Fallen Women

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Ariadne sucked in a huge breath at this blatant display of puerile behaviour. Now, speaking quietly, she said, ‘The answer is still no.’

  Victoria’s face flushed with anger once more as she turned on her heel and stomped from the room.

  Ariadne’s nerves were tight and her body quaked. Then she smiled – she had finally stood up to her daughter – and won!

  Three

  Victoria Beckett stormed from The Beeches and marched down the driveway. Seeing a cabbie waiting for a fare further down Spring Head, she stomped towards him. Her mood was blacker than coal and she felt a little shopping trip would help enormously. She would have the invoices sent to her father; that would teach him to try curbing her spending.

  Snapping out the address of her destination, she climbed into the cab and settled herself with a smile. She felt better already.

  By lunchtime Victoria had spent an inordinate amount of her father’s money. Dresses, shoes, bags, jewellery and trinkets filled boxes which sat in the cab, and the cabbie was told to wait while she had her lunch in the Albert Hotel.

  The maître d’ made no fuss this time as she walked to the centre table. Lord Wyndham was obviously not eating there today, for had he been, she felt sure she would have been herded towards another table. Her mood blackened once more as she clicked her fingers for the wine waiter.

  ‘Champagne!’ she said rather too loudly.

  ‘With your lunch, madam?’ The waiter’s words were out before he realised as he was so surprised at her choice of drink at midday.

  ‘Are you paying for it?’ Victoria saw the shake of his head before he glanced around the room clearly embarrassed. ‘Then bring it – NOW!’

  Scuttling away, the waiter shot a look to the maître d’, who rolled his eyes.

  By mid-afternoon, Victoria was making a spectacle of herself in the dining room. Roiling around on her seat, her boater askew, she was laughing hysterically.

  The maître d’ shook his head as he lifted the telephone. ‘Mrs Beckett? This is the Albert Hotel. I am sorry to inform you that your daughter is at this moment in our dining room – extremely drunk!’

  Twenty minutes, later a distraught Ariadne arrived in the restaurant, apologised wholeheartedly to the waiting staff and endeavoured to bundle a crapulous Victoria into the waiting cab.

  ‘About bloody time an’ all,’ the cabbie spat.

  When she saw the shopping piled high on the seat, Ariadne sighed loudly. William would be livid when he heard about his daughter’s latest escapade!

  *

  Richard Wyndham had enjoyed his breakfast at the Albert Hotel and was ambling along the street towards the market. He thought about his invitation to the ball from the Mayor of Wednesbury and how he had watched the antics of the girl in the scarlet dress from the corner of his eye throughout the evening. Avoiding her like the plague, he had still made it his business to discover her identity. He feared Victoria Beckett’s mother might see him as something of a catch and a perfect husband for her daughter.

  His thoughts turned to the other girl he had met that evening. Ann Felton – the fiery young woman who had spoken her mind. Now, there was a girl who had held his attention. It was true she was a commoner, but somehow she had captivated him with her hazel eyes and dark hair. He had listened as she had spoken sharply to the Becketts, unafraid to retaliate in order to defend her honour. He glanced at his hand as he felt again the warmth of her skin as they shook hands, and he recalled watching her walk away from him. Suddenly a strange sadness surrounded him – had he found and lost a beauty in the blink of an eye?

  Wyndham had considered travelling back to Shropshire following the ball, but he could not bring himself to do so – not until he found out where Ann Felton lived. As he strolled, he wondered how he could go about this. Surely someone must know who she was and where she could be found. What was it about the girl he had met only briefly that had him so enraptured? He was a lord and she a common kitchen maid, which in itself made her forbidden fruit, but try as he might, he could not forget her.

  Nodding a greeting to the people he passed, he realised that what he’d seen of the small town was very different from where he lived. Shropshire boasted wide open spaces, farms and green fields where sheep and cattle roamed free. The ‘Black Country’ was exactly as it sounded – dirty, with grime covered buildings that lined both sides of the streets. The sun desperately tried to filter through the filthy smoke which belched out from the factories but to no avail. Every chimney on every house added to the dark pall.

