Fallen Women

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘You could still have Richard,’ Ann pressed. ‘Put down the weapon and we can talk.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d like that, but the only place I intend to put this…’ Victoria hoisted her arm and flicked the knife blade from side to side ‘… is in your heart!’

  In an instant, she lunged forward across the table and in that same moment Ann stepped back.

  ‘I scared you that time, didn’t I?’ Victoria steadied herself and stepped sideways again. ‘You see, Ann Felton, when I’ve finished with you – I have my parents to visit. I have to show them it was wrong to cut me out of their lives. So now I will make sure they have no more life to live!’

  ‘Listen to yourself, Victoria, you’re talking about killing your parents!’ Ann couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  ‘It’s no more than they deserve!’ Victoria screeched. So loud was her voice she didn’t hear the door open behind her. Suddenly the knife was knocked from her hand to land with a clatter on the table, and she was being held fast. Struggling to free herself, Victoria’s rage erupted to see her fighting like a wild cat. Her arms flailed as her feet left the floor and she continued to scream like a banshee.

  Richard, hearing all the shouting, had slipped into the house quietly and disarmed the girl threatening Ann. Holding tight to Victoria, he saw Maisie glide around him. The sharp slap Maisie delivered to the girl’s cheek immediately calmed her and she slumped in Richard’s arms, completely spent.

  Ann dropped into a chair, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

  Richard and Maisie bound Victoria’s arms to her sides with a shawl and then pushed her into a chair. She had not resisted and was completely compliant.

  Ann shook her head as she watched the haughty Victoria Beckett sitting mumbling and dribbling like a baby.

  Richard rushed over to Ann. ‘Oh, my love, are you hurt?’

  ‘No, I’m all right,’ Ann confirmed. ‘She – she…’ Suddenly it was all too much for her and Ann could say no more. It was uncharacteristic of Ann to show such vulnerability, but clearly she was distraught and shocked by the incident.

  Richard took her in his arms and kissed her hair.

  Maisie was standing over Victoria, who continued to mumble incoherently. Presently she said, ‘Richard, we need to find a copper.’ Maisie raised her eyebrows in a little wiggle.

  The unspoken message was received by Richard who nodded. They both knew the police were otherwise occupied, but Richard guessed someone would be manning the station.

  Ann shivered in his arms; the relief combined with shock had left her feeling cold.

  Now, Richard was glad he had left Ella and Eve at the Bell Inn and escorted Maisie home. Taking stock of the situation, he grabbed Ann’s shawl from the arm of the chair and wrapped it around her. Moving to Maisie, he said, ‘Watch her carefully, I’m going to hail a cab.’ His head tilted to Victoria, who was now laughing like an idiot and totally unaware of what was happening around her.

  Rushing from the room, Richard stood on the cobbled road and whistled loudly. Hearing nothing, he whistled again and then came the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves. Hailing the cabbie, he said, ‘I have to get a woman to the police station, she tried to stab my sweetheart!’

  ‘Oh, my gawd!’ the cabbie whispered as he jumped down and opened the carriage door. ‘C’mon, guvnor, I’ll ’ave yer there in a minute.’

  Richard nodded and ran back indoors.

  ‘Maisie, stay with Ann, I have a cab waiting. I’ll get this one to the police, then come back here. Lock all the doors and open them to no one but me.’

  ‘Righto, but will you be all right with her on yer own?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘Yes, don’t worry. Just remember what I said.’ Richard picked up the knife from the table and slipped it into his pocket. Dragging Victoria to her feet, he checked her bonds were still secure before marching her outside to the waiting cab.

  The cab driver was true to his word, having them outside the station in no time.

  ‘Hello, hello. What do we ’ave ’ere then?’ the desk sergeant asked as Richard steered the still bound Victoria into the police station.

  Slapping the knife onto the desk, Richard explained the events that had taken place a short while earlier.

  The desk sergeant blew out his cheeks and rang a handbell, summoning a constable. ‘Take that one to the cells and lock her up. Be careful, she’s dangerous!’ Turning to Richard, he said, ‘Right, sir, let’s have the details.’

