‘Hold on there, girl! I, for one, ain’t got a clue about any of that! Besides, we’d need money to start up with – money we ain’t got!’ Maisie sighed.
Scratching her head, Ann agreed, ‘That’s our first obstacle.’
‘Well, when you overcome it, let me know. Right now I gotta get me some shut-eye.’ Maisie dried her feet on a towel hanging over the arm of a chair. Grabbing the bread Ann was holding to the fire on a toasting fork, she grinned as she made for the stairs.
Ann ate her breakfast and quietly began her chores as Maisie slept soundly.
There had to be something they could do that would see Maisie out of prostitution and that would make them some money. With thoughts coming one after another, Ann slipped quietly from the house and headed for the market.
A little while later, Ann spread the old newspaper on the table, then began to create a pattern. Laying these pieces onto the material she’d bought from the few pennies she’d scraped together, she began to cut. Working all day in the silence of the living room, Ann looked at the finished article.
A pretty flowered child’s smock dress and mob cap to match lay on the table. Pleased with her efforts, Ann rubbed her tired eyes, before moving to the kitchen to prepare an evening meal.
A gasp drew her attention to Maisie, who had risen from her bed to ready herself for her night’s work.
‘Do you like it?’ Ann asked.
‘It’s bloody lovely, Annie, where’s it come from?’
‘I made it this afternoon.’
‘You – made it?’ Maisie lifted the pretty dress for clearer inspection.
‘Yes, I wondered if we could make more and sell them on.’ Ann smiled as she watched Maisie screw up her face.
‘I can’t bloody sew!’
‘You can learn,’ Ann said with a grin.
‘Nah, not me, but if you sew ’em I can sell ’em!’
‘Right, first I’ll need the materials then – we’ll be in business.’
Laughing together, the young women shared ideas over hot tea. Ann needed to make more children’s clothes and Maisie needed to be able to sell them. They decided cheap and cheerful was the way to go in the first instance, then if they were successful they could move on to more fashionable and expensive items. In time, they might gain a good reputation as well as a lucrative business.
Once Maisie had set off for work, Ann made a list of items she would need. Materials, pins, needles, threads – and newspapers for patterns. The following day Ann planned to go door to door begging unwanted newspapers to make up her patterns.
As Ann prepared for bed, she wondered how Maisie proposed to sell the items she made. It didn’t really matter as long as the clothes sold. Sitting in bed, she sketched out a few ideas for girls’ dresses and boys’ waistcoats and trousers.
Ann’s heavy eyelids began to droop as she looked at the last design she had drawn. Without realising, she had drawn a beautiful wedding gown. Her ideas had gone from children’s wear to bridal outfits. Was this to be her chosen profession? Could she be a dress designer?
Closing her eyes, Ann fell into a dream-filled sleep. Bridal gowns of all colours and designs drifted through her subconscious as she slept. Creams, whites, pale pinks, powder blues and peppermint greens jockeyed for prime position behind her eyelids and a smile crept over Ann’s face as she slept.
Seven
Miss Victoria Beckett had signed into the dingy little hotel at the end of Meeting Street and paid for one month’s stay with the money she had stolen from her mother’s purse. Now looking around the tiny bedroom again, she sank onto the hard bed as tears rolled down her face.
She had been here but a few days and she was thoroughly miserable. This was most definitely not what she had envisaged when she had considered living alone. The stolen money would not last very long and then what would she do? She would have to get a job! Slamming bunched fists onto the bed, she wailed her frustration and temper.
Moving to the small wardrobe, she opened the door. With a creak, the door slipped on its hinges and hung limply at an odd angle. Clearly her request for it to be repaired had been ignored. Struggling, Victoria managed to close it again, deciding not to use it after all. She would have to live out of her trunk for the foreseeable future. Stepping to the dressing table, which she was sure had been made for a child, she looked into the mirror.
