Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘There’s one in Dock Street. He’s not a craftsman. Doesn’t make furniture or the like, but boarding up a window should be no problem for him.’

  ‘I want you to go to him with instructions to come to do the work at once. After that, you’ll be about due to finish, so don’t worry about returning. Thanks, Aggie.’

  After the maid had left, Martha snipped a small piece from the end of the bandage. She wet it and dabbed at the cut on the palm of Buchan’s hand.

  ‘Aggie’s a godsend, but she can be somewhat curious. I thought it best to dismiss her for the day.’

  Buchan flinched as she dabbed the wet gauze on his skin.

  ‘Hold still.’

  Martha unrolled the bandage. She took her time; she wanted to find out what the police were up to and the constable might be less guarded while his wound was being dressed.

  ‘Amelia’s mother came to see me,’ she said gently. ‘She says Billy Murphy is still locked up.’ She lifted his hand and laid the end of the bandage on his palm.

  ‘Yes. He’s being held for three of the killings.’

  ‘But surely Billy can’t be responsible if he was locked up at the time of the last murder?’ She wound the bandage around his hand, pulling it tight to make him concentrate on the pain and not what she was asking.

  ‘Inspector Hammond thinks the last murder was unconnected.’ Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

  Martha’s brow puckered in a frown. She’d seen Constance with her sash wound around her neck, just as Amelia’s had been.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Constance was strangled, just like the others.’ She finished wrapping the bandage and held it in place with her finger.

  ‘Strangulation was the cause of death for the other victims, but not the last one. It was different.’

  ‘In what way?’ She picked up a safety-pin and attached it to the end of the bandage.

  ‘The last victim was stabbed in the back. The sash was placed around her neck after her death. The inspector thinks the killer copied the other murders.’

  ‘But surely, if she’d been stabbed, there should have been more blood in the cab?’

  ‘I suppose that’s because the weapon was a slim blade. We nearly missed the wound, it was so small.’

  ‘I see.’ Martha frowned as she digested the information.

  ‘If that is the case, who killed Constance?’

  ‘The main suspect is the cabby, but we haven’t found him yet.’

  ‘All done.’ Martha patted his bandaged hand. ‘Now you can come and pay your respects to Ethel before you return to the station.’

  As she led him to the drawing-room, she pondered the information he had provided. It made little sense for the cabby to kill Constance, and it made less sense for him to have copied the other murders. It could only be someone with inside knowledge. Someone who would have known how the other women were killed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Wednesday, 15th July 1908

  Memories of Constance plagued Martha the entire night. As she tossed and turned, unable to find the solace of sleep, visions of her friend played out behind her closed eyes. Constance chained to the railings at the prime minister’s abode in Downing Street, waving her banner as she marched in the London rallies, battling with the police in front of parliament. She’d survived arrest, prison, and even forced feeding. And now, to be struck down by a murderer in Dundee, where she should have been safe. A place where suffragettes didn’t experience the violence that they did in London . . . it was beyond belief. How could this happen to someone as strong and indomitable as Constance?

  The steeple bells tolled eight times. She counted each chime, just as she’d done every hour through the night. Unable to sleep or rest and with no appetite for food, she forced herself out of bed to join Ethel at the breakfast table.

  She caught Ethel looking at her with concern as she pushed her plate aside, untouched.

  ‘You aren’t eating this morning.’ The girl’s voice held a faint tinge of admonition.

  ‘I’m not hungry. A cup of tea will suffice.’

  ‘You usually have a good appetite. Are you unwell?’

  Martha smiled. Ethel was more direct than most. She didn’t believe in masking her words with flowery comments.

  ‘I am well, Ethel, but it’s kind of you to ask. I had a restless night, thinking of tomorrow’s funeral.’

  ‘You should rest. I’ll see to the shop.’

  ‘I don’t think Lila intends to come in today.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve a good grasp of everything now, and Kirsty can help.’

  ‘Well, if you are sure.’ Martha’s brows gathered in a frown.

  ‘Don’t be daft. Of course, I’m sure.’

  The house was quiet once Ethel left, though a faint clatter of pots and plates in the kitchen indicated Aggie getting on with her chores. Martha paced, unable to settle. Since Constance’s death, she had tried to stay busy. She’d spent most mornings tramping Dundee’s streets, handing out pamphlets, trying to blank out the sequence of events leading up to her friend’s murder.

  But nothing helped. Thoughts rumbled around her mind. The police were no nearer finding the killer than they had been at the start of their investigation, and she didn’t believe that either Billy Murphy or the cabby was responsible. Ethel had claimed, at the beginning, that the police wouldn’t put any effort into looking for the killer; but she, along with Ethel and Kirsty, had done no better. They were no nearer than the police to finding out who had committed the murders.

