Fallen Women

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘I took Mrs Unwin back to the Bell and Gladys offered her the job. She was over the moon and is moving in tomorrer so Mary ’as to move out tonight!’

  ‘So it’s going to be all go then,’ Ann said.

  ‘I suggest we hire a couple of men to move Mary out and Mrs Unwin in,’ Richard said.

  ‘Oh, Richard, that’s a good idea but it will cost,’ Ann said, concern etching her voice.

  ‘No matter, at least it will be done all in one go. Now, ladies, if you will excuse me, I have a luncheon to cook.’ He laughed at the comments coming his way.

  ‘Ooh, hark at him.’

  ‘Chef Wyndham – best in the town!’

  Mary arrived in time to share the meal, her few paltry possessions clutched in her arms. No need for the removal men then.

  Ann felt sad that the girls had so little to show for their years. Always renting, none of the girls had any furniture they could call their own, not even Maisie, and she knew they would be sleeping on the floor until they could afford a bed.

  After lunch, Richard left them to their cleaning and sorting the shop supplies into the two spare rooms. He had a little business to conduct, he explained.

  That afternoon, six beds, mattresses and bedding arrived at the shop and were carried in by two burly delivery men. Ann was presented with the delivery note in the name of Lord Richard Wyndham, which was signed as all paid up.

  When he arrived back, Richard had a bunch of flowers for each of the women working hard in his shop.

  ‘Richard, we can’t afford to pay for these beds, for all it was a grand gesture,’ Patsy said.

  ‘That’s all right, I just won’t pay you for a week.’ Richard waited, then burst out laughing. ‘Come on, ladies, they are a gift. You can’t sleep on the floor, for goodness sake!’

  Each in turn thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

  It was late when Maisie and Ann returned to Maisie’s house. The two would spend the next couple of days moving in bit by bit, as Ann’s disabled arm severely restricted any help she could give. Richard had seen them home safely and returned to his room in the Albert Hotel.

  Now as the girls sat by the fire, it was Maisie who spoke. ‘He came back for yer then.’

  Ann blushed and nodded. ‘He said he couldn’t stay away.’

  ‘You do realise you’m gonna ’ave to wed him,’ Maisie grinned, ‘because he’s not gonna take no for an answer.’

  ‘It’s looking that way but…’ Ann’s face creased into a frown.

  ‘He’ll want to take you off to the wilds of Shropshire – is that it?’

  Ann nodded again. ‘I don’t want to leave you all and, besides, the business is just taking off. We all work so well together and the garments we make are so beautiful. People are getting to know us now and the orders are coming in well in advance of completion dates.’

  ‘That’s summat yer’ll ’ave to talk to him about, but for now I’m off to bed. Tomorrer is going to be very busy for us.’ Maisie dragged her weary body from the chair and disappeared up the stairs.

  Ann sat alone for a while pondering the dichotomy. What should she do? Refuse Richard’s proposal and build up her business or marry him and abandon her work? Was she being greedy wanting both? Knowing that would be impossible, Ann damped down the fire and, checking the doors were locked, she doused the lamp and went to her bed. She would sleep on it.

  Thirty-Five

  The quarter sessions court had passed Peter Unwin on to the assizes at the Victoria Law Courts in Birmingham and Inspector Jack Towers had been in attendance for the verdict.

  Unwin had been sentenced to life in prison. Travelling back to Wednesbury on the steam train, Jack was satisfied with the result, although he thought it a great shame that hanging and transportation to the colonies had been abolished.

  However, the remainder of Unwin’s life would be dismal. No more than he deserves.

  Jack knew that prisoners were given only bread and water; any more than that they would have to buy for themselves. The very poor would beg or starve.

  As the train clacked along on its iron rails, Jack imagined Unwin standing at the prison gates begging from people passing by. His health would surely suffer as disease was rife inside those places, and without money there would be no medical attention given. Jack hoped there might still be a crank in Unwin’s cell. His mind saw the murderer turning the handle of the crank thousands of times a day and it was his fervent hope the warders tightened it often. He smiled, knowing it was this act by the warders that had seen then nicknamed ‘screws’. The crank was a pointless exercise other than to cause distress to the inmates. Jack prayed Unwin would have to walk the stone treadmill day after day until his bare feet bled.

