Fallen Women

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  The grin on Len’s face slid away as Gladys shuffled into the bar. ‘What you up to, Leonard Pritchard?’ She’d heard Mary’s voice from her place in the kitchen.

  ‘Nothing, my sweet. I was just chatting with Mary ’ere.’

  ‘Ar well, stop yer canting and get them glasses washed. Do some work, yer lazy sod!’ Gladys snapped a sharp look at Mary before going back to the kitchen.

  ‘One day, Len, you’ll learn not to aggravate that wife of yours, so you will,’ Mary said before following Gladys.

  ‘Nah, ’er loves it really,’ Len said, firmly of the belief his wife was happy in their marriage.

  Gladys poured tea for Mary and herself and they sat at the huge wooden table.

  ‘He’s a rogue and no mistake,’ Mary said.

  ‘Rogue ain’t the word I’d use. He’s a philandering little bleeder!’ Gladys spat the words out like they had burned her mouth. Then with a big sigh, she added, ‘I’m sick and tired of it, Mary.’

  The young woman looked at her employer and saw the old eyes mist over. She watched the bravado melt away, leaving a vulnerability beneath.

  ‘Sure he thinks you love the banter,’ Mary said.

  ‘’E won’t ever change, but I ain’t sure ’ow much more of it I can tek, It’s wearing me out.’ Gladys blinked away her threatening tears.

  ‘Gladys, he loves you. He plays up – we all know that – but his heart belongs to you,’ Mary tried to console the woman who had been so kind to her.

  Watching Gladys sip her tea, Mary knew when she and the girls first came into this pub, the woman hated them all. Was it their chosen profession that had caused the dislike? Or was it that she thought them a threat? Was she afraid her husband might take a liking to one of them and leave her high and dry? Whatever the reason, Gladys Pritchard had come through in the end by offering the hand of friendship in their hour of need. Mary now had a job, a room and a wage. She no longer had to stand the street corner thanks to Gladys.

  Voicing these last thoughts, Mary watched a tiny twinkle shine in Gladys’ eye. ‘Yer should be proud of yerself, Gladys, right enough yer should.’

  Slamming her cup on the table, Gladys grabbed Mary by the arm and dragged her into the bar.

  ‘Stop that bloody whistling and pour us a beer. Mek it snappy – I could drink the “cut” dry!’ Gladys said as she plonked herself on a chair, indicating Mary do the same.

  Len’s look was one of surprise as he pulled the beers. ‘Drinking mid-morning, that ain’t like you, my little turtle dove.’

  ‘Shut yer yap and give us them beers,’ Gladys said, snatching the glass from his hand. Downing half the ale in one go, she smacked her lips before wiping a hand across her mouth.

  Back behind the bar, Len grimaced, ‘Oh, very ladylike.’

  Gladys’s eyes slid across to him as she drank the last of her beer and, raising her arm, she launched the glass in his direction.

  Len ducked just in time, but then he’d had many years’ practice. Popping up again, he asked, ‘Would modom care for another?’

  Gladys glared at him as he drew another ale from the pump.

  Mary sipped from her glass as she watched the two perform this strange dance of love and hate, and knew at that moment the pair would still be dancing around each other when they went to their graves.

  A rattle to the door of the Inn said it was time to open up and Len did just that, but instead of a customer it was a constable, who stepped into the bar and looked around.

  ‘Mary Reed?’ he asked.

  Mary stood up, her Irish temper already on the rise. ‘And what is it you will be wanting with me?’

  ‘Inspector Towers asked me to inform you that the body of Floss Darton has now been released for burial. I’m very sorry for yer loss, Mary.’ The policeman nodded before replacing his helmet and leaving the pub.

  Mary dropped into her chair in floods of tears. Now they could bury their friend; she could be laid to rest at last.

  When her tears abated, it was Gladys who spoke. ‘Get yerself off to yer mates and tell ’em. Sort out a nice package from the funeral parlour and me and Len will contribute. Then you come back ’ere to me.’ Giving the girl a hug, Gladys sent her on her way.

  ‘Gladys! We can’t—’ Len began once they were alone.

