Date: Thu, 2 Oct 2008 17:40:33 EDT
From: Djedoric58@aol.com
Subject: The Bull Singer, chapter thrity-six

THE BULL SINGER
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

From chapter thirty-five

At this, Jessie reverted back to Elvira Gulch. Grabbing the phone she took
over the situation.

"Sister Banks, this is Jessie Welch, Oldham Social Services. Where is the
baby now?"

"In the baby unit at Claythorn Hospital."

"And when is the baby to be removed from your custody."

"Well, they were supposed to pick him up this morning but I fobbed them off
with a story that he was not so well, and told them to come back at two
o'clock this afternoon."

"Good for you! Hang onto that baby; we're on our way." Putting the phone
down Jessie turned to us and said, "Right everyone. We have work to do. No
time to hold back while Mary creates a decoy. We move in now!"

* * *

Now read on

Claythorn Memorial Hospital

At the nurses' station in the baby unit, Maisie put the phone down and
hoped Dr. Green would get here in time. She had paged him twice already,
and the two ladies from Social Services were already hassling her nurses to
get a move on, dressing the baby. Maisie had already told them that
Dr. Green had not yet declared Baby Monks fit to be released into their
custody, and they were threatening to have an independent examination
performed. Besides that, they seemed to treat her as nothing more than an
old biddy, which made her temper even worse.  At last, a welcome sound
reached her ears and she turned to see Dr. Green walking into the
department with a face like thunder. He winked at her as he marched past
the station to confront the ladies, one of whom had actually lifted Baby
Monks from his crib and was proceeding to wrap him in a shawl they had
brought with them. "What do you think you're doing with my patient?"

"I'm sorry doctor, but this baby seems fine to me. We are executing our
duties as authorised guardians of this baby."

"Authorised guardians? What the hell are you talking about? The baby's
father is the legal guardian and has the sole right to say what happens to
that baby."

The one holding the baby said, "We have it on good authority that the
baby's father is in no position to care for him. He is homeless and has no
means of income. We also understand that, the baby has no other family, and
we have Mr. and Mrs. Prescot on record as being the baby's next of
kin. Until we are told otherwise, we have their authority to take charge of
the baby. Now if you would kindly step out of our way, we will leave
peacefully or I will have no option but to call the police officer waiting
in reception."

"Not with that baby you won't." A voice full of authority called out, and a
group of people walked towards them, headed by a tall woman with a face
that bore the expression of someone used to getting her own way. "Allow me
to present myself; I am Mz. Welch, senior social worker with Oldham Social
Services. My card?" She thrust a card at the woman not holding the
baby. "Although this is not my area of operations, I have been given leave
by your superiors to act on behalf of this baby. If you will telephone your
office, you will learn that you were misinformed about Mr. and Mrs. Prescot
being the baby's next of kin, and also that his father is homeless. Here
behind me are the family of Mr. Monks with more than enough means to care
for the child. I think Sister Banks and Dr. Green will confirm that the
baby's father, Richard Monks, was present at the birth, and that the baby's
name is Monks, not Prescot." She reached out her arms. "I'll take the baby
now, thank you."

The woman holding the baby took three steps back, clutching the baby to
her. "We have no record of the baby or his father having any living
relatives, except Mr. and Mrs. Prescot." She glanced towards her
colleague. "Sheila, call the police officers down in the main foyer."

Her colleague turned to walk away but Jessie stopped her with a look. "Hold
it right there. As I just said, madam, you were misinformed." Turning,
Jessie grabbed one of the young men by the arm and dragged him
forward. "Take a look at this young man and tell me who he looks like." At
first Maisie thought Ricky had cleaned himself up and had found some decent
clothes from somewhere, but when she looked again the face was the same but
there were no dark shadows under the eyes. He looked a little shorter, his
hair a lot neater. "Allow me to introduce Joseph Street, the brother of
Richard Monks, along with his older brother Peter Crayel, and his uncle
Magnus Alton. In Fordage in Lancashire, he has a grandfather and two great
aunts, all with the means to help Mr. Monks care for his baby. He also has
two homes in Lancashire and one here in Claythorn. And once the estate of
the late Mr. Brigs is settled, including the sale of the Claythorn Theatre,
Mr. Monks will be financially independent. Now, the baby, if you please?"

Dumbstruck, the social worker transferred the baby into Mz. Welch's waiting
arms, grabbed her colleague and beat a hasty retreat out of the unit,
calling over her shoulder, "We'll see what Mr Prescot has to say about
this."

"Good! I'll be glad to hear it too." To Maisie's amazement, Mz. Welch's
crusty features broke into a gentle, loving smile as she cradled the baby
to her breast and gazed down at the tiny bundle. "Well now, you sweet
little bundle, aren't you a going to be a handsome young man one day?"
Maisie glanced at Dr. Green and they winked at each other, happy that their
delaying tactics had worked, as the rest of the party moved forward to have
a look at the baby.

