Fallen Women

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘There’s been another murder!’ Mary gasped as she dropped into a chair, her titian hair falling over her eyes. Crossing herself, she muttered, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’

  ‘Oh no! Who?’ Ann asked, feeling shocked to her core.

  ‘One of them new girls that come down from Wolver’ampton,’ Ella said, shaking her head.

  ‘Dear God, when will they catch the person responsible?’ Maisie glanced around at the women in her tiny room.

  ‘I hope it’s soon,’ Ann said.

  ‘Me an’ all,’ Eve added. ‘It ain’t safe to walk the streets no more!’

  Despite the dreadful circumstances of the poor girl’s demise, nervous laughter sounded at Eve’s choice of words.

  ‘This is all the more reason to be vigilant, ladies,’ Ann said eventually. She saw everyone nod as they settled to the sewing of the next wedding gown, each with thoughts of the poor murdered girl.

  ‘When are you seeing that nice Mr Wyndham again, Annie?’ Floss asked timidly a little while later.

  ‘I’m not so sure it’s a good idea…’ Ann saw the shocked looks directed at her. ‘He’s a gentleman and – he lives so far away. He moves in different social circles, ones I wouldn’t fit into.’

  ‘That’s a load o’ rubbish if ever I ’eard it!’ Patsy chimed in.

  Ann shook her head as the women surrounding her began to debate the matter.

  ‘I can understand what Annie is sayin’,’ Eve said, pushing her mousy hair back and pinning it in place.

  ‘Well, I can’t,’ Maisie said. ‘It don’t matter who he is or where he’s from if you love ’im.’

  ‘Maisie!’ Ann’s face flushed blood red.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No one said anything about love,’ Ann muttered, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

  ‘Look, Annie, you ain’t never gonna get another chance like this. Remember the saying – corpus diadem!’ Maisie nodded once.

  ‘Carpe diem, Maisie,’ Ann laughed lightly at the malapropism.

  ‘What’s that mean?’ Ella asked.

  ‘Seize the day,’ Ann answered.

  ‘There you bloody go then!’ Patsy said.

  The room echoed with the sound of their laughter.

  *

  Whilst the work on the gowns was proceeding, Richard Wyndham was meeting an estate agent in High Street.

  ‘What precisely are you looking for, Mr Wyndham?’ the portly little man asked, his smile wide and genuine.

  Richard pushed his business card across the desk and watched white eyebrows arch in surprise.

  ‘Lord Wyndham, I should say,’ the estate agent corrected himself after a quick glance at the card.

  ‘Mr Sadler, my interest lies in a certain shop in Union Street. However, I do not believe it to be up for sale.’ Richard crossed his legs and made himself more comfortable in the chair opposite the little man.

  ‘I see. May I ask which shop that would be?’

  ‘The drapery – Williams – I am reliably informed.’ Richard tilted his head to the side.

  ‘Ah yes. The shop has been in their family for generations and I can’t see the old fellow giving it up this side of the grave.’ Mr Sadler rubbed his white whiskers.

  ‘As much as I would like the shop, it would not be at the detriment of the gentleman’s health,’ Richard smiled.

  ‘Quite so. I’m afraid I only have houses on my books at the present time, but should I hear of a shop becoming vacant or up for sale, I will certainly let you know.’ Sadler leaned back in his chair, eyeing the man in his office.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Sadler, you can contact me at the Albert Hotel.’

  Again Sadler’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The man must have money if he is staying at the Albert, he thought.

  Shaking hands, Richard left the office. He had chosen not to disclose that he had in fact already visited the shop, having seen the gowns in the window. Victoria had not been in evidence, having been sent to the town to replenish larder stocks for Mr Williams, he had learned as he had chatted amenably with the proprietor. Richard had then left, already wondering how he could persuade Williams to sell up and retire.

  Unbeknown to the others, Maisie had made a quick visit to the Albert Hotel the previous day. She had written a short message which outlined the altercation between Ann and Victoria Beckett and Ann’s subsequent distress.

  Walking into the hotel, Maisie made straight for the reception, where a tall man stood with his head down. As she approached, he looked up through the pince-nez perched on the end of his nose.

