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.
Eventually, a price was agreed for the funerary garb and Mrs Plant went on her way, saying she’d enjoyed the visit. She thanked the young women for their help and was still laughing as she left the shop.
Ann explained to the others, who had questioned the noise they’d heard coming from upstairs.
‘Sure, we all thought yer were drinkin’ up there,’ Mary said with a grin.
‘I thought yer was only doin’ wedding frocks!’ Patsy said.
‘The poor lady was in dire need, and as could be seen by her clothing, she would not have been able to afford to shop at Broadhouse’s,’ Ann rejoined, as the Misses Broadhouse with their quirky ways came to mind. ‘Besides, it was another order, and Mrs Plant will recommend us to her friends and neighbours.’
‘I have to say, I like that new wedding gown you’re working on,’ Ella said.
‘It’s so much easier now my arm is on the mend and out of the sling,’ Ann smiled, deliberately saying nothing about the dress being for herself. She prayed silently she would get the chance to wear it before too long. Then, turning to Maisie, she said, ‘If you are going out with Inspector Towers this evening, we’d best get the pans of water on for your bath.’
Maisie followed Ann to the back kitchen with a nod.
Setting pots of water to heat, Ann’s smile broadened. Her friend had found someone who liked her for herself and made no mind as to her previous employment. Please God, let it work out for them both.
Her thoughts returned to the wedding dress she was making for herself and again she wondered if she would ever walk down the aisle in it. Ann determined she would work on it between orders and ultimately it would be completed. She knew Richard would love it as much as she, if and when he saw it. The design had just come to her one day and Ann knew it had to be for herself, and not knowing if it would ever be worn, she had filled her spare time constructing it regardless. Thought of her beloved brought her to realise she had not seen him as yet today, but she felt sure he would visit later.
Filling the tin bath Maisie had brought in, Ann left her friend to bathe. Going back to the fitting room, Ann decided to make a start on Mrs Plant’s black dress. Ann’s smile returned as she recalled the woman laughing heartily. People dealt with loss in many different ways and clearly this was Mrs Plant’s way of coping with the death of her life partner. The woman’s strength of character had shone through the sadness that was tearing her apart.
Ann set to work, determined that Mrs Plant would have the best widow’s weeds in the town.
*
Victoria Beckett was extremely pleased with herself as she rushed away from the family home. She had robbed her father of his money and stolen her mother’s jewellery. Feeling it would have come to her anyway, she felt no remorse at her callous actions. Now she just had to sell her loot. Heading for the railway station, Victoria thought Birmingham would probably give her the best price.
Purchasing a first-class ticket, Victoria boarded the great iron train which was puffing out clouds of steam as it stood at the station platform. It had never occurred to her to buy a third-class ticket in order to conserve her money.
Taking a seat, she settled herself down as the train pulled away and Victoria wondered how long it would take her father to discover his money was missing. Would he check for other items that she had pilfered? Who would he blame? Was it the maid who would bear the brunt of his anger?
Victoria smiled inwardly. The real question was whether Iris would accept the consequences of keeping her mouth shut or would she incriminate Victoria with her father? Whatever the outcome, Victoria cared little. There was no proof – at least there wouldn’t be once she’d sold the jewellery.
With a satisfied smirk, Victoria looked out of the window to enjoy her journey to Birmingham.