A Wanton Tale (23 page)

The little weasel Freddie appeared shortly after ten. His shifty dark eyes had spotted Maurice as soon as he walked through the door. Freddie never missed a trick, nothing escaped his notice in any dimly lit hostelry or dark corner of the city night. Freddie nodded to Maurice as he went to the bar. He hadn’t seen Maurice for a while but felt he had no reason to buy him a drink. Maurice discreetly acknowledged him, his body language signalled to Freddie that he wanted him to join him.

‘Freddie, there is a woman who I believe has a fine looking daughter, they live in Circus Street, she has brought this girl up on her own. She is around fourteen with long dark hair, do you know her?’ Maurice was careful not to mention her mother’s name – Minnie Ryan.

Freddie took off his bowler hat and scratched his head. ‘What’s her name then?’ He asked in almost a whisper.

‘Don’t know names, just faces, I believe her mother works in a shop, maybe a laundry or a chemist.’ He didn’t want to sound familiarly acquainted with Minnie.

‘Eventually, the penny will drop, surely Freddie would know of the little chit.’ Thought Maurice.

Freddie had been into a few more shops himself, now that Betsy had him going out running errands. He would often drop off the soiled bedding at the wash house. Maurice drummed his fingers on the table, feeling rather impatient that Freddie hadn’t put two and two together. There was a long silence before it dawned on Freddie who he meant.

‘I know who you mean, her name’s Florrie, dark haired little thing, blossoming well. Saw her there one day with her mother, she’s the image of her. She’s a queer woman that, that Minnie, a bit of a mystery she is, supposed to be a widow, but you know, she’s not in the laundry now. I heard the girls at the laundry say that she’s gone up in the world and is working in the druggist’s in Castle Street.’

‘I’m not fucking interested in the mother, some old boot of which there are many, I
want
the girl.’ Maurice’s eyes were narrow, he spat as he spoke.

Freddie, as unscrupulous as ever, sat with a wicked smirk on his face and sank his measure of brandy with a noisy gulp.

‘Leave it with me, I’ll talk to my Betsy, give me a few days to make some enquiries.’

‘For the evil Hales, the smell of money will be too good for them to resist.’ Thought Maurice.

‘I will be here on Saturday.’ Maurice pulled out his pocket watch tapping the face with his nail. ‘Ten o’clock, Saturday then.’

Freddie nodded, put down his glass and left. The thought of being up to deviant tricks again gave him a good feeling, he wouldn’t mind watching this one. Life was becoming rather dull and tedious these days and desperately needed spicing up.

He went straight back home to tell Betsy. She had been getting on his nerves all week because of her frightful cough, neither of them had been getting much sleep.

‘Get yourself up to the druggist in Castle Street, you need something for that cough. And,’ he hesitated, ‘And, get yourself down to Circus Street, you may get a glimpse of a certain young lady, Maurice is predisposed to part with good money for her.’

As they spoke he noticed that she had rashes on her hands, he had also seen the same rash on the soles of her feet when she had taken her stockings off one night. She always wore lace gloves with the fingers cut out so no one would notice, it was a peculiar, round painless rash.

‘I will, I’ll go tomorrow, by the by, I know that girl he’s talking about, dark haired little toe rag, her hair is as black as night. I spotted her when she was about four. I know all about her because she goes around with that Boyle lad, the only one of them left. She won’t come quietly Freddie.’ She warned. ‘But I will think of something, one way or another we’ll get our hands on her.’ Added Betsy with an evil chuckle.

Betsy hadn’t given Jim’s missing sisters a second thought. Alice was a long distant memory and she didn’t care either. She had no interest in Jim, but she was interested in his friend. She decided to have a mooch around Circus Street after going for the cough mixture first. Recently, she had lost track of what was going on down there and tomorrow she would find out.

The next day, Betsy wasn’t feeling too good. She sat in the bed removing the rags from her hair that she wore every night to give her ringlets.

Usually, a little bit of intrigue and a challenge, gave her the energy to heave herself out of bed. Lately, she had been waking feeling tired even after a good night’s sleep and she had been complaining of headaches.

She lifted the hand mirror from the bedside table and noticed that she had some bald patches in her hair. She sat there for a moment, examining and touching the baldness of her head. Freddie then appeared with a cup of tea which seemed to revive her. Soon she was dressed and out on her mission.

