Nancy Carson loaded the last of the clean washing into a small wooden cart and laid a white sheet neatly across it. A fine drizzle had started to fall and the last thing she needed after all the effort she had put into washing and ironing was for it to be ruined. It had been a long, hard day and there was nothing she would have liked more than to put her feet up at the side of the fire, but needs must. At least now that she was taking washing in and Reuben, her seventeen-year-old son, had started work, they were managing to make ends meet a little. Wednesday, her daughter – affectionately known as Nessie – who was two years younger than Reuben, had recently started work too at the local corner shop so at last the future was beginning to look a little brighter. Not before time, she thought ruefully as she wrapped a shawl tightly about her slim shoulders. The last six months had wrought so many changes in their lives that sometimes Nancy felt dizzy just thinking about it.
Much of this had been caused by the birth of little Joseph, who was fast asleep beside the fireplace in a wooden cradle that Reuben had carved for him. Her husband had not been at all pleased to know that there was to be an addition to the family and had walked out on the lot of them shortly before the child had been born. They had not seen hide nor hair of him since and Nancy still missed him at times. Admittedly he had been no saint but he was her husband so his leaving had cut deep.
Nevertheless, Nancy was a survivor and when, soon after Joseph’s birth, it became clear that they could no longer afford to live in their smart little cottage in Bedworth, she had moved them all, lock, stock and barrel, to a cheaper cottage in Stockingford in the neighbouring market town of Nuneaton.
Turning to Marcie, her youngest daughter, she told her, ‘You’ll have to watch Joseph for me until Nessie gets home. I’m delivering this clean laundry to Biddy Spooner. Goodness knows we need the money this week.’ Biddy Spooner ran a lodging house in nearby Haunchwood Road and was well known for being somewhat eccentric and putting on airs and graces, but she was a good payer and one of Nancy’s regular customers.
Marcie pouted. She hated their new home and constantly blamed her mother for bringing them there. She also resented the new baby and had as little to do with him as she could. Babies were dirty, smelly little creatures as far as she was concerned.
‘It’s no use pulling that face, my girl!’ Nancy scolded as she dragged the cart towards the door. ‘I’ll not be gone long, so it won’t hurt you to make yourself useful for a time. Nessie should be back soon.’ With that she hauled the cart over the step and set off into the bitterly cold late afternoon.
No one would think we were into March already, Nancy thought, as she began to shiver. The weather had hardly improved since Christmas and soon her teeth were chattering and her threadbare shawl clung damply to her shoulders as the cart bumped across the rough ground behind her. Already it was dark and she had to pick her way carefully to avoid the bumps and hollows in the field. Still, she thought, at least coming this way would take a good ten minutes off her journey and then she could hurry back to the warmth of her fireside.
She was passing a small copse when she had the strangest feeling that someone was behind her. She wheeled about to peer into the darkness.
‘I-Is anyone there?’ Only the howling of the wind in the leafless trees answered her, so after a moment she grabbed the handle of the cart and set off again, but she had taken no more than a few steps when suddenly something hit her hard between the shoulder blades and she sprawled on to the muddy ground, winded. Somehow, she managed to turn on to her side and as she gazed up, a face slowly swam into focus.
‘You bitch!’
Her eyes stretched wide with shock. ‘But … what are you doing here? What do you want?’ she rasped as she struggled to catch her breath. And then she saw the cudgel of wood hurtling towards her again and felt a searing pain in her shoulder as she tried to raise her hand to defend herself.
‘S-stop!’ she pleaded, but her attacker was beyond reasoning, his face twisted with hatred. Again and again the blows rained down on her as she struggled to rise from the muddy ground.
‘Please … no more!’ But her pleas fell on deaf ears and if anything, the attack became more frenzied as the man grunted with exertion. Soon, realising that her pleas were useless she curled herself into a ball until at last a comforting darkness rushed towards her and she knew no more.
Once he saw her take her final breath, the man stopped, staring down at the woman’s inert form until his breathing returned to some sort of normality, then, with not an ounce of remorse, he slipped away into the night, leaving her lifeless body exposed to the cruel winter air.