'White muslin is so fashionable, Elizabeth.' Amy plied her needle with speed, intending to complete her work faster than her friend.
'No, no, Amy, it is clear muslin that is the thing nowadays, or perhaps ratlatane, but not Indian cotton stuff in which the poor people disport themselves. Look in the window of Neil's of Reform Street; they have all the latest fashions straight from London, I declare.'
'Oh, Elizabeth! I wouldn't be seen abroad in Indian cotton! The very idea!' Amy put the back of her hand to her forehead as if she would swoon at the thought.
Watters hid his smile. He wondered if the histrionics were intended for his benefit or if they were fashionable for teenage girls.
'And talking about Neil's, did you see that delicious ball robe that they had displayed? And the blue Louisa crepe bonnet? Oh, Elizabeth, I could have died to have worn it!'
'Blue, Amy? Not quite my colour. No, no, grey is more seemly. Grey crepe grooved and adorned with fresh vernal roses. I saw an absolute gem of a bonnet in that same shop. All decorated with ribbon and field flame and finished with a muslin burnous. Quite lovely.' Elizabeth paused for a second as Amy leaned forward in agreement. 'Of course, Charlotte will have the very best of Paris fashions now, with William's good friends over there.'
'Oh, Elizabeth,' Amy touched her arm, 'I will be surprised if poor William has much time to spend with Charlotte, the number of letters you write to him.' She laughed, covering her mouth with her fan. 'Scribble, scribble, scribble, all day long.'
'He has time to write back,' Elizabeth said, with her tone slightly tart, 'so I am sure he will have time for his new bride.' Leaning forward, she whispered something that made Amy giggle, and they resumed their embroidering.
Watters paid more attention, wondering if he could learn anything about William Caskie. Did William Caskie have friends in France? Here is that French connection again.
Beaumont put down the list. 'Precautions against what, Sergeant Watters? Do you seriously believe that somebody has a grudge against me?'
'That is a possibility, sir,' Watters said.
'One of my business rivals, you mean?' Prosperity had given Beaumont a pronounced paunch without detracting from the sharpness that had made him one of Dundee's leading businessmen. He examined Watters's proposal again, querying every entry. 'I don't believe that is the case, Sergeant Watters. The business community in Dundee is not of that ilk. Mr Cox is a gentleman of the finest water, as are the Baxters. No, no, you must be mistaken. I have given this matter some thought, and I believe it is a coincidence. Only that.'
'Perhaps so, sir.' Watters thought it would be tactful to give ground. 'And I sincerely hope that you are correct. But in case you are not, we must ensure that your people are aware of the dangers of fire. As you see, I have suggested that you disallow any smoking with the men handing in their pipes and tobacco when they enter the mill.'
'Oh, this is too much, Sergeant Watters! Damn it all, man; I have a business to run, and now you expect me to nursemaid my staff? It won't do, Sergeant. It won't do at all!' Beaumont threw the papers to the floor, which caused Amy to look up in pretended alarm. She rose from her seat in a whisper of petticoats and rushed across the room.
'Papa! Don't fret yourself so!' Adjusting her crinoline, she knelt at his side. 'You're just upset because Charlotte is away. I am sure Sergeant Watters would not suggest anything to do you harm, would you, Sergeant Watters?' Her hazel eyes laughed at Watters.
'We are discussing business, Amy, my dear.' Beaumont's voice changed when he spoke to his daughter. 'It is a minor disagreement, nothing more. Come, Amy, leave this sort of thing to the men. We understand it so much better. You remain with your sewing and piano lessons.'
'Yes, Papa.' Amy agreed so readily that Watters knew she was about to ask a favour. When Beaumont met his eye and winked, Watters realised that her father also understood his daughter. The crusty businessman had revealed his tender side. 'Papa?' Amy pressed herself against her father and smiled into his eyes, the elfin face as innocent as any child.
'Yes, Amy?' Mr Beaumont asked.
'May I crave an indulgence, Papa?'
'Another, Amy?' Mr Beaumont looked over to Watters in mock despair but could not hide the affection that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 'What do you require of me this time?'
'I only require your permission, Papa, and perhaps a little something from your wallet.' When Amy widened her eyes in such a manner, she would have melted the heart of a gargoyle.
