Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘I am sure we can arrange something for her to do in the shop,’ Lila said. ‘And I can send her out as a support to our regular speakers to start her training.’

  Martha tucked the notebook into her handbag.

  ‘I will let you know how Amelia’s parents are coping.’

  Paul, who had followed Ethel and Kirsty outside, was waiting for Martha.

  ‘You’re still here,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I waited to go with you to Amelia’s parents.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea. They might find a reporter intrusive.’

  ‘Well, at least let me escort you there.’ He shrugged. ‘I could stay outside.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘That’s obvious. It isn’t safe for any suffragette to be on their own with this killer on the loose. I wouldn’t like you to come to harm.’

  ‘But it is morning and broad daylight. What harm could come to me?’

  ‘Don’t forget, the first victim was killed in the middle of the day.’

  Martha failed to be convinced there was any risk involved in her visit, but it was easier not to argue.

  ‘Very well. But you must promise to stay outside and not make yourself known to Mr and Mrs Craig.’

  ‘On my honour,’ he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The sun was high in the sky and shoppers crowded the streets. Ethel linked her arm through Kirsty’s and the two of them threaded their way through the throng as they headed for Draffen and Jarvie’s.

  Sunlight glinted off the glass doors inset into the impressive façade of the department store. This place was too grand for the likes of her, Ethel thought. She was accustomed to shopping at the market barrows and small shops in the Overgate. Her footsteps slowed, and she came to a stop.

  ‘I’m not sure about this,’ she said.

  ‘Neither am I, but Martha’s counting on us.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Is something else bothering you?’ A frown creased Kirsty’s forehead.

  Ethel shuffled her feet.

  ‘This shop’s too posh for me. I’d be out of place.’ She wanted to curl up and disappear.

  ‘Nonsense.’ Kirsty grasped one of Ethel’s hands. ‘You’re as good as anyone else. All you have to do is keep your head up and smile. And remember, I’m right beside you.’

  Kirsty’s grip on her hand was so tight that Ethel had no option but to follow her into the store. Her eyes widened when she saw the interior. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling and glass counters displayed all sorts of luxuries she could only dream of. Perfumes, jewellery, lace goods, embroideries, silk scarves and parasols, all laid out in tempting displays. An abundance of supercilious young women attended to the needs of customers. Ethel shrivelled inside but, remembering Kirsty’s advice, she held her head high, gritted her teeth, and smiled as they strolled among the throng of ladies testing the latest fragrance, admiring necklaces and rings, and chattering among themselves about colours and fashions.

  ‘Over here.’ Kirsty grasped Ethel’s hand and drew her between the counters to an ornate staircase. ‘Ladies’ dresses and lingerie are on the next floor.’

  Marble stairs, bordered with black and gold balustrades and handrails, led up to a half-landing before turning right and ending up in another massive room furnished with glass-fronted cabinets and rows of drapery drawers. Here and there, mannequins wearing the latest fashions stared with sightless eyes and waxy smiles.

  The floor manager approached them.

  ‘Good morning, ladies. What can I help you with today?’

  ‘My friend,’ Kirsty said, ‘is looking for a skirt and blouse ensemble. Something smart but not too ostentatious.’

  Ethel squirmed. What was Kirsty playing at? She couldn’t afford a skirt and blouse.

  ‘Certainly, madam.’ The floor manager smiled. He clicked his fingers and beckoned to an assistant. ‘Madam wishes a skirt and blouse ensemble.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She turned to Ethel and Kirsty. ‘If you’d like to follow me.’

  Ethel was sure contempt flickered in the woman’s eyes as she looked at them. Despite wanting the floor to open up and swallow her, she kept the smile pasted on her lips and tried to look as confident as Kirsty.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ethel whispered to Kirsty. ‘I’ve no money to buy a skirt and blouse.’

  ‘Bear with me,’ Kirsty said. ‘We need an excuse to be here if we want to get information.’

  The saleswoman halted in front of a display cabinet that stretched part of the way along one wall. She indicated two chairs upholstered in gold damask.

