The Murdering Wives Club

by Sharon Thompson

  “You’d think not, sir,” Giles says, “but there’s quite a movement of women libertarians. This is the extreme side of it, I grant you, but once people move out of their role in life, this kind of thing is bound to happen. I was saying to Cook, once people don’t know their purpose in life, it is a very dangerous thing.”

  “But the likes of Lady Dornan?” I say with a tutting sound. “She’s an ex-convict! And yet she is considered acceptable company by people who should know better.”

  “Didn’t you know that, sir? She’s infamous. Oh yes, sir. She was a notorious criminal years before she married Lord Dornan. I was telling Norah in the kitchen earlier that even before they came visiting here the other day I knew that Lady Dornan was a bad person for young Mrs Davenport to be involved with. You were possibly too young to remember the scandal at the time she was convicted. But yes, the loud Lydia Babbington was imprisoned for murdering her policeman husband. May he rest in peace.”

  “A policeman!” I gasp. “Norah did mention it but I didn’t ask too many details. I think my understanding of people is gone. Completely gone.”

  “Lady Dornan changed her name and has hid her past well. How would a young fellow like you suspect a thing? Especially when there’s no talk about it any more. But it’s definitely her. I followed the case myself. It was in the newspapers for months. Cook and I knew her immediately when she appeared in the society pages but, of course, money makes a lot go away. And married to a lord, well …”

  “But murder? And a policeman? And she’s walking free?”

  “She had influential friends. Did fifteen years in the women’s prison and then got let out of there into a care home. Not long after, she inherited property from some American heiress and married a lord. In a matter of years she was loose on the world again. If she was a lowly servant of course that would be a totally different matter. But she had people to vouch for her character and to smooth the waters of justice. All these kinds of things are brushed under the carpet and he was meant to have been a less than lawful man. The rumours about him helped Lady Dornan’s case for clemency. And she’s considered to be an old woman now. You young fellows wouldn’t have cared about her reputation.”

  “It was Charlotte who suggested us travelling to Belfast and I never dreamt of women like that existing, never mind that I would socialise with them. How naive was I?”

  “Why would you think of such things, sir?” he says. “Your own mother was a walking saint. We all adored her. There was never any reason for you to know about the badness in the world. You’re a kind chap with no need to know of such evil.”

  “Thank you, Giles.” I stop to ponder and add, “That means Lydia Dornan is most definitely a Sinful Rose, who helps others to murder? And Charlotte is caught up with them and I may still be in danger?”

  “And there was another woman at these meetings with this Eve woman?” Giles asks. “An Alice. And more possible murders elsewhere?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Mrs Davenport wants a divorce. That might be an end to your part in all of this?”

  “I had hoped that, but when she was leaving she whispered, ‘This is not finished.’ It made me shudder.”

  I cannot see Giles but the shadow of him moves and a hand grasps mine. “You’re a wonderful young man, Mr Davenport. This will all work itself out. But I don’t like the thought of you visiting that criminal woman, Eve Good, either. What does the General think of all of this?”

  “Freddie talks to Norah. I haven’t spoken to him much. I didn’t want to bother him because I’m grateful to him for believing in me and letting me do this. Hearing Eve Good’s story is fascinating. I wouldn’t admit it to her, but she’s an unusual woman and her viciousness is nearing its peak. Yet I’m more enthralled than ever. You should hear her accounts!”

  “I can imagine!”

  “She just writes about the most horrendous things in such a matter-of-fact manner. I cannot breathe sometimes and yet I cannot stop listening either. It’s macabre.”

  “I think I understand what you mean. Myself and Cook love tales of trials and courtroom antics. Lady Dornan is still in my mind. She gave the papers plenty to print. What a character she was! She never admitted that she was guilty and she needed sedation in the witness box and was dragged in kicking and screaming and left that way on many occasions. I think it was her husband’s family who raised the alarm that something wasn’t right and she would holler obscenities at them. The articles were great reads at the time. Her name was in every paper, but she manipulated everyone. Myself and Cook were disappointed when Eve Good was a silent defendant. We were kept in the dark about her motivations and it was very frustrating.”

