A Daughter's Secret (29 page)

Susie nodded approvingly. ‘You do right,’ she said. ‘She thought the world of you.’

Aggie was too choked to speak. She managed to take down the address, then shut the door on
Susie, leaned against it for a minute and let the tears trickle down her cheeks.

Aggie shared one tragic week with Lily, tending her gently and watching her deteriorate rapidly. She had sent a telegram to her brother, telling him how ill she was. He replied that he was making arrangements to come home to see her. She only hoped he made it before Lily lost her tenuous grip on life.

Lily never saw her brother, however, for she slipped into a coma and died two days later. When finally Aggie’s tears were spent, she sent for the doctor and, remembering her promise to Susie, went to see her sister, Carol, who promised to relay the message. Then Aggie went to tell Polly, and she cried too at the loss of that kind and feisty woman. She went back with Aggie that night and helped lay Lily out. Aggie hesitated to do more, certain that Lily’s brother would like to make arrangements for the funeral. However, the day after Lily died, Aggie received a letter from her brother, expressing regret that he would be unable to return to England after all.

Aggie felt such anger as she remembered all the years when he never once came near the sister who had reared him, or invited her over for a short visit to meet his wife and children. She knew it would have meant the world to Lily and now he couldn’t even come to the funeral. Well, Aggie decided her dear friend would be tossed
into no pauper’s grave. She would be buried with dignity.

Lily’s funeral was held in Aston Parish Church and was attended by a great many people, colleagues from HP Sauce and the prostitutes from Lily’s earlier life. Aggie was glad to see, however, that the latter were all respectably and decently dressed, and no one could possibly have guessed what their profession was.

She was particularly pleased about this because she would have hated Polly and George to find out about her earlier life when they thought she had been in service. Charlie and Clara, now fifteen and thirteen years old, had also insisted on coming, and Aggie was gratified to see how much they had thought of Lily.

She had written to Jane, who had never returned to Birmingham from Cheshire, but married a local man there. Jane had sent a telegram back saying she would be there to say goodbye. Aggie remembered how well they had got on and was glad she had asked her. She knew she would like to see Jane again too, but wished they could have met under happier circumstances.

There was also someone else watching the cortège going into the church, then come out again, and the hearse and the mourners make their way to Witton Cemetery where Lily was to be buried, and that someone was Finch. The rent on the houses had been due that day, and although Finch
employed a rent man, he knew the women were scared of him so he sometimes used to collect the rents himself. His menacing presence never failed to give them the jitters and he enjoyed that. Kept them on their toes, he thought, for he didn’t stand any messing about by any whore.

So that morning when he called at two houses and got no reply he was annoyed because the girls were to go nowhere until the rent was paid. However, the door of the third house he knocked on was opened by a prostitute that had been working the streets for just two years and was one of the few in that area not attending Lily Henderson’s funeral. Knowing this, all the other women had given her their rent books and money to pay Finch when he came.

She knew nothing about the fixation Finch had about Aggie because it had happened long before her time. So when Finch asked where the women had gone to she saw no harm in telling him they had all gone to a funeral at Aston Parish Church.

‘The woman used to live around here,’ she went on. ‘Name of Lily something. Lily Henderson, or something like that.’

Finch couldn’t believe his luck. So the old trout had kicked the bucket, and about bloody time too. He had always known that Aggie and Lily were together somewhere and he knew Aggie would be at the old crone’s funeral. Maybe it was time to renew their acquaintance, he thought as
he climbed into his car and turned it towards Aston.

By the time another week had passed, Finch knew all there was to know about Aggie: where she lived and worked, what time she left home in the morning, what time she finished work, and that she walked home alone. He wondered what he should do with that knowledge. He could just leave her alone, let her continue the way she was. Why should he concern himself with the little scrubber? He didn’t know the answer to that himself except that Aggie had got under his skin like no girl ever had before, and he hated that.

