Jennifer Wright - Madame Restell: The Life, Death, and Resurrection of Old New Yorks Most Fabulous, Fearless, and Infamous Abortionist

A LTHOUGH IT WAS 10:45 P.M. WHEN M ADAME R ESTELL OPENED the front door of her Fifth Avenue brownstone, her face seemed unsurprised by what she saw: a strange man in a black suit, shivering on her landing, the harsh puffs of his breath lingering between them in the cold January air. After all, how many men like him had found themselves hovering upon her doorstep over the past forty years? These men knew of Madame Restells reputation as a woman of skill and discretion. Perhaps this man had just come from supper with his mistress, who had informed him of some unwelcome news. Or he might have been a husband whose wife was in the kind of ill health that would prevent her from having more children. Perhaps he already had more children than he could afford to feed.

May I speak to Madame Restell? he asked.

Do you wish to see her professionally? Her voice lilted with a hint of its original West Country accent.

He nodded. The woman beckoned him inside.

Winding her way through her drawing room, Restell walkedaccording to the man observing herwith a stride that was firm, for all advancing years, and a bearing that flaunted a callous defiance.with jewelslay a black silk mourning dress, worn in memory of the husband shed lost the year before.

At sixty-six years old, Madame Restell had begun to strike people who saw her as a careworn woman. Her brown hair, impeccably styled as ever, was now flecked with gray; yet, after all these years, her elegance hadnt dimmed. Her dark brown eyes remained as keen and piercing as ever.

And neither did her magnificent Fifth Avenue brownstone lookas some protesters had been known to shout from the streetas though it were built upon a mound of baby skulls. The house itself, mere feet from the construction site of St. Patricks Cathedral, imposing with its Corinthian columns, looked like the home of someone as refined as they were powerful. The interiors were as sumptuous as any of the rooms in Edith Whartons novels, full of oil paintings, artistic bronzes, and statues. The marble floors were covered with Turkish rugs. Marble columns flanked the stairways. Ladies could gather around two pianos to play and sing in the evening if they so desired.

Restell and her newest guest made their way downstairs to her basement office, where she and her granddaughter Caroline, by then her apprentice, conducted their business. She invited him to take a seat.

The stranger was still shivering, face pinched with anxiety beneath his great beard and mutton chops. A scar on his left cheek gave him a particularly pitiable air. Once settled, he informed her that hed seen her advertisements and wanted something to prevent a woman from giving birth.

Restell asked him whether the woman hed come for was married or unmarried. If unmarried, its a case of needing immediate action, she told him sternly. If married, theres less necessity for hurrying.

This was Madame Restells indirect way of making sure all her clients actually wanted an abortion. She lived down the street from an orphanage; sometimes, she told female patients that she could help them find a family to adopt the baby if they wished. Indeed, in cases where the pregnancy was especially advanced and abortion seemed unsafe, she pressured her patients to opt for adoption over an operation. Some did. Most did not.

The man before her refused to say anything more about the pregnant woman he represented. Restell assured him that she did not need to know her name. He muttered only that it was a delicate situation.

Knowing the grave urgency that this understatement typically conveyed, Restell gave the man some pills, telling him that the directions were inside the bottle as it was illegaland therefore unsafeto have them on the outside.

It is not infallible, she advised him. No medicine is. In nine cases out of ten, however, it is effective. If the medicine did end up working, it would act by Thursday.

In the middle of their conversation, another caller knocked on the door. Madame Restell went upstairs to see who it was, and the man later reported that he could not help but be curious upon hearing a female voice. He listened to their conversation, catching certain phrases. The woman said something about her husband having been away for two months. She already had two children. Shed been indiscreet, as she put it.

Before long, Madame Restell returned. With a sigh, she remarked, Poor little dear she has been unfortunate, and has come for relief. Many such ladies come here for such relief. Restells remark was likely intended to reassure her other customer: She knew what she was doing. The only people Restell saw more of than anxious men were distraught women.