  Walking down High Street past the Theatre Royal, Richard’s thoughts were drawn again to the kitchen maid, Ann Felton. Smiling, he walked on towards the marketplace.

  He saw the stallholders plying their wares; he heard their laughter as they bantered and joked. For all their poor living conditions, the people here appeared to be happy enough with their lot. Wandering between the stalls, he laughed at the women who called out their admiration of his good looks.

  ‘Hello, handsome, come an’ see what I have on offer,’ from one woman.

  ‘Shameless hussy, I’m sure he’s more interested in what I’ve got,’ from another, before both burst out laughing.

  He smiled before moving on.

  Pausing at a stall selling flowers, he asked the woman if she knew an Ann Felton.

  ‘Oh ar, lovely young wench is our Annie,’ she said jauntily.

  ‘Could you tell me where I might find her?’ Wyndham asked.

  ‘Ar, cocker, she’s kitchen maid down at the Bell Inn over in Camp Street,’ the woman gave him a wink, ‘you gonna tek her some flowers then?’ She nodded to her fully laden stall.

  ‘Excellent idea!’

  So, with a bouquet of yellow roses, Lord Wyndham set off in search of the Bell Inn.

  Rounding the corner from Camp Hill Lane into Camp Street, the man with an armful of yellow roses didn’t see Ann disappear into Union Street.

  Walking into the Bell Inn, Wyndham ordered a pint of best ale and, asking after Ann, he was told by a grinning landlord that he’d just missed her.

  ‘She’s just popped to the market, but she’ll be back afore long,’ Len informed him.

  Wyndham settled down to wait. Chatting with Len over his beer, he learned that Ann had worked at the Inn for three years. She was a valuable asset to the business, it seemed, and he got the impression the landlord had set his sights on her.

  The snug came alive as the ladies of the night bustled in swapping local gossip. Laughter rang out as Len rushed the few steps along the bar to the other room to enjoy their company.

  Richard smiled as he heard the innuendo of the women in the next room. The snug and the bar room were connected by a short corridor, along which ran a counter enabling the landlord to serve both rooms by only taking a few steps between them.

  Calling for another beer, Lord Wyndham cast his eye over the newspaper left on the bar counter.

  The friendliness in the woman’s voice who called out had him look up.

  ‘Here she is, our Annie!’

  Unconsciously his heart skipped a beat as he heard her reply. ‘Hello, girls, I see Len is annoying the hell out of you all again!’

  ‘Oh, we can manage him, don’t you worry about that.’ Then the women all burst out laughing.

  Suddenly, quiet descended and Richard heard whispering and guessed that Len was telling them there was a customer in the other bar.

  Ann walked through towards the kitchen and her eyes landed on the person sat at the other side of the counter.

  ‘Mr Wyndham! How nice to see you again,’ Ann gave a shy smile.

  ‘Miss Felton. Erm… these are for you,’ Wyndham laid the roses on the bar.

  Len walked past her, relieving her of the basket of vegetables destined for the kitchen as he did so.

  ‘Well – thank you! Whatever did I do to warrant such beautiful flowers?’ Ann’s laugh tinkled like water in a lazy brook.

  ‘Does a lady have to do anything to
receive flowers?’ he asked teasingly.

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Mr Wyndham. These are the first I’ve ever been given!’

  ‘That, Miss Felton, is a crying shame.’ he beamed as Ann laughed heartily.

  ‘I must put them in water,’ Ann lifted the roses to her nose, breathing in their fragrance to cover her blushing embarrassment.

  ‘It would please me if you could come back and speak with me,’ Wyndham said.

  ‘I have to work, Mr Wyndham,’ Ann said, ‘and it will be extremely late before I finish for the day.’

  ‘Then please consent to have dinner with me one evening,’ he pushed.

  ‘I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible either. Besides, I don’t even know you. However, I thank you for the offer and the flowers.’

  As Ann began to walk away, Len shoved past her on his way back to the snug, eyeing the flowers in her arms.

  ‘Miss Felton, you would be quite safe – we shall dine at the Albert Hotel,’ Wyndham called.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mr Wyndham, but thank you,’ Ann said as she rushed into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, look at you with your flowers. Who bought you them?’ Gladys asked enviously.

