Glancing at the window, she saw it was dusk – could she get to Camp Street and back before night closed in completely? Should she rouse Maisie who had gone to bed early to give Ann and Richard time alone together? No, Maisie would not thank her for disturbing her rest.
Realising she was wasting precious time, Ann grabbed her shawl from the nail in the back door and slipped quietly into the night.
Racing down the Holyhead Road, Ann kept her eyes peeled. Her heart hammered in her chest and a stitch developed in her side, but she pressed on. Turning into Camp Street, she saw the lamplighter moving along and gradually the thoroughfare lit up. Ann felt better for not having to walk in complete darkness now and hurried on towards the corner. Sure enough, there were two women chatting beneath the lamp. As she neared them, she saw one nudge the other and both stared at her. Drawing to a halt, Ann was met with sharp words.
‘Bugger off – this is our spot!’
‘No please – you don’t understand—’ Ann began.
‘Oh, I think we do!’ said the other.
‘I’m not here for that!’ Ann’s temper rose. ‘I’ve come to ask you to go home. Don’t you realise how dangerous it is to be here at the moment?’
‘You gonna pay us what we’ll miss out on if we take your advice and go ’ome?’
Ann shook her head. ‘My friend who used to stand here was attacked and murdered; we buried her today!’ Ann saw the demeanour of the women change and thought she had convinced them to move on but she was mistaken.
‘Ar, we seen the funeral and we’m sorry for yer loss, but we ’aves to make a livin’.’
Ann sighed. She could see these women were determined to stand their ground – as it were. ‘Please, if you won’t go home, try to stay together.’
‘Afraid that ain’t possible if one of us picks a client,’ the first spoke again.
‘But what if that client is the killer?’ Ann exclaimed.
‘It’s a risk we’ll ’ave to tek, ain’t it Kitty?’
The other girl nodded but looked around her nervously.
‘Please, ladies – please!’ Ann pushed, desperately trying to coax the women to get off the street. The women just stared at her and Ann knew she was defeated.
Turning towards home, Ann walked briskly away, praying the women would not be found dead in the morning.
Unable to stay away, bright eyes had watched the young woman approach the two stood in the pool of light given out by the street lamp. They had appeared to argue, and the two had driven off the other who was now striding away. Realising a quick decision had to be made about what to do, the killer stole silently from the hiding place.
Following the lone woman as she hurried around the corner into Camp Hill Lane, pulse quickening, the silent steps increased their pace and a feral grin formed as the assailant relished what was to come.
Ann was almost home and the thought cheered her. She realised now that her trip out had been pure folly. Reaching the turning for Cross Street, Ann was about to break into a run when she felt a hand close over her mouth. Oh dear God no!
In a split second her brain kicked into gear. She was being dragged to the side of the corner building. The hand that was holding her shawl together at her chest shot up and she covered her throat with her arm. A sudden screaming pain laced along her arm and her knees gave way and buckled beneath her. She felt the blood seep from the wound and Ann slowly sank to the ground in a dead faint.
The smile came again in the darkness as the knife was wiped on the skirt of the girl lying on the floor. Elation filled the murderer, who quickly strode away. Another whore taken off the streets of Wednesbury.
Ann’s senses slowly came back to her and she sat up warily. Her eyes darted around, but she could see no one. Clutching her bleeding arm, she dragged herself to her feet. Searching the darkness keenly for her attacker, she stepped out of the shadows gingerly. The street was empty. Launching herself forward, Ann took to her heels and ran like the wind. She had to get home.
Twenty-Five
‘You are a very lucky young lady,’ the doctor said as he stitched Ann’s arm. ‘You could have been killed!’
Maisie thanked and paid the doctor, then saw him out. Back in the living room, she rounded on Ann.
‘Whatever were you doing?! He’s right – that bugger could have slit yer gizzard! You could ’ave woken up dead!’
‘I know. I’m sorry, Maisie, but I had to try and talk those women into going home!’ Ann wailed, feeling ghastly.
‘And did it work?’ Maisie asked, her words dripping sarcasm.