  ‘If you care to be seated, I can show you a selection of ready-to-wear skirts.’ She slid the glass doors open. ‘Or we can arrange for a skirt to be made to your measure.’

  ‘We’ll have a look at your ready-to-wear ones first. Perhaps something in a dark or navy blue, smart but not ostentatious.’ Kirsty sat and patted the adjacent seat for Ethel.

  ‘This style is popular this year.’ The woman removed a garment from the display rack inside the cabinet. ‘As you can see, it falls in soft folds from the waist and flares out nearer the hemline. It combines a smart look with comfort for walking.’

  Kirsty fingered the fabric. ‘It feels nice. What do you think, Ethel?’

  Ethel had never possessed a skirt as stylish as this one and she could only nod her approval.

  ‘Madam mentioned blouses. Would you care to see our range?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Kirsty said. ‘Would something in white with a high neck suit you, Ethel?’

  Ethel nodded again. Her discomfiture grew, and she wriggled on her seat. Kirsty seemed a different person here, authoritative and confident, while Ethel was the opposite. She wondered how they would get themselves out of this situation without committing themselves to buying something. She only had a few pennies in her purse, and she was sure Kirsty didn’t have much more.

  The saleswoman returned with several blouses in her arms. She laid them on a low table in front of them.

  ‘This one is popular, madam.’ She lifted an ornate lace blouse with several pleats and voluminous sleeves.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s too fancy for our needs,’ Kirsty said. ‘What about this one?’ She selected a front-buttoned, white blouse. The high neck was trimmed with lace, while the fluted yoke and lace panels below were enough to provide an attractive look without being too fussy.

  The saleswoman nodded her approval and, ignoring Ethel, she addressed Kirsty.

  ‘We have a fitting-room if you would care to try them on for size.’

  Ethel’s self-esteem plummeted, but she stiffened and hoped her smile hadn’t turned into a grimace.

  Amusement flickered over Kirsty’s face.

  ‘The skirt is for my friend. Perhaps you could escort her to the fitting-room.’

  ‘Certainly, madam.’ The woman’s eyes flicked over to Ethel. ‘This way.’ She didn’t wait for Ethel to rise from her chair before walking towards the back of the shop.

  ‘Come with me,’ Ethel whispered to Kirsty, a touch of panic in her eyes. ‘If I’m left alone with that bitch, I’ll strangle her.’

  ‘I really believe you would.’

  ‘When are we going to ask her about Amelia?’ Ethel had been so caught up in her feelings of worthlessness that she’d almost forgotten why they were here.

  ‘I’ll engage her in conversation while you try on the clothes,’ Kirsty said, ‘although she doesn’t look the type of person who would consort with dressmakers.’

  Ethel didn’t have a chance to reply before the saleswoman ushered her into the fitting-room.

  The woman laid the skirt and blouse on a chaise longue that matched the chairs on the sales floor.

  ‘I’ll be outside, should you require any help.’

  Ethel waited until the door clicked shut before she started to unbutton her blouse, though why she should try the garments on was beyond her. It was a waste of time b
ecause she wouldn’t be able to buy them. However, she thought she had better go through the motions.

  The voices mumbling outside the fitting-room were too indistinct for her to make out, even when she put her ear to the door. She tried to hurry so she could join Kirsty in the enquiries they’d been entrusted to carry out, but her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Eventually, she was clothed in the new blouse and skirt. She inspected herself in the free-standing mirror and had to admit they were smart. The outfit put her own shabby clothes to shame. She pushed the thought away. It wouldn’t do to become dissatisfied with her lot now.

  She opened the fitting-room door.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She looked at Kirsty with a mute plea in her eyes. Kirsty would know how to escape from the store without having to buy the garments.

  ‘The blouse is perfect,’ Kirsty said. ‘It suits you. But the skirt’s too long. It may need a hem taken up.’ Kirsty turned to the saleswoman. ‘Can one of your dressmakers do the necessary?’

  ‘I’ll see to that right away, madam.’

  ‘Perhaps you can ask for Amelia?’ Kirsty turned back to Ethel.

  ‘Miss Simpson doesn’t know Amelia, but I’m sure she can arrange for her to make the adjustments to the skirt.’

