THE WIVES’ REVENGE
Lindsey Hutchinson
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About The Wives’ Revenge
Violet Clancy can take no more of her violent stepfather’s attentions, so when he meets a tragic end ?she feels justice has been done. Looking around the bleak and pitiless Black Country town of Wednesbury, she realises that there are many other wrongs that she could help to put right.
Joining a coterie of women who call themselves The Wednesbury Wives, Violet and her friends soon set about winning justice for the abused and trying to make life a little easier for those for whom grinding poverty is every day.
But even in the hardest lives, some light must shine, and before long the wives find laughter and romance in their close-knit town. But will their friendships survive when some of their good deeds are brought into doubt, and some of their methods are called into question? And is justice always worth it, no matter what the price?
Contents
Welcome Page
About The Wives’ Revenge
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
About Lindsey Hutchinson
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Copyright
I think women are foolish to pretend they are equal to men,
They are far superior and always have been!
William Golding
For my mother, MEG HUTCHINSON,
Who taught me the love of reading and writing.
One
On 20th June 1887 all children had been given a day off school in order to mark Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee, celebrating the fiftieth year of her accession to the throne.
Primrose Berry from up the street, the girl Violet Clancy hated with a vengeance, had come to play in Violet’s yard and had cornered the cat from next door in the backyard. The yard was a dumping ground for anything Violet’s mother, Kath, couldn’t find a home for but now Primrose was using it as her own arena. Primrose had the cat by the scruff of the neck and Violet knew its suffering was imminent. Picking up a small stick that lay nearby, Primrose stabbed it into the cat’s eye. With an ungodly screech, the cat took off with the stick poking from its eye socket.
Violet’s mother appeared on the back doorstep shouting, ‘What’s going on out here?’
Giving Violet a quick vindictive smile and before Violet could speak Primrose burst into tears and sobbed, ‘Violet hurt the cat!’
‘Bloody hell, Violet, what you done now?’ Kath Sligo was interrupted by a banging on the front door. Kath turned to answer the door. Primrose had a vindictive glint in her eye as she looked at the shocked girl in front of her.
Violet heard the neighbour’s voice, ‘Your bloody daughter has maimed my cat! I’ll have the coppers on you; you see if I don’t!’
The front door slammed and Kath reappeared on the back step. ‘Primrose, you get yourself off home now, wench.’
With an evil grin, Primrose tossed her golden ponytail in Violet’s direction, her blue eyes flashing a warning as she left via the side gate. Violet’s heart sank knowing she would be getting the blame for the beastly thing Primrose had done.
Kath was on her daughter before the gate had closed, grabbing her dark plaits and dragging her into the house. ‘Why? What makes you do such awful things?’ Kath threw Violet into a chair and stood over her daughter, with her arms crossed across her chest.
‘I didn’t do it, Mum!’ Violet wailed as she felt the slap sting her cheek.
‘Get to bed,’ Kath puffed, ‘and wait ‘til your father gets home!’
Defiance swelled in her as Violet slammed the door. ‘He’s not my father!’ she yelled back, taking the stairs two at a time. Lying on her bed, Violet resolved to run away if that man ever came into her room again.
Time passed as Violet lay on her bed in the tiny two-up, two-down house. Every couple of houses which lined both sides of Hobbins Street had an entry which led to a side gate at the back. The rows of houses all looked the same in the small town of Wednesbury, a layer of grime from the foundries and factories coating them all. The pall of smoke lay heavy in the air, giving the town a look and feel of being constantly in the shade. The houses had two rooms upstairs and a tiny living room and kitchen on the ground floor. Some had managed to put a lean-to scullery on the end of the kitchen. The lavatory was housed in a small brick building at the end of the yard.
Laying there on her bed, the aroma of cooking reached Violet’s nose. Her stomach growled but she knew there’d be no tea for her that night.
Violet waited, knowing he would be home soon. The man her mother had married not too long after her birth father had been killed in a cave-in at the Monway Colliery. Her dad, Harry Clancy, a gentle soul who would help anyone; his soft voice never raised in anger. He taught her from his books, history, geography – all the countries of the world; all the seas and rivers. He shared stories of mythical beasts in wondrous lands.
Violet remembered the warm summer nights sitting on the back doorstep with her father pointing out the stars. The Plough, he would tell her, and, look, there Orion’s Belt. She recalled, when she was small, the time they played cowboys and Indians and her father had used her mum’s rouge to paint his face. Violet smiled as she also remembered the scolding he’d received from her mother for wasting good cosmetics.