'More from my wallet? Amy, you are set to ruin me! Only last week you accompanied Elizabeth to Alyth on the railway at five shillings each for tickets!'
'Yes, Papa, and what a time we had! It was as fine an autumn day as you ever saw.' Amy widened her eyes even further to emphasise the wonder of that occasion. 'Papa, the waterfall at Reekie Lynn was so majestic! We had to picnic there and be thrilled by the splendid sight!' She lowered her head, eyes closing. 'I was so grateful to you for allowing that indulgence, Papa.'
'We both were grateful, Mr Beaumont.' Elizabeth slid gracefully over to add her weight to Amy's request. 'It was such an adventure.' She was not as tall as Amy and adopted a superior air that spoke of her twelve months advantage in age. 'But Mr Beaumont, you will never know what Mama said when she heard we were travelling on the railway, quite unescorted.'
'No, Elizabeth, what did your mother say?'
Elizabeth giggled and then composed herself as a young lady ought. 'Mama gave us both a long hat pin and told us to be sure and place in between our teeth the second that the train entered a tunnel! She said that some men would take advantage of us and attempt to steal a kiss!'
'Mmm,' Beaumont shook his head, 'perhaps I should ask Sergeant Watters to accompany you in future.'
Both girls threw an anxious glance at Watters, who ensured that his face remained without expression. He guessed that they were quite happy to travel unescorted, despite, or possibly because of, the threat from any unknown kiss-stealer.
Beaumont nodded. 'Just so. And just two days since you were at the Corn Exchange Hall to see some performing artiste?'
'She was a female Blondin! Quite remarkable. Papa, she wheeled a loaded barrel across a rope that extended from the stage of the hall quite to the ceiling.' Amy opened her mouth in wonder. 'She did not tumble off once!'
'Not quite the pastimes I would prefer for you, Amy.'
Watters said nothing. He and Marie had sat at the back of the audience. Amy was correct; the female Blondin had been an outstanding acrobat.
'So now what favour do you wish, Amy?' Beaumont asked. 'You seem to have quite exhausted the attractions of Dundee.'
'Elizabeth and I would like to visit the pleasure gardens in Newport, Papa. They are only five minutes from the landing stage, and all the fashionable world of Dundee visit. There is a pavilion for teas and strolls among the lawns with delightful views of the river.' Amy waited hopefully, while Beaumont pretended to consider.
'All right then, Amy, but you take care on the passage. I'm not sure that all this to-ing and fro-ing is good for a girl.'
'Yes, Papa.' Amy agreed dutifully until her fingers closed on the two silver crowns that Beaumont extracted from his wallet. 'We are not going until tomorrow forenoon.'
'I will accept your proposals about the fires, Watters.' With Amy out of the room, Beaumont dropped the formal “Sergeant.” 'In future, I will build, or purchase, only fireproof, iron- framed factories. I'll order my managers to go through each of my premises, ensure that the managers, and even the mill girls, understand the seriousness of fire hazard. I will ensure the hands leave nothing combustible lying around and the mill managers place buckets of water handy.' He glanced at the door, presumably to make sure that Amy was not listening. 'I can't think that the unfortunate death on Lady of Blackness was anything to do with my company. Are you any further forward with your investigations?'
'Not much, sir,' Watters admitted. 'We are still searching for this fellow Jones.'
'A lone
seaman can vanish quickly,' Beaumont agreed.
'Before I forget, sir, I would like to congratulate you on your elder daughter's wedding.' Watters started his gentle probing. 'Mr Caskie seems an eminently respectable gentleman.'
'I would like to think so.' Beaumont was immediately suspicious. 'I presume you mean in contrast to his father.'
'Was Mr Caskie senior less than respectable?' Watters turned the question.
'What Mr Caskie was no longer matters,' Beaumont said. 'Let's not speak ill of the dead.' Beaumont's geniality had all but vanished. 'I will say this, Watters, Caskie senior and I did not see eye-to-eye about very much.'
'I hope that you rub along better with the present William Caskie,' Watters said, 'especially now that you are family.'
Beaumont stood up. 'William is a different man from his father in every way. He is astute at business and honest in his dealings. I hope you are not suggesting that he is behind the fires in my factories.'
