Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘That’ll be all for now, but if I need further information, I’ll be back.’ He turned to leave the room. ‘Come on, Constable. We’re done here.’

  ‘What an abominable man,’ Ina said after the door closed behind the two policemen.

  Martha nodded her agreement.

  ‘Shall I help you make that tea? It will help you recover.’

  An hour later, when she was standing on the doorstep saying her goodbyes, Ina Craig pushed a parcel into her hands.

  ‘It’s a banner Amelia was sewing for the league. It would be a shame for it to be wasted even though it’s not finished.’

  Martha sensed the reluctance behind the gift and saw the tears in the woman’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for Mrs Craig to give away something her daughter had worked on with so much dedication.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It will be truly valued and will ensure Amelia’s memory is preserved.’

  Her own tears were not far away as she walked along the lane and left the cottage behind her.

  * * *

  ‘Well. What did they tell you?’ Paul demanded as Martha rejoined him at the corner of Constitution Road.

  Martha’s lips twitched. She could sense the man’s impatience for a news story, but she hadn’t discovered anything she would be reluctant to share with him.

  ‘Amelia’s parents are distressed and they cannot understand why anyone would want to kill their daughter.’

  ‘I saw the police go in. It’s a wonder they let you stay.’

  ‘They didn’t have a choice, Ina Craig insisted on it. Did they see you lurking here?’

  ‘I tried to keep out of sight, but I wasn’t successful. The constable gave me a nod. The inspector ignored me. If they question me later, I’ll say I had intended to interview Amelia’s parents but changed my mind, so I didn’t get in their way.’

  ‘Do you think they will believe you?’

  ‘Whether or not they do is immaterial.’ Paul shrugged and they continued to walk towards the city centre. ‘You haven’t told me what you found out.’

  ‘Not much. Although the information I got was thanks to the police.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Amelia was walking out with a young man until three months ago when she joined the Women’s Freedom League.’

  ‘Is Inspector Hammond considering him a suspect?’

  ‘Hard to tell. But Ina was adamant he’d never harm Amelia.’

  ‘The police are a suspicious lot – they’re not going to believe that. I hope, for his sake, the young man has an alibi. But, more to the point, do you think he might have something to do with her death?’

  ‘Anything is possible. I’d like to know whether it was Amelia or Billy who ended the relationship, and how he feels about it all now.’

  ‘Did Amelia’s mother say why they broke up?’

  ‘He disliked her involvement with the suffrage cause.’

  ‘So, he could have an aversion to suffragettes. That could be a motive for the killings.’

  ‘I never considered that.’ Martha turned the thought over in her head. It made sense.

  ‘Give me his name and address. I’ll check up on him. It wouldn’t be safe for you.’ Paul hauled his reporter’s notebook from his pocket.

  ‘I don’t have an address for him apart from the Lochee district. But his name is Billy Murphy and he works as a clerk for Cox’s jute mill.’

  Paul scribbled the details in his notebook and returned it to his pocket.

  ‘I’ll keep you informed.’

  Had she done the right thing by allowing Paul to become involved? Martha wasn’t sure, and doubts crowded her mind as they continued to walk to the city centre.

  * * *

  Draffen and Jarvie’s glass doors swished closed as they left the store and Ethel released her grip of Kirsty’s hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘but I’m not used to posh places like that.’

  ‘You have as much right to shop there as anyone else.’

  ‘The problem is, we weren’t shopping and I’m sure that stuck-up bitch knew we didn’t have any money.’

  ‘That stuck-up bitch, as you call her, is no better than you are. She’s having to work for her living, the same way you had to.’

  Ethel wasn’t convinced. She was sure shop assistants looked down their noses at mill workers, even unemployed ones. But she pushed the negative thoughts to the back of her mind, determined not to let her experiences in Draffen and Jarvie erode her confidence. As a suffragette and a woman fighting for the rights of all women, she was worth something. Kirsty was right, she was as good as any of them.