  A forefinger raised to the heavens stopped Len’s words. ‘Don’t you dare, Len Pritchard! You was quick enough to tek their money when they came in ’ere. Well, now you can give a bit back to ’elp bury that poor wench, and I’ll ’ear no more about it! Oh, I feel all of a faint comin’ over me, best ’ave me another beer.’

  Len obliged without uttering another word; he knew when he was beaten.

  *

  Maisie’s door flew open and Mary rushed in. ‘I’ve had a copper come to tell me we can now bury our Floss!’ Dropping into a chair, her tears fell again.

  ‘When you’re ready, I’ll come with you, Mary. The funeral parlour will most likely collect her, so all we have to do is choose a – package.’ Ann didn’t want to upset her friends any more by saying coffin.

  ‘Len and Gladys will contribute to the cost,’ Mary blubbered.

  ‘That’s kind of them. I suggest we sort it out sooner rather than later, then Floss can sleep in peace.’ Ann chose her words carefully.

  ‘You two get off and I’ll pop to the shop and tell the others,’ Maisie said.

  Ann and Mary trudged along the streets to the undertakers.

  ‘How will we pay for this? For sure, I don’t have much put aside as yet.’ Mary was clearly fretting.

  ‘I’ll see to it, I’ll ask Richard if we can pay for it out of the shop business. I’m sure under the circumstances he won’t mind too much, especially if I promise to repay him as soon as I’m able. Besides, we need to give Floss a good send-off. What I owe you girls for the loan, however, will have to wait a little longer.’

  ‘We don’t want that back, Annie, sure we’re all friends, ain’t we?’

  Ann smiled her thanks.

  At the undertakers, they chose a simple but nice funerary package amid lots of tears and a few reminisces, then the young women walked home arm in arm. Their good friend would be laid to rest two day’s hence. Now it was time to search out their black clothes, for all too soon they would be bidding Floss Darton a fond and final goodbye.

  That evening, they all gathered in the snug at the Bell Inn. Mary and Gladys came through from the kitchen to join them.

  Ann lifted her glass of shandy, ‘To Floss, rest easy until we meet again.’

  ‘To Floss,’ the toast was made.

  Ann watched as the old familiar banter waged war across the bar. If only Richard was here, she thought.

  She’d heard nothing from him since his departure for home, but then why should she? She knew he cared for her, as indeed he did for the others, but was it enough for him to come back for her?

  No matter where she went or what she did, Ann’s thoughts always included Richard. He was the last thing on her mind at night and the first the following morning. Where was he now? Had he met another woman from the Shire? Was he courting her at this very moment?

  A banging on the bar in the other room snapped Ann back to the present. She watched Len move to serve the impatient customer. A moment later he was back.

  ‘Look who I found in the other bar,’ Len announced then stepped out of the way to allow Lord Wyndham through to the snug.

  Ann’s heart leapt with joy at seeing him. It was as though her thoughts had drawn him here to her.

  ‘Well now, I turn my back and my workers retire to the pub!’ Richard said genially. He laughed at the comments thrown at him before moving to Ann. ‘Nice to see you again, Ann.’

  ‘Likewise, Richard.’

  Ann explained why he had found them all gathered here.

  ‘Ah, I went to the house and when I received no answer to my knock, I thought to grill Len regarding your whereabouts.’ Richard saw the blush rise to her cheeks as she smiled up at
him.

  ‘Richard,’ Ann whispered amid the noise of the others talking, ‘I have taken somewhat of a liberty and I hope you will forgive me.’ Her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap, then taking a deep breath she continued in a rush.

  ‘We had to pay for Floss’s funeral package and we didn’t have the money so I borrowed some from the shop. I promise to pay you back as soon as I can. I didn’t steal it as you’ll see from the promissory note I left in its place. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do and you weren’t here to ask.’

  ‘Ann – it’s fine, please don’t concern yourself. It was the sensible thing to do and I know you would want your friend to have a decent burial.’

  Ann sighed with relief. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

  The rest of the evening was spent in sombre chatter about Floss and the upcoming funeral.

  When Ann stood to leave, Richard said, ‘Ladies, I will hail a cab and see you all safely home.’ He gave each a small bow as they walked out onto the street, feeling full of their own importance.

