THE FALLEN WOMEN
Lindsey Hutchinson
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About The Fallen Women
Since the death of her parents when she was just a girl, orphan Ann Felton has had to struggle to survive. The grimy and gruelling Black Country is no place for a girl all alone and Ann is relieved when she gets works at The Bell public house, and is befriended by the local ladies of the night.
These bawdy, brave women take Ann under their wings, but with poverty gnawing hard at the people of Wednesbury life is a continual struggle. Ann can’t bear to think how her friends make their money, but their friendship keeps her safe.
Victoria Beckett and Viscount Richard Wyndham have none of Ann’s worries. Both grew up with silver spoons firmly in their mouths, and neither can understand Ann’s struggles. But before long Ann will change both their lives forever, and in turn one of them might just save Ann from a fate worse than death…
Contents
Welcome Page
About The Fallen Women
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
About Lindsey Hutchinson
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Copyright
One
Every night for years, Ann Felton waited for her daddy to arrive home from the pit covered in coal dust. Immediately, their little game would begin as he chased her around the room roaring like a lion and Ann squealed her delight. Her mother constantly admonished her husband for dropping filth all over her lovely clean living room, but it was done with love. Only then would Thomas wash away the black dust before sitting at the table with his wife and daughter for their meagre meal. The Feltons didn’t have much – the roof over their head belonged to the pit – but they were happy.
Whilst Ann was at school, her mother, Clementine, helped out on Coopers’ fruit and vegetable stall on the market. Learning her letters and numbers during the daytime, Ann was then taught the value of money by her parents in the evenings as they played games with the few coins they had between them.
Ann was eleven years old when this joy came to an abrupt end. Her mother contracted a severe case of influenza and Ann stayed off school to nurse her.
Bathing Clementine’s forehead, Ann whispered, ‘This will make you more comfortable, Mum.’ She watched as the fever raged and her ministrations barely seemed to make any difference, but she persevered nevertheless.
Thomas Felton brought in the doctor to his wife, but within the week it had turned to pneumonia and by the following week Clementine had passed away.
Ann’s young mind tried desperately to come to terms with the fact she would never see her mum again. Her father sent her back to school, but grief would often tap her on the shoulder and she would dissolve into tears.
Ann was beyond distraught but very soon realised her father was stupefied. Thomas Felton walked round in a daze, hardly acknowledging his daughter’s distress. Ann took care of him as best as she could, but the light had gone from his eyes. He went through the motions, but he was never the same after losing the love of his life.
For two years, Ann and her father lived together; he working in the coal pit and she becoming a little mother. She kept the house clean and cooked the meals, did the shopping and washed their clothes. Father and daughter games were no longer played, for Ann had had to grow up quickly.
At thirteen years old, Ann had found herself thrust into a world of adults when her father died in a cave-in at the pit. She was alone and afraid. Not only had she lost both parents but she had to organise and pay for her father’s funeral. With the little money squirrelled away in various places in their cottage, Ann was forced to arrange the cheapest funeral possible.
Turned out of the cottage which was owned by the colliery boss, Ann lived on the streets scavenging and begging. Her mother’s friends on the market ensured the girl did not starve or accept the ticket into the workhouse, but there was only so much they could do to help. None were in a position to take her in, having large families of their own.
Sleeping in shop doorways, Ann spent many uncomfortable nights before she was moved on by the constable on night patrol.
Huddling in the bakery porch; she could smell the warm aroma of baking bread floating through an open window before the baker gave her unsold bread rolls. He was kindness itself.
Ann struggled to survive the winter months; sleeping in one or another of the churches in an effort to stay warm. The few clothes she had taken with her on having to leave the cottage were rinsed through at night when Ann quietly slipped down a ginnel to use someone’s standpipe at the back of the house. She was careful never to use the same one twice for fear of being discovered.
Ann carried her small carpet bag of clothes to school each day in an effort to keep up her education. It was one afternoon as she was leaving when Mrs Mortimer called her back.
‘Ann, your skirt is torn, my dear. Are you able to repair it?’
Shaking her head, Ann said quietly, ‘No, Miss, I can’t sew and I have no needle or thread.’
Knowing the girl’s circumstances, Mrs Mortimer’s heart went out to the youngster trying to survive on the streets with nothing to her name.
‘Come with me,’ the teacher said, before leading Ann to another classroom.
Here a teacher was showing a handful of girls how to sew together the pieces of an apron. Ann was welcomed and settled in with the tutor helping her to stitch the rent in her skirt.
Ann attended that class every day for the remainder of her school years, becoming a proficient seamstress.
