Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  Martha left the podium and joined Ethel and Kirsty.

  ‘Well said.’ The young man who approached their table tucked his cane under his arm and brought his hands together in silent applause.

  ‘Do sit down, Archie. You look a trifle lost without Constance by your side.’ Martha gestured to a chair. ‘Archie is Constance’s husband,’ she said in an aside to Ethel and Kirsty.

  ‘I would be at less of a loss if my wife would stay home more often instead of traipsing away to London all the time.’

  Martha put a finger to her lips.

  ‘She’s started to speak,’ she whispered.

  Constance made a commanding figure on the podium and Ethel listened in rapt silence to her speech. In her imagination, she was there with Constance, walking by her side in the parade. She yearned to take part in those events, but as long as she had to earn a living by working in the mill, there was little chance it would ever happen.

  After the presentation, Martha returned to the stage and gave a short thank you speech before requesting the attention of all those present.

  ‘You may have heard that we lost one of our members this week – Gladys Burnett. She was to have been a speaker here today, but the police have notified us they discovered her body, at her home, on Friday. The police have not informed us of the circumstances, but we will do our best to find out what happened.’

  Unsettled murmurs echoed around the room.

  ‘I have a request. Another of our members, Victoria Allan, has been missing for five days, since early Tuesday morning, and we are becoming concerned. Her disappearance may be perfectly innocent, but it would set our minds at rest if we could locate her. If anyone has seen her or knows her whereabouts, could they let me know? Thank you.’

  Martha led Constance over to the table.

  ‘I must introduce you to our two newest recruits. Ethel is already a member of the WFL; Kirsty plans to join.’

  Constance held her hand out, first to Ethel and then Kirsty.

  ‘I’m pleased you’ve joined us. I’m sure you won’t regret it.’

  Embarrassment sent a rush of warmth to Ethel’s face. Nobody shook hands where she came from and she hadn’t yet become accustomed to handshakes from people she considered her betters. Uncertain whether to stand or remain sitting when Constance offered her hand, Ethel looked across to Martha and, noticing that her friend remained seated, she did the same and hoped she hadn’t got it wrong.

  ‘Spiffing speech, Constance. Makes me jealous I wasn’t able to come to London with you.’ Archie leaned back in his chair and smiled up at his wife, though Ethel noticed his eyes were appraising Kirsty.

  ‘That’s a nice thought, Archie, but you know I get on better at these marches without you. And I wouldn’t want you wandering around London alone.’

  Ethel’s first impression of Archie was that he was a dapper young man with a roving eye. His wife was several years older, and she wondered if Constance didn’t trust her husband. She pushed the thought away. The gentry weren’t like the people she grew up with. They had a different set of rules and she’d noticed that fidelity wasn’t something which appeared important in their world.

  She turned her attention to Kirsty.

  ‘Now that you’ve attended one of our meetings, do you think you’ll want to join the Women’s Freedom League?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Kirsty replied. ‘Though I don’t think my parents would approve.’

  ‘Do you need their approval?’ Ethel hadn’t sought permission for anything since she came of working age; she found the concept strange.

  ‘I don’t think they’d like the idea, and I haven’t come of age yet. I don’t think they can forbid me joining, though it would make life difficult.’ Kirsty paused for a moment before continuing. ‘Yes, I intend to join the Women’s Freedom League.’ Her voice was firmer than it had been a moment ago. ‘I’ll visit the office tomorrow to find out how to become a member.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Paul Anderson arrived at the meeting after it started, but remained at the back of the room while Constance Drysdale regaled her audience with descriptions of the event in London. The talk was interesting, but that wasn’t the reason he was here. Despite the editor’s reaction to his recent editorial, his reporter’s instinct told him there was a story to be had, and he meant to follow it up. He soon spotted one of the suffragettes he’d met on Thursday sitting at the front and he listened, with interest, when she asked for information on Victoria Allan. His instinct hadn’t been wrong – there was a story here.

  He edged between the tables towards the suffragette he recognised and arrived at the same time as a young lady. He stood aside and gestured for her to go ahead, though she didn’t appear to notice.

  ‘Martha, I may have seen Victoria on Tuesday when I was on my way to the rally.’

  The suffragette he’d recognised turned to the speaker.

  ‘Where was this, Amelia?’

  ‘I was getting off the tram in Ward Road and I’m positive it was Victoria I saw going into the Howff.’

  ‘The graveyard? What on earth would she be doing in there?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m certain it was her.’

  ‘Thank you, Amelia. I will go along there now, though she will be long gone by this time.’ She glanced at her companions. ‘Anyone care to accompany me?’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ The dark-haired girl sitting at the table leaned forward. ‘You mustn’t go there alone.’

  ‘I don’t mind accompanying you.’ The speaker was a soft-spoken, younger girl, whose auburn curls escaped from the confines of her bonnet to cascade down her back.

  ‘Ladies.’ Paul removed his hat and stepped forward as soon as Amelia left. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing, and I feel the Howff is perhaps not the best place for unaccompanied ladies. I would be honoured to accompany you there.’

  ‘And you are, sir?’ Martha didn’t appear welcoming.