  A few minutes later the saleswoman returned, accompanied by a young girl.

  ‘I couldn’t locate Amelia. I trust Sarah will do.’

  Kirsty followed Ethel and the dressmaker into the fitting-room.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate a second opinion,’ she said to Ethel, closing the door before the saleswoman could follow.

  The dressmaker sank to her knees on the floor and withdrew pins from the pincushion hanging from her waist.

  ‘It won’t need much,’ she said. ‘Two inches should do it.’

  Kirsty perched on the end of the chaise longue.

  ‘I had been enquiring about an acquaintance, Amelia Craig, but Miss Simpson doesn’t appear to know her.’

  ‘Miss Simpson doesn’t really associate with any of us.’ Sarah removed a pin from her mouth and stuck it in the skirt’s hem.

  Ethel noticed the touch of bitterness in Sarah’s voice.

  ‘Not good enough for her, are you?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ The girl looked startled.

  ‘You didn’t need to.’

  ‘But you must know Amelia if you work in the same department,’ Kirsty chimed in.

  ‘Yes, miss. But Amelia didn’t turn up for work today and Miss Morgan isn’t pleased.’

  ‘Miss Morgan?’

  ‘She’s in charge of dressmaking and tailoring.’ Sarah pinned more of the hem.

  ‘Is that usual?’

  ‘Oh, no, miss. Amelia’s never late, she’s one of our best workers. Something must have stopped her coming to work.’

  ‘Maybe she has a man friend?’

  ‘She did have, but they broke up when she became one of them suffragettes.’

  ‘I see. Would you perchance have a name for him?’

  ‘Billy, she used to call him. She let slip once that he was Irish, and I think she said his second name was Murphy. I don’t think her dad liked him.’

  ‘Do you know where he works or lives?’

  ‘No, miss. We don’t have much chance to talk in the workroom and Amelia was always in a hurry to go home after she finished.’

  ‘And there’s no one in the store who’s taken a shine to her?’

  ‘No, miss. The men and the women don’t mix. The bosses don’t approve of us talking to each other inside the store.’

  Sarah placed the last pin and stood.

  ‘Does that meet with your approval?’ She regarded them with anxious eyes.

  ‘That’s admirable,’ Kirsty said. ‘What do you think, Ethel?’

  Ethel nodded, wondering how on earth she would evade the haughty saleswoman and leave the store without committing herself to the sale.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get changed to your own clothes, Ethel. Just leave the skirt and blouse here, in the fitting-room, while I have another chat with Miss Simpson.’

  Ethel changed hurriedly into her own clothes and spread the skirt and blouse on the chaise longue. She gave them a regretful glance as she left the fitting-room and joined Kirsty, who was deep in conversation with the saleswoman.

  ‘Thank you for your custom,’ the saleswoman said as they left.

  Ethel was so desperate to leave the shop she paid no heed to the comment.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The house was a cottage in a lane which led off Constitution Road. Well-kept grass bordered the path leading to the front door, though a few daisies had been left to grow. The doorstep was spotless, and the windows gleamed in the sunlight. A curtain twitched, and Martha knew her approach had been witnessed. She rang the bell and, moments later, a woman whose face reflected her grief opened the door.

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude, but I’m Martha Fairweather, a friend of Amelia’s. I wanted to offer my condolences.’ From the corner of her eye, she spotted Paul lingering at the junction with Constitution Road. She hoped he would keep his promise to stay outside.

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ the woman said. ‘Please, come in. I’m Ina Craig, Amelia’s mother.’

  Martha followed her into a small vestibule and, from there, a compact living-room. The man, slumped in the armchair by the side of the empty fireplace, did not look up.

  ‘Callum,’ Ina said, ‘Miss Fairweather is here to pay her respects.’

  The man looked up and grunted.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be one of them suffragettes she was taking up with. A lot of good that did her.’

  ‘Now, now, Callum. Miss Fairweather’s a friend. There’s no need to be rude to her.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Martha said. ‘It’s a sad time for both of you and I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose a daughter.’

  ‘Will you sit, Miss Fairweather?’ Ina Craig gestured towards the armchair at the other side of the fireplace.