At fifteen, Ann said goodbye to the teachers of the school who had taught her so much, to the cooks who had fed her for free out of the goodness of their hearts, and to the building which had sheltered her from all weathers during the daytime. For the past two years she had begged food and clothes from the market, slept in churches or doorways, and now it was time to find herself a job.
Every day for weeks, she trundled around the town looking for work – to no avail. No one was hiring, and so the
begging of scraps of food continued.
Then one day Ann had been extremely fortunate to find herself a job just at the point when she was so low she was tempted to turn herself in at the workhouse gates.
She had been taken on at the Bell Inn as waitress, dish washer and cleaner-cum-dogsbody in return for her meals, and a room at the top of the premises as well as receiving a small wage.
Now Ann was eighteen and stood face to face with her employer in the steamy kitchen.
‘I’m warning you for the last time, Gladys, either you keep your husband in check, or I will leave this place! Then where will you be?’ Ann Felton’s dark eyes blazed with fury.
‘What’s ’e done now?’ the other woman asked with a sigh.
‘You know full well! That man cannot keep his hands to himself, and I’m sick to death of it!’ Pushing her raven black hair off her face with her wet hand, Ann slammed a clean plate onto the draining board of the old brownstone sink.
‘I’ll be ’aving a word then,’ Gladys sighed again.
‘Sooner rather than later, I would suggest,’ Ann said as she continued to wash the dishes. She watched her employer leave the room, dragging her feet as she went.
Shaking her head, Ann knew her warning would cause yet another row between husband and wife, but this time she was adamant – if Len Pritchard touched her once more, she’d be off.
Continuing with her task, she thought about the past three years working in the Bell Inn in the little town of Wednesbury; the town in the heart of the industrial ‘Black Country’ where she was born and raised.
The sound of shouting disrupted her thoughts and Ann closed her eyes and waited. After a moment, silence descended and she returned to washing the dishes.
‘I’ve ’ad a word,’ Gladys Pritchard said as she shuffled into the kitchen once more.
‘I heard. Let’s hope it does some good this time!’ Ann said sharply.
Wiping her hands on a tea cloth, Ann sat at the table and poured the tea Gladys had made. Watching the woman rolling out pastry for a pie, Ann allowed her thoughts to roam once more.
The Pritchards had run the Bell Inn for many years and despite drinking most of the profits they somehow remained in business nevertheless. The place itself was ramshackle, with no money being spent to improve it. Gladys was a hard faced woman with no time for anyone but herself. Len’s frisky ways with women drove her to distraction at times and she constantly berated him for it but stuck by him regardless.
Ann watched the woman as she worked. She must have been a beauty in her time, but hard work and a womanising drunkard for a husband had taken its toll and Gladys now looked a lot older than her years. Her fair hair was turning grey and wispy and her eyes had lost all their lustre. She was overweight and round shouldered; she had given up on looking smart now she spent her life in the kitchen of the Inn.
Both women groaned as Len bustled into the kitchen.
‘You’ve been getting me in trouble with the missus, our Annie,’ he laughed.
‘I’m not your Annie, and the trouble – you brought that on yourself!’ Ann’s words were caustic.
‘I was only playing…’ Len began, his blue eyes twinkling.
‘I don’t care, Len, I’ve warned you so many times and you don’t listen. So, I’ll tell you again – you touch me just one more time and I will pack up and leave!’ Ann banged her cup on the table for emphasis.
‘Now then, don’t be like that,’ Len smiled as he took a step towards her.
‘Len!’ Gladys intervened. She bristled as she glared at him.
‘All right,’ he said, holding up his hands and stepping back. He blew through his teeth as he drew a hand through his prematurely greying hair. ‘I’ll be in the snug,’ he said and left the women in peace.
As a general rule, women didn’t frequent the alehouses in the town, however Len had set aside a small room just for them. The ‘snug’ had become popular very quickly with the ladies of the night. Ann had become friends with these women and they all looked out for each other as well as for her. Gladys, on the other hand, didn’t care for them and what they stood for… or rather what they lay down for. For some, prostitution was the only way to make a coin and the women considered it good honest work, but Gladys didn’t agree.
Ann Felton pondered these thoughts as more dirty plates piled up. With a sigh, she set to again. She would not see her bed for a while yet; it was Len’s custom not to bother adhering to the drinking hours set by the law. He would sit with his cronies long after closing time, drinking and putting the world to rights. Ann would be cleaning the kitchen, so didn’t get to drag her weary body to bed until the early hours of the morning.
The boom of Len’s laughter and the cackle of women issued from the ‘snug’ and Gladys muttered under her breath, ‘That bugger’s at it again!’