  Frustrated, she stalked through to the dining-room, where the sheets of paper with the victims’ details still lay, spread out on the table. She pulled out a chair and sat, studying each sheet. There were three, one each for Victoria, Gladys and Amelia, but nothing for Constance. Selecting a blank sheet of paper, she started to write. Maybe if she completed one for Constance, the connections might become clearer.

  Tears trickled down her face as she wrote, and she brushed them away. Once she’d written the final word, she placed the sheets side-by-side and compared them. Two names stood out as being the only ones connected with all four women. Paul Anderson, the Courier reporter, who had summoned the cab for Constance on the evening of her death and who had been present when the first three bodies were found. The only other person with a connection was Archie, Constance’s husband. He had been involved with the suffrage cause from the first day of his arrival in Dundee, with his wife.

  If it was either of the two, the most likely one would be Paul. He was an unknown quantity. A stranger to Dundee. But was that enough to make him a killer? Kirsty certainly thought he had a motive for Amelia’s murder because he’d overheard the girl telling them she had seen Victoria entering the Howff the day she went missing. But thinking back, Archie had been present, too.

  She shook her head. It couldn’t be Archie. She’d known him too long, and he was devoted to Constance. That just left Paul. But she found it hard to believe. Perhaps she was trying to find a solution where there was none, and in the process, she was doing both men an injustice.

  There was no point in presenting the police with her ideas only for them to brush her aside – yet again – as a silly woman; an annoying suffragette. That didn’t mean she should do nothing. It wouldn’t hurt to check things out. She could talk to Archie this morning, and once Ethel finished in the shop, they could tackle Paul together.

  Decision made, she donned a cotton jacket and placed a hat on top of her curls, then left the house. Before she could change her mind, she crossed the road to where the hansom cabs waited in the rank in front of the church. After a moment’s hesitation, the memory of Constance surfacing in her mind, she mounted the step and slid inside. If she was wrong about Archie, it would be safer if a cab was waiting for her departure.

  * * *

  Archie appeared pleased to see her.

  ‘This is a surprise, Martha.’ He smiled, leaning heavily on his stick as he led her
into the drawing-room. ‘As you can see, I’m still somewhat disabled.’

  ‘I have a cab waiting so I can’t stay too long. But I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t visit to find out how you are coping.’ Martha sat in an armchair, spreading out her skirts. This was going to be more delicate than she had expected, and she wasn’t sure how to broach it all.

  ‘It has been difficult.’ Archie’s response broke through Martha’s thoughts. He sat in the chair opposite her. ‘I miss Constance.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief. The movement caused his walking stick to fall to the floor.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ Martha said, jumping from her seat. As she bent to reach it, a memory flashed through her mind of Kirsty saying her father had one similar, and that his was a sword-stick. Curiosity made her twist the eagle-shaped handle; it moved, exposing the slim blade.

  ‘I thought you said this wasn’t a sword-stick.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ Archie grabbed it from her.

  ‘A thin blade killed Constance,’ Martha whispered, a chill running through her. ‘Oh, Archie. Tell me it wasn’t you?’

  He stood, towering over her. His disability shrugged off like a discarded coat. She glared at him. She mustn’t display any fear; inside, she was quaking.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I can’t allow you to leave. You must see that.’

  ‘How can you stop me? People know I am here, and the cabby is waiting to take me home. If I don’t reappear, he will be able to testify this was the last place I was seen.’

  ‘That can be taken care of easily enough.’ Archie laughed mirthlessly. ‘And don’t bother screaming. No one will hear you.’ He grabbed her arms, twisted them up her back and forced her to walk to the door.

  She stumbled as he pushed her in front of him along a passage, through another door and down a flight of stairs, before forcing her to sit in a wooden chair. The wine cellar was dark and full of shadows. What a fool she had been to come here. Was this where it was to end?

  * * *

  The boarded-up window made the WFL shop darker than usual. Ethel was sweeping up glass fragments when Kirsty arrived.

  ‘Can I help with anything?’ Kirsty removed her hat and placed it on the counter.

  ‘It’s all done.’ Ethel swept the glass into a shovel and emptied the contents into a bin before carrying the brush, shovel and bin through to the back room.

  ‘Martha’s taking a day off,’ she said, ‘and Lila won’t be in. Constance’s death has rocked them both.’

  ‘How are you after the rumpus yesterday?’ Kirsty joined Ethel behind the counter.