Betsy thought that the druggist shop in Castle Street looked posh from the outside. The bell tinkled on the door as she entered, Betsy felt rather daunted as she walked in. There was a dark haired, attractive woman behind the seemingly endless glass counter. The shop was filled with shelf upon shelf of every conceivable size and shape of bottles containing various tinctures, potions and poisons.

Anything could be bought here, even the sale of hazardous substances was unregulated. The unusual smells of medicines and perfumes amalgamated, causing Betsy to cough. She pulled out her lace handkerchief from her cape pocket and approached Minnie Ryan.

Minnie immediately recognised her.

There was no doubt about it, it was the evil Betsy Hale.

Betsy’s eyesight wasn’t too good these days, in fact it had been slowly deteriorating over the years. She had an idea that she had seen this sales- woman before, but couldn’t quite place her. Within a moment she dismissed it from her mind which was now on her purchases. She was now pretty well sure that she didn’t know the woman in front of her. Minnie showed no emotion as she politely asked her customer, ‘How may I help you madam?’

Betsy had it rehearsed in her mind what she was going to say. She knew she was wasting her time and money buying cough remedies. She had tried various preparations and cough lozenges before. None of them had ever shifted her stubborn cough. As for her headaches, salicylic acid had only offered temporary relief from her painful head. Nevertheless, she would distract the woman to divert her attention from the purchase she really wanted. She knew she could buy it here.

Minnie didn’t have the appetite for exchanging sales-woman niceties with the ‘old bag’ before her. Minnie knew she was evil and it was almost killing her to be civil to the woman. She was a good actress and had learned the art of diplomacy. Her customers were largely the middle classes who were seeking cure-all-remedies for all manner of ailments. Minnie had to bite her tongue when customers became difficult. They often looked down the nose at shop girls and were invariably rude. Constipated old gentlemen seemed to be the worst, but no one could be more awful than the fiend in front her right now.

First of all, Betsy talked about her hacking cough, prompting Minnie to recommend a box of cough lozenges. Betsy held her head in her hands, she looked at Minnie with a pained look across her face. ‘Oh, my bad head, it feels as though there is a hammer banging down on top of here.’ She pointed to the crown of her head. Minnie thought that she would like to clobber her with a real hammer, nevertheless she maintained politeness.

‘Well madam, we now have a new drug called Aspirin to combat headaches and all types of aches and pains. It is good for women’s troubles and all kinds of twinges.’

‘I’m not sleeping well with all these sicknesses, I have insomnia an’ all Dearie.’

Minnie hated her calling her Dearie. She remembered her using this term in the past and hearing it again made her feel uncomfortable. Her recollection of being held down by this woman as dirty, filthy men touched her intimately came flooding back. She remembered her shrilly, harsh voice saying, ‘Hold still Dearie.’

‘By now she must be sick of me moaning and groaning, she’ll be glad to get me out of here.’ Thought Betsy deviously, this was her opportunity to slip it in. Her request for what she had really come for. She let out a decisive cough.

Minnie was now staring at her customer. ‘What else do you need then madam?’ She asked, barely hiding the bitterness in her voice.

‘I want a bottle of chloroform, a quick sniff on a cloth will get me off to sleep at night.’ It was music to Minnie’s ears. ‘The old bag might paralyse herself with it, or even kill herself.’ She was delighted to sell her a bottle of chloroform, she turned to the glass cabinet behind her, unlocked it then presented her with the bottle of colourless liquid.

Betsy paid ten shillings for her purchases, they were quickly wrapped. Minnie smiled a false smile and said goodbye.

‘Circus Street next, number 67, I will find that girl.’ Thought Betsy, she had no idea who the counter assistant was and neither did she associate her with the girl. Betsy felt confident that folk in the neighbourhood would have forgotten her. She hadn’t stepped foot there for nine years. She imagined that anyone who might know her would probably have snuffed it by now. There was only Charlie Boyle and his son who
might
know her. All these thoughts were running through her mind as she walked. She guessed that Charlie and his son would most probably be out, working. She had no idea that they no longer lived in the street.

Betsy was right, no one recognised her. When she turned the corner into the street there were two boys walking towards her, they looked about twelve.

‘Hello young men.’ Said Betsy cheerfully. They were slightly taken aback by her garish appearance and heavy make up. One of them sniggered as they got nearer to her.

‘Hello.’ They both answered in a subdued tone.

