She thought she’d put one in her pocket. She must have left it on the hall table. She couldn’t see. Her hands were shaking. Someone passed her a lilac-coloured handkerchief, just like the ones her mother used to use.

Enid, 1931

36

Enid, 1931

Spring became summer, became autumn and winter again. Month upon month of her character destroyed out loud. Her mother wrote once, to McKinley, who forwarded it to Crowther, who gave it to Enid.

“She says she won’t be attending. Her heart’s bad,” he’d said, handing it over.

I’ll say, Enid had thought, struck for a moment by the familiarity of the writing, as if she’d forgotten her past was real. It had been a ridiculous notion to think her mother would speak for her, anyway. Crowther had said they ought to try, at least. Well, she had.

Joan had succeeded in dragging all kinds of assassins over to her side. Dr Glendower said Enid was unusual and should have been monitored. Her parochial medic from the days at Cherry Trees said she was terribly gloomy and unresponsive, most worrisome and failed to provide enough proper natural sustenance to her infants. Everett hobbled in and said she hadn’t been surprised when she’d taken off. She was terribly sorry about it. It had upset the eldest one greatly. Friends Enid hadn’t seen for years turned out to be not friends at all, as, one after the other, they spoke of Douglas’ efforts and Joan’s natural instinct for mothering, the fine household she kept in Bryanston Square and the splendour of Strachur in Scotland. Mrs McManners turned up in an enormous hat and went over the story of her knitting group, how she’d tried so terribly to get her involved, and how rude she’d been in not returning her calls.

Crowther had asked, “Who shall speak for you?” – but she’d only come up with Ruby. Silly, ringletted Ruby, who giggled when Smithson helped her to the stand.

Smithson said, “Have you known Miss Enid long?”

“Oh, I’ll say, years and years. She’s a wonderful person. Anyone who knows her can tell you that.”

“And where did you make her acquaintance?”

“At home. Didlington.”

“The house in Norfolk to which she ran when she left her family?”

“That’s right.”

“The house that holds itself up as some sort of Mecca for the Christian Science community.”

“I don’t know about Mecca. That’s Islam, isn’t it? We believe we are one before Christ.”

“I think this court has some notion of your beliefs.”

“But I’ve only just stood up,” said Ruby.

“Not yours personally, Miss Smith. Those of your church.”

“Oh, gosh, yes. Sorry.”

“But while we’re on the subject, do educate me further. You believe that illness must be prayed away; that the use of medicine shows a lack of faith?”