Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘You are very kind, Mrs Hunter. But, please, call me Martha. Miss Fairweather makes me sound like a schoolmistress.’

  ‘And you must call me Bea.’

  Kirsty sipped her tea. So far, the meeting was going well. The similarities between Aunt Bea and Martha’s family backgrounds had been fortunate, but Kirsty wasn’t so sure her aunt would approve of Martha’s suffragette activities.

  ‘You say your brother is interested in politics.’ Bea replaced her cup in its saucer.

  ‘Yes. He intends to stand as Glasgow’s parliamentary member in the next by-election. He stood in the Dundee one earlier this year but was unsuccessful when Churchill was elected.’

  ‘He is not a member of the Liberal party, then.’

  ‘I am afraid he is not.’ Martha smiled. ‘He is a member of the ILP.’

  Bea looked slightly taken aback.

  ‘The Labour party do not have much of a foothold in government.’

  ‘I think that may change.’

  ‘You have political views?’ Bea did not have to add how unusual that was for a woman; her surprise was obvious.

  ‘I am afraid I come from a progressive family. Discussion of politics over the breakfast table was common, and it didn’t matter whether you were male or female. Everyone had a right to their own view.’

  ‘How interesting,’ Bea said.

  Kirsty wondered whether her aunt meant ‘how strange,’ and she held her breath, wondering where the conversation was heading. After a few moments, Bea continued.

  ‘I had noticed Kirsty was taking an interest in politics. Her attendance at the recent Winston Churchill meeting annoyed her father. He is traditional. He doesn’t think women should be interested in such things.’ Aunt Bea sounded sympathetic. Kirsty let her breath out.

  ‘It is a sad fact that many men hold these views. That is why I support the cause of women having the vote. Why should we not have a say in things that affect us? Why should we always have to be dependent on the male members of our families?’

  ‘Your enthusiasm does you proud.’ Bea swirled the dregs of her tea around in her cup and studied the pattern of tea leaves in the bottom. It was obvious she was contemplating Martha’s outburst.

  Silence gathered in the room and Martha glanced at Kirsty with an apologetic look on her face.

  At last, Bea responded.

  ‘I have not depended on a man for a long time, and I must admit I enjoy making my own decisions. However, I am not sure I am in accord with the notion that women should have a vote. I cannot see how that could make any difference in my life.’

  ‘Then you are fortunate,’ Martha said. ‘Many women do not have that level of independence.’

  ‘My father doesn’t allow me to have any opinions,’ Kirsty cut in. ‘And he’s never allowed me to make any decisions about my life.’ Kirsty found it hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  The atmosphere within the room changed from welcoming and conversational to chilly in a moment.

  ‘You must forgive Kirsty,’ Bea said to Martha. ‘There has been a disagreement within the family, but I am sure it will resolve itself.’ Bea fell silent again, and Kirsty knew by the look on her aunt’s face that she was deep in thought. She feared there were more questions to come.

  After several moments, Bea addressed Martha in a voice that was apologetic yet firm.

  ‘I trust you do not find my questions offensive, but you have to understand that I am responsible for Kirsty’s safety while she is in my care.’

  Martha took a sip of her tea and the blue of her eyes deepened as she studied Bea with gravity.

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ she replied.

  Bea hesitated for a moment.

  ‘You are a single lady, and from what I have seen and heard, you have a comfortable lifestyle. That makes me curious as to how you have the means to live independently in Dundee when you have no husband.’

  Kirsty detected reluctance in her aunt’s voice and realised it was difficult for her to ask such a personal question.

  A smile crinkled the edge of Martha’s eyes.

  ‘You have every right to be suspicious; it is not normal for a woman to live by herself with no visible means of support. But I assure you, I am completely respectable. I am in a similar position to yourself and have private means.’ There could have been a sting in her answer, but there was none.

  A flush rose to Bea’s cheeks. ‘My husband left me a wealthy woman.’

  ‘As did my grandfather. The family business at Speyside, a long-established whisky distillery, is profitable even though run by managers. My great-grandfather would have liked his son to run the business, but he was more interested in a legal career. At the time of my grandfather’s death, he was a High Court judge, and he left equal shares of the business and his estate to his children and grandchildren.’

