The Wives’ Revenge

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘That’s a relief,’ Kath said, ‘but how do we get everyone up to St. Bartholomew’s Church without people seeing?’

  ‘We don’t,’ he answered with a smile, ‘the vicar is coming here to us!’

  ‘But, Joshua…’ Kath started.

  ‘It’s all right wench, the vicar said something about blessing the house first, I’m not quite sure of the ins and outs of it, but he assures me it is all above board and legal.’

  ‘Right, well we just need to set a date then.’

  ‘What about the banns being read?’ Alarm sounded in her voice. ‘They have to be called in Church!’

  ‘We just ask the vicar to call them when there’s nobody there!’ Joshua said,

  ‘But…’

  ‘But nothing,’ he went on, ‘they’ll be called, it won’t be our fault nobody will be there to hear them!’

  Laughing together, he said, ‘I heard about an incident on the “cut” today.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Fear gripped her as he continued.

  ‘Ar, I also hear you were there…’

  Kath’s fear tightened in her chest. Joshua still had no idea about the Wives club and she wasn’t sure he should – yet. So she answered with, ‘And?’

  ‘Well, the story goes you lot were blamed for a barge being sunk.’

  Giving a little laugh, Kath said, ‘Were we indeed?’

  ‘All because some harridan slapped Martha’s wench.’

  ‘Firstly, Joshua, the woman was not a harridan – she was not nice, but she was not a harridan. She hit Martha’s daughter, Nancy, not slapped her; we strolled the towpath after work, and yes… we were accused of sinking her boat.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘No Joshua, we did not sink the barge – how on earth do you suppose we could have done that without being seen by countless people?’

  ‘Ar, I suppose you’re right,’ he muttered, settling more comfortably on the garden bench. ‘Still an’ all, she was a daft bugger to meddle with you lot!’

  Exchanging a smile, Kath knew that he knew they had something to do with the dousing of The Margaret Rose, he just didn’t know what, and she was not about to enlighten him.

  Forty-Five

  Riding into Birmingham to be fitted for a new outfit for his father’s wedding, Spencer decided to call into the shop in New Street that had bought a dozen of Violet’s boxes of hair wash and face cream. Having had Jim deliver them to the shop to a delighted manager, Spencer was now interested to know whether they had sold yet.

  Seeing him enter the salon, the manager rushed up to him, gushing, ‘I’m so glad to see you again, sir! Those little boxes you sold to me…’

  Spencer corrected him, ‘My wife sold to you.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he flapped his hands in the air, ‘they sold like hot cakes they did! I was wondering if…’

  ‘How much did you sell them for?’ Spencer asked nonchalantly glancing around him.

  ‘Well, sir… I can’t tell you that, it isn’t good business practice!’

  ‘Sir,’ Spencer countered, ‘it would be no problem for me to find out…’ Leaving that to sink in, he went on, ‘And of course, should you be wanting more…’

  The manager reluctantly revealed the price the boxes had sold for and Spencer kept his surprise hidden.

  ‘What I want…’ the man said, ‘is some more! Can you… erm… your wife… send out three dozen?’

  ‘I will pass on your request, sir, you can be assured.’

  Spencer left the manager rubbing his hands together.

  Riding home, Spencer considered what he had just learnt. The manager had sold Violet’s boxes for three pennies more than he paid for them which had riled Spencer. Who had bought them? How could he find out? Should he suggest the prices at the shop be raised?

  Calling in at Gittins Lodge, Spencer relayed the news of the sale of boxes to the women.

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ Violet was ecstatic.

  ‘It is very good indeed,’ he said.

  ‘However wouldn’t it be better to sell them directly to the women and cut out the shop making some of the profit?’ Violet asked.

  ‘She’s right there,’ said Martha, ‘we do all the hard work, we should be getting all the profit.’

  ‘Birmingham is a bloody long way to go to stand the market every day,’ said Mary.

  ‘Very true, what you’d need is a shop of your own there,’ Spencer said, which had been his thinking all along since leaving the shop. However, he knew all too well what the response would be.