'I am suggesting nothing, sir,' Watters said.
'Good.' Beaumont nodded. 'William Caskie is family, and I take my family extremely seriously. Now, Sergeant, I am sure we both have duties to perform.'
'I'm sure we do, sir.' Watters lifted his hat and cane. 'Please remember what I said about the factories. It may save your business both money and lives.'
There were more than 120 factory chimneys in Dundee, from the tall, brick constructions whose ornamental summits spoke of urban pride to the old, squat, smoke-blackened structures that belched out black fumes barely ten feet above the tenement roofs. Some chimneys leaned drunkenly to one side; others seemed as solid as the law, but all hinted of the prosperity that had made one section of Dundee society among the wealthiest in Scotland.
Watters's Chartist leanings came to the surface when he contemplated Dundee's industry. It was because of the factories beneath these chimneys that middle- and upper-class Dundonians could saunter along Reform Street or the High Street, gazing at the splendid shops, or buy the solidly comfortable houses of West Ferry or the Perth Road. The owners ran pony-chaises and travelled first class in the railways, while the workers worked a sixty-hour week of ceaseless labour to earn their keep and precious little else.
Watters spent the next day asking mill managers about recent fires. There had been no spike in alarms elsewhere in the city; only Beaumont's mills had been affected. In the evenings, Watters toured the docks and public houses asking for Richard Jones with no success at all.
'What have you found out about Beaumont?' Watters sat at his desk in the police office with his two constables standing in front of him.
Scuddamore spoke first. 'Beaumont owns five factories and mills through Dundee, but unlike the Cox and Baxter families, they are not concentrated in any single area. Two are near the Scouringburn, one in Lochee, one is on Brown's Street, and one is off the Dens Road.'
That much Watters knew already. He drummed his fingers on his desk, realised he was aping Mackay, and immediately stopped. 'And Caskie?'
'The elder Caskie was a bitter man,' Scuddamore said at once. 'Nobody liked him. His foremen drove the hands hard, and he undercut his rivals by paying low wages.'
'How did he get hands for his mills if he paid badly?'
'He recruited in Ireland,' Scuddamore said. 'The poor girls didn't know what they were coming to until it was too late.'
'And the younger Caskie?'
'William Caskie raised the wages as soon as he took over the company,' Scuddamore said. 'He has business interests in France; something to do with shipping, I believe.'
Watters noted that down. 'France again,' he said. 'I know that William Caskie has taken his new bride over there. Did you make out a list of the hands who Beaumont's mills have released recently?'
'Yes, sir,' Duff said. 'There are only three. Two young girls, one aged fourteen who fell asleep at her work, one seventeen-year-old who swore at the supervisor, and a forty-year-old man with a history of drunkenness.' Duff looked up. 'He was named Alexander Mitchell; you might know him.'
'I know the name,' Watters said. 'I arrested an Alexander Mitchell three months ago for a drunken assault on a prostitute. I'm surprised that Mr Beaumont even employed him. Scuddamore, bring him in for questioning, and Duff, you talk to the young girls. I doubt they are involved, but it's best to make sure.'
'There is one more thing, Sergeant.' Duff consulted his notebook. 'The day after Lady of Blackness sailed from Calcutta, one of Caskie's ships, Godiva, also sailed. She arrived in Dundee six days earlier than Lady.'
Watters lifted his head. 'Did you get her crew list?'
'Yes, Sergeant. All Caskie's vessels have log books that include a list of the crew. I took a copy.'
'Good man.' Watters glanced at the list that Duff gave him. 'Round them up and question them. I'll speak to the master and mates.'
Police detective work was like that, Watters thought as he knocked on Captain Bremner's door. From the outside, it looked glamorous and exciting, waging war against crime, protecting the respectable from rogues and blackguards, but most of it was routine and tedious. For every fifty men and women that he questioned, perhaps two would be guilty of some crime, and mostly, it was petty theft or drunkenness.
Captain Bremner of Godiva was young, vigorous, and helpful. He listened to Watters's questions and responded directly.
'Yes, I was aware of Lady of Blackness berthed alongside, and yes, I knew of the rivalry between the two companies.' He grinned at that. 'Old Mr Caskie always paid us a bonus if we beat a Beaumont ship to port.'