  ‘Can I help you, modom?’ he asked haughtily.

  ‘Yes, I would like to leave a message for one of your guests please,’ Maisie answered. She was feeling out of her depth in the fancy hotel, never having been in one before.

  ‘Really? And which guest would that be, may I ask?’ he asked with a hint of disdain as he straightened his back, making himself even taller.

  Maisie felt intimidated by the pompous receptionist, but when she spied his almost imperceptible smirk, her anger flared. Drawing herself up to her full height too, she announced firmly, ‘Lord Wyndham!’

  The man was taken aback for an instant then he inclined his head. ‘Certainly, madam.’

  Maisie passed over the note and watched as the man carefully slipped it into an envelope he reached from a drawer beneath the counter. Turning, he slid it into a pigeonhole beneath key number one. Facing the visitor once more, he said, ‘Lord Wyndham will receive his message directly he returns.’

  ‘Thank you. You have been most helpful,’ Maisie grinned sheepishly, as did the receptionist. They had reached an accord – never judge a book by its cover.

  Calling first at the hotel, Richard was given his message and was now making his way to Queen Street. He felt the sting of disappointment; he was hoping the estate agent would be more helpful regarding his buying the shop – evidently it was not meant to be.

  Knocking on the door of number twelve, Richard saw it was Maisie who answered, questions written all over her face.

  ‘Yes, I have just received your message, thank you. Leave it with me,’ he whispered.

  Maisie nodded and invited him in.

  Ann blushed to the roots of her hair as she saw the visitor walk in.

  ‘Ladies, so nice to see you all again,’ Richard said. Given tea, he was settled into a chair by the fireside. He listened attentively as news of the second murder was discussed, his eyes occasionally straying to Ann.

  ‘I’m very glad you are all safe here with Maisie and Ann,’ Richard said with a smile.

  Ann nodded her dark head and his heart flipped. This beautiful young woman was doing her level best to keep these women off the streets. She had found them work, albeit unpaid at present, but it was keeping them busy. How long for though? When would the women decide enough was enough and return to standing on the street corner to earn some money? If he could help Ann secure her own premises, maybe the women would be better placed to support her. He felt sure her gowns would sell better now they were being displayed in a shop rather than using Maisie’s front room.

  Ann then explained about the agreement she had made with Mr Williams to display her gowns in the drapery window. Richard smiled as he watched the girl who had captured his heart that night outside the Theatre Royal. Her hazel eyes twinkled in the firelight as her dark hair fell in wisps about her face. Cheeks flushed, she smiled at him, showing her even white teeth. Richard’s heart raced and he longed to take her into his arms. One day.

  Making his excuses, he rose to leave. Ann showed him to the door and again the heat rose to her face as he kissed her hand.

  ‘I shall call again, if I am permitted?’ he asked with a mischievous grin.

  ‘I’m sure the girls would like that,’ Ann responded.

  Ah, but would you like it, Ann?

  Richard walked away more determined than ever to find a way to help the delightful Ann Felton.

  *

  Victoria Beckett
returned to the shop in a foul mood. She had been sent to do Mr William’s shopping like a common scullion.

  ‘Ah, there you are, m’dear,’ Williams said, taking the shopping bag from her, ‘now we can have a nice cup of tea.’

  Taking her place behind the counter once more, Victoria fumed at being this man’s lackey. Glancing around, her eyes fell on the business card left by the till. Picking it up, she read the copperplate writing. Slamming the card down, her anger increased. Lord Wyndham had visited – and she had missed him!

  The shop bell tinkled and Victoria sighed heavily with frustration. Standing with both hands on the counter, she glared at the woman walking in.

  ‘I need twelve inches of red ribbon,’ the woman said.

  ‘It’s sold by the yard!’ Victoria snapped.

  ‘I don’t want a yard, I want twelve inches!’ the woman returned sharply.

  ‘We don’t sell it in inches! Do you understand or are you just deaf?’ Victoria’s temper bubbled up.

  ‘I ain’t deaf, you cheeky bugger!’ the woman’s voice rose an octave.

  ‘Is there a problem, Miss Beckett?’ Mr Williams’ words came loud and clear.