  Looking around the small group, Richard whistled loudly and held up his hand to the cab waiting for a fare.

  Ella, Eve, Patsy, Maisie and Ann all squashed into the small carriage and Richard climbed up beside the driver.

  When all were seen safely indoors at their respective homes, Richard sat at Maisie’s with tea in hand. Maisie had retired to her bed, leaving Ann and Richard by the fire.

  Long into the night they talked. They discussed his business and hers; they spoke of poor Floss and the monster who had taken her life. Enjoying each other’s company, neither wanted it to end, but eventually Richard rose to leave.

  ‘I must confess, I had not expected to see you again – for a while,’ Ann said.

  ‘I needed to see how the shop was doing,’ he answered. But in reality it was you I needed to see, Ann! ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said as he kissed the back of her hand.

  Ann nodded and, after seeing him out, she closed and locked the door behind him. Going to place the guard around the fire, she smiled, remembering the feel of his lips on her hand. She had not challenged him about not informing her he was a lord, in the end it would make no difference to her feelings for him.

  ‘You have no idea of how I feel about you, Richard Wyndham,’ she whispered. Then, with a gentle sigh, she crept up the stairs to bed.

  Twenty-Two

  Stomping the streets looking for work proved fruitless and Victoria Beckett knew she would have to leave the hotel at the end of the week. With no job and the little she’d saved dwindling fast, she had to get hold of some money – and quickly.

  The only option left open to her was to visit her parents, maybe they would take pity on her. If she was not allowed to return home, then surely they would give her some money to tide her over. Having made her decision, Victoria made her way to The Beeches and banged on the front door.

  ‘Victoria!’ Her mother’s eyes widened when she saw her girl standing in the parlour doorway, having been admitted by Iris, the maid.

  ‘Hello, Mother, I thought I’d pay you a visit,’ Victoria pushed past the astonished maid and strode directly to the fireside chair. Sitting down, she made herself comfortable.

  Iris closed the door and leaned her ear against it. Unable to hear what was being said in low tones, the maid returned to the kitchen.

  ‘How are you, dear?’ Ariadne ventured, still feeling angst at the unexpected visit from her daughter.

  ‘I’m all right, no thanks to you or Father!’ Victoria snapped.

  Still a spoiled brat! Ariadne thought but said instead, ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’

  ‘I’ve been working actually. However, that has finished now as the shop has been resold and my services were no longer needed.’ The petulance in Victoria’s voice was evident as she dropped her hands into her lap.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, dear.’ Ariadne steeled herself for what she knew to be coming.

  ‘So, Mother, without that work I have no money.’

  ‘I see. Is that why you’re here – for money?’

  ‘What else can I do, Mother? I can’t live on fresh air now, can I?’ Victoria made a show of folding her gloves and placing them in her drawstring bag.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to help your unfortunate situation,’ Ariadne said as she felt the old familiar fear rise in her.

  Victoria stood up sharply and saw her mother shrink back from her. Knowing the woman was afraid, she took a step forward. Leaning over her cowering mother, she rasped, ‘You would see your only daughter without? Would you watch as I’m taken into the workhouse and not raise a finger to prevent it? Shame on you!’

  ‘Victoria, it’s not like that, your father—’

  ‘Oh yes, Father!’ Victoria cut across her mother’s sentence. ‘He’s forbidden you to aid me, has he not?’ Victoria saw the nod confirming her thinking. Forcing the tears to come, she flopped back into the chair. ‘Oh, Mummy, I don’t know what to do!’

  Ariadne stared at her daughter, hardly able to believe Victoria’s mercurial mood. One minute full out aggression, then in an instant to pitiful subservience.

  ‘You will have to find yourself another job,’ Ariadne returned.

  ‘There are no jobs out there, Mother! Do you not understand? Have you not seen the poverty in this town or do you walk around with your eyes closed?’ Victoria ground through clenched teeth.

  Ariadne was shocked at her daughter’s second mood swing in as many minutes. As she watched Victoria, she saw a glint in the eye that spoke of madness. Was her girl insane? Was that what caused the girl to be so nasty all the time?