'Are you aware that there was a murder on board Lady of Blackness?'
'I am.' Bremner nodded.
Watters instinctively liked this man. 'Are you aware there was an attempt to set fire to Lady of Blackness?'
'I heard the rumours,' Bremner said at once. 'The police found gunpowder and fuses in the hold next to the body.'
'I'll come straight to the point, Captain Bremner. We think it is possible that somebody working for Mr Caskie may have wanted to damage or sink Lady of Blackness.'
Bremner was equally direct. 'Why would he want to do that? Godiva is a much faster ship built to young Mr Caskie's French design. Lady of Blackness is the oldest and slowest of the Beaumont fleet; she is no threat to Godiva or any of the Caskie ships.'
French design? 'The two companies are business rivals,' Watters prompted. 'Perhaps somebody wished to remove the competition.'
Bremner shook his head. 'No, Sergeant. I am a shipmaster, not a merchant, but as far as I can see, business is sufficiently brisk to ensure profit for everybody.'
'Do you think it is possible that a member of your crew may have killed the victim?'
Bremner screwed up his face as he considered his reply. 'Seamen have been known to brawl, Sergeant, particularly after a drink or two, and the crews of different ships sometimes fall out on shore. I won't say that did not happen, but I can't see why one of my men should have boarded Lady of Blackness. There would be no reason for it.'
'Can you vouch for your hands, Captain?'
Again, Bremner screwed up his face. 'No, Sergeant. They were a decent enough bunch, the usual mixture of experienced Sou' Spainers, Lascars, men looking for a passage home, and keen youngsters.'
'Were they the same men you had on the outward passage?'
'Mostly,' Bremner said. 'We always lose a few men in Calcutta, some Lascars return home, and some men don't leave the brothels in time. We contact one of the crimps—that's the boarding masters—and make up the numbers that way. I use three-fingered Ned normally.'
Watters nodded. That was a fair answer. Boarding masters, or crimps, were the usual port-of-call for shipmasters desperate to get crew. The boarding master or his women would welcome any stray seaman into his den, offer them drink, food, and female company for as long as their wages lasted. The moment the money ran out, the boarding master would hand the seaman over to any shipmaster that paid the required amount.
'We do what we have to do,' Captain Bre
mner said.
Watters's liking for this uncomplicated seaman intensified. 'Thank you, Captain. You have been very helpful.'
What had he learned? He now knew that William Caskie had no pressing commercial reason to attack Beaumont's ship in Calcutta. Was there a personal reason? He would have to dig deeper. He had also confirmed William Caskie's French connection. It was not much of a step forward after a full day's labour, but it was something.
CHAPTER SEVEN: DUNDEE: SEPTEMBER 1862
Doctor Musgrave looked up as Watters entered the chill chamber. 'You'll be here about the body.'
'I am.' Watters looked around the mortuary. It was clean and smelled of soap with three oil-filled lanterns casting a gentle light.
'Your man was too badly damaged for me to ascertain the exact cause of death.' Doctor Musgrave smiled through his beard. 'I'm sorry, Sergeant; I know that is not what you wish to hear.'
'No, Doctor,' Watters said. 'Can you tell me anything that might help my enquiries?'
'Not much.' The doctor lifted a thin sheaf of notes from a shelf and leafed through them. 'This unhappy fellow was five-foot-eleven, well made, brown-haired, and about thirty years old. He was muscular enough but with soft hands.' The doctor lifted the body's arms and ran his fingers over the palm of the hand. 'You see? There are no calluses; your victim was no seaman.'
'No seaman? I wonder what he was doing on board a ship then.'
'That is hardly my province, Sergeant Watters.' Doctor Musgrave replaced the hand.
'I know that, Doctor. Do you have a list of his injuries?'
'Yes.' The doctor turned over the pages in his notes and read out a long list of broken, splintered, and crushed bones. 'And finally, one deep and very narrow puncture wound in his neck that might have been caused by a loose spike in one of the bales.'
Watters stored that information away for future reference. 'Thank you, Doctor.' He glanced at the fragmented human mess that lay face up on the marble slab. 'Do you have his clothes? I'd like to examine them.'
The Fireraisers Page 6