Anyway, why should she go around as if she was as respectable as the next girl when he knew where she came from? She had no right to mix with decent people and to try to pass herself off as one of them. As far as he was concerned, once a whore always a whore, and he knew exactly how to teach Aggie a lesson. Now that October was halfway through, it would be pitch-black by the time that Aggie left work each night, and that suited his purpose very well.

Lily had been such an integral part of Aggie’s life for so long, her dying had left a gaping hole that no one else could fill. She thanked God that she had her job to occupy her waking hours, and the company of her colleagues, who were sympathetic because they had seen how close the two women had been.

Most of the workers looked forward to it being Friday but Aggie didn’t. As she bade farewell to her workmates and started for home that evening, she knew she had two days of loneliness stretching out before her. Polly had urged her to visit them, but Aggie hesitated to do that at the weekend with Georgie home. The weekend was a family time and, with Lily gone, the worst days in the week for her.

She gave a sigh. She knew she would have to take a grip on herself. She wasn’t yet forty years old and she was fit and healthy. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. In this reflective mood she was crossing over Upper Thomas Street when she felt her arms suddenly grasped from behind, and her hands twisted up her back while a smelly sack was thrown over her head.

Her screams were muffled by the sack and she began thrashing her head from side to side and fighting against the restraining arms until a blow to the head rendered her unconscious.

When Aggie came to, she was in a bedroom that she had never seen before. A strange man was sitting on a chair not far from the bed, and when he saw her eyes flicker open, he got up and approached her. Aggie flinched, expecting another blow, but the man neither touched her nor spoke to her. Then he turned and left the room, and Aggie heard the key turn in the lock.

She was still scared, but she wouldn’t let herself
just lie there like a frightened rabbit. She heaved herself out of bed, but immediately her head began to thump, the room swam before her eyes and she felt a little sick. She held on to the bedpost till everything stood still again and the nausea had passed.

Knowing the door to be locked, she was making her shambling way to the window to try to establish her whereabouts, at least, though it was as black as pitch, when suddenly the door opened. She wasn’t even surprised to see Finch – he would be the only person on earth who wished her harm – but still she felt her blood turn to ice.

Finch had a smirk of satisfaction on his face and he curled his lip as he said, ‘Well, well, well. Look what the cat has dragged in. How do you do, Agnes Sullivan?’

Despite her fear, Aggie was suddenly very angry. ‘I’ll tell you how I do, you slimy toad,’ she said. ‘Much worse for seeing you. What right have you to have me captured in the street and brought to this place? Let me go this instant!’

‘Can’t do that, my dear. You belong to me now.’

‘I do not,’ Aggie retorted.

‘Oh, but you see you do,’ Finch said. ‘When I bought the club I bought everything in it, and that included you, but when I took up residence there, I found that the bird had flown.’

‘Don’t be stupid!’ Aggie cried. ‘You can’t go around buying people like that.’

‘But I have, you see,’ Finch said. ‘Now you will
work for me.’ And then he added, ‘On the streets, in the gutter, where you belong.’

‘No,’ Aggie cried. ‘That part of my life is over now and you can do what you like to me, but I would never work for you if you were the last man on earth. I despise you.’

Aggie expected the blow and, though she tried to dodge it, Finch caught her full in the face. A second was delivered to her stomach and doubled her over, and when Finch hit her again in the face he knocked her to the floor. Aggie’s body was one mass of pain and she was terrified, but she willed herself not to show fear.

Sheer willpower kept the tears at bay as she spat out through her swollen bleeding lips, ‘I will not work for you and it doesn’t matter what you do. I would rather die than stoop to that.’

Finch recognised a quality in Aggie that had not been there before, a confidence and assurance, and he knew that if he beat her senseless, she wouldn’t change her mind. If he turned his back for one moment she would run away, no matter what the consequences would be.

He had lost some of the power he had over Aggie and he had to regain it somehow but he knew just how he was going to do that.