Violet’s thoughts wandered freely down memory lane as a picture of her father formed in her mind. Harry was always smiling. No matter the trials and tribulations he had to face, the ever-present grin never diminished. Coming home from the coal pit covered from head to toe in coal dust, he would smile as he saw his little girl. White teeth shone from his blackened face and he would chatter away to his daugh
ter while Kath heated pans of water for his wash down. Her dad, who she missed dreadfully. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she wished him back with her once more.
Hearing voices downstairs, Violet knew he was home from the coal pit. Why couldn’t he have died instead of her dad! This man was so different from her real father in every way. Heavy footfalls on the stairs heralded his arrival outside her bedroom. Without knocking, he flung the door open and stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his foot.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘your mother tells me…’
‘I didn’t do it! I wouldn’t!’ Violet interrupted his sentence, her anger beginning to bubble up.
She watched him pace the small box room. Mr John Sligo, the man her mother tried to get her to call ‘father’ but in her heart she knew he would never be that to her. He stood six feet tall, with dark hair even without the coal dust that peppered it. His eyes were almost black, sinister-looking as they gazed at her on the bed. He was well-muscled given his work of digging the coal from the pits, and was renowned for having a bad temper especially when he was drunk.
The men he drank with on a Friday night disliked him, Violet knew. John Sligo never bought a drink she’d heard the women in the market say, he was always making some excuse as to why he shouldn’t. Violet’s family were never invited to anything going on in the town anymore because the women hated Sligo even more than the men, and it was the women, behind the scenes of course, who ran things in the town.
The town of Wednesbury stood midway between the larger towns of Birmingham and Wolverhampton on a trajectory that sliced through the Black Country, so called because of the heavy black smoke belched out from the factories and furnaces day after day. No amount of cleaning could completely erase the layer of soot from domestic chimneys in constant use, even in the summer.
Standing before Violet, John shouted, ‘You callin’ your mother a liar, girl?’
Girl! She had a name but he never used it.
‘No!’ she gasped in utter disbelief. ‘But I swear I didn’t hurt that cat!’
‘Well who did?’ John asked, a touch of sarcasm creeping into his voice. ‘Oh don’t tell me, it were young Primrose! Sweet kid like that? I don’t bloody think so!’
John stood legs astride and hands on hips as he glared at Violet.
‘Primrose did do it, I saw her!’ Violet said sharply.
Half turning away from her, John said quietly, ‘We’ll sort this out later, I’m going to have my tea first.’ With a nasty grin, not too dissimilar from Primrose’s, he left her room and padded down the stairs.
Violet breathed a sigh of relief, although she knew in her heart that this wouldn’t be the end of the matter; he didn’t believe her, neither did her mother.
If I get a thrashing for this, I’ll get you Primrose Berry!
An hour or so later, Violet heard the back door slam shut. Closing her eyes, she prayed it was Sligo who had gone out.
Her prayer went unanswered as moments later he burst into her room once more.
Violet winced as he removed his large buckled leather belt and she knew what was coming next.
‘You hurt me again and I swear I’ll tell mother this time!’ Violet’s bravado was superficial however and it quickly turned to fear as she saw him raise his belt and sneer at her.
Panic rising Violet tried to scramble away from him. The belt caught her across the back and she screamed. Grabbing her hair, John dragged her across the bed before unbuttoning his moleskin trousers.
‘I… I’ll tell… I swear!’ Violet said to him as she watched the evil grin spread across his face. She tried desperately to get away from him but there was nowhere to go. She was trapped.
‘Who’s gonna believe you?’ he smirked. ‘Everyone knows that you’re a liar, a troublemaker.’ He advanced on Violet, pinning her to the bed. Snatching her knickers down then pulling them off, he prised open her legs before pushing himself into her. Violet cried out loudly and screamed for him to get off her, but she knew he wouldn’t… not yet, not until he’d finished as he had the last time. Pulling away, he spurted over her, leaving her feeling disgusted and dirty.
Violet scrambled away to the corner of the bed, and curling into a ball she snarled her hatred. She determined he would not see her cry, and her eyes shot fire as she watched him.
‘Let that be a lesson to you, girl!’ he said as he fastened his trousers. Swinging his belt in his hand, John Sligo left her bedroom with a smile on his face.
As soon as he was gone, Violet got up and poured water from the jug into the bowl standing on the dresser and scrubbed herself until she was sore. Sitting on the end of the bed, she sobbed her misery. She wanted so much to tell her mother what John had done, but how? What could she say? Would her mother believe her or would she think her daughter was making it up? Maybe John’s words were true that everyone thought she was a liar. One thing she was sure of, she could not stay in this house much longer.