  Sarcastic laughter and comments filled his ears until he said, ‘Let me think on it a while!’

  *

  Kath, Joshua, Violet and Spencer sat in the living room after everyone had gone home, discussing what to do about selling their boxes in Birmingham.

  ‘Are there any buildings standing empty that way, son?’ Joshua asked. Spencer shrugged and his father went on, ‘Maybe you and I should take a ride out there tomorrow… have a look.’

  Kath intervened, ‘Even if there are any empty properties, Joshua, we couldn’t afford to buy one. Our little business is doing well, but not that well!’

  ‘Let’s have us a look first; in fact, ladies… you should come with us, you know more about shops than us men!’

  Violet elected to stay home and take care of little Harry but Kath took Joshua up on the offer and the following day Spencer, Joshua and Kath strolled the streets of Birmingham on the lookout for a building in which the women could set up shop.

  Walking down Congreve Street, they passed the massive Corporation Art Gallery and moved on into Victoria Square. Looking around them, they saw the General Post Office on one side, the Town Hall on another; the Council House graced a third side and artists’ galleries on the last. Further down New Street they passed Needless Alley, a narrow walkway leading up to St. Philip’s Church. The whole area was packed tight with buildings either side of the network of streets and cobblestone roads. No trees or greenery was in evidence as they strolled along, there was no room for either.

  The people they passed all appeared to be in a hurry, to where and for what, Kath had no idea. Most wore clothes that had seen better days and thin, pasty faces stared back at them as they sauntered along. It made Kath wonder just who had the money to buy their boxes. They heard the puffing of the steam trains at New Street Station and the occasional whistle blow. They smelled the smoke puffed out by the iron contraptions as they pulled away taking people on their journeys.

  Kath pointed to a small building standing empty on the corner of New Street and Cannon Street; a hand-written sign attached to the door, FOR SALE… BARGAIN!

  ‘Somebody wants to sell that place,’ Kath said as they walked over to it.

  ‘You want to buy it?’ a voice over Spencer’s shoulder sounded. Turning, he looked at the small man standing in front of him.

  ‘Depends… on who’s asking and… how much,’ Spencer answered.

  ‘A hundred pounds and it’s yours,’ said the man, putting out his hand for Spencer to shake, ‘I’m the owner, James Cooke. I’ve been wanting rid of this place for a while, ain’t got no use for it myself and the money would be more useful to me.’

  Leading them inside, they took a good look around and Kath said quietly, ‘This place would be ideal… but a hundred pounds is a lot of money!’

  Kath and Joshua went outside to see the frontage again and Spencer pulled James Cooke to one side, saying, ‘Fifty is all I will pay.’

  Spitting on his hand, he held it out for Spencer to shake as he said, ‘Done!’

  Seeing the look of distaste on Spencer’s face, James wiped his hand on his coat and then they shook hands.

  ‘My name is Spencer Gittins.’

  ‘Ar, Mr Gittins sir, I know who you are. Word travels with the “cut rats” about you and your wife, about everything you’ve done for the people of Wednesbury.’

  Taken aback slightly at this, Spencer said he would return the following day with the money as Ja
mes shoved a document into his hand.

  ‘The deeds,’ James said simply, ‘I trust you, Mr Gittins sir.’

  Spencer walked out of the building and back to the others where he allowed himself a small smile. Once settled in the carriage for the drive home, he gave the paper to Kath, ‘The deeds to your new shop… consider it a wedding present.’

  ‘Oh Spencer, thank you!’ Kath gushed as she held the paper to her chest.

  The Wednesbury Wives now had their first shop!

  Forty-Six

  Leaving Harry with Annie, Violet and Kath, along with a handful of women looking for work who had been standing the ever increasing bread line, arrived at the new shop in Birmingham. Jim had driven them to the town in the carriage, and after seeking out James Cooke and paying him the fifty pounds Spencer had entrusted to him, Jim made his way to the shop. Spencer had instructed the signwriter to hang the new name over the door – ‘Violet’s Luxuries’.