  “She’s not silent now, I can tell you. And she’s making me sympathise with her. How strange is that? And I know that she did it all to herself. Still, I find myself feeling sorry for her when I’m brushing my teeth or sitting in that chair. It’s madness what she can manipulate in me. One of her victims was Cedric Fellows. He owned the Belfast Times newspaper. Do you remember the accounts of his murder?”

  “Not especially.”

  “I fear we’re coming to his murder soon. These killing women are manipulative, like you said. That is the word. Manipulative!”

  Giles pours us more tea. I’m thoroughly enjoying his company and wonder should I tell him that.

  “Perhaps Norah is right about getting into the club?” Giles says. “It makes sense to let a woman find out what is happening. And she will be a strong woman who they cannot sway to their way of thinking.”

  I recall something. “Norah is a sympathiser though. She sees their cause as a just one. According to her, it’s like women’s emancipation from under the tyranny of brutish husbands. I worry about her getting involved for many reasons.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I know that she sees Eve as a criminal too and wishes to find whoever tried to kill us. And I suppose she wants to incriminate Charlotte.”

  “Yes. She’ll want to do that most of all. You do know that she has a soft spot for you, sir?”

  “Me?” I say, quite pleased by that remark. “I doubt that.”

  “Weren’t you having a moment together when I barged in the other day? She’s an attractive woman. Young and unmarried and according to Cook she has no man in her life. Her family are far away and she’s in need of a gentleman to keep her right.”

  “Indeed.” I nod seriously. “Mind you, she’d not agree that she needs looking after.”

  “Well, none of them do,” Giles says with the authority of a bachelor. “I think you would make a fine couple. What do you feel for her?”

  “I would say Freddie would have something to say about that,” I muse. “He’s her employer and she wants to marry him for this pretence business. Perhaps there’s a history there? Perhaps she has feelings for him? And I doubt she will want to be involved with the likes of me. An Englishman and her a good Catholic Irish girl!”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Giles says. “How do you feel about Norah?”

  “I know so little about her. I think I’ve learned that before I fall in love again I should know everything about someone. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  Giles grunts. He’s not convinced and neither am I.

  “I should talk to Freddie about these plans of hers,” I decide. “Might you ring his number for me, Giles? I must ask him what he makes of this plan of hers and if he’s willing for us to continue with this work. He might put a stop to the whole thing and I don’t want that. This has been good for me. Much and all as it is scaring me senseless at times.”

  “We all need a purpose in life.”

  I nibble at a biscuit and ponder on Giles’ life purpose. It never occurred to me before that servants had little choice in their life’s work. It all depends on the whims and needs of an employer. In ways, we are similar. My future depends on my own tenacity or abilities, but also on Freddie’s opinion. I suddenly can see why Norah wants to continu
e with this plan of hers. She wants to take control. I almost applaud her.

  “I should give Norah my blessing to do this?” I say to Giles. “Shouldn't I?”

  “I doubt you have much say in the matter, sir. It strikes me that Miss Walsh will do what she wants to. That’s the way the world is changing. I’m not sure it is a good thing but there we have it. I must get on for it will be almost dinner time and Cook will have my hide. You see, she’s in charge even though I’m supposed to be.” He laughs.

  “I needed and enjoyed our chat,” I say to Giles. “Of course, all of this is top secret.”

  “Mum’s the word, sir. Your secrets are safe with me. Will I put that call through for you now?”

  “Thank you, Giles.”

  Freddie answers on the second ring himself. “What?” he says in that barking manner of his. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Laurie. I’m calling about Norah.”

  “It took you long enough. I know she wants to marry me but I’ve told her no. I told her that you were the man for her and I would never take her from you. So – there’s no need to challenge me to a duel.”