Violet cried quietly long into the night, and when at last the tears stopped, she thought hard about what to do about her situation and… Primrose Berry.
*
The next morning, Violet trudged up Hydes Lane and out across the waste ground to Mesty Croft School, having not eaten the night before, with only a slice of bread and margarine in her hand. Munching the bread, she formulated her plan. She was going to paste Primrose Berry today!
In class, everyone stared at her and she knew little Miss Berry had relayed the story of the cat to them all… making Violet out to be the villain of the piece. Judging by the glare from the teacher, she had obviously heard the same tale.
Head held high, Violet took out her books, slamming the desk lid down, and waited for the lesson to start.
At the end of the school day, Violet followed Primrose out of the school gate and quietly stalked her down Moor Street. Primrose stopped every now and then to pick the wild flowers growing in the hedge unaware of the shadow following her, until they reached the end of the street which opened out onto the small patch of heath. They would have to cross there to get to their houses and Violet thought… now, before she gets too far!
Dropping her bag, Violet leapt on Primrose’s back; grabbing the girl’s hair, she yanked hard. Primrose stumbled, grazing her knees, and her pretty yellow dress gained a few grass stains. Violet pummelled Primrose with her fists as the girl cried her apology.
‘I’m sorry, Violet! Stop… stop it! I said I’m sorry!’
Violet’s diatribe came through clenched teeth as she punched Primrose with all her might. ‘You lying little bitch!’ Violet huffed, ‘You hurt that cat and blamed me! I had a hiding for something I didn’t do! So… if your mother won’t punish you… I will!’ With that, Violet let fly a kick.
Looking at the sobbing girl at her feet, she leaned over and said acerbically, ‘I warn you now, Primrose Berry… don’t you ever mess with me again!’
Grabbing her bag, Violet left Primrose snivelling as she lay in the grass. Then she walked home, wondering how long it would take before Mrs Berry was knocking on their door.
A melange of feelings surrounding her, Violet guessed she would have to take what was coming to her. However, as she neared home, she thought, No, I don’t have to take it anymore. Violet determined she would not take any more slaps from her mother and certainly no more abuse from John Sligo!
Two
What was wrong with Violet? Rolling out the pastry for the pie for tea, Kath Sligo’s thoughts ran over themselves. She knew Violet hated John, and God knows he had no time for her daughter, but she didn’t understand what got into Violet at times.
She recalled the time John had told her he’d taken his belt to Violet over something or other, which had caused a dreadful row between them. It had happened when Kath had been out at one of her friend’s houses. She’d told him in no uncertain terms it was up to her to discipline her daughter, not him. She had threatened to throw him out if he ever tried it again. As far as she was aware, John had left Viol
et alone since then.
Lining the bowl with the pastry, her thoughts remained with her daughter. Violet missed Harry Clancy, her real father, Kath knew, but if only she’d try with John.
She recalled, as a widow, how she had worried herself sick at the possibility of having no money coming in and the threat of poverty hanging over her and her daughter. The prospect of ending up in the workhouse had terrified her. That was until the money came through from Harry’s solicitor after his death. Then she’d had the opportunity to marry John Sligo. She shuddered as she thought how Violet had reacted to the marriage. Her daughter had sulked for what seemed forever. Refusing to speak or even acknowledge her new stepfather. Kath knew then in her heart Violet would never accept John Sligo, if anything they had grown further apart.
Putting meat and potato into the pastry, her mind continued its train of thought.
Violet used to be such a good girl… until the cave-in at the colliery. After the funeral of Harry, Kath had watched Violet become withdrawn; it was to be expected, of course, as they had been very close. Kath felt a pang of jealousy rise at the thought. She was jealous of the relationship father and daughter had shared; Harry had doted on his daughter… but not nearly so much on Kath herself.
Stopping what she was doing, she looked down at her clothes. Then walking to the small mirror hung on the wall, she gazed at her reflection. Her dark hair was scraped back into a bun at the nape of her neck; her brown eyes stared back at her, no joy held within them. She was still attractive, she thought, but she was a little thin. Her skin was smooth and held no wrinkles which she felt were the road map of life.
Striding back to the table, she put the pie in the oven then cleared the mess and again a myriad of thoughts engulfed her. John had taken them on after Harry’s death. Yes, he liked a drink on a Friday night, as did the other miners, but he always ensured there was housekeeping money.
Kath’s thoughts moved to the bedroom and John’s roughness with her… so different to Harry. Kath felt a shudder rattle her underweight frame. Why did she put up with it? She put up with it because he had control of Harry’s money which had reverted to him on their marriage.
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