  ‘Even the women in the family?’

  ‘Yes, even the women. As I said, my family has a progressive outlook.’

  ‘That is unusual, indeed.’ Bea’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  ‘I can see you still have concerns about Kirsty’s welfare and the company she is keeping, and I would like to set your mind at rest. The ladies in the Women’s Freedom League take turns to host an at-home meeting and this week it is my turn. You are welcome to come along this Sunday afternoon. I am sure you will find no harridans or ogres in our midst, and we are perfectly normal people.’

  Bea nodded her acceptance. ‘That is most kind of you.’

  Martha folded her napkin, placed it on the table and rose from her chair.

  ‘This has been lovely, but I must take my leave. I have taken up too much of your time. Thank you for the refreshments.’

  ‘It has been my pleasure,’ Bea said. ‘Kirsty will ring for Ruthie to show you out.’

  ‘No need,’ Kirsty said. ‘I’ll accompany Martha to the door.’

  Downstairs, at the door leading to the street, Martha leaned towards Kirsty.

  ‘I suspect your aunt may have thought I was a woman of ill-repute. I hope I have set her mind at rest.’

  Kirsty wasn’t sure what a woman of ill repute was but didn’t want to display her ignorance by asking. Instead, she nodded, smiling her farewell to Martha. On her return to the drawing-room, Bea beckoned to her.

  ‘Come sit beside me. I am assuming Martha is a suffragette,’ Bea said.

  ‘Yes.’ Kirsty’s voice was barely audible.

  ‘And what about you, Kirsty? Has she indoctrinated you with her ideas?’

  ‘I needed no indoctrination.’ Kirsty stiffened. ‘I met Martha at a political meeting when Mr Churchill was in Dundee, and it was a revelation that women could do things I had wanted to do for such a long time.’

  Bea sighed. ‘Then you are a suffragette.’

  ‘Yes. Will you tell father?’

  ‘I don’t know, Kirsty. For what it is worth, I did like Miss Fairweather and I admire her for standing up for what she believes in.’ Bea paused. ‘But that doesn’t mean I approve of your decision to become a suffragette. And, I can tell you now, your father will never sanction it.’

  * * *

  Before finishing her daily work at six o’clock, Aggie had prepared a beef stew, which she left in the oven for Martha and Ethel’s evening meal. The food Aggie cooked never differentiated between the seasons, and she did not approve of the reduction in Martha’s appetite during the present heatwave.

  ‘You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,’ she retorted if Martha tried to suggest something different.

  The heat didn’t affect Ethel, who ate everything placed in front of her. Martha supposed that might be due to the restricted diet of the working class. Ethel had once admitted that meat was a rarity for her at home, though she hadn’t elaborated any further.

  Seven o’clock chimed on the steeple clock as Martha pushed her plate aside. The modicum of guilt she felt by not eating everything didn’t last long, and she ignored Ethel’s raised eyebrows.
r />   Ethel gathered up the plates and carried them to the sink.

  ‘I’ll take care of these,’ she said. ‘You finish drinking your tea.’

  Unlike most ladies of quality, Martha did not object to dining in the kitchen and tending to the tidying up after Aggie, her daily maid, left for the day, but Ethel had assumed most of these tasks after she came to stay.

  One thing Martha loved was tea with the merest drop of milk and plenty of sugar, so she didn’t argue. As she sipped the hot drink, she watched Ethel lift the copper kettle from the hob and pour boiling water into a basin which nestled in the sink. The girl was a treasure. Helpful and intelligent, despite her mill-worker background. Martha knew many workers were illiterate, but Ethel had applied herself to the part-time schooling she had received in the same way she was applying herself to learning how to manage the WFL shop.

  Several knocks on the door resounded up the stairs and into the kitchen. Ethel withdrew her hands from the soapy water, but Martha placed her cup on the table and stood.

  ‘That will be Paul,’ she said. ‘You finish up here and then join us in the drawing-room.’

  Martha ushered Paul upstairs and, a few minutes later, Ethel joined them.