  “I think you should marry her, Freddie,” I say. “We need her to infiltrate the Sinful Roses. I think our use of Eve Good is coming to a conclusion.”

  “And you wish me to marry your Norah?” he asks, amused. “And wait for her to kill me?”

  “She’d never do that.”

  “And what makes you so sure? Your wife tried to bump you off, remember?” Freddie scoffs and it hurts me more than I’d care to admit. “Norah will have to do the deed or the Sinful Roses will have something to say about it. Do you want to put her in danger? Put me in danger too, no doubt? Really? Do you want that?”

  “What else is there to do, Freddie? If you can think of something else then say it.”

  Freddie's heavy breathing is audible and then he says, “Damn it! Tell Norah that we’re now engaged and I’m far from pleased about it! On your head be it, Laurie Davenport old chap. And after forcing my hand on this, there’s no way that you’re going to be my best man!”

  Chapter 28

  Norah Walsh

  Eve’s letters have arrived and I’m caught between reading them to Laurie and burning them in the grate. If I lie and say Eve has not sent any more letters, he’ll insist on speaking to Freddie about it. Yet, reading about her crimes digs us both in deeper.

  Once I am called to meet the Sinful Roses, they will want to know what she has told us. They will want to protect those named by her. How will I face them? How will I protect us both from their anger? If I don’t read on, we still know very little. I could just explain to the Sinful Roses that we know nothing. Somehow I doubt there will be much explaining allowed.

  Laurie is not keen on me joining their ranks and I can understand why. I wonder what the hell I was thinking, replying to that advertisement. I suppose once Eve Good started involving us in the whole thing, our fate was sealed. I had to do something and it’s done now.

  As I brush my hair and put on some lipstick in the large, gilded hall mirror, I decide that speaking directly to the Roses and accessing how they feel about us might be one good way of ensuring our safety. Waiting to hear from them again is hard. I can see why Eve Good described waiting and meeting them in detail. It sticks in the mind like glue – wondering, anticipating, worrying.

  And I really want to drive into London and sit and watch the address from TheTimes. Laurie will miss me if I go and that’s a dangerous idea. I’ll sit tight here in the safety of Davenport Manor.

  But how can I brazen this out? Convincing the Roses that Laurie and myself will just leave them be is not possible. They’re not that naive and we’re walking headlong over a cliff. Jesus Christ Almighty, what have I done!

  I pick up the post from the silver tray on the hallstand by the telephone. Giles has not delivered it to Laurie yet. There’s a brown envelope from Eve. She has been very busy indeed.

  Laurie is in his chair by the window and I sigh as I enter the room. When I see him my heart usually does a flutter but now it is one of worry as well as lust. He’s still vulnerable. Unable to see and still trying to come to terms with all that has happened. This is all so unfair to him.

  “Are you ready to listen to Eve’s letter?” I ask.

  There is his smile. Despite the scars, he’s still a lovely man. It breaks my heart that I’m keeping secrets from him.

  It’s for the best,my conscience tells me as I unfold the pages and start to read.

  Chapter 29

  Eve Good

  Staying with Tilly brought me no comfort. Frank’s breathing and the sound of him eating grated on my nerves. Once you’ve considered killing someone, their presence sends you into a spin – their every annoying habit is magnified. Why couldn’t he just be gone?

  But it was not looking promising. It seemed more and more like Tilly wouldn’t do the necessary. She wouldn’t even discuss it. I understood that there were many trials and tribulations. It wasn’t easy stomaching the “murder” word and I did understand Tilly’s reluctance. I was not built for it and neither was she. But, once ideas sneaked in, I found it hard to let them out again.

  “Can you try not to antagonise Frank, please?” Tilly asked me while we folded sheets. “He retaliates then by asking you to leave.”

  “I think my time here must come to an end. I’ll do Frank in myself if he doesn’t stop picking at his teeth and scratching himself. It’s unendurable! You have to endure a lot. I couldn’t put up with all you have to deal with.”