  With a fresh spring in her step, she headed back towards the WFL shop with Kirsty at her side.

  As they walked, Kirsty and Ethel discussed their findings, which didn’t amount to much. Amelia was a good worker, she kept to herself and didn’t have friends in the store. She had broken up with her boyfriend when she became a suffragette.

  ‘Do you think the boyfriend might be a suspect?’

  ‘Could be. But I’m not sure how we find him.’

  ‘Martha will come up with something. She’s determined to find the person responsible.’

  ‘Did you note his name?’

  ‘I didn’t want to write it down in front of the store staff, but I’ve memorised it. I’ll record it as soon as we get back.’

  The bell above the door tinkled as they stepped from the heat of the street into the cool interior of the shop.

  ‘Thank goodness you are here,’ Lila Clunas said.

  She finished rearranging leaflets in the window before dusting her hands on her skirt and removing her hat from the coat stand.

  ‘I have an urgent appointment but was reluctant to close the shop. Can you hold the fort until I return?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ethel said. ‘Is there anything special we should know?’

  ‘Membership forms and cards are in the top drawer of the cabinet. Pamphlets, badges and other paraphernalia are priced. Any money goes in the till.’ Lila pulled the handle attached to the drawer of the oblong wooden box on the counter. It opened with a ping. ‘The only thing you have to do is note the sale on the till roll.’ She pointed to an aperture on top of the box through which the paper till roll could be seen. ‘Not that there is ever much money in it. But one can hope.’ With one hand, she placed her hat on her head and with the other, she grabbed her bag. ‘I’ll get back as soon as I can.’

  ‘Do you think we should have mentioned her hat was on squint?’

  ‘It’s obvious you don’t know Lila,’ Ethel replied, laughing. ‘I don’t think she would give two hoots about that.’

  The next hour sped past. Ethel dealt with three women seeking information, and Kirsty sat in the corner studying the pamphlets and reading some of the articles which were on sale.

  The tinkle of the bell over the shop door heralded Lila’s return, some time later.

  ‘Any problems?’ she asked, removing her jacket and hat.

  ‘I sold one article and enrolled a new member. I’ve noted her details on a form.’ Ethel picked up a sheet of paper. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do with it after that.’

  Lila lifted the counter hatch and joined Ethel at the other side.

  ‘That’s a good start,’ she said. ‘Now you enter the details into the membership ledger.’ She produced a book from beneath the counter and opened it to the last entry. ‘The name and date go here. After you’ve done that, we file the form under the surname initial. It is a simple system; you shouldn’t have any trouble grasping it.’ After Ethel finished doing the paperwork, Lila continued. ‘Martha is aware I have been struggling to cope with the shop now that I no longer have Gladys to help. We do have other volunteers, but their attendance is spasmodic. She told me you had left your employment and suggested you might be available to assist me on a more regular basis.’

  ‘Do you mean, be a shop assistant?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what it means.�
�� Lila smiled in amusement at Ethel’s reaction. ‘However, as an organisation, we can’t afford to pay a high wage, but you will be remunerated.’

  Excitement bubbled up inside Ethel. The amount she would be paid didn’t matter to her. It was nothing compared to her new status as a shop assistant, a step up from being a mill worker.

  ‘Does it matter that I don’t have any experience?’

  ‘Not at all, you will soon pick it up and then we can go from there.’

  Ethel wondered what she meant, but as elation mixed with trepidation consumed her about the task ahead, she gave it no more thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The steeple clock chimed two o’clock and Martha was surprised at how much time had passed since she set out that morning. Hunger pangs niggled her stomach and she headed for home rather than returning to the WFL shop.

  Aggie, her maid, busy polishing the mahogany furniture in the dining-room, looked up when Martha entered.

  ‘Have ye eaten?’