  ‘Did you manage to speak to Amelia’s boyfriend?’

  ‘I didn’t get there in time. Inspector Hammond has arrested him.’

  ‘Amelia’s parents were convinced he could never harm her.’ Martha frowned. ‘Besides, there were other murders. What reason would he have to kill Victoria or Gladys?’

  ‘The police must have their reasons.’ Paul shrugged. ‘I talked to his mother and some clerks he worked alongside at Cox’s Mill. They all say the same thing – he’s a pleasant, mild-mannered young man. He’s never shown anger or aggression, even when provoked.’

  Ethel remained silent until after Paul left.

  ‘Seems to me the police have found a likely scapegoat. Anyone who lives in the Little Tipperary tenements and works in a mill is fair game for our bobbies.’

  ‘I think you may have a point,’ Martha agreed, ‘but what can we do?’

  ‘Wait until the killer strikes again.’ Ethel drew her brows together. ‘I feel so helpless, but I know one thing . . . If he starts on me, he’ll get more than he’s bargained for.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Wednesday, 1st July 1908

  ‘Please be careful,’ Bea warned as Kirsty left the house the following morning.

  Kirsty wasn’t usually demonstrative, but she kissed her aunt on the forehead.

  ‘I will, I promise, though I doubt there’s much risk at this time of day. And Martha and Ethel always escort me home.’

  The sun dazzled her as she stepped outside and she pulled the brim of her hat forward to shade her face before joining the throng of shoppers heading for the High Street and the Overgate. The WFL shop was still closed, and she stood in the doorway until Martha appeared, brandishing the key.

  ‘Lila not here yet?’ She pushed the door open and ushered Kirsty inside. ‘How was your aunt after I left yesterday? Does she approve of me?’

  ‘She approves of you but not the suffrage cause.’ Kirsty shrugged. She couldn’t fathom her aunt’s thoughts; part of her wondered if Aunt Bea was as disapproving of suffragettes as she claimed.

  ‘As long as she doesn’t forbid you to come here. It can create difficulties when there is a conflict of interest.’

  Ethel barged through the door.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, I had to redo my hair. I was trying to shape it into a French roll, but it wouldn’t behave and I ended up tying it back.’

  ‘A French roll?’ Kirsty was unfamiliar with modern hairstyles. Her mother wore her hair in a bun, while Kirsty’s own hair flowed in waves to her shoulders.

  ‘Yes, you comb it, secure it with hairpins, then roll it between your fingers so it sits above your shoulders like a sausage, which you have to pin into place. Christabel Pankhurst wears her hair that way.’ Ethel laughed. ‘It’s not as easy as it looks. I gave up.’

  ‘Hand me some pamphlets, Ethel. I will try distributing them in the Overgate today instead of standing in front of the Pillars. There was a council meeting yesterday, and I got glares from the town councillors going inside. I’ll be back here for one o’clock, in time to go to the house and we can catch up on everything. See if you can find large sheets of paper somewhere – I’m sure we have some for making posters.’

  ‘Won’t that leave the shop with no one to tend to it?’ Ethel handed her a pile of leaflets.

  ‘We close at one every Wednesday. You won’t find any shop open this afternoon – it’s Dundee’s half-day.’

  ‘We didn’t get half-days in the mill during the week,’ Ethel said after Martha left. ‘How was I supposed to know?’

  * * *

  It was mid-afternoon by the time Martha spread three large sheets of paper on the dining-room table.

  ‘I don’t know about you two,’ she said, ‘but I am worried we are getting nowhere in trying to find this killer. The police are no better, though they have arrested Amelia’s boyfriend.’

  ‘Do you think he killed her?’ Ethel’s voice held a note of doubt.

  ‘It is possible, I suppose. But why kill the other two? That is what I can’t understand. Anyway, I thought we could make notes and see if we find any crossovers. One sheet for each victim.’

  Eight chairs were arranged around the table. Martha pulled one out, picked up a pencil, and sat. Kirsty leaned on another chair, at her right, while Ethel hovered on her left. Martha selected a sheet of paper and, after nibbling the end of the pencil, she started to write.