  ‘We met on Thursday evening. I’m Paul Anderson, the Courier reporter.’

  Martha looked him up and down with eyes so blue they did something strange to his insides.

  ‘I remember,’ she said. ‘You are the one who mentioned Gladys in the Stop Press.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you know she died?’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid I found her body.’

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘She arranged for me to interview her at home, but when I got there, she was lifeless.’

  ‘I see.’ Martha leaned back in her chair. ‘If you were the one who found her, I would have expected more of an editorial in the Courier instead of the few words they printed.’

  Paul’s hands tightened on the brim of his hat as his anger reignited and threatened to destroy his composure.

  ‘My editor squashed my story.’

  ‘In that case, perhaps you can enlighten us –’ she gestured towards Ethel, Kirsty, Constance and Archie ‘– as to the full details of Gladys’s untimely end.’

  Paul related everything he knew, including the reaction of both the police and his editor to his opinions.

  ‘I believe Gladys was murdered,’ he finished. ‘The marks on her throat could only have been caused by strangulation.’

  ‘Do you think the police are covering this up?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but they certainly don’t wish it made public.’

  * * *

  ‘The police refused to tell us how she died, but I knew it was suspicious.’ Water splashed out of her glass on to the table, and Martha stared at the puddle, wondering how it got there.

  Ethel reached over and grasped her hand.

  ‘You’re shaking. I should take you home.’

  Martha pulled free and wiped a tear from her cheek.

  ‘I can’t return home until I satisfy myself about Victoria. Amelia said she saw her going into the Howff on Tuesday and we haven’t seen her since.’

  Thoughts whirled around in Martha’s brain. Gladys was
dead. Victoria was missing. What if Victoria was dead, as well? She clasped a hand to her head to stop the churning of her mind, but her thoughts always came back to the death threat letter.

  No one else knew about that letter because she hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone. But she couldn’t help wondering if the lack of awareness had contributed to what happened to Gladys. The only consolation was that there had been no further letters, so maybe it was simply a more extreme example of the hate mail they received regularly.

  Ethel placed a glass in her hand.

  ‘Drink this, it’ll calm you.’

  Martha took a large gulp of the water.

  ‘I think it is time we visited the Howff. Amelia saw Victoria going in there and I won’t be satisfied until we have checked.’ She stood, picking her way through the tables, dodging people who were getting ready to leave. Kirsty, Ethel and Paul followed in her wake.

  Archie made a move to go with them, but Constance laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘I think they will be safe with the reporter escorting them. We need to return home – we are entertaining this evening, remember, dear.’

  The warmth of the late afternoon sun revived Martha, and she strode along the street with purposeful steps, determined to find out what had happened to Victoria.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The screech of the gate’s hinges set Martha’s nerves jangling. Once inside the graveyard, she became calmer as the warm breeze wafted the scent of flowers towards them. Sun filtered between the overhanging trees, creating a feeling of peace as it dappled the ancient gravestones.

  The place appeared innocent and pleasant, but she was glad she wasn’t alone. Paul had insisted on accompanying her, and Ethel and Kirsty had followed. Archie Drysdale had also offered, but Constance had stopped him. Archie hadn’t looked pleased, but he’d complied with her request.

  Doubts filled her mind. It had been six days since Amelia saw Victoria entering the Howff. It was unlikely she would be here. But thoughts of what had happened to Gladys intervened. If Victoria was still here, then something must have occurred to prevent her from leaving.

  ‘Which way?’ Ethel’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  In front of them, several cobbled paths, bordered by flowering shrubs and bushes, wound in various directions. Martha had never been inside the graveyard before and didn’t know where the paths led.

  ‘Should we each take a different path?’ Kirsty had spoken little since she’d joined their company and her voice was hesitant.

  ‘That’s not a good idea. I think we should stick together. But if Victoria is here, it’s unlikely she would be in the part of the graveyard that borders on Barrack Street because she’d be visible from the road. I suggest we try the oldest part first. It’s overgrown and there’s more chance she’d remain hidden.’

  Despite the warmth of the sun, a shiver crept up Martha’s spine. Paul was talking as if he expected to find a body.

  ‘I think you ladies should wait here while I investigate.’

  ‘No, we will come with you.’ Martha stiffened and took a step forward. No man was going to tell her what to do. She didn’t need their protection.

  Ethel and Kirsty murmured their agreement.

  ‘As you wish.’ Paul looked discomfited. ‘We’ll start here.’

  Within a few moments, the foliage became denser and the shadows deepened. Bushes grew around and over the gravestones, giving the impression of neglect and decay. The only sounds were those of the birds in the trees, ominous rustles deep in the undergrowth, and the hushed clack of their feet on the mossy path.

  The cobbles convinced Martha that fashionable shoes suitable for a hotel tea party were not the best choice for a walk here. As if to confirm her thoughts, one of her heels caught in the cobblestones.

  ‘Do you want to turn back?’ Ethel took her arm.

  Despite her misgivings and an increasing sense of dread, Martha shook her head.