  ‘Mr Richard Wyndham, but what I’ve done to deserve them I have no idea,’ Ann smiled.

  ‘Lucky bugger! I ain’t never ’ad no flowers bought fer me!’ Gladys dropped into a chair to watch Ann arrange them in a milk bottle filled with water.

  ‘This is a first for me, too,’ Ann said as she left the kitchen to take the roses to her room. She had spied the green-eyed monster raising its head and thought it best to remove the offending articles, lest Gladys be too riled by them.

  Back in the kitchen, Ann was set to work making pastry for a pie. She listened, as did Gladys, to the laughter and taunts coming from the snug, but her mind was on Richard Wyndham. Why had he bought her flowers? What did he have on his mind by inviting her to have dinner with him? She smiled as a warm feeling crept over her because, whatever his reason, Ann was delighted with her gift.

  Suddenly Lord Wyndham’s voice sailed out loud and clear for all to hear.

  ‘Mr Pritchard, I wish to take Miss Felton to dinner and would be grateful if you would release her from her duties for one night.’

  Gladys and Ann both stopped their work and looked at each other in surprise as they listened.

  ‘Well now, Mr Wyndham, I ain’t sure as I can get a replacement at such short notice.’

  Ann blew through her teeth and Gladys screwed up her eyes.

  ‘I would be happy to make it worth your while, Len.’

  ‘Ar all right, fair enough.’

  Ann’s mouth hung open in disbelief. They were discussing her behind her back! Surely they would realise she could hear them?

  Gladys’s lips pursed as she slammed down the rolling pin on the table.

  ‘I’ll bloody do fer ’im one of these days! How dare ’e mek an arrangement without consulting me!’

  ‘Or me for that matter!’ Ann retorted.

  Gladys, thinking only of herself, marched towards the bar.

  Ann followed, determined to have it out with these two men who were so easily deciding her future between them. She knew everyone in the snug would have heard the discussion and heated anger filled her.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Ann pushed past Gladys into the bar. ‘Len! How dare you organise my life without my say-so!’

  ‘Now, gel, I was only…’ Len took a step back as the women in the snug howled with laughter at his predicament.

  ‘You’m in it up to yer neck now, Len!’ one called out.

  Turning to Richard, Ann went on. ‘Mr Wyndham, you invited me to dinner one evening and I politely refused your offer. I do not take kindly to you endeavouring to bribe my employer to allow that to happen.’ Ann rushed from the bar to reappear a moment later with the yellow roses. ‘You might want to take these with you when you leave.’ She slammed the milk bottle onto the bar.

  ‘Miss Felton please…’ Richard tried to placate her.

  ‘No, Mr Wyndham. Now, I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone.’ Ann marched back to the kitchen, her head held high.

  Gladys chuckled, then went for Len. ‘And you – mind yer own bloody business! When will you ever learn to keep yer nose out of things that don’t concern you!’

  ‘Oh, my little half pint, don’t be like that.’ Len gave a small grin, but to save his own skin he took a few steps back to the snug. The verbal abuse he received from the women in there had him skulk into a corner, where he began to clean the glasses on a tea towel.

  Gladys eyed the very disappointed Richard Wyndham. ‘If you ain’t got a use fer them flowers…’

  ‘Take them, please.’ Wyndham sighed loudly, pushing the bottle towards her, then he left the bar.

  Well, Wyndham, you fouled that up good and proper!

  What was it about this girl that had caused him to act so rashly? He was a Viscount and she a kitchen maid. The whole idea was totally inappropriate, but somehow none of that mattered. He had met the girl only twice and he was acting like a lovesick schoolboy. Was that it? Was he in love? Never believing in love at first sight, Wyndham now began to question the possibility.

  As he walked sedately back to his room at the Albert Hotel, Ann Felton fumed quietly in the kitchen of the Bell Inn.

  They had discussed her, thinking they were out of her earshot. They had arranged for her to have dinner with Mr Wyndham without consulting her on the matter. Well, they were sadly mistaken – Ann would not be railroaded into anything, least of all going out with a man she hardly knew.