Maisie's hand disappeared into that of the older of the two gentlemen as he
smiled down at her. "Thank you so much for phoning us, Sister. We were
trying to find Uncle Harold when you rang."

"It was my pleasure, sir; I was only too glad to help. Mrs. Crayel phoned
us a few minutes ago and filled us in about Ricky having brothers. It's
just too good to be true.  I only hope you can find him. He was so
distraught when the police took him away. I can't get over how like his
brother he is."

"Actually they were triplets but one brother died just recently.  You say
the police took Richard away? Why was that?"

"Well, you see it was the Prescots who had him taken away. They didn't want
him to have anything to do with the baby. In fact they're here now." Maisie
pointed to where Jenny's parents had just entered the unit followed by the
two grim faced social workers and two police officers.

Prescot marched up to Ricky's twin, and Maisie saw open hatred in his eyes
as he grabbed the young man's arm. "I see! Got yourself another sugar daddy
now the old man's gone? Fast worker aren't you? Well you might deceive
these people but you don't fool me." Before Mr. Alton or Mr. Crayel could
react, Mr. Prescot hauled the young man towards the police officers and
sent him staggering into them. "You were told to remove this piece of
garbage from these premises. I suggest you do your job properly this time."

He turned to face Maisie and Dr Green, ready to confront them, but was
unprepared for the right upper cut that laid him out on the floor. Had
Maisie not been suffering from arthritis she would have jumped for joy; the
older brother certainly knew how to use his fists. He calmly stepped over
the dazed man to speak to the officers who were holding his brother between
them. " I suggest you let go of my brother and arrest that guy for
assault." The young man took hold of his dazed brother and pulled him
away. "I'm Peter Crayel and this is Joseph Street and we are Richard Monks'
brothers. I am also Joseph's guardian, and that lady holding our nephew is
Joseph's social worker. We don't take kindly to him being accosted like
that, so you'd better do something about the situation before you land
yourselves in a load of trouble." Turning to Mrs. Prescot, he added, "And
you, madam, should be ashamed of yourself. You had no intention of caring
for your grandson yourselves but you were determined to keep his father
from claiming him by contacting the social services behind his back and
telling them a load of lies, and slandering him as well. How callous is
that?"

By this time, Mr. Alton and Mr. Crayel had hauled Mr. Prescot to his feet,
and looked like they would like to flatten him themselves. Instead they
pushed him into the arms of the police officers. "I think you'd better deal
with this trash before we do," Mr. Alton said sternly. Maisie hoped they
would read him the riot act before they threw him off the premises, but
knowing how the police preferred not to get too violent these days, she
doubted it would happen. If only she had the strength and the courage to
have a go at him...

Mz. Welch approached Maisie and Dr. Green, gently rocking the baby. "I take
it we may now take Baby Monks to his daddy?"

"Absolutely." Dr Green grinned at her.

"So there's nothing wrong with him?"

"Nothing at all. It was only a case of Rushtonitis."

"Rushtonitis?"

"Yes, we had a case some time ago where the dreaded SS tried to take a baby
away from its rightful parent. I'm glad to say baby Rushton proved a
turning point in the care and protection of our more vulnerable babies. We
use the name as an alert between departments. Quite ironic that it also
means someone wants to remove a baby in a rush."

Mz. Welch chuckled. "Oh, I see. Rushtonitis! I must remember that one." She
turned to look at Richard's triplet brother. "Are you all right, Joey? You
look a bit pale."

"Just a bit shaken, that's all." The young man rubbed his left shoulder and
winced. "Look, I know things have to be signed and stuff, but I really need
to go and find my brother. I have a gut feeling we need to find him fast."

"Me too," his brother placed an arm round his shoulder and turned to face
the police officers. "Do you know where he went after you sent him away?"

"Sorry, lad, he just walked off by himself," one of them said. Mrs. Prescot
turned to run and he grabbed hold of her arm. "Not so fast, lady. Mr. and
Mrs. Prescot, I'm arresting you both on suspicion of child endangerment for
a start. If you know where Mr. Monks is, you had better tell us now, or you
could face more charges."

"To hell with you!" was her snarled reply. "I know where he's gone but he
won't find anything left. We've seen to that."

Mr. Prescot tried to reach her but the other police officer had a firm hold
on him. "Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch, we're in enough trouble as it
is."

Mr. Alton stepped up to the man till they were nose to nose. "Where is he?"
The way he said those few words, Maisie realised this was one dangerous man
to rile. The man just sneered back at him, and the police officer warned
Mr. Alton off with a stern look.

As the Prescots were marched away, protesting their innocence, Maisie
wondered how she could help. She turned to the nurses' station and reached
for the admissions file for the past week. Turing the pages back to two
days ago she found the entry for Jenny Prescot. Finding her address, she
wrote it down on a sticky note and went to Mr. Crayel. "I'm not supposed to
divulge information like this but as it's a special case I don't mind my
wrists being slapped. This is where Jenny Prescot lived. It's possible
Ricky Monks went back there. I can't think of any other place he could be
unless he went to Mr. Briggs' cottage."