How had she come to this? Victoria Beckett wasn’t meant to live like this! She was born for higher things – not residing in a fleapit hotel! She was a lady, and if she married Richard Wyndham, she would acquire the title befitting that status.
Sitting on the bed once more, she realised she would no longer be moving in the circles of the most prestigious people. How on earth would she be able to catch Wyndham’s eye now? She had to persuade her father to let her return home, and she would need to apologise to her mother for striking her. The very thought of saying she was sorry stuck in her craw and she screwed up her face, but she knew it had to be done. Tomorrow she would visit her mother and beg her forgiveness. She would promise to mend her ways and behave herself – at least until she was ensconced into her own room again.
Having slept badly, Victoria was up early the next morning and hailed a cabbie waiting outside the hotel. As she travelled in the cab, she noted the drab people wandering the dirty streets. She saw the closely packed buildings with filthy windows. A shiver ran down her spine as she considered the possibility she could find herself ambling through these same streets dressed in rags.
A sense of relief settled over her as the cab pulled up the drive of The Beeches. Paying the cabbie, Victoria watched as it disappeared down the drive. Sucking in a deep breath, she knocked on the front door and waited. The door opened and Iris, the maid, stepped aside, allowing her entry.
‘Madam is in the parlour, Miss.’
Nodding, Victoria walked with her head high, straight into the parlour.
‘Victoria!’ Ariadne gasped as her daughter closed the door. ‘What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here! Your father will have a fit if he knows…’
‘Mother!’ Victoria interrupted. ‘Mummy, I have to come home! I can’t do this, I have no idea how to survive on my own!’ Rushing to Ariadne, she fell to her knees and placed her head in her mother’s lap.
Ariadne’s hands leapt into the air at the display of emotion, then lowered to stroke her daughter’s hair. ‘Oh, my darling…’
Victoria smiled slyly as she continued with her crocodile tears.
‘Mummy – pleeease!’ she sobbed.
‘Victoria, I don’t know what you want from me, but your father…’ Ariadne began.
‘You have to persuade him! I’m so sorry I slapped you, Mother, I’m sorry for everything. Please, Mummy, please ask Daddy if I can come home. I promise to be good!’
Ariadne looked down at her daughter’s tear stained face and her heart melted. ‘I will try, but you have to keep to your promise and behave.’
‘I will!’ Victoria smiled before hugging her mother.
Over tea, Ariadne chatted, but Victoria merely nodded in all the appropriate places. Hearing none of her mother’s words, the girl acknowledged only her own thoughts. She had her mother onside and it had been so easy. The silly woman had given in almost immediately. All that was left now was to convince her father to allow her home.
William Beckett frowned as he entered the parlour and saw his daughter taking tea like nothing had happened between them.
‘Victoria, what is the meaning of this?’
‘Darling, Victoria is very sorry for—’ Ariadne began to explain.
‘Ariadne, I wasn’t speaking to you!’ William snapped.
Victoria lowered her head, forcing her tears to come. ‘Daddy, I’ve come to apologise…’ Dragging in a ragged breath, she went on, ‘For everything.’
‘I see.’ William stood before the fireplace, legs astride and his hands clasped behind his back, reinforcing his authority in his own house.
Looking up with the best m
iserable face she could muster, Victoria said with a sob, ‘Daddy, please can I come home? Please? I miss you both so much!’
William looked at his wife, who nodded, before resting his gaze on his daughter once more. He loved her, there was no denying it, but would she learn to mend her ways if he gave in to her yet again?
‘I promise to behave, Daddy, I will be good from now on.’ Victoria hated herself for grovelling, despite feeling it was needed. She hated her father even more for putting her in the position of having to do so. Her hatred for him grew as she watched him weigh up the options in his mind, but, squeezing tears from her eyes, she knew she had to remain deferential until he’d made his decision.
Pacing the hearth rug, William thought on the matter. Would his daughter actually take responsibility for herself? Could she change just like that? Or, was this a ruse to ingratiate herself into their affections once more? If he conceded and allowed her home, how long would it be before she reverted to her old ways again?