  There you go, Floss Darton, you have been avenged.

  Jack then thought about Victoria Beckett. Had she killed her mother? Or had it been an accident and the girl had fled the house in fear? Somehow the inspector suspected the former rather than the latter. Now all he needed to do was prove it. But first he had to apprehend her. He sighed as he considered – she could be anywhere by now.

  Leaving the train at Wednesbury, Jack Towers walked back to the station to impart the good news to his officers. He knew Philomena in particular would be delighted.

  In the station’s team room, Jack spoke quietly after the applause had died down regarding Unwin’s incarceration. ‘Now we have to find Miss Victoria Beckett. There are still many unanswered questions with regard to the death of her mother. So, lads, be vigilant on yer patrols. We need to bring this young lady in as quickly as possible.’

  Giving a perfunctory nod, Jack went to his office wishing he could afford to retire. Sitting at his desk, he pondered his own life. He was in his early forties and had never wed; something he now regretted. It would be nice to go home to a loving wife who would have the fire lit and tantalising aromas emanating from the kitchen. Jack Towers was a lonely man; it was no wonder he spent so many hours at the station.

  Giving himself a mental shake, he sought to quell the morose mood settling on him. Deliberately turning his thoughts, he began to dwell on Victoria Beckett once more.

  Where was she? Did she realise she was being hunted? Jack could only hope his force would come upon her as they patrolled the town. There was no telling what she could get up to in the meantime. Would she go after Ann Felton again? Jack’s ulcer burned at the thought. He had heard Ann and her friend Maisie were moving into the drapery with the other former ladies of the night. It was a great accomplishment for Ann to get those girls off the streets and into safer employment.

  Jack found himself lingering on an image of Maisie Bancroft with her dark brown eyes and burnished auburn hair. She was a lot younger than he, but that didn’t stop him fantasising about how it could be if fate lent a helping hand. But no, Maisie would never consider a relationship with a man quite a few years her senior. Besides, she had until recently been a street-walker. How did he feel about that? In all honesty, it bothered him little, for now she was working in the dressmaking business, which was a respectable trade.

  In his loneliness, Jack wondered if he was clutching at straws wanting someone, anyone, to share his life. Shaking his head, he recalled the first time he had met Maisie. She had bowled him over. Although he had been at the house to interview Ann about the attempt on her life by Unwin, Jack’s eyes had slipped constantly to Maisie. He recalled her forthright manner and confident speech. Jack’s mouth lifted at the corners as he remembered the smile she gave him.

  Come on, Towers, snap out of it!

  Picking up the file on Victoria Beckett provided by his trusty constable, Jack began to read its contents again.

  His perusal was interrupted by Constable Phillips saying, ‘Report just in from the coroner, sir.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Jack said, taking the folder from the constable.

  Opening the document, his eyes widened. ‘Looks like murder then.’ On a sigh, he added, ‘This town is going to the dogs.’

&nb
sp; The constable left the office and Jack settled to reading the report on the late Mrs Beckett.

  The wound is not consistent with a fall… persistent banging of the head… conclusion murder.

  Leaning back in his chair, Jack blew through his teeth. So the hunt for a murderer was on again, only this time they were looking for a woman – Miss Victoria Beckett.

  Constable Phillips grinned as he heard his now permanent nickname called out.

  ‘Philomena!’

  Going to the inspector’s office, he answered, ‘Sir?’

  ‘Come with me,’ Jack said, grabbing his jacket from a nearby chair.

  ‘Where are we going, sir?’

  ‘To the drapery,’ Towers said as they left the room.

  ‘Ooh, am I gettin’ a new frock then?’ the constable laughed loudly.

  ‘You wish!’ Towers grinned back.

  Arriving at the shop, they saw Ann and Maisie moving in their belongings; Ann’s injured arm severely limiting what she could carry indoors.

  Invited into the back room, the two men sat surrounded by women.

  ‘We are here to inform you that Victoria Beckett was released after finding no evidence to convict her,’ Jack said.

  Ann’s eyes moved to the young constable and she saw relief flood them when he realised nothing would be said regarding his earlier visit to give them the same news.