  Opening the shop doors, the women set about cleaning the place from top to bottom. Scrubbing the existing fixtures and fittings allowed them to save money rather than buying new. A coat of whitewash would give the place a whole new look. With the sun shining in through the doors and windows they could now envisage how to display their products to their best advantage. Pots and boxes were set out with a till behind the counter for the money taken from the sales.

  Annie had already selected two women to be in charge of the sales… women she’d known since a girl; trustworthy and hard-working. They lived nearby and so could be at the shop early to open up.

  Jim, besides overseeing the making of the boxes, employed a couple of men from the ‘bread line’ to transport the goods to the shop. He would also take the saleswomen’s wages and bring back the takings.

  The ‘Wives’ had engaged Isaac Aston, an accountant from Wood Green in Wednesbury to keep their books. With so many now in their employ, money coming in and going out became difficult to keep track of.

  The shop was ready in next to no time and, on the opening day, Violet travelled over to Birmingham with Jim Forbes, to spend the day there; Jim would collect her at closing time.

  It was a busy first day, with women coming and going and the products selling quickly. Stacking new jars in the late afternoon, Violet turned as the shop door opened. Standing in the doorway was the man who had originally bought her boxes for his salon.

  He had heard talk in the town of a new shop opening and had taken himself off to have a look. He wanted to know what would be on sale there and whether it might rival his own business.

  ‘Decided to go into business for yourself then I see!’ he said scornfully as he stepped forward.

  ‘You see correctly.’ Violet said, spreading her arms to encompass the room.

  ‘Well, I think it’s a bloody cheek!’ he snapped.

  ‘And why would that be?’ she asked.

  ‘You sold me your trinkets, then when I ask for more… you do this!’ Sweeping his arm out, he knocked a few pots from the counter to the floor which Violet felt was a deliberate act on his part.

  One of the saleswomen went into the back room to fetch a broom to clean up the mess of broken jars that lay at Violet’s feet.

  Anger rising she glared at him, ‘Mr…?’

  ‘Potter!’ he said confidently, returning her stare.

  ‘Mr Potter, I would thank you not to come into my shop destroying my property!’

  ‘Property…’ he jeered, ‘you won’t stay in business long, lady… you can be sure of it!’ With that another pot crashed to the floor as his arm swept out again. This time there was no question it was done deliberately.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Potter?’ Violet asked full of fury.

  ‘Women shouldn’t be in business! You should be at home looking after your brats!’

  ‘How dare you!’ She took a step forward, but the woman cleaning up the broken jars put an arm across her front preventing her from going further.

  ‘What I do, Mr Potter, has nothing whatsoever to do with you!’

  ‘Oh but it does when you be tekin’ my custom!’ His slip into the vernacular revealed his roots as surely as if he wore a flat cap.

  ‘I am taking nothing from you, Mr Potter. These products belong to me and I think you should be grateful I allowed you to sell them in the first place!’ Violet said, trying to compose herself once more. ‘Where women choose to shop is up to them. Obviously they prefer my shop to yours!’ Smoothing her hands down her skirt, she pushed her nose in the air.

  Stepping forward with hand raised ready to strike, he stopped as Jim Forbes stepped in the door saying, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mister.’

  Breath she didn’t realise she was holding escaped Violet’s lips as her heart pounded. The man had been about to hit her…! The realisation sent shivers of fear coursing through her body.

  ‘This be between me an’ the wench,’ said Potter, no longer trying to maintain his affected speech, ‘so you stay out of it if you know what’s good for you.’

  Jim strode towards the man, who stepped back a pace. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you won’t take on one of the ‘Wives’ or their husbands!’ Jim’s voice was no more than a menacing whisper.

  ‘Hah!’ said Potter, stepping around Jim but continuing to face him. ‘That don’t frighten me…’ Clearly it did, as he edged his way towards the door.

  Jim cut him off and, as he neared Potter, he leaned his face close to the other man, saying quietly, ‘Well it should!’

  Potter backed out of the door with a sneer on his face. Turning on his heel, he marched away.

