Fallen Women

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Victoria groaned again as she called to mind her antics in the dining room of the Albert Hotel. She had really outdone herself this time. How could she get her father onside again now? In her heart she felt she couldn’t; he would not forgive her easily for this latest indiscretion.

  Moaning loudly, she buried her face in her pillow. She would think on it more in the morning, for now she needed to sleep.

  *

  Mid-morning the following day, Victoria dropped into a seat in the parlour and glared at her mother.

  Ariadne spoke quietly without lowering the newspaper she was reading. ‘Nice drive out in the trap, dear?’

  ‘No!’ the girl snapped.

  Turning the page, Ariadne mumbled, ‘Ah…’

  ‘Mother! Will you put down that newspaper, I need to talk to you!’ Victoria’s petulance was evident.

  Folding the paper, Ariadne looked at the sulky face of her daughter.

  ‘Mother, why is father picking on me?’ Victoria asked like a five year old.

  Sighing loudly, Ariadne answered, ‘Firstly, your father is not “picking on you”, as you put it. He is quite right when he says you are a spoilt brat.’ Seeing the girl draw a breath to speak, she raised a finger. Gathering her courage, Ariadne knew she must continue to abide by William’s wishes. ‘You are rude to everyone; you expect to be given everything you ask for and your reputation for bad behaviour precedes you. I warn you, Victoria, you will never find a husband who would put up with your attitude!’

  ‘I do not have an attitude!’ Victoria bellowed.

  Ariadne spread her hands in supplication and the girl screwed up her face as realisation dawned.

  ‘Mother, I want Lord Wyndham. I want to marry him!’

  Ariadne burst out laughing, much to the annoyance of her daughter. ‘My dear girl, someone like Lord Wyndham would never consider marrying a spoilt child like you!’

  Victoria’s fury burst its banks and she shot out of her seat. Rushing towards her mother, she slapped Ariadne sharply across the face before turning on her heel and striding from the room.

  Ariadne’s hand moved to her stinging cheek as tears filled her eyes. Covering her face with both hands, she wept bitterly. She knew this would be the last straw for William when he found out. Victoria Beckett had finally overstepped the mark.

  In her bedroom, Victoria trembled, partly with anger at her mother’s words and partly because she had actually struck the woman. She felt no remorse, however; Ariadne had asked for it as far as she was concerned, but now she would have to face the wrath of her father. What could he do? He could throw her out, of course, but that was no great hardship, for he would have to find her another home.

  Staring out of the window onto the beautifully kept lawns, Victoria considered the prospect of living alone. She could come and go as she pleased. She would have no one to answer to. She could shop as much as she wished. Life alone was beginning to appeal to her, the more she thought on it. She could increase her visits to the theatre; she could even dine in the Albert Hotel every day! Although, recalling her last visit there, she thought it might be better to find another prestigious place to eat.

  Smiling to herself, Victoria settled down to await the arrival of her father from the bank when she would discover just what he had in mind for her.

  *

  That evening, William greeted his wife and immediately saw she had been crying – for some considerable time too, judging by the look of her red and puffy eyes.

  Listening carefully to his wife recanting the events of the morning, William pulled the bell rope by the fireside. Dispatching Iris, the maid, to fetch his daughter to the parlour, he sat next to his wife on the sofa.

  A few moments later, Victoria swaggered into the room and plonked herself into an easy chair. Pulling her mouth to one side in a defiant gesture, she waited for the inevitable outburst from her father.

  However, William spoke quietly, much to Victoria’s surprise. ‘Your mother has told me about your abhorrent actions of this morning.’ Victoria rolled her eyes as he continued. ‘Now, I want you to go to your room and pack your things. Once done, you will leave this house.’

  Victoria smiled – she was going to be free of her nagging parents at last.

  William added as she stood, ‘You will have to find yourself somewhere to live and a job, for you will get nothing more from me.’

  ‘What! Daddy, you will have to find me a house and give me an allowance! How will I live otherwise?’