  ‘I am all right. I snagged my heel and it threw me off balance.’ She smiled at the girls but couldn’t help noticing the worried look on Kirsty’s face and the bravado on Ethel’s. Maybe they were having second thoughts. ‘You two can go back if you wish.’

  ‘Where you go, we go.’ Ethel’s voice was stubborn, and Kirsty nodded her agreement. Paul had vanished out of sight around a turn in the path.

  Silence hung over this part of the graveyard, and there was no birdsong. Martha suppressed an involuntary shiver and tried to gather her reserves of courage.

  ‘We’d best catch up with Paul. If there is anything to be found, we need to be there.’

  The smell, like nothing Martha had encountered before, assaulted her nostrils as soon as she turned the corner. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and held it over her nose.

  ‘Stand back, ladies. You don’t want to see this.’ Paul stood between two bushes, staring at something in the undergrowth.

  Martha took several steps forward. A loud buzzing broke the former silence in the graveyard.

  ‘What is that noise?’

  ‘Bluebottles.’ Paul looked at her. ‘Please stay back. If this is Victoria, you won’t want to see her like this.’

  ‘But how will we know whether it is Victoria unless I look at her?’ By this time, the stench was overpowering. Martha pressed the handkerchief even more firmly over her nose.

  ‘You still wouldn’t know, not seeing her like this.’

  Paul backed out from between the bushes, clutching a handbag.

  ‘I found this beside the body.’ He brushed something white and wriggly from the surface before handing it to her. ‘It may contain identification.’

  Martha’s stomach churned and bile rose in her throat, but she forced herself to open it and look inside.

  ‘Yes, this is Victoria’s handbag,’ she said after a moment.

  Paul put his arm around her shoulder. She wanted to push it away, but didn’t. There was comfort in his grasp, and she was in sore need of it.

  ‘We must inform the police,’ he said.

  * * *

  ‘They’ve found her.’ The two girls stood in a patch of sunlight at the bend in the path.

  Ethel shaded her eyes with a hand and peered towards Paul and Martha. She’d identified the stench as soon as they reached the corner and held Kirsty back from going any further. It was the smell of death. She recalled the putrefying cat that had lain in the back green for weeks. It had stunk like that before someone took a shovel and threw it into one of the rubbish bins.

  Her lips compressed as she watched Paul put his arm around Martha’s shoulders and lead her along the path. When they drew nearer, Martha’s shock was unmistakable. Her eyes sunk into the pallor of her face, glittering with unshed tears, and the white bone of her knuckles highlighted the strength needed to hold a leather handbag in her shaking hands. Ethel pulled her into an embrace, forcing Paul to step back.

  ‘Is it Victoria?’ Ethel addressed Paul, who nodded in reply.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Report it to the police.’

  Ethel snorted.

  ‘They didn’t bother too much about Gladys. What makes you think the bobbies will pay any more attention to this? They’ll label it as good riddance and lose the file.’ In Ethel’s opinion, the bobbies were useless. She’d complained to them numerous times after her father had beaten lumps out of her mother.

  ‘It’s a domestic matter,’ they had always responded. ‘Nothing to do with us.’

  As for suffragettes, they were only interested in harassing them and moving them on from rallies and meetings. Creating a disturbance, they called it.

  ‘They can’t ignore this death, nor can they overlook the fact that two suffragettes have died now – both in suspicious circumstances.’

  ‘You’re right, but that doesn’t mean they’ll do anything about it.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  By the time they reached the police station, Martha had regained her composure, but her resentme
nt was growing. Paul’s insistence that she shouldn’t come close enough to see the body rankled. But if she was truthful with herself, viewing it might have been more than she could bear. Despite this, she couldn’t stomach the idea that a man wanted to protect her from something he judged upsetting.

  Two policemen, kneeling beside a bicycle at the far end of the police quadrangle, looked up, but Martha paid no heed to their curious glances.

  ‘Ladies,’ Paul said, holding the door of the charge-room open for them.

  Martha ignored him but beckoned for Ethel and Kirsty to follow her into the police station. Her nose wrinkled as the warmth of the room increased the stench from the graveyard, which permeated their clothing. Her hand tightened on Victoria’s handbag; maybe that was the source of the smell. She hoped so. Otherwise, she would have to discard the clothes she was wearing.

  The sergeant behind the counter leaned forward.

  ‘What can I do for you, ladies?’ His tone was gruff and his walrus moustache wobbled as he spoke.

  Recognition was instantaneous. This was the policeman to whom Martha and Elizabeth Inglis had reported Victoria missing.

  ‘We’re here to report the death of a woman in suspicious circumstances.’ Paul’s voice sounded from behind her.

  Martha gave a shrug of annoyance. Did he assume she was incapable of dealing with the policeman?

  ‘Ah! It’s Mr Anderson from the Dundee Courier. You do seem to make a habit of finding bodies. What makes you think this one is suspicious, sir?’

  Paul leaned his arms on the counter and stared the sergeant down.

  ‘I think a body lying in the Howff graveyard for several days is a mite suspicious.’

  ‘I reported Victoria Allan as a missing person to you on Wednesday,’ Martha snapped, ‘and it appears we have now found her.’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.