DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Death Before Wicket 1
Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto, said Dot, and let the
rosary drop into her lap.
Joss Hart appeared to be asleep. On one side of him Mrs.
Hart was sleeping with her head on the bed. On the other side
Viv Hart stared into the darkness.
‘I didn’t treat her that bad, did I?’ he asked.
Dot felt that she should reply. ‘She thinks you did,’ she said.
‘She was a wayward, flighty piece,’ he said.
‘Perhaps she was,’ said Dot.
‘Now the boy knows she’s alive, what am I going to do with
her?’ he demanded.
‘You don’t have to do anything with her,’ Dot informed him.
‘Now, I got to go. Can you keep the peace, Mr. Hart, or do I
need to send a porter in?’
‘Joss is going to die, isn’t he?’ asked Viv Hart.
‘I don’t know,’ said Dot. ‘Doctor said he’d be along in the
morning with that new antivenene they’ve been trying. And it’s
morning now. That’s why I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I
can,’ said Dot.
Hart laid his head down on the bed and closed his eyes.
Dorothy Williams took the first tram to the Women’s Prison
and joined the crowd waiting at the gates. Six o’clock in the
morning, exactly, was the release time for prisoners. The iron
gate creaked open at six on the dot, and released into the street
a chattering mob of dishevelled, shrilling women and a plump
figure in an evening dress. Mrs. James Thompson was wearing
what she had been wearing when she was picked up in the sweep
on Palmer Street. It was a nice dress, apricot silk, but noticeable
on the street at that hour. Joan’s face was drawn, her hair was
dirty, and her fingernails were in mourning for her lost virtue.
The prison had given her back her possessions in a paper bag, and
she was scrabbling through it for tuppence tram fare, wondering
how on earth she was going to get home without everyone in the
world knowing where she had come from. Sharkbait would come
with the car to pick up the other girls, but Joan knew what her
husband would say if she was delivered home in a Bentley.