Fallen Women

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  *

  Over at the police station, Inspector Jack Towers was overseeing the Sergeant allotting look-out positions to the officers as night fell.

  ‘I know how you’m all feeling, ’cos I’m the same, but imagine how you’d feel if we didn’t stand guard and another body is found.’

  Without realising, his hand went to his stomach in an effort to quell the burning. When this was all over, he would have to see the doctor again; something had to be done about his ulcer.

  ‘Right, lads, let’s get out there and catch this villain.’ Towers followed the officers out into the darkness and walked briskly to the place he would pass the night-time hours – the graveyard.

  Settling himself beside the chapel wall next to Drews Court, he felt the inky blackness surround him. It would be another uncomfortable night on watch, but he would persevere if it meant apprehending the killer. Towers sighed; he hoped with all his heart the person who was committing these vile crimes would be caught tonight.

  The acid in his stomach burned again and Towers winced. Taking the small medicine bottle from his pocket he took a mouthful. Bloody ulcer! Popping a boiled sweet into this mouth, he replaced the bottle safely and sucked hard on the sweet.

  With another sigh, he resigned himself to another spell sitting in the cemetery with only the dead for company.

  *

  The person dressed all in black had no notion that the police were in hiding all over the area. Bright eyes scanned the streets as soft leather soled boots were silent on the cobbles. Coming to the hiding place most favoured, the figure waited patiently.

  Excitement grew whilst watching the gas lamp being lit on Camp Street. A smile etched the features as memory of the three women killed re-emerged.

  That first woman had been about to enter the Bell Inn, and then in an instant she had been snatched away from the door and dragged behind the building. With a knife held to her throat, the woman had stopped struggling; she had been completely at her assailant’s mercy. Whispering into her ear to get off the streets and tell her friends to do the same otherwise she could end up dead, the perpetrator’s gloved hand over her mouth had prevented the woman speaking but she had nodded her head. In doing so, the knife had nicked her skin and by the dim glow from the pub windows, the perpetrator saw blood.

  The excitement of having complete power over the girl had been heady and slowly and deliberately the knife had been drawn across her throat.

  Feeling her sag, she had been laid gently on the ground and the knife had been wiped on her skirt. Exhilaration had coursed through hot veins as the girl passed from this world to the next.

  Leaving her there by the dustbins at the Bell Inn knowing the police would be none the wiser when they found the dead girl, the attacker had felt invincible.

  Waiting now, feeling the thrill of it all over again, the killer thought over the second conquest at the chapel and felt confidence growing. The need to kill far outweighed pleasures experienced in any other way.

  The third had been attacked and left in Victoria Street; she was the one who had managed to ask why before her life had drained away. The whispered answer came again now – Because I can!

  Scanning the street from the hiding place in the timber yard, glazed eyes stared into the darkness. Checking carefully that there were no police lurking around before finding the spot, the only light now was a murky yellow glow from the street lamp on the corner of Camp Street.

  Had all the whores been frightened away or would their need to return to earn a few pennies drive them back out onto their patch?

  The murderer waited – only time would tell.

  Not one woman had come to stand the corner; frustration and anger boiled. Maybe in time the girls would return. Lying low was the only option left open – for now.

  Twenty-Three

  Arriving at the shop early to change the window display, Ann was horrified to see the window smashed and her beautiful wedding gown torn to shreds. Rushing inside, she found Ella and Eve in tears.

  ‘Oh Ann, look at all this mess!’ Ella sobbed.

  ‘Whoever would do such a thing?’ Eve asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ann replied as she tried to comfort her friends. In her heart she suspected it may have been the spiteful Victoria Beckett, but without evidence she couldn’t prove it, so she pushed the thought aside. ‘Ella, go down to the glassworks and get them to fit a new window,’ Ann said, immediately taking control. ‘Eve, get the kettle on and I’ll start cleaning up.’

  Clearing the window of the wedding gown which was now only fit for rags, Ann began sweeping up the broken glass with the broom brought by Eve.

  As they waited for the glazier, the window now empty of its contents, Ann sighed. She would have to suggest to Richard that they fit some shutters.