  ‘There is, ar,’ the woman spoke up, ‘I wants twelve inches o’ red ribbon and this ’ere girl sez I can’t ’ave it!’

  ‘Mr Williams, ribbon is sold by the yard or half yard, if I’m not mistaken!’ Victoria said, giving the customer a sneer.

  ‘Mrs Freeman, you allus was an ockard old bleeder,’ Williams laughed.

  ‘I ain’t, I just want my ribbon, but then if yer ain’t got it, I’ll tek my custom somewhere else.’

  Awkward was not a word Victoria would have used – rude, insulting maybe.

  ‘Now, Mrs Freeman, you keep yer messy hair under that vile hat while Victoria here sorts out yer order.’ Eyes turned to his shop girl, Williams said, ‘Give this moaning old biddy ’alf a yard and charge for twelve inches.’ Giving her a warning glare not to argue, he turned back to the woman who was now laughing heartily.

  Once the woman had left, Mr Williams turned to Victoria and said sternly, ‘Why do you have to antagonise everyone who comes into my shop?’

  ‘She—’ Victoria began petulantly.

  Williams held up a hand. ‘I’m sick of it, Victoria, and I tell you now – one more incident and you’ll be out!’ He stamped back to his tiny kitchen, shaking his head and muttering something about the young today!

  Victoria’s nostrils flared and she stamped her foot. Anger and frustration fused together, leaving her with murder in her heart.

  Everything that had happened to her recently appeared to be tied together and that blasted Ann Felton was the knot holding it fast.

  If she could only be free of that young woman, Victoria felt her life would be so much better. She could settle down and concentrate on enticing Lord Wyndham into a courtship with her. And those dreadful street women would not be coming here to the shop if Ann was no longer around. How could she be rid of the girl who was proving to be a thorn in her side?

  An eerie calm settled over her as she tried to formulate a plan. One way or another, Victoria would see Ann Felton ruined or dead.

  Fifteen

  Len winced as his wife’s voice screeched its way into the bar.

  ‘I need some ’elp in this bloody kitchen, Leonard Pritchard!’

  ‘I know, my precious, but nobody has asked about the job,’ he called back. Continuing to clean the bar, he waited and, sure enough, a moment later Gladys shuffled in to join him.

  ‘A card in the winder ain’t enough, you gotta put a notice in the papers,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t afford it,’ Len responded as he pulled a pint for a man at the other side of the counter.

  Paying his money, the man took his drink to a seat by the window to watch the outcome of the row about to erupt.

  Titters sounded from two men playing dominoes, their flat caps sitting on the backs of their heads. Others stood by the fire, its warmth seeping through their moleskin trousers.

  The heat of the summer had melted away and left in its wake the beautiful colours of autumn. The air held a chill after the baking sun of the summer months and fires were lit to stave off the cold.

  ‘You allus got a damned excuse! If yer want meals serving in this dosshole, then I need an ’elping ’and!’ Gladys stood facing her man, hands on hips in a show of frustration.

  ‘I can’t give yer what I don’t ’ave, my little princess.’ Len winked at his customers.

  ‘What about one o’ them wenches from the snug?’

  ‘Gladys, they don’t come in so much now ’cos they’m working with young Annie, as well you know.’

  ‘Ar, and they won’t work with you! Christ! You’m neither use nor ornament!’ Gladys exploded.

  ‘Now, now, sweet’eart, we ’ave customers ’ere who don’t want to listen to yer wailing,’ Len smiled, hoping she would retire back to the kitchen. It was a hope that instantly died as he ducked the flying glass he saw coming his way.

  Applause sounded at his quick reaction and a moment later laughing eyes peeped above the counter, checking if it was safe enough to stand up.

  ‘Oh dear, you seem to ’ave broken a glass, my angel,’ Len said, playing to his audience.

  ‘Angel is it? I’ll give you bloody angel!’ Gladys snatched up another glass and let it fly.

  More clapping ensued as Len again peered over the counter. Getting to his feet, he took a step forward, his arms outstretched. ‘Give us a kiss, you fiery devil!’

  ‘Mek up yer mind, Len, angel or devil?’ one of the men shouted.

  Gladys’s eyes moved to the man in question and she glared at him before they shot back at her slowly approaching husband.