  Her tone was disapproving, but Martha didn’t mind; Aggie had been with her ever since she had arrived in Dundee. She was used to the woman’s dourness and direct speech.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said.

  ‘Ye don’t eat near enough if ye ask me.’ Aggie laid her duster on the sideboard. ‘I’ll leave this and make something for ye.’

  ‘I was thinking a sandwich would do me fine. Do we have any of that nice ham left?’

  ‘It’s a meal ye need, not a sandwich.’ Aggie snorted.

  Martha followed her to the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t have time to wait for you to prepare something. I’ll eat properly later. Now, about that sandwich . . .’

  Muttering under her breath, Aggie thumped a loaf on to the breadboard and attacked it with a bread knife.

  ‘Make enough for Kirsty and Ethel, too,’ Martha said. ‘I don’t suppose they’ve eaten. Wrap them in paper and I’ll get them after I’ve performed my ablutions.’

  ‘You want pickle with the ham? I’ve a fresh jar of Hayward’s Military Pickle in the press.’

  Martha stopped in the doorway to consider.

  ‘Better not,’ she responded after a moment. ‘I’m not sure whether Kirsty and Ethel like pickles.’

  Fifteen minutes later, she collected the wrapped sandwiches. She noticed Aggie was still scowling.

  ‘You can prepare something and leave it in the oven,’ she offered as a compromise. ‘Ethel and I will have it later.’ Hoping she had mollified her maid, Martha clattered down the stairs and out the front door.

  * * *

  ‘How exciting,’ Kirsty exclaimed. ‘I’m sure you’ll make an excellent shop assistant.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Ethel looked up from the ledger she was studying. ‘It’s a lot different from working in the mill.’

  A tinge of envy tempered Kirsty’s pleasure at Ethel’s job offer and she realised she had led a cosseted life. She had never needed to worry about money or where her next meal was coming from. Everything had been provided for her, and the only training she had ever received was in how to be a lady.

  She had no desire to be a lady, nor to fulfil her family’s expectations to marry.

  The thought filled her with horror, but the alternative was to remain a spinster and rely on her family to support her for the rest of her life. A life of torment. Faced daily with a daughter she could not acknowledge and an ache in her heart that would never heal. Kirsty realised that cutting the ties with Ailsa would be beneficial for both of them, in the long run.

  Yet, despair filled her. She so wanted to be the same as Ethel, self-supporting, making her own way in the world. But how could she do that? She didn’t know what it was like to work or to have a job. If she left her family, she would have nothing. Anger replaced despair. What was to prevent her from learning to be more self-sufficient?

  The tinkle of the bell above the door interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Martha,’ Lila said. ‘Are Mr and Mrs Craig coping with their loss any better?’

  ‘As to be expected, they are still distraught.’

  Kirsty laid down the article she had stopped reading when her thoughts overtook her. Ethel snapped the ledger shut.

  ‘What about you two?’ Martha asked, addressing Kirsty and Ethel. ‘Did you find anything out at Draffen and Jarvie?’

  ‘Not much,’ Kirsty said. ‘She didn’t have close connections with any of the department store employees. They’re not aware of her death. One thing we discovered is that she had a man friend, but they broke up when she became a suffragette. The dressmaker thought his name might be Billy Murphy, but that was all she knew.’

  ‘That ties up with what Mrs Craig told me. She also said it was unlikely he would harm Amelia, though I am not sure the police inspector shares that view. He visited while I was there and questioned Mr and Mrs Craig in quite an aggressive manner.’

  ‘Should we talk to this Billy Murphy?’

  ‘Paul offered to find out what he can about him. He has promised to keep us informed.’

  ‘Is that wise?’ Ethel frowned. ‘What do we know about this reporter, except that he’s always hovering around when anything happens?’

  ‘I agreed because the only thing we know is the man’s name and that he might live somewhere in Lochee.’

  Kirsty shared Ethel’s reservations and noted that while Martha sounded confident, her eyes looked troubled.