  Thinking again about the dark haired man with his twinkling eyes, Ann’s temper cooled. He was handsome, there was no denying that, and yes, he made her heart flutter when he spoke to her, but even so…

  Ann turned again to her pastry making, but thoughts of Richard Wyndham would give her no peace.

  Four

  That evening, William Beckett listened as his wife explained, ‘Our daughter will not be joining us for dinner, she is in bed – drunk!’

  Pacing the parlour floor, he dragged his hands through his hair. ‘Bloody hell, Ariadne! That girl will be the death of me!’

  ‘I don’t know what we can do about it, William,’ his wife wailed as she twisted her handkerchief in her hands.

  ‘Well, the first thing is that shopping can be returned, because I refuse to pay for it! Then I think it’s time Victoria found some work!’ William ignored his wife’s sharp intake of breath at the very notion of her daughter having to work for a living. ‘It’s either that or she finds a home of her own, because I’ve had enough!’ With that, he dropped into his armchair, snatching up his newspaper.

  Even in these times, it was unheard of for someone of Victoria’s status to work. The women of poor families had jobs like nail making or standing stalls in the market out of necessity to help feed their children, but not so for ladies with money behind them. These young women attended balls and parties, living a life of luxury. They were brought out into the higher echelons of society at an appropriate age in order for their parents to find a suitable matrimonial match. So the thought of her daughter having to work had Ariadne sobbing.

  Upstairs, Victoria dragged herself out of bed, instantly regretting the attempt. Her head ached and her stomach rolled. It was evening, she noted, so she had slept the afternoon away. At least she wouldn’t have to face her father – he would be in his study now.

  Carefully descending the stairs, she made her way to the kitchen. Victoria accepted the cup of tea handed to her by Mrs Newman, the cook, and fled the noise of the room. Her heart dropped as she entered the parlour. Her father was waiting for her.

  ‘Now,Victoria, your mother tells me…’ In his peripheral vision, William saw Ariadne open her mouth to speak and he held up a finger to her without taking his eyes off his daughter who sat opposite him. ‘Apparently you went shopping today against my orders.’ As Victoria looked at him, his upright finger moved to point
to her. ‘That shopping will be returned first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Victoria groaned.

  ‘As I see it, you have three choices,’ William went on. ‘You can pull in your horns and behave yourself,’ he ticked off the list on his fingers as he spoke, ‘you can get out there and find a job, or you can move into a house of your own!’ Seeing his daughter’s shocked face looking back at him, then to her mother for help, he went on. ‘Your mother is in agreement with me on this, Victoria, this puerile behaviour must stop – right now!’

  ‘Daddy, you can’t possibly mean it!’ Victoria stared at her father with eyes as big as saucers.

  ‘I most certainly do mean it, Victoria! You are a spoilt brat. I cannot and will not put up with this behaviour any longer. So, this is your last warning – behave accordingly or leave this house!’

  ‘Mother!’ Victoria’s eyes shot towards the nervous woman sitting by the fire.

  Ariadne shook her head and fled the parlour, unable to cope with the confrontation between the two people she loved most in the world.

  Victoria thought about the latest debacle which had caused this unfortunate situation. Shaking her blonde curls, she didn’t think it was too bad. Yes, she’d been shopping, and yes, she’d spent a lot of her father’s money. Evidently, he had received the invoices for her spending spree and he was furious. She knew she would have to refrain from shopping for a time – just until her father got over his aggravation.

  Her blue eyes held shimmering tears but not from upset. Victoria was very cross with her parents and these were tears of anger.

  Slamming her cup and saucer onto the table, the girl flounced from the room, banging the door behind her.

  William sighed heavily and shook his head. He knew he had to adhere to what he’d laid out before the petulant girl and wondered which option she would choose, if any.

  Throwing herself on the bed, Victoria fumed. Her head throbbed from too much champagne and her stomach still roiled. Why had her father suddenly decided to pick on her? She had always had her own way, so what had happened to change that? The only thing she could think that could have upset the smooth running of her life was the girl outside the Theatre Royal. Clearly her father had taken note of what the girl had said. What did she say her name was? Andrea…? Alice…? Try as she might, she could not remember. What she did recall was Lord Wyndham’s interest centring more on that ragamuffin than on herself.