  ‘Thank you, but one of the other chairs will do nicely. I wouldn’t wish to deprive you of your seat.’

  Ina pulled a dining table chair to the middle of the room.

  ‘I’ll make tea. Do you take milk and sugar?’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Martha said. ‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble on my behalf.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. I’m glad of something to do to keep me busy.’ She turned to leave when there was a thunderous knocking at the front door. She scurried out of the room with a look of alarm on her face.

  Martha pressed her lips together. She had told Paul to stay outside, but what else could she expect from a reporter.

  ‘It’s the police,’ Ina said when she returned.

  ‘Damned bobbies,’ Callum said. ‘What do they want?’

  Hammond strode in behind Amelia’s mother. He glared at Martha.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Without stopping for a reply, he continued. ‘I must ask you to leave while I talk to Mr and Mrs Craig.’

  Ina Craig placed a restraining hand on Martha’s shoulder.

  ‘Stay.’ She turned to Hammond. ‘What right have you to order anyone from my house?’

  Hammond scowled and his face reddened.

  ‘This is police business. I have the authority to say who should be present.’

  Martha revised her opinion of Amelia’s mother. She had appeared weak and worn down with misery when Martha entered the house but now, stiff with anger, she appeared much more formidable.

  ‘And this is my house,’ Ina repeated. ‘Miss Fairweather was a good friend to Amelia and I say she stays. Aren’t you going to say something, Callum?’

  Callum looked up and grunted.

  ‘Very well, if that is your decision.’ Hammond’s voice was as stiff as Ina’s. He stood with legs apart, clasping his hands behind his back.

  It was obvious Ina Craig was not going to invite him to sit, and Martha took pleasure from the inspector’s discomfiture.

&n
bsp; ‘Constable,’ Hammond said, ‘take notes.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Constable Buchan suppressed a smile and pulled a notebook from his pocket.

  ‘When did you last see your daughter, Mrs Craig?’

  The man could be polite, at least. There was no need for his bullying tone. Martha clenched her hands and, though she was tempted to remonstrate, she held her tongue.

  ‘Sunday evening. After she came home from the Mathers Hotel, she had her tea and then helped me tidy up. She’s a good girl, Amelia, and even when she was tired after her work she always helped in the house.’ Ina stopped talking to wipe a tear from her eye. ‘She went out again at nine o’clock. Said she was meeting someone and wouldn’t stay out late, but she never came home.’

  ‘Who was she meeting?’ Hammond appeared oblivious to Ina’s distress.

  ‘Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if I knew?’ Ina glared at Hammond. ‘Amelia was a grown woman, and we trusted her. Why would we question her about her friends?’

  Hammond ignored her outburst. ‘You mentioned her work. Draffen and Jarvie, I presume?’

  ‘Yes, she was a dressmaker.’

  ‘Did she mention anyone she might be seeing from work?’

  ‘No. She always came straight home after she finished for the day.’

  ‘Any boyfriends?’

  ‘Not since she broke up with Billy.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘She hasn’t been seeing him since she became a suffragette, oh, three months ago. He didn’t approve.’

  ‘I’ll need his details.’

  ‘Billy Murphy. I’m not sure of his address, but he always referred to living in Little Tipperary so I reckon it must be somewhere in Lochee.’

  ‘He’s one of the Irish lot, then.’ Hammond’s voice was scathing.

  Ina glared at him.

  ‘Just because his parents came over from Ireland doesn’t mean he isn’t Scottish. He was born here and is as Scottish as I am.’

  Hammond tightened his lips and scowled.

  ‘Is he in employment?’

  ‘He’s a clerk at Cox’s jute mill.’

  ‘Anything else we should know about him?’

  ‘He’s a nice lad,’ Ina said. ‘I was sorry when they split up, but he didn’t like Amelia being a suffragette and she wouldn’t give it up. I’m sure he cared for her and he said he just wanted her to come to her senses. But if you think he would harm her, you’re mistaken.’ She drew a breath and glared at the inspector again. ‘Now, if you’re finished, we all have work to be getting on with.’