all day Friday the third of May.’

      She looked slightly bemused at my enthusiasm. So I stopped smiling and added with my usual despondency, ‘I’ll have to check my dates, but I’ll try to come.’

      Fortunately, Kitty descended on her with ludicrous cheers for the new choir, so I scooped up my bag and fled, dashing home before my elation exploded.

      What a stroke of luck! Now all I have to do is check that she keeps her WVS meeting and hone my plan for the births.

      I have become quite the professional, you see, Clara. My herbal potion brings babies out with impressive speed. Now, to give the potion to Mrs Winthrop, who is a timid, compliant sort of woman, will be no problem. This is her fourth baby, so I expect the baby to pop out within the hour. After calling out that it’s a boy, I’ll pretend the baby’s not breathing proper, that I need to whisk it to my house for resuscitation with the mechanical ventilator. (Who’s to know I haven’t got one?)

      Hattie, however, will be a more difficult matter. Not only will it be gruelling to get her to take the potion as she is so nauseatingly proper, but then it’ll take four or five hours to get the baby out, it being her first child. Meanwhile, I’ll need someone to watch the Winthrop child.

      That’s why I decided to enlist the Winthrops’ maid, Elsie. Not only could she lend a sense of propriety by coming with me when I whisk off the Winthrops’ baby, but she could also help look after the mite while I’m busy with Hattie. So when I spotted her in the shop yesterday, I invited her for tea and mentioned that I may be in need of her assistance at the birth.

      ‘What you’re saying is you want me to help with Mrs Winthrop’s birth, and then come to your house if you have to take the baby away for emergency help?’ She screwed her eyes up with distaste, suspecting it was down-and-dirty business. But she didn’t ask questions, came from a background like that, see – ask no questions, take the money, leg it.

      ‘That’s right, love,’ I said, offering her another biscuit. ‘I’d just need someone to help me look after the baby for a short while.’

      She took two biscuits, and I could see her thinking it through, her beautiful face pondering like a deer listening for danger. ‘I could do it,’ she said at last. ‘But how much will you give me?’

      ‘I’d give you ten bob for your trouble, provided you kept quiet.’

      ‘Ten bob?’ she uttered. ‘More like ten quid, I’d say.’

      ‘Five quid then,’ I said. What a pain this girl was being!

      ‘Oh, all right then,’ she said, getting up. ‘I’d love to get me own back on that cheating bastard, even if it’s just his family.’

      ‘You’re worth a thousand of him, Elsie,’ I said, leading her to the door. ‘You need to find yourself a proper gentleman.’

      ‘Yeah, p’rhaps I will.’ She poked her head out the door and looked up into the puffy grey clouds. ‘You just wait, I’ll find someone far better than that scoundrel.’

      Then she darted out, her long slim form gracefully flitting through droplets of rain, and I settled back to my plan with relish.

      This will work, sister! I wish you’d stop pestering me with your doubts. I have no time to think about whether it’s right or wrong, and who cares anyway? How can I think of all that morality nonsense when we’ve got a chance to get back to where we belong, safe and free? I shall let you know when the deed is done. Keep hush, as usual.

       Edwina

       Silvie’s