‘You will do as you are told in the end, my dear, never fear,’ he said in a voice that made Aggie’s skin crawl. ‘Just remember there are more ways of killing a cat than drowning it.’

* * *

When Finch had gone, Aggie crawled back into bed to try to ease her aching body. She probably looked a sight because she could feel the dried blood coating her face, but there was no mirror in the room and no way of cleaning herself up either. She wondered what other delights Finch had in store for her, and though her mind recoiled from further pain, she was determined that she would not work on the streets for him or anyone else, and would get away from him at the first opportunity.

She woke and thought it was probably morning, though it was still dark outside. She got out of bed and padded to the window. She could see nothing, for shutters had been fitted to it from the outside. Her heart sank: there was no possibility of escape that way.

When her eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness she saw that something had been left by the door – a slice of dry bread on a plate and a large glass, which was full of gin.

She was both hungry and thirsty. When she was lifted the night before she had been looking forward to a good meal and now her stomach growled in protest. She tore at the bread and had eaten it in minutes but it took only the edge off her hunger. She didn’t want to drink the gin. She hadn’t touched gin or opium since 1916 and she didn’t want to go down that road again. She held out as long as she could, but in the end she took little sips of it. These served only to dampen her mouth, so in the
end she had to gulp it, and knew from the taste that opium had been added to it.

When she had drained the glass, the room began to spin, and she barely made it back to bed before passing out. Twice more that day, she was given a bare slice of bread and a glass of gin, and the second time a bucket was placed in the corner of the room.

Her mind recoiled from that. It was obviously there for her to relieve herself, and she realised Finch was going to keep her locked in the room till she gave in. Well, he could rot in Hell for she had no intention of doing that. But as time passed it was hard to remain focused because there was nothing in the room but the bed, nothing to do to pass the time, and she welcomed the oblivion drinking the opium-laced gin induced in her.

The food was brought by a large man who never spoke a word, or even looked at her, not even when she asked him what she was doing there and where Finch was.

On the third day, she was left a bottle of gin with the bread, and though she tried to ration it, she was unable to. She felt filthy for she was still in the clothes she had worn when they had brought her in, the bucket stank to high heaven and she had seldom felt more miserable. She was rousing herself to drink only enough to send her back into a stupor, and by the end of the next week there was little resemblance to the working girl she had once been.

* * *

After three weeks of giving Aggie such a lot of gin heavily laced with opium, Finch gave orders that it was to stop and so was the bread. Aggie at first could not believe that there was nothing waiting for her when she opened her bleary eyes. She lay back and closed them again, but she was unable to sleep, for her whole body had started to tremble and she knew that she needed a drink badly.

After a little while, she could stand it no more, and she hammered on the door. She heard the key being turned and the man who always brought her food was looking at her questioningly.

‘I need a drink,’ Aggie said.

‘Mr Finch says no more for you.’

‘You don’t understand. I need it.’

The man shrugged and Aggie clutched at him. ‘Please?’

He shook her off and she sank to the floor sobbing. The man left her and closed the door.

When Finch entered the room later he saw Aggie curled in a ball on the bed and groaning, for the shooting pains in her stomach were so severe they were making her feel sick.

‘You look like something you would see lying in the gutter,’ Finch said. ‘Get up.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You had better or the toe of my boot will help you.’

The thought of Finch kicking her in the stomach caused Aggie to stumble to her feet. She
was unable to stand upright, though, and was leaning forward like an old woman on trembling legs that threatened to give way at any moment, the pain causing globules of sweat to gather on her brow.

‘Look at you,’ Finch taunted. ‘Your clothes are a mess and filthy dirty, and you stink to high heaven. Your hair’s in tatters and your mucky face is all caked with dried blood.’ He shook his head as if he was unable to understand her foolishness. ‘And to think the solution to stop all this is in your hands.’

There was only one thing on Aggie’s mind, and she fell to her knees before Finch and implored, ‘Please, Tony, let me have a drink.’