  ‘We can do no more until we have information on Billy Murphy,’ Martha continued, ‘and I am sure you must be starving, so I’ve brought sandwiches with me.’ She laid the parcels she was carrying on the counter. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs Craig gave me something Amelia was working on. She never got the chance to finish it.’ She unwrapped the largest parcel, revealing the banner.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Kirsty said, running her fingers over the silky material. ‘What a shame Amelia couldn’t complete it.’ She picked it up to examine the stitching. ‘I could finish it for you. My parents made me learn embroidery . . . I’m sure I could make a good job of it. The stitches are quite simple.’

  ‘That would be marvellous,’ Martha said. ‘And once it is finished, we could hang it on the wall to remind us of Amelia.’

  Embroidery had never been a favourite pastime of Kirsty’s, but it pleased her she could contribute something to the cause. She vowed to make sure her stitching was perfect. It was the least she could do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘It’s natural for your aunt to want to meet me,’ Martha said as they walked up Reform Street an hour later.

  Kirsty smiled and tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. It had taken all her courage to issue the invitation, but Martha had agreed without hesitation. However, it didn’t quell her nerves.

  Ruthie must have been listening for their footsteps on the stairs because she came scurrying from the direction of the kitchen as soon as Kirsty opened the door. The girl, the daughter of Aunt Bea’s cook, was younger than Kirsty and had been part of her aunt’s household from the day she was born. It was natural that she became a maid when she was old enough. Kirsty had her doubts whether anyone else would have employed her because she lacked all her faculties. She was what most people described as ‘simple’.

  ‘Your aunt’s in the drawing-room, Miss Kirsty. She said for you and your friend to join her there when you arrived.’ She glanced at Martha and then looked away. Kirsty sensed her curiosity and wondered what the girl might have overheard about this afternoon’s visitor.

  ‘May I introduce Miss Martha Fairweather,’ Kirsty said as she entered the drawing-room.

  ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’ Bea Hunter rose from her seat by the window. ‘Please sit. The window overlooks Albert Square and there’s a fine view of the Albert Institute from here.’

  Martha settled herself on the chair at the opposite side of a small table set into the window recess.

  ‘It is indeed a fine view. You are to be envied in your choice o
f home.’

  ‘I have instructed tea to be brought. I trust you like tea?’

  ‘It is my favourite beverage.’ Martha smiled warmly.

  ‘Now, if Kirsty will pull the bell-rope to let cook know we are ready, it will give us more time to chat.’

  Kirsty groaned inwardly as she walked over to the fireplace. It would be so embarrassing if Aunt Bea cross-examined Martha. She tugged the velvet pull which dangled beside the mantelpiece and, though she heard nothing, she knew it would jangle in the kitchen. Returning to the window, she pulled up a chair.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ she heard Aunt Bea say. ‘My husband was a solicitor. He owned most of the buildings on this side of Reform Street and had his office in one of them. That is why we came to live here when we were newly married. I do miss him.’ Bea Hunter sighed and gazed out of the window, appearing lost in memories. After a few moments, Bea turned her attention back to their visitor. ‘Your father, Miss Fairweather – does he have his own law practice?’

  ‘He’ is a full partner in the practice my grandfather established. My brother is also a lawyer, though he is currently concentrating on his political ambitions.’

  Ruthie interrupted them, arriving with a tray laden with dainty cucumber sandwiches, Dundee cake, sponge fingers and shortbread. Mrs Paton, the cook, followed behind, bearing the crockery and teapot.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bea said. ‘I will ring if we need anything else.’

  Kirsty picked up a napkin to protect her hand from the heat in the silver teapot’s handle and poured tea into the three cups.

  ‘Please, help yourself to whatever you fancy, Miss Fairweather. We mustn’t disappoint cook when she’s gone to so much trouble.’ Bea Hunter picked up the silver tongs and plopped two sugar lumps into her cup.