  ‘How will we pay for this new window?’ Eve asked, passing Ann a steaming hot cup of tea.

  ‘Pay the glazier out of the till and keep a record of it for Richard to see.’

  ‘I wonder if Richard will come by today?’ Eve sniffed.

  Ann shook her head. ‘I don’t know, but if not I’ll have to seek him out and inform him of all this.’

  It took two men all morning to arrive then fit the new window before Ann could set up another display. The torn gown was bundled into her bag – maybe she could salvage something from it.

  Ella, it seemed, had taken it upon herself to visit the Albert Hotel after her visit to the glassworks. She had asked for Richard and over coffee in a café close by had told him what had happened at his shop. Returning to the premises, she informed the others that Richard would be having shutters fitted that very afternoon.

  ‘Thank you, Ella, I thought to do that but you beat me to it,’ Ann smiled.

  ‘The window looks smashing now,’ Ella replied. All three women burst out laughing at her quip as Richard walked in.

  ‘No matter what happens, you ladies can always raise a smile,’ he said, his eyes on Ann. Richard laughed too when Ella repeated her words.

  ‘Was it kids misbehaving do you think?’ Ella asked.

  ‘I doubt it, they would ’ave bost that winder and run like hell!’ Eve answered.

  Richard frowned not understanding until Ann brought out the tattered gown.

  ‘Kids wouldn’t ’ave waited around to do that!’ Eve added.

  ‘Oh Ann! All your hard work torn to shreds!’ Richard saw the sadness on her face and his heart ached for her.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t say it, but I wonder if it was Victoria Beckett,’ Ann murmured as she packed the ruined dress away once more.

  ‘She could quite possibly be taking her spite out on you for being sacked.’ Richard said glumly.

  ‘But why tear the dress?’ Eve asked.

  ‘She hates me. We all know she tried to dissuade customers from buying my gowns,’ Ann’s tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke.

  Richard was at her side in an instant, taking her hands in his. ‘Don’t cry, Ann, please, I can’t bear it!’

  Ella and Eve shared a knowing glance and stepped forward to wrap Ann in their arms, something they knew Richard was aching to do but which propriety forbade.

  The afternoon was busy with folk coming and going to gather the gossip of the broken window and shutters being fitted.

  Richard had gone to report the incident to the police station and Ann returned home to tell Patsy and Maisie all about it.

  ‘That’s one spiteful bugger!’ Patsy said in her inimitable feisty manner when told of Ann’s suspicions.

  ‘We don’t know it was Victoria Beckett, but the clues do appear to point in her direction,’ Ann added.

  ‘Her needs a bloody good hiding does that one!’ Patsy rammed the poker into the fire and raked the embers around before throwing on more coal.

  ‘I ’ave to agree with that,’ Maisie said, watching Patsy’s actions.

  ‘Mary will go mad when she finds out,’ Patsy added, sitting at the table with the others. ‘I can just imagi
ne – “Oi’ll bloody do fer that one, so Oi will!”’

  Patsy’s impersonation of the red haired Irish woman had Ann and Maisie in fits of laughter, but Patsy didn’t join in, her mind was drawn back to the altercation in the shop. She had scaled the counter and yelled in Miss Beckett’s face that she should never upset Ann again. It would seem Victoria had forgotten all about Patsy Somerton’s warning. Maybe it was time to remind her.

  *

  Whilst the shop was being repaired, Victoria Beckett was visiting other shops in the town, spreading gossip. It was her understanding she said, feigning disgust, that Ann Felton was standing the street corner with others of her ilk and the shop window had been smashed in protest. The gowns the woman made were not being purchased and so Ann had taken to the streets selling her body in order to earn money.

  Everywhere Victoria went she told the same tale until she was certain enough people knew for it to travel like wildfire. She ensured folk also knew that she had been sacked from the shop on Ann’s orders. When questioned about the shop’s new owner, Victoria said Richard Wyndham was besotted with the prostitute – and him a lord no less!