  Richard answered the sergeant’s questions and being told someone would be out to interview Ann in the morning, he was allowed to leave.

  Thanking the cabbie for waiting, Richard travelled back to Maisie’s, his mind going over the incident. Dragging his hands down his face, he realised how close to death Ann had come for the third time. He shuddered and his breath came in gasps. He had almost lost her – again. It was then he made up his mind; Ann Felton would become his wife, even if he had to beg on bended knees.

  On arrival at Maisie’s house, Richard gave the cab driver half a crown. ‘Thank you, sir, you can tell your children you helped save a woman’s life and possibly aided the incarceration of a would-be murderer.’

  The cabbie tipped his hat and thanked the man for the tip. ‘I will indeed, mister.’

  Richard banged on the front door, shouting, ‘Maisie, it’s me, Richard.’

  The door opened a crack and Maisie sighed with relief. Closing the door, she locked it behind him. Returning to the living room, she saw Richard and Ann in a loving embrace. Tiptoeing to the kitchen, Maisie set the kettle to boil. She smiled to herself as she thought, It’s about bloody time!

  Making the tea, she rattled and banged to let Ann and Richard know she was returning. Placing the tray on the table, she poured the tea, having noticed the pair sitting holding hands.

  ‘Tea up,’ she called and Richard went to collect his and Ann’s cup.

  All three sat by the fire to discuss the very eventful evening.

  As Maisie’s eyes met Ann’s, she grinned.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Ann asked.

  Shaking her head, Maisie’s grim grew wider. ‘I was beginning to think you two would never get together.’ She laughed out loud as she saw Ann’s shy smile.

  As the conversation turned to Victoria’s attempt to kill Ann, Richard said he had no intention of leaving the girls until they had spoken to the police the following morning.

  Twenty-Nine

  Whilst Richard had been preventing a vicious attack on Ann, over in Camp Hill Lane Constable Phillips was afraid of losing his life. Bidding the girls goodnight, he walked at a steady pace, his eyes and ears alert for any sound or movement, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The killer could spring out at him at any time; adrenalin rushed through him as he surreptitiously glanced around.

  Come on, you bugger – let’s ’ave you!

  Walking alongside the timber yard, the constable was beginning to think it was all a waste of time. Clearly the murderer had stayed home again tonight, which would mean doing all this again for as long as it took to apprehend him or her. Moving through a dark patch of shadow between two street lamps, Philomena sighed. He wished all this was over with and they had this bloke – for he was sure it was a man – in the cells at the station.

  It was then he heard a footfall; very soft but there nevertheless. Swallowing hard, he held tight to his truncheon hidden beneath the thick shawl. With his ears straining for further sound, he walked on. Suddenly it happened – he felt a hand close over his mouth and then he was being dragged away.

  Struggling against the attacker’s hand over his mouth cutting off his air supply, Phillips felt himself weakening as he heard the sound of the knife grate over his leather collar. Then, with renewed effort, the constable swung his arm holding the truncheon and caught his assailant a glancing blow. It was enough, the hand slipped from his face and he swivelled round to face the person hell-bent on killing him. Swinging h
is baton against the assailant’s knee, he watched the figure crumple to the ground with a scream. Scrabbling for the police whistle hanging around his neck, Phillips blew for all he was worth, his eyes never leaving the man on the ground, who was groaning and cradling his knee. In answer to his call for aid, a chorus of whistles rent the otherwise quiet night.

  The man on the ground attempted to get to his feet but went down hard again as the truncheon landed on his back.

  ‘You stay there, you swine!’ the constable rasped through clenched teeth. His eyes searched for the weapon. Seeing the knife on the ground, he kicked it out of reach and swiped his boot at the man for good measure.

  Suddenly Constable Phillips was surrounded by his colleagues, and Jack Towers puffed his way towards him.

  Mary Reed and the other girls standing the corner of Camp Street heard the whistles and they sighed their relief. A constable in uniform walked up to them and said, ‘I think it’s time I took you all home.’