Ann shook her head.
‘Exactly! Bloody hell, Ann! You can’t save the world!’ Maisie handed over a cup of hot sweet tea. ‘It’s a good job I ’eard you come in and managed to stop the bleeding.’
‘I am sorry – thank you, Maisie,’ Ann felt the foolishness of her actions keenly, ‘and for fetching the doctor.’
‘Ar well, that had to wait until daybreak, d’aint it? Christ, Ann! It meks my bladder shrink when I think how close yer come to bein’ dead!’
Despite her misery, Ann smiled at her friend’s expression.
‘Right, you sit and drink yer tea, I’m off to the coppers – they need to know about this.’ Maisie grabbed her shawl and left the house.
Even sitting by the roaring fire, Ann could not get warm and stem the shivers. Pulling the blanket around her that Maisie had snatched from the bed, Ann cradled her wounded arm, now resting in a cotton sling.
Suddenly the enormity of it all struck her like a slap. Feeling the tears forming, Ann gave way to them. Great heaving sobs shook her body as the shock of the incident was released. Eventually her tears subsided and she closed her eyes and then fell asleep through sheer exhaustion.
*
The murderer scoured the morning paper. There was nothing reported about the girl who had been left dead on the corner of Cross Street. Strange, normally the reporters jumped on the chance to write about the murders. It should be plastered all over the newspaper – even the early edition – and yet it wasn’t.
Folding the paper, it was laid beside the breakfast plate as food was served.
Thoughts dwelling on the lifeless girl, a thought struck. Was she in fact dead? Yes, of course, no one could survive having their throat cut. Besides, the bloody blade had been wiped on her skirt and there had been no signs of life.
Had the police not found the body yet? They should have – Cross Street joined the very busy Holyhead Road and that would be teeming with people by now. Maybe the later newspaper would be more informative.
*
Ann’s sleep was shattered by the return of Maisie and two policemen. Maisie made tea while Ann gathered her wits.
‘My name is Inspector Jack Towers and this is Constable Phillips, Miss Felton. Now, I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened last night.’
Accepting the hot drink offered by Maisie, the inspector listened to what Ann had to say. Throughout, Jack’s eyes constantly slipped to Maisie, the auburn haired girl with the twinkling eyes.
As she spoke, Ann watched the constable’s pencil fly across his notebook, recording the details of her attack.
‘Ann – may I call you Ann?’ Towers asked. At her nod, he went on, ‘Is there anything you can recall about your attacker?’
‘No, I’m sorry, but it all happened so fast!’
‘Think, Ann. Was he a smoker? Could you small tobacco? No? Was there alcohol in evidence?’
‘Not that I can recall,’ Ann said, feeling wretched.
Towers sighed. ‘Damn! Sorry, ladies,’ he apologised for his curse as he glanced again at Maisie. ‘Is there anything more you can tell us?’
‘I only wish there was, Inspector.’
Jack nodded. ‘Constable, make a note, we need to ask the doctor about Ann’s wound – was the attacker left or right handed?’
‘Left handed, Inspector, I’m certain. I felt the knife move towards my elbow from my wrist,’ Ann absent-mindedl
y touched her left arm, showing how the strike was made, ‘and the right hand was over my mouth.’
‘Good show, Ann! It would seem the same as all the others then,’ Towers muttered. Looking around, he saw the materials waiting to be sewn together. ‘Ann, may I ask – what is your work?’
Frowning, Ann answered, ‘I’m a wedding gown designer and my friends help me make them up to order, why do you ask?’
‘It’s given me an idea!’ Towers smiled for the first time in days.
*
Richard Wyndham had no notion that Ann was, at that time, being interviewed by the police. He was buying flowers in the marketplace. However, the woman who stood the stall was not her jovial self.
‘Have I offended you in some way?’ Richard asked.
‘Nah, but you should know the gossip goin’ around about you and our Annie,’ the woman answered bluntly.
‘Oh, and what is that?’
‘It seems some bugger is saying Annie is a prostitute and that don’t bode well fer you as a lord.’