  ‘Miss Beckett said as how you, Ann, stepped in front of her trap and she almost ran you down.’ Jack listed the points on his outstretched fingers. ‘She said you somehow persuaded her parents to throw her out and also engineered her dismissal from her work.’

  ‘Lies, Inspector, surely you know that,’ Ann said.

  ‘We have to look at this from both sides, Ann, otherwise we wouldn’t be doing our jobs.’

  ‘Don’t forget – Victoria accused Ann of stealing Lord Wyndham away from her, although he were never interested in her in the first place!’ Maisie’s comment spat forth.

  Jack smiled inwardly. God this woman had some fire in her! Instead he nodded at the girl who set his heart aflutter. Clearing his throat, he went on. ‘It’s our concern that Miss Beckett may well make another attempt on your life, Ann. You see, we believe she was guilty of this previously – but, of course, with no proof…’ he held out his hands in supplication.

  Setting a cup of tea in one of his hands, Maisie spoke up. ‘So, Inspector Towers, what do you expect us to do about it? Ann won’t ’ave us babysit her, we all know that.’

  ‘I understand, Maisie, and I wondered about stationing a man here just in case.’

  ‘Well, that’s gonna go down well in the town now, ain’t it? I can just hear the gossip – them wenches ’ave moved off the corner and now they’m conducting their business at old Mr Williams’ drapery!’ Patsy was furious at the suggestion.

  ‘I see yer point,’ Jack flushed scarlet at not thinking the idea through properly. The whole notion of visiting the shop had been so he could see Maisie again, although if questioned he would deny it.

  ‘Sure, d’ya really think Victoria Beckett would chance her arm with all of us living here now?’ Mary asked.

  ‘I admit it’s unlikely,’ Jack answered, ‘she’ll be more inclined to watch for Ann while she’s out and about.’

  ‘Then Ann will ’ave to stay indoors ’til yer catch that bugger!’ Ella fumed.

  ‘We are doing our best, but we have no clue as to where the girl is holed up,’ Jack said with a frustrated sigh.

  ‘If you bobbies am on the lookout for her, then we can be an’ all,’ Maisie said, looking the inspector directly in the eye.

  The blush that coloured his cheeks was lost on no one and Philomena Phillips pulled his mouth to the side in an attempt to hide his smirk.

  ‘Excellent idea, Maisie!’ Jack said with a smile that split his face. ‘Then if any of you spot her you can let us know immediately.’

  The nod and smile from Maisie had Jack wonder yet again if the girl might consider walking out with him. Getting to his feet as he dismissed the prospect as folly, Jack tipped his head to the constable as he said, ‘Right, ladies, we’ll leave you to yer work, but please – be careful.’

  At the door, Jack motioned for Phillips to walk ahead of him and, turning to Maisie, who was seeing them out, he smiled.

  ‘Maisie, I was wonderin’ – that is I thought – would you…?’ His courage failing, he shook his head and looked at his hat in his hands.

  ‘Pick me up at seven o’clock this evening, yer can tek me to the music hall,’ Maisie smiled gently at his embarrassment.

  ‘Will do, ma’am.’ With a grin like a Cheshire cat, Jack plonked his hat on his head and joined the constable.

  ‘Do yer need to borrow a frock then, sir?’ the constable said, keeping his eyes front as they walked.

  ‘Cheeky young bugger!’ Jack muttered, the smile on his face proving there was no animosity in his words.

  Jack began to whistle a ditty and before long the constable joined in much to the amusement of passers-by.

  Thirty-Six

  Victoria Beckett watched the funeral cortège pass by, her father walking steadfastly behind the conductor. She had no wish or intention of attending the laying of her mother to rest. Why should she? The woman had seen her thrown out without a penny to her name. She had refused her daughter any help or money and Victoria had killed her for it.

  As the last of the mourners disappeared from view, Victoria turned away and it was then she saw Ann and her disreputable friends lining the street.

  Were they all living together at the shop now? If so, that would make it nigh on impossible to get to the Felton girl to exact her revenge.

  Turning swiftly on her heel, she walked briskly towards The Beeches. This would be the ideal opportunity to search the house for money or anything she could sell.

