Stomping the streets looking for work proved fruitless and Victoria Beckett knew she would have to leave the hotel at the end of the week. With no job and the little she’d saved dwindling fast, she had to get hold of some money – and quickly.
The only option left open to her was to visit her parents, maybe they would take pity on her. If she was not allowed to return home, then surely they would give her some money to tide her over. Having made her decision, Victoria made her way to The Beeches and banged on the front door.
‘Victoria!’ Her mother’s eyes widened when she saw her girl standing in the parlour doorway, having been admitted by Iris, the maid.
‘Hello, Mother, I thought I’d pay you a visit,’ Victoria pushed past the astonished maid and strode directly to the fireside chair. Sitting down, she made herself comfortable.
Iris closed the door and leaned her ear against it. Unable to hear what was being said in low tones, the maid returned to the kitchen.
‘How are you, dear?’ Ariadne ventured, still feeling angst at the unexpected visit from her daughter.
‘I’m all right, no thanks to you or Father!’ Victoria snapped.
Still a spoiled brat! Ariadne thought but said instead, ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’
‘I’ve been working actually. However, that has finished now as the shop has been resold and my services were no longer needed.’ The petulance in Victoria’s voice was evident as she dropped her hands into her lap.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, dear.’ Ariadne steeled herself for what she knew to be coming.
‘So, Mother, without that work I have no money.’
‘I see. Is that why you’re here – for money?’
‘What else can I do, Mother? I can’t live on fresh air now, can I?’ Victoria made a show of folding her gloves and placing them in her drawstring bag.
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to help your unfortunate situation,’ Ariadne said as she felt the old familiar fear rise in her.
Victoria stood up sharply and saw her mother shrink back from her. Knowing the woman was afraid, she took a step forward. Leaning over her cowering mother, she rasped, ‘You would see your only daughter without? Would you watch as I’m taken into the workhouse and not raise a finger to prevent it? Shame on you!’
‘Victoria, it’s not like that, your father—’
‘Oh yes, Father!’ Victoria cut across her mother’s sentence. ‘He’s forbidden you to aid me, has he not?’ Victoria saw the nod confirming her thinking. Forcing the tears to come, she flopped back into the chair. ‘Oh, Mummy, I don’t know what to do!’
Ariadne stared at her daughter, hardly able to believe Victoria’s mercurial mood. One minute full out aggression, then in an instant to pitiful subservience.
‘You will have to find yourself another job,’ Ariadne returned.
‘There are no jobs out there, Mother! Do you not understand? Have you not seen the poverty in this town or do you walk around with your eyes closed?’ Victoria ground through clenched teeth.
Ariadne was shocked at her daughter’s second mood swing in as many minutes. As she watched Victoria, she saw a glint in the eye that spoke of madness. Was her girl insane? Was that what caused the girl to be so nasty all the time?
‘I think you should leave before your father gets home.’ Ariadne stood and walked out of the parlour. Standing now with the front door open, she waited for Victoria to cross the threshold. ‘Goodbye, Victoria,’ she said before closing the door quietly.
With a sigh of relief, Ariadne returned to the parlour, only then realising she was shivering. Giving herself a mental shake, she knew she would always be afraid of her daughter.
Pulling on her gloves, Victoria marched away from the house, the anger building swiftly inside her. Heading for the London City & Midland Bank, she intended to confront her father.
Entering the building, she pushed her way to the front of the queue of people. Ignoring the complaints about her rudeness, she spoke sternly to the teller.
‘I need to see the manager.’
‘I’m afraid he’s busy, Miss, and there is a queueing system here,’ the teller replied.
‘I’ll have you know the manager is my father!’ Turning to face the crowd of muttering customers, she shoved her nose in the air.
‘That’s as maybe, Miss, but he’s still busy.’ The teller stood his ground.
‘I warn you, I will cause a scene,’ Victoria rasped into his face.
‘I think you’ve already done that, Miss Beckett,’ the teller said, shaking his head.
‘All right, you asked for it. Daddy! Daddy!’ Victoria’s voice sailed across the grumbles of waiting clients. On and on she shouted until a door opened and her father came rushing out.
‘What’s all the noise about?’ Seeing who was responsible for disrupting the quiet workings of his bank, William Beckett sighed audibly. ‘Stop that yelling at once and get yourself in here!’ William threw out his arm and pointed to his office.
Victoria gave the crowd a sly smile and trotted into the room. Nodding to the teller, William followed his daughter. The slamming of the door causing her to turn.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ William fumed. Moving to sit behind his desk, he listened to his daughter’s tale of woe. ‘So why have you come to me? Surely you don’t expect me to bail you out by giving you money?’ William gave a little laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Victoria, but you are on your own; I told you that when you left home.’
‘Left home? I was thrown out!’ the girl screeched.
‘True enough, but shouting and screaming will get you precisely nowhere with me or your mother, so don’t even think to pester her either.’ William kept his voice low and even.