  ‘Phew! Thanks, sure now let’s be off. I’m needin’ a drink and no mistake, what do you say, girls?’

  All in agreement, the constable escorted the ladies to the Bell Inn and saw them safely inside. Then, as per his orders, he strode out for the station; he was eager to know whether they had caught the killer or if Philomena had met her end. Praying it was the former, the constable hurried on.

  Sitting in the snug, Mary realised she was shaking.

  ‘Give the gels a brandy, Len,’ Gladys said as she sat next to the shivering girl.

  ‘A brandy! Bloody hell, Glad’, I ain’t made of money!’ Len protested, but at the look levelled at him by his wife, he obeyed instantly.

  ‘In all the years I stood that corner, I were never afraid, but tonight…’ Mary began.

  ‘Don’t think on it, Mary, just get that down yer,’ Gladys said, handing over the glass.

  Mary swallowed the fiery liquid and coughed. She felt it warming her. Patsy, Ella and Eve had never seen Mary afraid of anything and now the enormity of the task they had undertaken settled on them.

  ‘They should never ’ave let you all go out there tonight!’ Gladys snapped.

  ‘No, they shoulda sent you,’ Len muttered.

  ‘I’ll give thee a cock-aiver in a minute, Len Pritchard!’ Gladys retorted as she raised a clenched fist.

  ‘Surely not, my little blossom,’ Len grinned.

  Despite herself, Mary smiled. ‘It does me heart good bein’ here with youse two, to be sure.’

  ‘Ar well, it could turn out to be only one here if that bugger don’t keep his tongue behind his teeth.’ Gladys tilted her head towards her husband. ‘So, am you up to tellin’ us what happened?’ She glanced at each of the girls, who were pale in the lamplight.

  ‘Nothin’ much. We met Philomena and we talked. Then he took off. We heard the whistles, so we did, then a copper brought us back here. I just hope that young constable is all right.’ Mary shivered again and Gladys called for more drinks.

  ‘I ’ope they got the one who’s killin’ all them women,’ Gladys said.

  Len placed the beers on the table and returned to the bar, muttering under his breath about no one ever paying for their drinks any more.

  They all talked until the early hours of the morning, none able to manage any sleep until they knew the outcome of their vigil.

  Whilst the Bell was buzzing with activity, Rachel Unwin had been waiting all evening for her husband Peter to return from organ practice. As time wore on she had become more worried but realised it was not a good idea to go out searching for him.

  Where was he? Pacing the room, she constantly glanced at the tin clock on the mantelpiece. He’d never been this late before, she thought as she wrung her hands. Had he met with an accident on his way home?

  Tears stung her eyes as she imagined him lying dead somewhere. Then, as a thought struck her, worry turned to anger. Was he out with one of those women with their painted faces? Peter Piper. The nickname sprang to mind again; the name that whore had used during their argument. No, not her Peter, he would never do such a thing. However, as time passed, the thought consumed her and, livid now, she banged the guard in front of the fire, locked all the doors and stamped her temper out on the stairs. If he couldn’t come home at a decent hour, then he could stay out all night!

  What his wife would think about him not returning home was the least of Peter Unwin’s worries. He had been apprehended by the police and now he was locked up in a cell. Sitting on the small hard bed, he tried to remain calm. He couldn’t understand why he had been brought here and why his knee and back hurt so badly. Whatever did the police think he had done?

  A voice in his head related the events which had led to his capture: You’ve been killing prostitutes!

  ‘I haven’t! I wouldn’t!’ Peter said quietly to himself.

  You have and you were caught by a bobby dressed in a frock! It was a clever ruse and had you watched more closely you might have realised. As it is, you were too eager to sate that desire which has led to your downfall.

  ‘It wasn’t me, it was you! This is all your fault! Simon, get out of my head!’ With that the voice disappeared once more.

  But it was ‘Simon’ who sighed as he thought of Rachel and what lay ahead for her. His short future was mapped out for him – the gallows possibly or life in jail, but his poor wife would suffer the indignation of being married to a murderer. She would have to face the wrath of the whores on the corner, as well as the people of the town. Would she up and move if she became a widow?