There was no denying he had worried about her after closing the door on her that fateful day, but had she learned anything from being thrown out?
Casting her an occasional glance, he continued to pace. He considered. If she had learned nothing, then in a few months’ time they would have to go through all this again. William was not at all sure he could face that.
Having made his decision, he stopped and looked down at his daughter.
This is it! He’s going to relent! Victoria felt a sense of jubilation course through her. She had won over her mother, now her father was about to give in to her too…
‘No,’ William said with clear conviction.
The shock hit Victoria like a sledgehammer. Mother and daughter drew in a sharp breath simultaneously.
‘No, Victoria, I will not put your mother or myself through this again. You must make your own way in life now.’
‘But, Daddy, I can’t!’ the girl sobbed.
Holding up his hand to halt her words, William continued, ‘You should have thought of this before. All the times you have embarrassed us; humiliated us in front of our friends; it’s too late now. I want you to leave this house and I forbid you to have any further contact with your mother. Now go!’ William threw out his arm dramatically, pointing to the door.
Victoria leapt to her feet and rushed from the room. This time the tears falling were genuine.
Caring nothing for the stares of people passing by, Victoria rushed back to the place she now had to call home.
Once more in her room at the small hotel, Victoria fumed at the pompous man she called father. He was mean and spiteful. How could he treat his daughter in such a manner? Well, she would show him! She would find work and make something of herself. She would make him rue the day he threw her out of the house.
*
That evening, Richard Wyndham sat in the dining room at The Beeches, the offer to dine with William Beckett and his wife Ariadne having been extended whilst on his visit to the bank.
‘I had thought your daughter would have joined us, Mrs Beckett,’ Richard said, replacing his wine glass on the table. He was, however, grateful she was not there.
‘Ariadne please,’ the woman said, feeling the colour drain from her face.
‘Victoria no longer resides under this roof,’ William put in, endeavouring to save his wife’s embarrassment.
‘I see,’ Richard said as he wondered at the reason. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.
‘I’m afraid I asked her to leave; her behaviour became intolerable. I’m sure you would have learned of this sooner or later because, as you can imagine, it is impossible for things such as this to be kept quiet.’ William dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
‘My apologies, I didn’t mean to pry into your private affairs,’ Richard said.
William waved a dismissive hand and the conversation was abruptly changed by Ariadne.
‘Do tell us, Richard, about Shropshire. I believe it’s rather beautiful.’
‘Indeed, Ariadne, it is. There are green fields and clean fresh air. You should both come to visit once my business here is concluded and I return home.’
Ariadne clapped her hands like a child and Wyndham gave her a smile which didn’t reach his eyes.
Talk turned to the theatre and Richard asked if the Becketts knew anything of Ann Felton. Puzzled looks showed on the faces of his hosts until he reminded them of the girl’s outspokenness at the Theatre Royal the night of the Mayor’s ball. He was dismayed when neither of them could shed light on the whereabouts of the girl.
Travelling back to the Albert Hotel, Richard could not get Ann out of his mind. She plagued his days and haunted his nights and somehow he was determined to find her again. It was clear people such as the Becketts would not know where Miss Felton lived so that left him with the only other option. He would have to go back to the Bell Inn and ask his questions there. He was sure he had fallen for the pretty dark haired girl with the hazel eyes. She had captivated him with her easy manner and tinkling laugh. She was bold enough to speak her mind on occasions, but a charming shyness lay beneath. Lord Wyndham was well and truly hooked.
The one thing he was certain of was – he would not be going home until he found Ann Felton once more.
Eight
Maisie Bancroft arrived home from her night shift on the streets. Her feet were sore and her back ached from standing the street corner. It had been a slow night. Grateful for the hot tea provided by Ann, Maisie grinned. Throwing her cloth bag on the table, she nodded towards it. Seeing Ann’s questioning look, she said, ‘The girls had a whip round – it’s for you to get what you need for your business. They put together their savings – it’s not much, but it will help.’
