John Wyndham - The Midwich Cuckoos

'If,' said Alan slowly, 'if Angela's child had turned out to be one of them, what would you have done?'

'I should have done what I am advising you to do for Ferrelyn. Taken her away. I should also have cut off our connexion with Midwich by selling this house, fond as we both are of it. I may have to do that yet, even though she is not directly involved. It depends how the situation develops. One waits to see. The potentialities are unknown, but I don't care for the logical implications. Therefore the sooner Ferrelyn is out of it, the happier I shall be. I don't propose to say anything about it to her myself. For one thing it is a matter for you to settle between you; for another, there is the risk that by crystallizing a not very clear misgiving I might do the wrong thing – make it appear as a challenge to be met, for instance. You have a positive alternative to offer. However, if it is difficult, and you need something to tip the balance, Angela and I will back you up quite fully.'

Alan nodded slowly.

'I hope that won't be necessary – I don't think it will be. We both know really that we can't just go on like this. Now you've given me a push, we'll get it settled.'

They continued to sit, in silent contemplation. Alan was aware of some relief that his fragmentary feelings and suspicions had been collected for him into a form which warranted action. He was also considerably impressed, for he could recall no previous conversation with his father-in-law in which Zellaby, spurning one tempting diversion after another, had held so stoutly to his course. Moreover, the speculations which could arise were interesting and numerous. He was on the point of raising one or two of them himself when he was checked by the sight of Angela crossing the lawn towards them.

She sat down in the chair on the other side of her husband, and demanded a cigarette. Zellaby gave her one and held out the match. He watched her take the first few puffs.

'Trouble?' he inquired.

'I'm not quite sure. I've just had Margaret Haxby on the telephone. She's gone.'

Zellaby lifted his eyebrows.

'You mean, cleared out?'

'Yes. She was speaking from London.'

'Oh,' said Zellaby, and lapsed into thought. Alan asked who Margaret Haxby was.

'Oh, I'm sorry. You probably don't know her. She's one of Mr Crimm's young ladies – or was. One of the brightest of them, I understand. Academically Dr Margaret Haxby – Ph.D., London.'

'One of the – er – afflicted?' Alan inquired.

'Yes. And one of the most resentful,' Angela said. 'Now she's made up her mind to beat it, and gone – leaving Midwich holding the baby. Literally.'

'But where do you come in, my dear?' Zellaby inquired.

'Oh, she just decided I was a reliable subject for official notification. She said she'd have rung Mr Crimm, but he's away today. She wanted to arrange about the baby.'

'Where is it now?'

'Where she was staying. In the older Mrs Dorry's cottage.'

'And she's just walked out on it?'

'That's it. Mrs Dorry doesn't know yet. I'll have to go and tell her.'

'This could be awkward,' Zellaby said. 'I can see a pretty panic starting up among the other women who've taken these girls in. They'll all be throwing them out overnight before they get left in the cart, too. Can't we stall? Give Crimm time to get back and do something? After all, his girls aren't a village responsibility – not primarily, anyway. Besides, she might change her mind.'

Angela shook her head.

'Not this one, I think. She's not done it on the spur of the moment. She's been over it pretty carefully, in fact. Her line is: She never asked to come to Midwich, she was simply posted here. If they'd posted her to a yellow-fever area they'd be responsible for the consequences; well, they posted her here, and through no fault of her own she caught this instead; now it's up to them to deal with it.'

'H'm,' said Zellaby. 'One has a feeling that that parallelism is not going to be accepted in government circles nem. con. However...?'

'Anyway, that's her contention. She repudiates the child entirely. She says she is no more responsible for it than if it had been left on her doorstep, and there is, therefore, no reason why she should put up with, or be expected to put up with, the wrecking of her life, or her work, on account of it.'

'With the upshot that it is now thrown on the parish – unless she intends to pay for it, of course.'

'Naturally, I asked about that. She said that the village and The Grange could fight out the responsibility between them; it certainly was not hers. She will refuse to pay anything, since payment might be legally construed as admission of liability. Nevertheless, Mrs Dorry, or any other person of good character who cares to take the baby on, will receive a rate of two pounds a week, sent anonymously and irregularly.'

'You're right, my dear. She has been thinking it out; this is going to need looking into. What is the effect if this repudiation is allowed to go unchallenged? I imagine legal responsibility for the child has to be established somewhere. How is that done? Get the Relieving Officer in, and slap a court order on her, do you suppose?'

'I don't know, but she's thought of something of the kind happening. If it does, she intends to fight it in court. She claims that medical evidence will establish that the child cannot possibly be hers; from this it will be argued that as she was placed in loco parentis without her knowledge or consent, she cannot be held responsible. Failing this, it is still open to her to bring an action against the Ministry for negligence resulting in her being placed in a position of jeopardy; or it might be for conniving at assault; or, possibly, procuring. She isn't sure.'

'I should think not,' said Zellaby. 'It ought to be an interesting indictment to frame.'

'Well, she didn't seem to think it was likely to come to that,' Angela admitted.

'I imagine she's perfectly right there,' agreed Zellaby. 'We have made our own efforts, but the unperceived official machinations to keep all this quiet must have been quite considerable. Even the evidence brought to dispute a court order would be manna to journalists of all nations. In fact, the issue of such an order would probably bring Dr Haxby a considerable fortune, one way and another. Poor Mr Crimm – and poor Colonel Westcott. They are going to be worried, I'm afraid. I wonder just what their powers in the matter are...?' He lapsed into thought for some moments before he went on:

'My dear, I've just been talking to Alan about getting Ferrelyn away. This seems to make it a little more urgent. Once it becomes generally known, others may decide to follow Margaret Haxby's example, don't you think?'

'It may make up their minds for some of them,' Angela agreed.

'In which case, and supposing an inconvenient number should take the same course, don't you think there is a possibility of some counter-move to stop more desertions.'

'But if, as you say, they don't want publicity -?'

'Not by the authorities, my dear. No, I was wondering what would happen if it were to turn out that the children are as opposed to being deserted as they are to being removed.'

'But you don't really think -?'

'I don't know. I'm simply doing my best to place myself in the situation of a young cuckoo. As such, I fancy I should resent anything that appeared likely to lessen attention to my comfort and well-being. Indeed, one does not even have to be a cuckoo to feel so. I just air the suggestion, you understand, but I do feel that it is worth making sure that Ferrelyn is not trapped here if something of the sort should happen.'

'Whether it does or not, she'll be better away,' Angela agreed. 'You could start by suggesting two or three weeks away while we see what happens,' she told Alan.