  Jim, assuring himself the ladies were unhurt, waited while the shop was locked. On their own way home, he said, ‘It’s a good job I was there today; no telling what that bugger might have done.’

  ‘Thank you Jim,’ Violet said, still feeling very much shaken, ‘you arrived at just the right time.’

  ‘It’s not safe for you ladies there, Violet.’ Jim’s face showed concern.

  ‘Oh I don’t think Mr Potter will be back, Jim,’ she said, feeling very little confidence in her statement.

  ‘Still an’ all…’

  No further words were spoken until Jim steered the carriage into the entrance to Gittins Manor, ‘Here we are, you are safe home now.’

  Thanking him, Violet went into the house, shaking again as she saw Potter’s sneer in her mind’s eye once more. Although there were three of them at the shop today, in future there would be only two defenceless women. Fear filled her as she thought of what could happen if Potter returned. Had they done the right thing opening the shop? Should they have stayed in Wednesbury? Violet decided to discuss it with her mother and the ‘Wives’ the following day.

  She heard the clatter of hooves on the gravel heralding Spencer’s return from the factory as she was about to collect their son from Annie’s care.

  Rushing to her, Spencer said breathlessly, ‘Violet! Are you all right? Jim told me what happened today at the shop!’

  Jim must have gone straight from her to Spencer at his factory to tell him all about it. A quick thought flashed through Violet’s mind that it wasn’t only the Wives who were in cahoots, but that maybe the husbands had their own clan too.

  ‘Yes, yes…’ Violet assured him, ‘but it did shake me up.’

  ‘Dear God, Violet!’ he said, holding her so tight she could barely breathe.

  Pulling away slightly, Violet managed, ‘It’s all right Spencer, no one was hurt.’

  *

  It was around lunchtime a couple of days later when Jim came bursting into Joshua Gittins’ kitchen where the business of making ‘Annie’s Hair Wash’ was bustling.

  ‘Violet!’ he gasped. ‘Oh Violet wench!’

  Mary pushed a cup of tea in front of him, saying, ‘Bloody hell, Jim, you sit yourself down before you have a heart attack!’

  Waving a dismissive hand at Mary, he looked at Violet, saying, ‘It’s the shop, Violet! The windows and most of the
jars are smashed and… everything is broken!’

  ‘What! How do you know?’ Violet dropped into the nearest chair, her hands flying to her chest. She felt the colour drain from her face.

  ‘I was taking the wages over and when I got there… My guess is it’s Potter!’ Jim said, only now taking up his teacup.

  ‘Oh Christ!’ Martha said, coming to Violet and laying a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘We can’t say that for sure,’ Violet said, although she suspected Jim was right.

  Having discussed the events of the previous incident with the ‘Wives’, all were aware of the despicable Mr Potter.

  ‘It’s a safe bet, if you ask me…’ muttered Mary, setting the kettle to boil once more.

  ‘Maybe so,’ Violet said, ‘but we can’t accuse him without proof!’

  ‘Then we’ll bloody well get proof!’ Kath said.

  ‘How?’ Violet asked, still feeling the shock waves roll over her.

  Martha answered with, ‘This needs a deal o’ thinkin’ on.’ This time no one laughed, they were all too stunned to show any mirth.

  Eventually it was decided that Martha and Kath should go into Birmingham immediately and ask a few discreet questions about the destruction of the shop; one of Jim’s workers was summoned and drove them in the carriage.

  Arriving in Birmingham a little later, the carriage waited along the street, and they went into the ‘fancy’ salon with spurious intentions of buying something. They asked the girl behind the counter about the damage at the shop on the corner of Cannon street.

  Overhearing the conversation, the curious Mr Potter had scuttled over and intervened, saying, ‘Serves them right if you ask me.’

  Martha asked, ‘Why is that then?’

  ‘Women don’t have no place in business!’ he said implacably.

  Kath said quietly, ‘I agree, sir, our place should be home looking after the babies.’

  ‘Most definitely!’ Potter saw his chance, ‘The woman who opened the shop had no idea what she was doing. Trying to sell muck in cheap jars… well, I ask you… would you buy it?’