  ‘You are on your own now. You must provide for yourself. Now go and pack your things!’

  Running from the parlour, Victoria hitched up her long skirts and took the stairs two at a time. Throwing herself onto her bed, she began to sob out of pure frustration.

  William comforted his distraught wife, who was begging him to reconsider. ‘No, Ariadne, she must learn her place in society. It’s a harsh lesson, I know, but one I’m sure she’ll benefit from in time.’

  Ariadne nodded, even though she was not at all sure Victoria would learn anything from the experience she was about to undertake.

  Victoria, however, had decided to ignore her father’s words, heading to bed and sleeping soundly in the belief he would change his mind come the morning. She was sadly mistaken, for sitting at the breakfast table, William spoke from behind the newspaper.

  ‘I have instructed the maid to finish your packing, Victoria, and a cab will collect you at noon. I will remain here to see you safely away – then you must look out for yourself.’ Ignoring Victoria’s pleas and then her wailing, William continued to read his newspaper.

  Ariadne, unable to face either of them, had stayed in her bedroom.

  Later, still begging and crying, Victoria watched her things being loaded into the cab. The driver held open the door and waited. William stepped back into the house and closed the front door.

  ‘Where to, Miss?’ the driver asked, but Victoria had no idea where to go or what to do next.

  Five

  Every day for a week, Richard Wyndham had visited the Bell Inn with arms full of flowers for Ann Felton. He watched the armour with which she had surrounded herself slowly begin to crack. He was sure he was winning her over with his charm and good looks and he was desperate for her to forgive him his indiscretion of speaking about her behind her back.

  Lord Wyndham felt wretched about how badly he had treated the girl despite her being just a kitchen maid. He had not been raised to be so disrespectful to a woman, no matter her status in life. He knew his parents would chastise him for this dreadful behaviour, which caused him to feel even more distress. He also realised that he should be back in the shire tending to his tenant farmers and his business, but he could not bring himself to leave the Black Country town until he had made amends with Ann Felton.

  The beautiful young girl had not left his thoughts and, the more he saw her, the more he wanted her. He had no idea whether she would ever feel the same for him, but he continued to live in hope.

  The fact that they were on different social levels was a constant reminder each time he visited the Bell, but Wyndham pushed it aside. It was not his intention to merely have a dalliance with this young woman and then drop her like a stone when he returned home. He had no idea how he could make a relationship like this work, but he was determined to try. Richard Wyndham was beginning to realise how much Ann had come to mean to him in such a short time, and how much he stood to lose if he pursued the notion of a long term relationship.

  Ann too had realised the wall she’d built around herself was crumbling. She had thought of nothing but Richard Wyndham this past week. She found herself looking forward to his visits and she smiled as she looked around her at the flowers now filling the pub. She could not deny she found him extremely attractive and he was trying his best not to upset her in any way. Was it time she gave in to his constant requests for her to have dinner with him?

  He had taken to having his drink in the snug with her friends and she laughed at the ban
ter now taking place between them all.

  ‘Sure, Annie, if you’ll not dine out with Mr Wyndham, I will be happy to take your place so I will,’ Mary said with a grin.

  ‘He wouldn’t want you,’ Len said.

  ‘Maybe not, but you wouldn’t turn your nose up, I’ll be betting,’ Mary replied.

  Gladys glared at her husband, daring him to respond to Mary’s words.

  Seeing the look, Len wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Then with a hand on his heart, Wyndham said, ‘Ann, please, please say you will have dinner with me. Please!’

  ‘All right, Mr Wyndham, I will have dinner with you,’ Ann finally relented, ‘provided it’s all right with Gladys.’

  ‘I don’t mind, yer can work yer afternoon off instead,’ Gladys grinned.

  ‘Thank you, I will collect you at seven sharp tomorrow night.’ Lord Wyndham beamed as he left the public house to the applause of all the women.

  Ann looked at her friends who were sat in the snug and she studied them each in turn as they chatted quietly. In the three years she had known them, they had shown her nothing but kindness and Ann’s heart melted with fondness and gratitude.