‘Ah, I see. Well now, both you and I know that to be a lie, so please don’t let it worry you,’ Richard smiled as he pointed to some dahlias.
‘It ought to worry you, though,’ she went on, ‘it could upset the nobs in this town if they think you’m courtin’ a whore. Don’t get me wrong – how folk earn their money is up to them, it makes no mind to me.’ The woman wrapped the dahlias and waited for payment.
‘I understand and I thank you for the warning. I’ll take some roses too, please.’ Richard smiled again as he dug in his pocket for some money.
Waving goodbye, he set off for Queen Street. It’s my guess Miss Beckett is at the bottom of this gossip! Richard mused as he walked through the town. The question was – how to put a stop to the tittle-tattle before tackling Victoria Beckett? That was pre-supposing he could find her.
On arrival at number twelve, all thoughts of Victoria and her gossip mongering were forgotten when he saw Ann with her arm in a sling.
Patsy Somerton arrived at Maisie’s at the same time as Richard and they listened in horror as Ann retold the incident yet again.
‘Oh my God, Ann! Oh my… You could have been killed!’ Richard said as he rushed to her.
‘I know, you’re the third person to tell me that. I’m sorry, but I’m all right, really I am.’
‘Clearly you are not. Look at you, you’re trembling,’ Richard drew the blanket gently around her shoulders. ‘Do the police know?’
‘Yes, in fact they have only just left. I had to give a statement, but I’m not sure how much it helped.’ Ann tried to raise a smile.
‘You just rest, and promise me – you won’t go out alone again.’ Richard was feeling sick at the thought that he could lose Ann, and his breathing became shallow.
Ann nodded and, try as she might, she could not contain the shivers.
‘She’s still in shock,’ Maisie spoke quietly.
‘I ain’t surprised!’ Patsy said sharply. ‘Look, I’m off to the shop to tell Ella and Eve what’s happened.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Richard offered.
‘No, you stay with Ann, I’ll be fine,’ Patsy said over her shoulder.
The Hall sisters were shocked to the core when Patsy explained about the attack on Ann. Unable to leave the shop just now, they all agreed Ella and Eve would visit Ann that evening.
‘You bloody mek sure you tek a cab then,’ Patsy said sternly.
The girls nodded in unison and Patsy left them to their work, making her way then to the Bell Inn. Mary needed to be informed too and goodness knew what she’d say about it.
Stepping into the snug Patsy asked to have a word with her friend.
‘Mary! Patsy’s ’ere, she wants a word!’ Len yelled.
Gladys followed close on Mary’s heels, not wanting to miss the gossip. The tale was told in whispers, then, after a short silence, Gladys called for drinks.
‘Give me a gin, Len, and one fer these wenches an’ all.’
Sipping the fiery liquid, the women sat in silence, each quietly fuming their anger at the person who had taken the life of one friend and attacked another with the same intent.
‘Summat ’as to be done about this!’ Gladys said finally.
‘To be sure, but what? The powlis ain’t any nearer to catchin’ the bugger, so what do you think we can do?’ Mary asked, slamming her empty glass on the counter.
At a nod from Gladys, Len refilled their glasses. ‘Well, I’m gonna chase them girls off the corner and keep doin’ it until they get the message!’ Len said with authority.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Gladys said.
‘Yer’ll drink to anything!’ Len muttered.
Patsy and Mary exchanged an amused look. No matter what happened, these two could fall out about it, but at least it lightened the mood a little.
‘I’d best get back otherwise they’ll be worrying,’ Patsy said. ‘Ta very much fer the drinks.’
Leaving the Bell, she glanced to her left towards the corner where she’d spent many hours touting her business. Patsy Reed no longer had to stand there in all weathers, thanks to Ann Felton, and as she walked back to Queen Street, she thanked God the killer had failed and her friend was safe.
Reaching the crossroads where Dudley Street cut across the Holyhead Road, Patsy heard a voice behind her.
‘You! I’d like a word with you!’