‘Is there a dark haired girl living in number 67, called Florrie?’ She asked innocently.

‘There was, she upped sticks with her Ma and went to a posher part of town, only went last week. Why Missus?’ Asked one of the boys.

Betsy looked taken aback by his insolent tone. She looked at them both as though she had a bad smell under her nose. They thought she might be well- to-do as she was wearing jewellery. No one had any jewels around here, she didn’t quite fit with the neighbourhood and for a moment they thought she looked quite superior. The boys felt uncomfortable and wanted to be on their way. One was particularly nervous, he then blurted out, ‘They moved to Greenside, up Everton way.’ The other lad held out his hand. Betsy promptly retrieved a shilling from her purse raising her eyebrows inquisitively. He then told her the number of the house after she had dropped the shilling into the palm of his hand.

‘Number six.’ With a rustle of her taffeta skirts, Betsy walked on.

‘Looks as though someone owes her something.’

‘It does, don’t like the look of her. Never mind, we got sixpence each so she can’t be that bad.’ They both laughed.

Betsy told Freddie some details of the plan. She had worked it out meticulously. She just hadn’t mentioned the chloroform and wasn’t even sure that Freddie would go along with it. ‘Just track her movements Freddie.’ Instructed Betsy.

For the next few days, Freddie watched and waited, he monitored Florrie’s every move. He found out where she worked, he spied on her home and followed her movements about town. He knew which days she went to St John’s Market. The only problem seemed to be this follower of hers. She was walking out with Jim Boyle and they both worked at the supper bar. ‘That was the only obstacle which might get in the way.’ Thought Freddie.

First of all he had to go back to the Vines to see Maurice. He would tell him that he had located the girl, he just needed a bit more time to study her movements. Maurice was patient, he was prepared to wait for the prize he desired. The anticipation was almost as good as the action.

Freddie went on to discover that Florrie left work early on Wednesday afternoons. Minnie Ryan’s half day off was also Wednesday. It was winter and the afternoons were dark. He found out that Florrie always left work late. It had gone three o’clock by the time she had left the Supper Bar. Her mother did some shopping in town and usually met up with her daughter in the tea rooms in Bold Street.

‘She will never do it.’ Said Freddie, ‘She will scream the house down. At the very least the mother would bring ruffians down on us, at worst she would go to the police!’ Protested Freddie after his wife had revealed her cunning plan.

‘Willingly no, I agree with you. But asleep, she wouldn’t know until it was too late. We would just deny it.’

‘What do you mean asleep? Drugged? Are you mad?’

‘Freddie we need money. Maurice has got the money and he will pay. Handsomely! You wait and see.’ Said Betsy, ‘If you like, I’ll talk to Maurice. I know how to get into his deep pockets. Don’t worry about the girl, chloroform won’t do any real harm.’

Freddie explained the plan to Maurice and told him what time he was to be at Betsy’s.

‘I do hope that all is in order Freddie.’ Said Maurice.

‘You have my assurance that my Betsy and I have planned this meticulously and the girl will be sedated.’ Said Freddie. ‘She’s not like the other one. She is fourteen, a genuine waif
and
a real woman. She won’t even see you. A hundred quid Maurice?’

‘You mean asleep while I take her? What if she wakes up and screams or worse?’

‘Betsy knows what she’s doing. She’ll have just the right amount to knock her out for about twenty minutes.’ Said Freddie with a salacious wink, ‘Sleeping like a child and she won’t feel a bloody thing. A hundred quid Maurice?’

‘Certainly.’

It was on the darker side of dusk when Maurice watched the couple from a discreet distance. Betsy followed the girl into the cut-through, while Freddie waited at the end, apparently attending to the wheel of his hand barrow. It was arranged that Maurice would follow them back to the house.

Unbeknown to the villainous group another, younger and intense, pair of eyes was observing them. It was Sophie.

As Florrie reached the end of the passage Freddie caught her, his arms wrapped around her tiny waist. A large, damp wad of cotton suddenly smothered almost all of her lower face, completely covering her nose and gasping mouth. Instinctively, she tried to push it away, she was frantically pulling at the hand that mercilessly pushed the smothering cotton onto her face. Florrie was overwhelmed by the colourless, pungent, sweet smelling vapours which enveloped her very being. She suddenly felt sickly, she was too numb to panic, she had lost control of her senses.