Mr. Crayel shook his head. "We went there first to see his housekeeper, and
she hadn't see him since the day before Mr. Briggs was brought in."

"Well, there is the lovely old gentleman who was your uncle's
friend. Tom... Tom Cross or Crossman I think his name is. He might know
where the lad is."

Mr. Crayel thanked her and she promised that if his mother called again she
would tell her to go straight to her brother's cottage when she arrived in
Claythorn. Maisie showed the family out of the unit with tears in her eyes,
turned and let Dr. Green put his arm round her waist and give her a quick
hug. "Come on, Maisie; don't break down now. Somewhere, out there, are more
babies to keep an eye on, and we must be ready for them."

* * *

Mags's story

"It's well padlocked." I examined the huge padlock securing the front door
of the shabby apartment block. "There's no way I can break that open." Pete
and Joey stood behind me, staring up at the windows of the four-story
building.

Richard stood a few feet further back. "I don't think he's inside if it's
been locked from the outside." He sniffed the air. "I smell smoke," he
said, and turned to walk round the south end of the building. Suddenly he
shouted, "Mags! Here!" and disappeared from view. We ran to the end the
building and slid to a halt at the sight that met our eyes round the
corner. Someone had lit a fire, and had started burning a variety of goods
including a baby-blue crib, a pile of baby clothes and some fluffy
toys. And kneeling beside the fire was the pitiful figure of someone
clutching a blue teddy. On the other side of the fire were the smashed
remains of a tumble dryer, a washing machine, a bicycle, and an expensive,
classic big-wheeled pram.

While Richard and Pete tried to rescue what they could out of the fire,
Joey and I knelt beside a shabby, longhaired version of Joey dressed in a
bloodstained shirt and dirty jeans. With gentle fingers, I lifted his chin
and we saw the bruises and the cut just above his left eye.

"Ricky?" Joey put his arms round his brother, but the eyes stared at the
fire, unaware that they were there. "I think he's in shock, Mags.  And he's
so cold."

I put a hand inside his shirt and felt the chilled skin. Again there was no
response. Damn! We had sent Jessie off in a taxi to the cottage with the
baby, and had taken another here to the flat, the taxi having taken off as
soon as the fare was paid. Now we needed at least one blanket, and this
building stood in it's own grounds with the nearest house about three
hundred yards away, and this was the middle of winter. Remembering Joey's
experience with Hypothermia, I didn't want Ricky to suffer the same
way. Putting my hands under his arms I raised him enough to drag him nearer
to the fire, which was burning fiercely by now. "Pete, Richard. Throw that
stuff back on the fire, we need to keep it burning."

"But we've just rescued the stuff," Richard protested.

"So what? Right now, Ricky needs the heat more than baby stuff. Keep it
going till I can find something to wrap him in."

Pete grabbed my arm. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Yes if we can keep him warm." I turned and ran to the gate leading to the
street and was almost knocked down as a 4X4 swung in and jerked to halt
inches away from me.

"What the hell!" The driver dived out of the vehicle, ready to have a go.

I yelled back at him. "A blanket; have you got one."

"A blanket?"

"Yes, or a travel rug."

"What the hell for?"

"An emergency. A kid's in shock."

"Oh, that's different." The driver turned back and reached into the back of
the vehicle and dragged out a tartan travel rug. I grabbed it and ran back
to where the guys were trying to keep Ricky warm. Joey was kneeling behind
his brother with his arms wrapped tightly round him, while Pete and Richard
scurried round, flinging anything burnable into the flames. As I knelt to
wrap the rug round the boy I felt a tap on the shoulder. I looked up and
found the driver staring at the fire and the debris. "What in hell is going
on here? I was told everything would be cleared by the time I got here."

"And just who are you?" I asked him.

"I own the bloody place. I bought it last week and the seller promised
vacant possession and all rubbish cleared. If you're the cause of this
mess, I'll have you."

I shot to my feet and faced him. "Watch it, buster, or you'll find yourself
charged with possession of stolen property."

"Stolen? You're joking. Mr. Prescot -."

"Ah, yes! Our dear Mr. Prescot. I might have guessed. Did he sell you this
property?"

"Yes."

"Then I suggest you let us have a look inside the building and especially
the top floor flat, which this young man has just been thrown out of, with
obvious violence by Mr. Prescot."

Leaving Pete and Joey to look after their brother, Richard and I followed
the new owner round to the front of the house. He took one look at the
padlock, shook his head and ran back to his car. He ran back a minute later
carrying a long handled lump hammer. Telling us to stand back, he swung the
hammer over his head with practiced ease and slammed it down on the
padlock. Two more blows turned the padlock into scrap metal. The new
landlord produced a ring of keys and tried several before he had the door
open. I pushed past him and ran up all three flights of stairs. The door to
the top flat was a flimsy affair made of plywood and two by one framing. I
took a run at it and collapsed under my weight. Fuming, I stared round at
the mess.