Ann tipped the contents out of the bag and gasped. ‘Maisie, no – I can’t take this!’
‘You better ’ad, the girls will be most put out if you don’t.’ Maisie smiled as she sank her feet into the bowl of warm water Ann had so thoughtfully provided.
Ann sat at the table and stared at the money. Then she told Maisie about her plans for the making of wedding gowns and accessories.
‘You what? ’Ow the bloody ’ell do you expect me to sell them?’ Maisie was aghast at Ann’s change of plans.
‘We will sell them together. I’m not sure yet where – it may have to be Birmingham, where there are wealthier people. I will accept this money on the proviso that it’s a loan. I will then repay the girls from my first sales.’ Ann was effusing now and began to explain excitedly as she showed her sketches to her friend.
‘You really think you can make these?’ Maisie asked and Ann nodded.
‘Yes, I can make them – selling them could be an entirely different matter, but I’m determined to try.’
‘Right, well I suggest you get down to the drapery as soon as it opens. You won’t get the stuff you need from the market. You’ll be wanting silks and satins, so go to Williams’ Drapery in Union Street,’ Maisie said encouragingly.
Ann’s excitement was contagious and Maisie found herself caught up in it by making suggestions here and there. All thought of sleep gone, Maisie wrote down her ideas for Ann to pore over later. For the next hour, the girls exchanged ideas and viewpoints: how to make it known Ann had started up a business, how long it would take her to make one gown and how much to charge for it. Ann said she could make bespoke wedding dresses as well as those for bridesmaids and matrons of honour. She could even provide for page boys, should the need arise. Seeing Maisie begin to flag a little, Ann packed her off to bed.
Over tea, Ann looked over the pages of ideas they’d drawn up together and began to sketch once more. One design after another flowed from her pencil onto the paper and before long she had dozens of drawings.
It was then Ann seemed to suddenly come to her senses. Here she was planning a grand new venture which would take time, money and effort. She would have to wait to be paid for any gowns she made; unless she had definite commissions, she could find herself with c
onstructed garments left on her hands and no way to sell them. Then there was the financial outlay. How could she find the necessary funds to purchase these fine materials in the first place? She was immensely grateful for the money the girls had given her, but would it be enough? What would she do if it wasn’t?
Later that morning, Ann gathered the money into her drawstring bag and set out to visit Williams’ Drapery. The summer sun hung in the sky its bright rays baking everything below. Doors and windows were flung wide open in an effort to cool the rooms within, but to no avail. There was no wind, not even a zephyr, to ease the pressure of the heat. Mothers kept their young children in the shade, afraid they might burn their bare feet on the hot cobblestones. Wisps of smoke curled from chimneys beneath which fires were lit to boil kettles and cook food. The humidity was making everyone sweat the moment they moved a muscle, and tempers frayed as people prayed for a storm to crack the heatwave and provide a little cooling respite.
Ann felt the weight of her petticoats beneath her long cotton dress and wished she’d had the courage not to wear them during the excessively hot weather.
Her excitement grew as she walked down Holyhead Road and on into Union Street. Williams’ Drapery was full of bolts of cloth; silks, satins, muslins in beautiful pale colours; all that Ann had dreamed of. She cast her eyes over nets and lace, brocades and taffeta – she felt spoilt for choice. Dipping into her bag, she withdrew two of her sketches and again her eyes roamed for just the right material. In the end, she settled for champagne silk with a piece of lace to match for her one design and the palest of lemon silk with matching finely woven net for the other.
Telling Mr Williams what she had chosen and why, Ann added, ‘I wonder if it would be possible to have it on account. I can pay a deposit today.’
‘Of course, my dear lady, that can be arranged with no problems at all,’ the shop owner answered.
Her parcels bundled along with threads and a box of pins and needles, Ann left the shop, Wrapped with string which was formed into a handle made carrying her parcels much easier and with a spring in her step, Ann headed for home.
Fallen Women Page 6