Ann grimaced as she continued her task. Len would never change – once a leopard, always a leopard.
The laughter came again and Gladys stormed from the kitchen. A moment later, jeers and catcalls were heard as wife berated husband on his philandering. Returning to the kitchen Gladys yelled over her shoulder, ‘One day, Len Pritchard, I’ll cut that bugger off!’
Ann giggled quietly and Gladys rounded on her.
‘What you laughing at? Get on with them dishes and make sure they’m clean!’
The smile remained on Ann’s face as she scrubbed at some obstinate food stuck to a plate, and her thoughts took her back once more. Left an orphan, she had acquired the job at fifteen years old. Her little room at the top of the building was cosy enough, but it had no lock, so a chair was pushed beneath its handle every night – just in case. She worked hard and long for the pittance she was paid and she had one afternoon off a week. Her life wasn’t as bad as others, however, she mused. After all, there were people in the town who had no work, no home and no money. They walked the streets begging for a handout and some families even slept on the heath beneath tarpaulins, and Ann knew all about the hell of having no roof over her head.
Many of the collieries had closed down, putting the miners out of work and the ‘slag heaps’ which had been left behind were picked over for any coal nuggets that could be found. The ‘breadline’ of unemployed men grew longer each day, with no hope of them finding work. Folk died of starvation and illness, particularly in the winter months. It was a difficult time for the people of Wednesbury and Ann knew that however much she longed for a better life she was one of the lucky ones.
As the evening wore on, Gladys retired to her bed and Ann began to clean the kitchen. Once finished, she sidled through to the bar in the snug.
‘Hey up, ’ere’s my little ray of sunshine,’ Len said as Ann leaned on the counter, feeling weary to the bone.
‘You leave our Annie alone, you dirty old bugger!’ one of the women laughed, but she made sure the landlord understood she was serious.
Eventually the bar emptied, the women leaving to go about their business of standing on the street corners, and Len said he was going to lock up.
‘I’m going out for a walk before bed; I need some fresh air,’ Ann said.
‘Ar all right, I’ll leave a key to the back door in the privy outside. I’m going up to annoy the hell outta Gladys!’ Len grinned and gave her a wink.
Ann shook her head and as she left she heard the door lock behind her. Then she strolled out into the entry that ran at the side of the pub. It was a warm night and the moon shone full and strong, lighting her way along the cobbled streets. Still in her work clothes, Ann didn’t care, there was no one about to see her. The only sound was her boots as she meandered through the quiet town. Walking up the Shambles, Ann glanced at the buildings, their black silhouettes standing proud against the backdrop of the moon’s glow. In the distance, she heard the night soil men carrying out their unsavoury task and a faint smell of their trade drifted on a gentle breeze.
Nearing the marketplace, Ann heard voices and laughter. Wandering up High Street, she saw crowds of
people leaving the Theatre Royal. Then she remembered it was the Mayor’s inaugural ball that night. Stopping close to the theatre building, she watched the carriages come and go. She saw the fine dresses and the wealthy people of the town saying their goodnights. Ann leaned against the wall and smiled to herself. The happiness of those going home to their big houses was evident.
Suddenly a piercing voice reached her ears.
‘Daddy! Where is our carriage? I want to go home – NOW!’
Ann’s eyebrows arched as she watched the fair haired young woman throw a temper tantrum right there in the street.
Spoilt brat! she thought, then giggled to herself as she pushed away from the wall to walk back home.
The sound of her quiet laugh and her movement was heard and seen by the young woman now stamping her feet.
‘You there! Were you laughing at me? How dare you!’ the young woman yelled and Ann turned to face her.
Ann drew her lips together in a tight line to stifle another titter and shook her head.
‘Answer me!’ the girl screeched, shrugging off her parents who were trying to calm her. ‘What are you doing there anyway? This is no place for you – go away, ply your trade elsewhere!’
Now Ann’s temper flared. The girl being rude was one thing, but this accusation was quite another. Stepping towards the girl, she said quietly, ‘This is a free country and I can walk where I please. Now, for your information, not that it’s any of your business anyway, I am not a prostitute! I am a kitchen maid. My advice to you is to go home.’ Turning to the man who she assumed was the girl’s father, she went on, ‘Once there, may I suggest you give your daughter the spanking she so richly deserves!’
The sound of single applause turned all eyes to the man standing in the theatre doorway. ‘Well said, Miss…?’
‘Felton, Ann Felton.’
‘Well, Miss Felton, I repeat – well said!’ Reaching out his hand, he continued, ‘My name is Richard Wyndham and I’m very pleased to meet you.’
Shaking his hand, Ann said, ‘Please excuse me, I have to get home now.’
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