  Victoria Allan, she wrote on the first sheet. Body found on Sunday, 29th June, but thought to have been murdered on Saturday, 23rd June. Relatives, Elizabeth Inglis, sister. Davie Inglis, brother-in-law.

  Both girls leaned forward to watch.

  ‘That doesn’t leave us much.’ Martha gestured at the paper. ‘I suppose we could put Davie down as a potential suspect.’

  ‘Are we only looking at men as suspects?’ Kirsty asked.

  Martha looked up.

  ‘I had only been thinking about men. But you are right, it could have been a woman. Anti-suffragist women can be more vicious than men.’ Under suspects, she added Elizabeth’s name.

  ‘That only gives us two suspects for Victoria.’ She tapped the pencil against her teeth. ‘Unless she had an admirer we don’t know about.’ She added a question mark under Suspects.

  ‘What about motive?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Davie didn’t approve of her suffragette activities, and although Elizabeth was noncommittal, she has expressed no interest in the cause.’ Martha added this under Motive.

  ‘Now for Gladys.’

  Martha wrote Gladys Burnett on the second sheet of paper. Body found on Friday, 26th June; murdered the evening before. Strangled with her sash. Relatives, none known apart from her estranged husband, David Burnett. Husband thought to be working in India, therefore, opportunity not present.

  On the third sheet of paper, she wrote Amelia Craig. Body found on Monday, 30th June; murdered the previous evening. Relatives, Callum Craig, father. Ina Craig, mother. Potential suspects. Father, he disapproved of Amelia’s suffragette activities. Billy Murphy, boyfriend, currently under arrest. Motives similar, disapproval of suffragette activities.

  ‘We don’t have much information,’ Kirsty said. ‘Do you think the police have more than we do?’

  ‘The bobbies aren’t going to tell us anything.’ Ethel glared at the sheets of paper. ‘Look at the way they treat us when we have something to report. Face it, they see us as a nuisance. All they’re interested in is pinning it on some poor sap like Billy Murphy so they can say they’ve found the killer.’

  ‘I am in no doubt you are right, Ethel.’ Martha drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Perhaps Billy is the person responsible, but if he’s not, then we still have a killer roaming the streets of Dundee.’

  Kirsty had been studyi
ng the details on each sheet of paper while they spoke.

  ‘I can’t see a connection between the victims apart from being members of the WFL. There doesn’t seem to be any other crossover, although there’s someone else linked to every murder.’

  ‘Is there?’ Martha’s interest was piqued.

  ‘Yes. Paul, the reporter. He’s been present when each of the bodies was found. He was with us at the Howff and knew which path to take to find Victoria’s body. He found Gladys’s body when he went to interview her – at least, that’s the reason he gave. And he was with you, Martha, when Amelia’s body was discovered.’

  ‘Surely, that must be a coincidence. A reporter is always on the hunt for news stories.’

  ‘I am not sure I believe in coincidences,’ Kirsty said. ‘And you’ve missed out a possible motive for Amelia.’

  ‘Have I?’ Martha scrutinised her notes.

  ‘We considered, at the time, that Amelia’s murder might have been connected to her having seen Victoria entering the Howff to meet her killer.’ Kirsty directed an apologetic look towards Martha. ‘And Paul was present when she told us that.’

  Martha opened her mouth and closed it again. Kirsty was right. Paul had been there when Amelia made her statement.

  She wrote Paul’s name on all three sheets of paper and included the additional motive on Amelia’s one.

  ‘We are making suppositions but, to be on the safe side, I suggest we make sure we are never on our own in Paul’s company from now on.’ A shiver ran through her as she thought of the number of times she had already been alone with him.

  * * *

  The next three days passed with no further information coming to light, and Martha became restless. She read her notes over and over again but could add nothing to them. In the house, she prowled from room to room and when she went out, she darted in and out of the WFL shop, stopping only long enough to arm herself with leaflets to hand out.

  Neither of the policemen returned during this time, which made her think they were certain they’d found the killer. Paul was conspicuous by his absence, for which she was grateful, because she wasn’t sure whether she should regard him as a suspect. She was convinced her reactions in his presence would betray her suspicions.