  Knocking on the front door, she heard the maid gasp as it was opened. Pushing her way into the hall, Victoria glared at the young girl.

  ‘I ain’t supposed to let you in, miss,’ Iris said falteringly.

  ‘Iris, you haven’t seen me. I am not here, do you understand?’ Victoria’s eyes bored into the frightened maid. ‘If anyone asks you any questions – you know nothing.’

  As a forefinger poked painfully into her shoulder, Iris stepped back, saying, ‘I don’t know nuthin’ about nuthin’.’

  Victoria nodded. ‘Good. Now go back to your work and keep your mouth shut! Remember, Iris, if I hear you’ve spoken of my visit to anyone, I’ll be back for you!’

  Iris scampered away, her mind firmly on the demise of her mistress. She certainly didn’t wish to end up with her head bashed in.

  Victoria ran up the sweeping staircase, her skirts clutched tightly to prevent a trip on the hem. In a moment, she arrived at her mother’s room. Quickly scanning the room, she determined the jewellery would be in the drawer. She smiled as she pulled out the box and lifted its lid. Emptying the jewellery into her bag, she replaced the box and slammed the drawer shut.

  Going next to her father’s room, she checked the bedside cabinet and, with another grin, lifted out the fold of banknotes. Checking all was as it should be, Victoria swept down the stairs and out of the front door.

  Whilst the thievery was underway, Iris sat with Mrs Newton in the kitchen.

  ‘Calm down, girl, and tell me agen,’ the cook said.

  ‘Miss Victoria is upstairs. I think her’s come for her things,’ Iris whimpered.

  ‘You think! D’aint you ask ’er?’

  ‘It ain’t my place to ask!’ Iris retorted.

  ‘So, what did ’er say?’ Mrs Newton probed.

  ‘Her told me to keep me gob shut! Her said I don’t know nuthin’ if anybody asks. Oh, Cook, I’m scared! ’Er could stove me head in like her did to ’er muther!’ Iris began to sob.

  ‘Don’t be so daft! Anyway, we don’t rightly know her did for her mother, do we?’

  It was then they heard the front door slam and both women heaved a huge
sigh of relief.

  ‘What ’appens if ’er comes back?’ Iris whispered.

  ‘Yer slam the door in her face!’ the cook responded. Her single nod closed the conversation.

  *

  Ann had not seen Victoria Beckett rush away from the street and she and the girls filed back into the shop. Going upstairs, Ann resumed the task of turning one of the spare rooms into a fitting room. Placing two chairs next to a small table, she then laid out her sewing items on a larger table. Pins, needles, threads, tape measure, pencil and paper all lay tidily waiting to be used.

  ‘Ann, there’s a lady to see you,’ Maisie said as she entered the room, followed by an older woman.

  ‘Hello, I’m Ann. Please take a seat and tell me how I can help you today Mrs…?’

  ‘Plant. I’m ’ere to order my widder’s weeds.’

  Ann took in the old-fashioned bonnet sat atop the woman’s grey hair, the patched skirt and the men’s boots.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Plant. May I ask when…?’ Ann’s words were cut off by the swift reply.

  ‘When they plant Mr Plant?’ The woman threw back her head and laughed loudly at her pun.

  Maisie and Ann exchanged a bemused glance, trying desperately not to laugh along with the recently widowed woman. They watched as Mrs Plant wiped her eyes on a none too clean handkerchief and gasped for breath.

  ‘Oh blimey, he would ’ave liked that one would my Percy. Next Friday be the date he’s laid under the sod. Now, I ain’t got much to spend, so cheap is the way to go,’ Mrs Plant shoved her handkerchief into the pocket of her old coat.

  ‘Right then, let’s get you measured up. Friday doesn’t leave us much time, but we’ll manage,’ Ann said with a small smile.

  As Maisie took the measurements, Ann wrote them down on a sheet of paper with the woman’s name and the date at the top.

  All the time they worked, Mrs Plant’s quips about her late husband’s funeral had Ann and Maisie fighting to control their amusement.

  ‘I’m gonna plant a rose on Mr Plant once he’s in,’ the woman roared with laughter.