  His thoughts were disrupted when two constables came to collect him.

  ‘The inspector wants a word,’ one policeman said with a look of disdain.

  Escorting Unwin to the office, they kept him closely guarded for fear he may try to escape, despite being shackled hand and foot. Pushed roughly into a chair, he eyed the men sat opposite him.

  Constable Phillips had washed and changed back into his uniform and now sat next to Jack.

  ‘Now then you were signed in as Mister Peter Unwin, is that correct?’ Towers asked, trying his best to remain professional, although deep down he wanted to throttle the man.

  ‘Yes,’ Peter answered.

  ‘Right, how about you tell me and the constable here,’ Towers nodded to the young man taking notes, ‘exactly what you’ve been up to?’

  ‘I’ve been doing God’s work,’ the words were said simply but the voice had changed to a deeper timbre as ‘Simon’ answered the question

  ‘God’s work!’ Towers exploded.

  ‘Yes, Inspector. God told me to rid the streets of the prostitutes.’

  Jack Towers gaped at the man who had spoken so calmly, a serene smile on his face.

  ‘I think you’d best explain – from the beginning,’ Towers said as he leaned back in the chair. If this bloke is right in the ’ead, I know where there’s a house full!

  Jack listened without interruption as Unwin described how at one time he had enjoyed the company of the prostitutes. Then God had visited him one night when practising the organ in church and called him ‘Simon’. The divine light had covered him and a voice in his head instructed him regarding the quest to be undertaken to rid Wednesbury of the prostitutes. He told of his excitement when God had bade him carry out His work in order to keep the town pure.

  Constable Phillips’ pencil flew across the pages as he took careful notes. He was horrified at what he was hearing but kept writing. They needed as much information as possible for the court and the constable wanted to see this man pay for his crimes. Phillips winced as Unwin, clearly now in the persona of ‘Simon’, told in detail of the murders he had committed.

  As dawn broke, Unwin was taken back to his cell. He had confessed to the killings and Towers was elated the man was finally behind bars, although it had taken him a while to work out exactly what was going on with him. Evidently Unwin had some mental problems, first saying he was Peter and not knowing what was happening to him, then instantly changing to be
ing ‘Simon’, the killer.

  Back in his office, Towers slurped more medicine to quell the burn of his ulcer. He had never experienced seeing two personalities in one body before and at first there had been some doubt. Was Unwin trying to pull a fast one? Was he inventing this ‘Simon’ to throw the police off his trail? But as the details of the murders had emerged, Jack was confident it was no ruse – the man was most definitely suffering some kind of mental breakdown.

  Now he had to face Mrs Unwin and give her the bad news about her husband. Sighing loudly, he thought, Best get it over with, then I can see to the young woman brought in for attempted murder. What is this world coming to?!

  Rachel Unwin gasped as she saw the policemen standing on her doorstep. The banging on the front door had roused her from her sleep and still in her nightclothes she had come downstairs in a fury.

  ‘Mrs Unwin?’ Towers asked. Seeing the woman nod, he went on, ‘May we come in?’

  Standing aside, Rachel admitted them and, after closing the door, she led them to the small living room, where she pointed for them to sit.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news, Mrs Unwin. We have your husband in custody at the police station and he’s confessed to being the killer of the prostitutes.’ Towers watched and waited for the inevitable railing.

  The colour drained from Rachel’s face and, to his surprise, she said quietly, ‘I think you must be mistaken, my husband is a God fearing man; he plays the organ at church. There is no way my Peter would have done these things.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true, Mrs Unwin, we have his signed confession. He will be in court by the end of the week and it’s certain he will be given a lifetime in jail.’ Jack watched as his words sunk in. He felt the constable’s eyes move to him and he gave an imperceptible nod.

  Both men were ready to catch her when Rachel keeled over and almost fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  Thirty

  Ann shivered in the early morning air as she watched Maisie light the fire. Although the sun was coming up, there was still a definite chill.