  ‘I think you should leave before your father gets home.’ Ariadne stood and walked out of the parlour. Standing now with the front door open, she waited for Victoria to cross the threshold. ‘Goodbye, Victoria,’ she said before closing the door quietly.

  With a sigh of relief, Ariadne returned to the parlour, only then realising she was shivering. Giving herself a mental shake, she knew she would always be afraid of her daughter.

  Pulling on her gloves, Victoria marched away from the house, the anger building swiftly inside her. Heading for the London City & Midland Bank, she intended to confront her father.

  Entering the building, she pushed her way to the front of the queue of people. Ignoring the complaints about her rudeness, she spoke sternly to the teller.

  ‘I need to see the manager.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s busy, Miss, and there is a queueing system here,’ the teller replied.

  ‘I’ll have you know the manager is my father!’ Turning to face the crowd of muttering customers, she shoved her nose in the air.

  ‘That’s as maybe, Miss, but he’s still busy.’ The teller stood his ground.

  ‘I warn you, I will cause a scene,’ Victoria rasped into his face.

  ‘I think you’ve already done that, Miss Beckett,’ the teller said, shaking his head.

  ‘All right, you asked for it. Daddy! Daddy!’ Victoria’s voice sailed across the grumbles of waiting clients. On and on she shouted until a door opened and her father came rushing out.

  ‘What’s all the noise about?’ Seeing who was responsible for disrupting the quiet workings of his bank, William Beckett sighed audibly. ‘Stop that yelling at once and get yourself in here!’ William threw out his arm and pointed to his office.

  Victoria gave the crowd a sly smile and trotted into the room. Nodding to the teller, William followed his daughter. The slamming of the door causing her to turn.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ William fumed. Moving to sit behind his desk, he listened to his daughter’s tale of woe. ‘So why have you come to me? Surely you don’t expect me to bail you out by giving you money?’ William gave a little laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Victoria, but you are on your own; I told you that when you left home.’

  ‘Left home? I was thrown out!’ the girl screeched.

  ‘True enough, but shouting a
nd screaming will get you precisely nowhere with me or your mother, so don’t even think to pester her either.’ William kept his voice low and even.

  ‘Daddy, for goodness sake! Whatever will I live on now I have no work?’ Victoria changed tack, maybe being forlorn might help her case. She wisely kept her visit to The Beeches to herself.

  ‘Victoria, I don’t know and – what’s more – I don’t care! Now, kindly go about your business and leave me to mine.’

  He walked round the desk and, cupping her elbow, he drew her to her feet. Leading her through the doorway, he called across to the teller. ‘Miss Beckett is leaving now and if she comes here again you have my permission to escort her from the premises. Should she still refuse to leave, you will call for the police.’ Turning to his daughter’s shocked face, he added, ‘Goodbye Victoria.’ Spinning on his heel, he returned to his office.

  Seeing the self-satisfied smiles of the customers, Victoria spoke directly to the teller. ‘You have not seen the last of me!’

  ‘Oh, I think we have,’ the teller said back to her.

  Victoria left the bank with the customers’ applause at the teller’s remark ringing in her ears.

  Once again sitting in her little room in the hotel, Victoria’s anger was palpable. How dare people treat her this way? Even her parents had turned against her. What had caused all this? Following the thread of thought back led her to Ann Felton. That blasted girl was the reason she’d been thrown out of her home; for her parents cutting her off without a penny to her name. She had been forced to work in order to survive and now she’d been sacked. Oh, the disgrace of it all!

  Breathing heavily through her nose, Victoria realised her predicament. She desperately needed to earn some money and whilst doing that she could hatch a plan to take her revenge on Ann Felton.

  As the afternoon melted into evening, Victoria barely moved a muscle. Lying down on her bed, she had thought over how she could avenge herself. She still had her sights firmly set on Richard Wyndham as a potential husband, but he was enamoured of that Felton girl, which was all the more reason she was determined to have him. Victoria wondered whether she could besmirch the girl’s name, then surely Lord Wyndham would come to his senses. Somehow she had to prove what she suspected – that Ann Felton was indeed a prostitute.