  Having tramped the town all afternoon, Victoria realised it was getting dark as she made her way back to the hotel. Walking up Camp Street, she smiled to herself. She had thoroughly enjoyed spreading gossip and smashing up Wyndham’s shop. In the early hours of the morning no one had seen her wreck the window display. Throwing a large stone at the window, the shattering of the glass caused an almighty crash to echo along the deserted street. She had hidden until she was certain she was not being observed. Then she had scrambled inside and with a knife stolen from the hotel had shredded the wedding gown in a frenzied attack on the dummy.

  Now, as she was congratulating herself, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She thought she was being watched. Chancing a quick look behind her, she could see no one, but the eerie feeling crept down her spine, making her shiver.

  Increasing her pace, she all but ran towards the place she called home.

  Victoria could not know that she had indeed been watched and if she had stopped anywhere along that street she could well have lost her life.

  The eyes that had followed the woman hurrying up the street smiled. She was no prostitute and a pang of regret was felt. She could have been taken – fulfilling the burning desire, but no, it must be the whores only – for now at least.

  *

  The following morning, Patsy set out to clean the shop, all the while keeping a keen eye out for Victoria Beckett. She knew it was unlikely she would see the girl now she’d been given the sack, but her eyes scanned the streets nevertheless.

  All morning she cleaned; a catlick and a promise in the living quarters and more time spent dusting and sweeping the shop area.

  Richard had suggested Ella and Eve move into the rooms above the shop after the incident with the window, saying it was less likely the place would be targeted with residents in situ. He had promised the accommodation would be rent free for the sisters as they were, in effect, looking after his interests night and day. Naturally they had jumped at the chance and were shifting their belongings in bit by bit. Patsy had agreed to lend a hand, should her help be required.

  Her cleaning finished, Patsy walked round to the Bell Inn. Entering the snug, she heard the Irish lilt sail through to the bar.

  ‘Ah Patsy, ’tis yerself,’ Mary’s wide grin was a warm welcome.

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ Len said as he sidled in, squeezing past Mary just a tad too closely. Mary shot him a warning look and Len grinned mischievously.

  ‘You all ready for the funeral tomorrer?’ Patsy asked.

  Mary nodded, the smile dropping away as sadness clouded her eyes. ‘Sure, it will be a sad day and no mistake.’

  Gladys shuffled through, nodding a greeting. Then Patsy related the tale of the shop window and the Hall girls moving in to live there.

  ‘So, Ann thinks it’s that Beckett girl?’ Gladys asked.

  ‘Yes, but without proof there’s nothing can be done. I just ’ope she stays outta my way!’ Patsy’s voice held a tinge of anger, but Mary was ready for murder.

  ‘I’ll bloody do fer her, you see if I don’t!’

  Patsy grinned, recalling her mimicking what the Irish woman would say when she knew.

  ‘Don’t just stand gawping, Len, pull us all a beer!’ Gladys said as she rounded the bar, taking Mary with her.

  ‘Certainly, my little cherub,’ Len wobbled his eyebrows up and down.

  ‘I don’t know why I keep him around, bloody useless lump that he is,’ Gladys muttered, dropping herself into a chair.

  ‘Ah now, ’tis because yer love the man,’ Mary laughed.

  Gladys snorted as Len carried the beers to the table and kissed the top of his wife’s hair, then pulled his face into a grimace.

  ‘Gerroff, yer daft bugger!’ Gladys swung her arm in an arc to half-heartedly beat him away. Turning to Patsy, she asked, ‘What time am we off tomorrer?’

  ‘Ten o’clock. The funeral cortège is setting off from Maisie’s then on to St Bartholomew’s Church for the interment.’ Patsy watched Mary carefully for any signs of her breaking down, for she knew Floss and Mary had been the greatest of friends. ‘Right then, I’ll see yer all in the mornin’,’ Patsy said as she took her leave. Walking back to Maisie’s, she knew the funeral would be hardest on Mary.

  The evening was spent in quiet contemplation regarding the funeral of their friend, and Ann knew none would sleep well this night.

  Twenty-Four

  The sun rose, casting insipid beams onto the men and women dressed in black who stood in Queen Street. Two black horses in full funerary plumage stood patiently waiting to pull the carriage carrying the coffin.