Turning, Patsy came face to face with none other than Victoria Beckett.
*
Patsy had been gone a long time and Ann began to fret.
‘I’ll go and look for her, you just rest and don’t worry, I will find her,’ Richard said.
‘Thank you,’ Ann smiled up at him. ‘I suspect she may have gone by way of the Bell to tell Mary about this.’ She pointed to her injured arm.
Richard walked swiftly in the direction of the inn and before long he spotted Patsy talking to a woman. They’re arguing, he thought and increased his pace. Suddenly he realised who it was that was shouting at Patsy. Nearing them, he heard Victoria Beckett shout, ‘I am without employment because of your prostitute friend, Ann Felton!’
‘Hey, just you ’old on a minute,’ Patsy retaliated, ‘Ann is no whore! As fer losing yer job, you brought that on yerself!’
‘Miss Beckett!’ Richard said sharply and saw the girl turn to face him.
Victoria rolled her eyes and sighed with frustration.
‘Patsy is correct in what she says. Now, it has come to my attention that a rumour is being spread concerning that very matter. If it transpires that this nasty business stemmed from you, then be sure you will find yourself in front of the magistrate for defamation of character.’
‘Lord Wyndham, I assure you that is not the case – in fact I was merely echoing what I had heard in the town.’ Victoria managed to look mortally wounded by his words and forced tears to appear.
Patsy rounded on her again. ‘I warned yer before what would ’appen if you upset our Annie again!’ Swinging her arm in an arc, Patsy landed a stinging slap to the other girl’s cheek.
Victoria’s hand flew to her face and she shrank back.
Richard closed his eyes and sighed.
‘I will be reporting you to a constable for this!’ Victoria sobbed.
‘Do it! Go on, do it now! In fact I’ll come with yer,’ Patsy said as she made to grab Victoria’s arm.
Richard stepped between them and in his peripheral vision saw a crowd begin to amass.
‘Come away, Patsy – Ann is worried about you. She doesn’t need the upset so soon after being attacked.’ The moment he said the words he wished he hadn’t, for it gave Patsy cause to launch in again.
‘That’s another thing – if ever it comes to light it was you who attacked Ann, yer best get yerself away and damn quick. I tell yer now, Victoria bloody Beckett, there will be nowhere yer’ll be able to hide from me!’
Richard cupped Patsy’s elbow and began to lead her away as the crowd’s applause bu
rst forth.
Victoria stamped her foot like an errant child, then sneering at the cheering onlookers, she marched away in the opposite direction.
Patsy muttered obscenities all the way back to Queen Street, then burst into laughter as Richard said, ‘It’s a good job you don’t work with Gladys – poor Len wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of you!’
Twenty-Six
Jack Towers winced at the pain in his stomach as he read through the notes taken by Constable Phillips. Leaning back in his chair, he pondered the idea that had sparked whilst speaking with Ann Felton.
She had been so very lucky not to have been the killer’s next victim. Quick thinking of raising her arm to cover her throat had saved her life. However, it wouldn’t have been necessary had she been sensible and stayed indoors with her friend. He thought of Maisie, the one who had smiled so beautifully at him, the girl with the auburn hair.
Realising his thoughts were digressing, he brought them back to his idea. Would it work? Would Ann agree to it? What would his police force make of it?
Wincing again, Towers began to construct a plan – right down to the last detail. Then he thought through it all again, making notes as he went.
Snatching up his papers, he strode into the bigger room and called for attention. Outlining his plan, Towers waited. He watched as the constables exchanged glances and he listened to the quiet mutterings.
‘Well?’ he asked finally.
‘It could work,’ Constable Phillips said, ‘providing the lady was willing but – it’s an incredibly big risk!’
Towers nodded and rubbed his burning abdomen. ‘I realise that, but I don’t see any other way of apprehending this villain.’
Constable Phillips ran a hand over whiskers he’d had no time to shave. Then he said, ‘If Miss Felton doesn’t agree, we could always try…’ The young policeman then laid out an alternative idea.
Fallen Women Page 17