Victoria Beckett had stamped from the shop in an almighty fury. Making her way back to her small room in the hotel, she had no regard for the people she passed. Marching through the market, she pushed herself between women standing gossiping, ignoring their comments about rudeness.
Once back in her room she sat on her bed and looked around her, trying to take stock of her situation. So, Richard Wyndham had bought out Mr Williams. The question was – why? Clearly he was wealthy and therefore not in desperate need of further funds. What did he intend to do with the shop? Would he level it and build a house maybe? Was he thinking to keep it as a drapery and run it himself? No, Wyndham had land and business in Shropshire which would need his attention before too long.
A sudden thought brought her up sharply. Had he bought that shop for Ann Felton? Victoria’s temper flared red hot again. Whatever happened around her, Miss Felton appeared to be at the centre of it! Now, because of that girl, Victoria found herself out of work. Yes, it was Wyndham who had sacked her – but she was convinced the Felton girl was behind it.
Breathing heavily, Victoria knew she was back to square one, having very little money and no job. She could, of course, try going home but was certain her father would have none of it. Pacing the tiny room, she pictured the young woman; the one who was constantly interfering in her life. Angrier than she had ever been in her life, she looked around for something to throw. The Bible on the bedside table was all she could see and, snatching it up, she hurled it against the wall.
Dropping onto the bed, Victoria began to cry. Her genuine tears came from frustration and anguish about her circumstances and how the fates conspired against her. For the first time since being a small child, Victoria cried herself to sleep.
*
Back in Maisie’s small living room, Ann thought on all that had happened. Richard had bought the shop and employed the girls. It transpired he was a lord; something he had said nothing to her about. Why had she not questioned that? She supposed there’d never been the right time. Then a sadness crept over her as she recalled his words, I need to return home… Would this be the last she saw of him? Could he run the drapery from so far away from Wednesbury?
The image of his handsome face swam before her. The dark eyes which could probe the very soul of a person. Black hair which constantly flopped forward; rich and thick, it shone in the light of the sun. She heard again the deep timbre of his voice and her heart skipped a beat. Ann couldn’t bear the thought that she might never see him again and tears stung the back of her eyes. The only comfort she had was to make herself believe he would have to return to see to his new business venture.
When she had left him at the shop, Ann felt she should have asked him when he would be back. Despite the forwardness of the question, she wished she’d asked it nevertheless. Now it was too late – Lord Richard Wyndham had gone home!
Trying to snap herself out of the sombre mood which had overtaken her, Ann picked up her sewing once more. However, she couldn’t concentrate, for the next image she saw was the stricken face of Victoria Beckett. The girl had been given the sack for deviously doing Ann out of any sales that she might otherwise have acquired.
Ann sighed. Did the girl deserve to be thrown out of her job because of what she’d done? Yes, Ann thought so, especially when she considered her friends had been seriously thinking of earning a copper or two on the streets again. The killer was still on the loose out there. If Ann had been selling her garments, Floss wouldn’t have been in the position of putting herself in danger. That danger had seen her lose her life!
She thought back to Victoria Beckett’s spite. But why? What did that girl have against Ann? Surely it couldn’t be because of that night outside the Theatre Royal when she’d suggested the girl needed a good spanking from her father? There could be no other reason, Ann surmised. Clearly the girl was harbouring a grudge – one strong enough to see Ann dead or badly injured.
A small shiver ran down her spine as she recalled again how Victoria had deliberately aimed her pony and trap at her as she had walked down the street. No doubt Ann would carry the blame for the girl losing her employment now too. It was time to be extra vigilant, for not only was there a murderer on the prowl, but Victoria Beckett undoubtedly would be searching for an opportunity to exact her revenge.
*
That same evening saw Peter Unwin race through his organ practice and set off for Camp Street. His passion and excitement had set his blood on fire and he increased his pace, eager to see who was ready to earn a shilling.
The corner was quiet as he nonchalantly strolled down the street, his hands in his trouser pockets. As he passed the timber yard, he heard low voices. Stopping, he glanced around and it was then someone spoke to him.
‘Evening, sir, lost are we?’
Turning, Unwin saw the policeman who had asked the question.
‘Erm no, officer, I’m on my way home from organ practice at St John’s Church,’ Peter said.
‘I should be moving along then if I were you.’ The policeman tipped his head.
‘Yes. Goodnight, officer.’ Peter smiled in the dim pool of light given out by the street gas lamp.
Walking home, Unwin was disappointed that he had been unable to vent his frustration. That policeman had spoiled his fun, and who knew how much longer he would have to wait to enjoy a lady of the dark hours. He would have to try again the following night; at least tonight his wife would be pleased to see him home early.
A thought struck him as he ambled along the dimly lit streets. What was that copper doing hanging around the timber yard? Who was he speaking to in a quiet whisper? A colleague? One of the girls who stood the corner? Whoever it was, it had ruined his evening and Peter scowled. Reaching his front door, he replaced his frown with a false smile.
‘Hello, dear,’ he called as he stepped inside.
‘Peter! You’re home early,’ Rachel beamed her pleasure.
‘I couldn’t stay away from you for too long,’ he said, kissing the top of her head before dropping into his chair.
Rachel puffed up her chest with delight. This man she had married years ago was still very much in love with her.
Sighing contentedly, Rachel continued with her embroidery.
Holding up the paper, Peter Unwin didn’t see the print. He was thinking about his unexpected meeting with that policeman. Fortunately he was standing still when he was spoken to, otherwise the copper may have realised he was walking in the wrong direction. He had told the officer he was coming from organ practice, but in fact he was walking towards the church. It was a close thing – if he’d been caught with one of the girls…! A shudder made the newspaper shake and he disguised it by turning the page.
It was lucky none of the street-walkers were out and about. He could have had his collar felt and Rachel would have found out. She would have left him if he’d been hauled off to jail, and he would have lost his job into the bargain.
He should give Camp Street a miss for a short while and then he could resume taking his pleasure when it was safer.
*
The all night vigil had been a waste of time, Inspector Jack Towers thought as he sat in his office the following morning.
Tired to the bone, he slurped his medicine. His stomach ulcer was burning like a fire and he grimaced at the pain.
Throughout the night, he and his officers had waited patiently in their allotted places in the hope of catching the murderer. Their efforts had been thwarted, for there had been no sign of a single soul as far as he was aware.
He knew people were afraid to be out late at night and he also knew he had to apprehend this perpetrator quickly. However, it was impossible to know if or when he would strike again. Towers only had so many men in his small police force and they needed sleep, as he did himself.
Rubbing his belly, willing his medicine to work quickly, he thought, At least no one lost their life last night.
He watched his officers through the open door. Some were ambling about bleary eyed, others leaning heads in hands on their desks, desperately fighting to stay awake. Getting to his feet, he walked into the main office and all eyes went to him.
‘Get off home and sleep for a few hours. The day crew are out on patrol and this bugger seems only to strike in the dark hours. Be back here at eight o’clock sharp.’ Nodding, he watched his men leave with grateful thanks.
Back in his own office, Jack Towers wondered if tonight would be the night they caught the elusive killer. I ain’t holding me breath!
Laying his arms and head down on his desk, he closed his eyes. Before he surrendered to some much needed sleep, he prayed. Please God, let us get this swine before another innocent perishes.