‘Daddy, for goodness sake! Whatever will I live on now I have no work?’ Victoria changed tack, maybe being forlorn might help her case. She wisely kept her visit to The Beeches to herself.
‘Victoria, I don’t know and – what’s more – I don’t care! Now, kindly go about your business and leave me to mine.’
He walked round the desk and, cupping her elbow, he drew her to her feet. Leading her through the doorway, he called across to the teller. ‘Miss Beckett is leaving now and if she comes here again you have my permission to escort her from the premises. Should she still refuse to leave, you will call for the police.’ Turning to his daughter’s shocked face, he added, ‘Goodbye Victoria.’ Spinning on his heel, he returned to his office.
Seeing the self-satisfied smiles of the customers, Victoria spoke directly to the teller. ‘You have not seen the last of me!’
‘Oh, I think we have,’ the teller said back to her.
Victoria left the bank with the customers’ applause at the teller’s remark ringing in her ears.
Once again sitting in her little room in the hotel, Victoria’s anger was palpable. How dare people treat her this way? Even her parents had turned against her. What had caused all this? Following the thread of thought back led her to Ann Felton. That blasted girl was the reason she’d been thrown out of her home; for her parents cutting her off without a penny to her name. She had been forced to work in order to survive and now she’d been sacked. Oh, the disgrace of it all!
Breathing heavily through her nose, Victoria realised her predicament. She desperately needed to earn some money and whilst doing that she could hatch a plan to take her revenge on Ann Felton.
As the afternoon melted into evening, Victoria barely moved a muscle. Lying down on her bed, she had thought over how she could avenge herself. She still had her sights firmly set on Richard Wyndham as a potential husband, but he was enamoured of that Felton girl, which was all the more reason she was determined to have him. Victoria wondered whether she could besmirch the girl’s name, then surely Lord Wyndham would come to his senses. Somehow she had to prove what she suspected – that Ann Felton was indeed a prostitute.
*
Over at the police station, Inspector Jack Towers was overseeing the Sergeant allotting look-out positions to the officers as night fell.
‘I know how you’m all feeling, ’cos I’m the same, but imagine how you’d feel if we didn’t stand guard and another body is found.’
Without realising, his hand went to his stomach in an effort to quell the burning. When this was all over, he would have to see the doctor again; something had to be done about his ulcer.
‘Right, lads, let’s get out there and catch this villain.’ Towers followed the officers out into the darkness and walked briskly to the place he would pass the night-time hours – the graveyard.
Settling himself beside the chapel wall next to Drews Court, he felt the inky blackness surround him. It would be another uncomfortable night on watch, but he would persevere if it meant apprehending the killer. Towers sighed; he hoped with all his heart the person who was committing these vile crimes would be caught tonight.
The acid in his stomach burned again and Towers winced. Taking the small medicine bottle from his pocket he took a mouthful. Bloody ulcer! Popping a boiled sweet into this mouth, he replaced the bottle safely and sucked hard on the sweet.
With another sigh, he resigned himself to another spell sitting in the cemetery with only the dead for company.
*
The person dressed all in black had no notion that the police were in hiding all over the area. Bright eyes scanned the streets as soft leather soled boots were silent on the cobbles. Coming to the hiding place most favoured, the figure waited patiently.
Excitement grew whilst watching the gas lamp being lit on Camp Street. A smile etched the features as memory of the three women killed re-emerged.
That first woman had been about to enter the Bell Inn, and then in an instant she had been snatched away from the door and dragged behind the building. With a knife held to her throat, the woman had stopped struggling; she had been completely at her assailant’s mercy. Whispering into her ear to get off the streets and tell her friends to do the same otherwise she could end up dead, the perpetrator’s gloved hand over her mouth had prevented the woman speaking but she had nodded her head. In doing so, the knife had nicked her skin and by the dim glow from the pub windows, the perpetrator saw blood.
The excitement of having complete power over the girl had been heady and slowly and deliberately the knife had been drawn across her throat.
Feeling her sag, she had been laid gently on the ground and the knife had been wiped on her skirt. Exhilaration had coursed through hot veins as the girl passed from this world to the next.
Leaving her there by the dustbins at the Bell Inn knowing the police would be none the wiser when they found the dead girl, the attacker had felt invincible.
Waiting now, feeling the thrill of it all over again, the killer thought over the second conquest at the chapel and felt confidence growing. The need to kill far outweighed pleasures experienced in any other way.
The third had been attacked and left in Victoria Street; she was the one who had managed to ask why before her life had drained away. The whispered answer came again now – Because I can!
Scanning the street from the hiding place in the timber yard, glazed eyes stared into the darkness. Checking carefully that there were no police lurking around before finding the spot, the only light now was a murky yellow glow from the street lamp on the corner of Camp Street.
Had all the whores been frightened away or would their need to return to earn a few pennies drive them back out onto their patch?
The murderer waited – only time would tell.
Not one woman had come to stand the corner; frustration and anger boiled. Maybe in time the girls would return. Lying low was the only option left open – for now.