  There was Maisie Bancroft, with her auburn hair which glistened in the light from the gas lamps. Her dark eyes held a sparkle as she laughed. She too had been left an orphan when in her late teens and unfortunately couldn’t find work, so she had kept herself alive by selling her body to any who were willing to pay well enough.

  Ann recalled how she, herself, had begged for food and clothing when she was turned out of her home.

  Ann’s eyes moved to Patsy Somerton – the outspoken one. Never afraid to speak her mind, she was brassy, with blonde hair which was always piled up untidily on her head. Her blue eyes shot ice when she was riled and there was no mistaking what her profession was. Her face was always painted and her décolletage showing more than was proper, at least in Ann’s opinion. Her voice was loud but often held a joke to brighten someone’s day. Patsy’s heart was as big as her blousy personality.

  Ann then watched Florence Darton, known to all as Floss. She was quite timid, with brown hair which bounced as she turned this way and that. Ann wondered how she managed out on the street, being such a gentle soul. Floss came from a fairly well-to-do family who had arranged her marriage to a man twice her age. She had known the man was only after the dowry that came with her. Begging her parents not to force the marriage upon her, all her pleading fell on deaf ears. So, gathering her courage, she had run away, vowing never to return and to feed and take care of herself; she had turned to the streets.

  Mary Reed with her fiery titian hair stood no nonsense from anyone. She was independent and went her own way regardless of what others thought. Mary’s Irish lilt gave her what others saw as an easy going nature, but when her temper flared, folk moved quickly out of the way. Her parents had come to England in 1852, during the great potato famine in Ireland. Settled here, their family increased and thirteen children were born, and amazingly all survived. Mary had moved out of the cramped home as soon as she was old enough – yet another having to find work on the streets.

  Ella and Eve Hall were sisters and both were quiet. Mousy brown hair in disarray, they listened to the conversation going on around them. Eve was the younger of the two and she and Ella got along surprisingly well. They shared the renting of a two-up, two-down house a few streets away. They were private girls and no one knew much about their lives previous to their appearing on the street corner. Well liked among the group, they too, had hearts of gold.

  Ann watched them all now laughing and giving the landlord hell. She knew they were grateful for his providing somewhere for them to go during the hours they were not working; she also knew Len Pritchard loved to have them in his pub.

  Leaving the bar quietly, Ann returned to the kitchen.

  ‘So you’m going out with ’im after all then?’ Gladys asked as she followed behind.

  Ann nodded.

  ‘You just mind what you’m doin’, my girl!’ Gladys snapped but with an underlying fondness Ann had rarely witnessed.

  Plunging her hands into the water in the sink, Ann began her task of washing the dishes, but she was all of a flutter and couldn’t concentrate on her work.

  ‘Come on, Ann! I need them plates as you’m supposed to be washin’,’ Gladys called out in the steamy kitchen.

  Ann grabbed the tea cloth and dried the plates before handing them to an exasperated Gladys.

  Yet again, peals of laughter erupted from the snug.

  ‘Christ A’mighty! I swear I’ll do fer that man, you see if I don’t!’

  Ann smiled, knowing Gladys thrived on telling her husband off for his philandering. Beneath the constant bickering, there was still something that held the couple together, and Ann guessed each would be lost without the other.

  Shuffling out of the kitchen, Gladys’s voice bounced off the walls. ‘I ain’t puttin’ up with this much longer, Leonard Pritchard!’

  Silence descended and Ann sneaked along the short corridor to watch the show she knew was coming.

  The girls were sitting quietly when Gladys entered the small room and Len was polishing a glass, whistling a little tune.

  ‘If you lot don’t behave, I’ll shut this bloody snug down, you mark my words!’ Gladys waved a finger across the room. ‘And you can get yer arse in that cellar and do some bleedin’ work for a change!’ Her words aimed at her husband, Gladys stood waiting.