  “Arrah now, I don’t think he’s all that bad,” Tilly said. “He provides for me and has been a good father. He’s good-humoured when you’re not here. These Sinful Roses sound scary. I’m not sure I could deal with the likes of them or the guilt. I’m much better off staying the way I am. Please don’t make me get involved. I’m content the way I am.”

  I sighed, tired with the same old day, the same old conversation and the same old lack of gumption. Tilly used to be full of life, full of fever for the unknown – she enjoyed putting salt in the sugar bowl and scalding frogs. The two of used to get up to a lot of mischief. We were always great at making babies cry. We used to try and outdo each other at that game.

  I stared at her. I knew she was a different woman.

  When we do venture out conversations range from the price of flour to the lack of fuel or the price of it for a vehicle she never sat in. How boring. Tilly never moved more than a few miles and, if she did, it was mostly on foot. Round and round in circles of housework she went. I thought that there must be more of the world out there for her, for me and for us.

  “Ending things though?” she whispered at me. “Is it necessary? Really?”

  “I can go where I like, do what I want and be who I like,” I told her. “That’s worth anything.”

  “But what about us going to hell? It’s a sin!”

  “Since when did you care about such things? Since Frank got his hands on you. That’s since when. Lord above, Tilly, I’m tired.”

  “You might have sold your soul, but I can’t do it. I can’t even think about it.”

  In my head I was screaming at her that I’d harm him over and over again. But, like with John, I had not thought it through very well.

  I didn’t realise that until Frank was bleeding profusely from his abdomen and Tilly was shrieking and scaring the geese outside. The smell of manure lifted off Frank’s clothes. They seeped with blood and he stared at me. Then he reached out for Tilly who was screeching by the range.

  “You’ve slashed him! You’ve slashed him!” Tilly’s hands were in her hair and Frank slumped to his knees.

  Weakened, he muttered, “Bitch.”

  I was on top of his torso, thrashing down on his neck with the knife and hitting bone. It might have been his face. I couldn’t see through the anger. Frank was a strong man and the knife was not as sharp as it could be. The tossing he did dislodged me off him and the kitchen floor was slipper
y. I knocked against the table and sent the dishes crashing. His moans were animal. Those hardened claws grabbed at my dress and my swoops with the knife were frenzied and crazed.

  There was blood in my face. His own features were cut open and there was blood spurting from his neck. Down he went like a ton of bricks, grasping at his many wounds. There were more than a few places where it flowed and the noises in his throat were guttural and long. Searching for air, for life, he slid in the fluids from him and he flailed about a bit.

  Tilly’s howling was uncontrolled.

  I caught my breath and fixed my hair back. On my hunkers I could see Frank was not dying. Bloodied and injured he was still dangerous and wouldn’t bloody die! Despite all the bleeding and moaning, he was still here. Frank Hockley was a stubborn ox. He didn’t move though and lay heaped on the floor. He hoped I was finished with him and would give up.

  Tilly had stopped shrieking.

  It was then that I heard a click from behind me. Glancing around, I saw Tilly was armed. Frank’s culling rifle was cocked and shaking.

  “Good idea, Tilly, finish him off!” I stood back out of the way and took a look out of the windows. No nosey neighbours had come to hinder our progress. “The shot might alert someone though. Maybe we should wait for him to bleed out?”

  The sobbing from her was pitiful and Frank’s snorting was off-putting. I looked again out of the low windows. The geese had settled.

  “You can’t love him now anyhow. Not in this state. He has half a face and those noises are worse than when he’s eating.”

  It was the whoosh of a small piece of metal past my ear that wakened me fully. The pump of the rifle refilling and the unnatural shout from Tilly when she fired again. It made me leap.

  There was a burning smell of powder. In a huddle of fear I ducked low, but I had no shelter. The table housed the injured animal that still might have life in it and the floor had no protection against a bullet. Tilly was thrown and rubbing at her shoulder, gasping between sobs.