  ‘You touch me and I’ll do for yer!’ Gladys yelled.

  In an instant, Len’s arms wound round her ample body and he was kissing her cheek.

  Bawdy comments rang out to encourage the landlord who was trying to placate his angry wife.

  Gladys struggled to free herself. ‘Gerroff, you bloody great lummock! I got work to do, so bugger off and let me gerron with it!’

  Len made the mistake of letting go of his feisty wife, believing he had won her round, but Gladys was not about to concede, for as he turned away from her and took a bow to the applauding audience, she threw yet another glass. This time it hit him squarely on the back of his head, then fell to the floor and miraculously bounced.

  Tottering a step forward, Len’s hand moved to where he’d been hit and he sighed with relief; there was no blood upon examination of his fingers.

  The men in the bar were on their feet and Gladys gave a small curtsy in acknowledgement of their standing ovation.

  ‘Better than the music hall, Gladys!’ one shouted as the landlady left the bar to return to her work in the kitchen.

  Sitting on a simple wooden chair, she sighed. It comes to summat when the only excitement I get is fighting with me ’usband!

  *

  It was late afternoon when Richard Wyndham walked into the bar of the Bell Inn.

  ‘Nice to see yer agen, Mr Wyndham sir,’ Len greeted him with a smile.

  ‘Thank you, Len. Pint of porter please.’ Placing his coins on the counter, Richard studied the man pulling the beer. Glass in front of him now he asked, ‘Len, do you know anything about Williams’ Drapery?’

  ‘Where our Annie has ’er frocks in the winder?’ Seeing the other man nod, he went on, ‘That place ’as been there since Noah was a lad. Down through the generations it’s come, but old Mr Williams is the last. He never married, so there’s no family to pass it onto. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was hoping to coax Mr Williams into selling.’

  ‘Ain’t he interested then?’ Len probed.

  ‘It would appear not, although I have not approached him directly.’

  ‘I got a couple of mates who could go round and put the frighteners on ’im for yer,’ Len said with a grin.

  ‘Good grief no! Shoul
d he wish to sell up I would want it to all be legal and above board,’ Richard said quickly.

  He was relieved when Len burst out laughing then said, ‘Fair enough.’

  Changing the subject, Len tapped the newspaper. ‘Been another murder in the churchyard at St John’s.’

  ‘I saw. It’s dreadful, I hope the police catch whoever’s doing it soon.’ Richard shook his head.

  ‘It affects us all – in a way.’ Seeing the puzzled look on Wyndham’s face, Len went on. ‘Well, the girls am scared to go out – on the corner – so they ain’t earning. With no money, they ain’t comin’ in ’ere, so we’m all suffering.’

  ‘Yes, I see how it is for you, but you can’t blame the girls for staying indoors,’ Richard said as he tipped his head to his now empty glass.

  ‘Right enough,’ Len placed another full glass on the bar. Picking up the money, he asked, ‘So how goes it with Annie?’

  Richard saw the wicked twinkle in Len’s eye as he answered, ‘A gentleman does not discuss such matters.’

  Len guffawed as he moved to serve another customer.

  Glancing again at the newspaper article, Richard sighed. He knew Ann and the girls were not earning a wage, therefore they would be hard pushed to pay their rent. There would be no money for food either, so whatever was in the larder would have to stretch. Certain none would accept charity, he wondered how best to help.

  Clearly Ann needed to sell her gowns and then she could pay the girls, which in turn would keep them off the streets. Why were the gowns not selling? They were beautifully made garments and not over priced, as far as he could see. Richard scowled. There must be a reason for this and he determined to find out what it was.

  Waving a goodbye to Len, Richard strode out into the street. He was about to call on Mr Williams again; this time with an offer which he hoped would not be refused.

  *

  Victoria was surprised to see Lord Wyndham enter the shop and close the door gently behind him.

  Tipping his hat to her, he asked, ‘Would it be possible to have a word with Mr Williams?’

  ‘I’ll ask for you,’ Victoria said as she moved to the back room. She was annoyed Wyndham had shown no sign of recognising her. Surely he would remember her from the Mayor’s ball and yet…