  ‘Certainly, my little turtle dove,’ Len mumbled.

  Rolling her eyes, Gladys turned back towards the kitchen.

  Ann sped back along the passage and was putting the kettle to boil as her employer ambled in.

  ‘Bloody men! I ’ope as Mr Wyndham is better than the one I got! Just you be careful, Annie, keep yer ’and on yer ’appeny!’

  Ann tittered at the way Gladys had warned her to be chaste and ladylike and not to give in to any demands made on her.

  ‘I will, Gladys,’ she said.

  Later that evening, Ann was sorting through her clothes to find something respectable for her evening out with Richard Wyndham and realised she had very little in the way of Sunday best. Picking out an old black dress she laid it on the bed. Oh dear, it will look like I’m in mourning!

  Just then a knock came to the door, making her jump. No one ever came to her door – no one except Len Pritchard.

  ‘Go away, Len, I’ve told you before!’ she yelled.

  ‘It ain’t Len, our Annie; it’s me, Maisie.’

  Opening the door, Ann saw the woman who she had bantered with in the bar on her return from the market.

  ‘Oh, Maisie, I thought it was “Lecherous Len” again!’ Ann giggled. ‘Come in.’

  Staring at the black dress on the bed, Maisie shook her head. ‘Oh blimey, is that the best you got?’ she asked, tipping her head at the offending article.

  Ann nodded.

  ‘You can’t be going out in that, girl! Not with somebody like Mr Wyndham. Bloody hell, he’s quite a catch!’ Maisie wiped imaginary sweat from her brow.

  Sighing loudly, Ann said, ‘In that case, there’s nothing for it; I just won’t go.’

  ‘What did you say?!’ Maisie spun the girl to face her. ‘Look here, when was the last time you was took out to dinner? Never!’ Seeing Ann’s nod, she went on. ‘Right then. Here, I brought this for yer, it should fit as we’m about the same size.’ Passing over a box, Maisie smiled. ‘I was glad when I heard you agree to going out with Mr Wyndham, but I guessed you’d ’ave nowt to wear. So, I popped home and brought this for you to borrow.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have, Maisie,’ Ann said but was grateful to her friend for thinking of her.

  ‘It was only to Queen Street; just down the road,’ Maisie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

  Ann peeped inside and saw a navy blue velvet gown. She gasped as she drew it out of the box carefully. The bodice fit where it touched as she tried it on; the skirt gathered on one s
ide at the waist then dropped to her shoes. A silver lizard brooch was pinned near one of the capped sleeves.

  ‘Oh, Maisie, it’s beautiful! How did you manage to…’ Ann stopped short, realising what she was about to ask about where her friend had got the dress could be seen as prying.

  Maisie smiled, assuring Ann she was not at all offended. ‘One of my gentlemen bought it for me.’ Then Maisie’s head rocked up and down slowly as she walked around Ann. ‘Lovely, Ann, bloody lovely! Now, get your hair washed and tomorrow I’ll come and fix it up for you.’

  Slipping the gown off and laying it on the bed, Ann hugged her friend. ‘Thank you, Maisie, thank you so much!’

  *

  The following day after much hard work, Ann retired to her bedroom to get ready. True to her word, Maisie arrived and pinned Ann’s hair up in a chignon at the back before retiring back downstairs to the snug.

  The girls all trooped outside to see Ann step out of the pub’s dingy doorway.

  ‘She looks so beautiful,’ Floss murmured, her genteel voice barely more than a whisper.

  Richard was waiting outside too, standing by the cab he had arrived in. He was bowled over when he saw Ann walk towards him. She was a delight to behold. Helping her into the cab, he said over the noise of the applause from the girls, ‘Albert Hotel, please, driver.’

  When they arrived, Ann was escorted to the centre table in the dining room of the hotel. Every eye in the room was directed at her. Never having been in a place this grand, she felt distinctly uncomfortable but was determined not to show it. Wine was poured and food presented and Richard Wyndham put her at her ease with his quiet chatter.