  The weather had changed almost overnight but none noticed the leaves that had turned from gold to brown. The air held a damp chill leaving everyone feeling uncomfortable. A cold wind blew and the little congregation shivered, praying there would be no rain.

  Slowly, the cortège moved forward; firstly the conductor leading the procession, then the horse drawn hearse, followed by the mourners. Each person carried a single red rose to be dropped onto the casket once it was lowered into the ground.

  Despite Floss Darton’s profession and peoples’ dislike of it, they stood lining the streets as the carriage passed by. Caps were doffed and children were quietened as women clutched their shawls tight around themselves. There but for the grace of God…

  Reaching St Bartholomew’s churchyard, all gathered around the grave, saying a silent goodbye to Floss as the vicar continued on.

  A little way off stood Inspector Jack Towers. His eyes scanned the area as experience had taught him the villain could well be watching the proceedings. It was well known in the police world that some murderers would revisit the crime scene, and although this cemetery was not one of them, Towers was taking no chances. This killer could be watching and gloating.

  Jack saw each person drop their rose into the hole in the ground and begin to drift away. Only Floss’s close friends remained; all standing in a huddle, holding hands tightly as they wept.

  Rest well, Floss Darton, and I make you this promise – I will find the person who took your life! Jack Towers thought as his eyes roamed the cemetery once more. Then he quietly slipped away, leaving the mourners to their grief.

  Ann held Mary tightly in her arms as the others surrounded them like a black shroud. Mary was breaking her heart and Ann sobbed her distress. The sound of their weeping and the grave being filled in was all that could be heard in the otherwise silent churchyard. Even the birds had stopped chirruping as if to pay their respects.

  ‘Why? Why our Floss?’ Mary managed between heart-rending sobs.

  ‘Oh Mary, I wish I knew,’ Ann whispered as hot tears coursed down her cold cheeks, ‘but what I do know is Floss would want us to go on.’

  ‘Ann, I miss that woman so much,’ Mary sniffed.

  ‘W
e all do and we’ll never forget her. She will always be in our hearts and watching over us.’

  Linking arms, Ann and the girls walked slowly back to the Bell Inn, followed closely by Richard, Gladys and Len.

  Once settled in the snug and with glasses charged, Ann stood up. ‘Rest in peace, Floss,’ she said and all toasted their friend now departed.

  ‘Hurry up with them beers, Len, else yer’ll ’ave it dark!’ Gladys yelled.

  ‘Yer could allus ’elp, my little cherub,’ Len answered.

  ‘I ain’t got time to argy-bargy with you, I got the food to serve!’ Gladys said in exasperation at his trying to coax her into yet another confrontation.

  ‘I’ll give yer a hand,’ Mary volunteered and the two women raced off to the kitchen.

  Momentarily plates of cold ham, pickles, cheese, bread and butter, pies and cakes covered the small round tables.

  Richard and Ann sat together chatting quietly, delighting in each other’s company despite the sad circumstances. By mid-afternoon the small congregation broke up and left the Bell with thanks to Gladys and Len.

  *

  Jack Towers had returned to his office in the police station, and was now sitting behind his desk, his thoughts centred on the latest funeral. Who had caused this? Where was that person now? Why did they have no information that could lead to an arrest?

  As the day wore on, Towers was not looking forward to another night spent out on surveillance. Swallowing more medicine, he grimaced. Studying the street map again, he prayed for a good result that night.

  As darkness began to slowly descend, the hunt was on yet again for the elusive killer. Police officers took up their positions and prepared for the task in hand.

  Over in Queen Street, Ann was saying goodnight to Richard.

  Sitting by the fire, Ann wondered if there was anyone standing the corner tonight. She hoped not, but the more she thought on it, the more her anxiety increased. Should she go and check? Shaking her head, she knew it was a ridiculous idea. After all, look what had happened to Floss. Then again, Len had mentioned there were a couple of girls out there despite the danger. These young women were not known to Ann, but that didn’t stop her worrying about them.