  ‘I’m used to my da. I was more worried about you and Martha.’

  ‘What happens when the police let him go?’ Kirsty couldn’t imagine herself in a similar situation to Ethel.

  ‘Martha’s worried about that, too. She’s convinced me I need to leave Dundee.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘I don’t want to. But if I stay, he’ll wind up killing me.’

  Kirsty couldn’t imagine a father wanting to kill his daughter, but having seen Hughie’s violence the day before, she knew Ethel’s fear was genuine.

  ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Ethel said.

  Both girls were quiet for the rest of the day. Although she tried to convince Ethel she was doing the best thing by leaving Dundee, Kirsty walked home with sadness in her heart.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  ‘I’m sorry, Martha, really I am. I never wanted to harm you, but you’re the final link in my plan. I have no choice.’

  The rope binding Martha’s wrists to the arms of the chair bit into her skin. ‘Does that mean you will kill me, like the others?’

  ‘That’s a very bald way to put it. But, I suppose, you’re right.’ Archie sighed.

  Martha stared at him. The mild-mannered man she’d known for such a long time had vanished and he appeared menacing and cruel. His personality change was inexplicable. Questions buzzed around her mind. Why would he do this? Why the other suffragettes? She had thought him sympathetic to the suffrage cause; but she’d been deluded, she saw now. She needed answers.

  ‘Tell me, Archie – did you ever support our cause? I always assumed you were one of our more enthusiastic supporters.’

  ‘It was never to do with the cause,’ he said, looking at her straight-on. ‘I believe in what you do.’

  ‘Then why? Why kill suffragettes? And why so many?’

  ‘It had to be suffragettes – don’t you see?’ Sadness flickered over Archie’s face. ‘And if the police and the press had recognised that earlier, I could have achieved my aim sooner. And then –’ he sighed again ‘– some of them might still be with us.’

  ‘Your aim, Archie?’

  ‘Get rid of Constance, of course.’

  Martha drew in her breath. It was so obvious now. Why hadn’t she seen it?

  ‘Money? This was for money, was it? So many lives, just so you could inherit Constance’s fortune.’

  ‘It was the only way. And now, it’s your turn. And I’m so sorry, Martha, really, because I like you.’

  ‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’

  ‘Oh, but I do. I need one final suffragette to complete my plan and deflect attention.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be me.’ Martha stared up at him, willing him to meet her eyes. ‘We like each other . . . we could be good together.’

  ‘Yes, we could have been good together, and you would have made an excellent lady of the house. But now? You know too much. I really am sorry.’

  ‘That can still happen,’ Martha urged. ‘I would keep quiet. Nobody needs to know.’

  ‘No. I couldn’t trust you.’ A sigh shuddered through him. ‘Besides, I need one more to complete things.’

  Martha slumped back in the chair. It was hopeless. Her time had come, and there was nothing she could do to stop it happening.

  * * *

  Archie climbed the stairs from the wine cellar with Martha’s jacket and skirt over his arm. He needed to cover his tracks. His departure from Dundee after the funeral tomorrow mustn’t give rise to suspicion.

  Gloria was waiting at the top.

  ‘What do we do now, Archie?’

  He put his arm around her waist and led her to the study, where Martha’s hat lay on a chair.

  ‘Put these on,’ he said, handing her the garments. ‘You’re the same build as Martha, and you can pull the hat forward to hide your face.’

  Gloria did as he instructed her.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Take the cab back to Martha’s house. Then, if anyone comes looking for her, we can say she returned home.’

  ‘What if the cabby notices I’m not Martha?’

  ‘Cabbies never pay that much attention to their fares. Make sure your face is hidden by the hat and don’t look up at him. He won’t notice the difference.’

  Archie spotted the indecision within Gloria but disguised his twinge of annoyance by pulling her towards him.

  ‘It will work. You just have to be confident.’

  Gloria nodded but remained looking troubled.

  ‘After you leave the cab outside Martha’s house, wait until he moves on and then walk through the Overgate with the other shoppers before you return here.’

  Archie hugged her before escorting her out of the house. He assisted her into the hansom waiting at the kerb and approached the cabby to hand him the fare.

  ‘Take Miss Fairweather home,’ he said, before waving to Gloria inside. ‘Until we meet again, Martha,’ he called. He waited until the cab turned the corner into the Perth Road. His plan had worked perfectly; the cabby hadn’t questioned a thing.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Thursday, 16th July 1908

  ‘Beg pardon, Miss Kirsty, but there’s someone come to see you. Says her name’s Ethel.’

  Kirsty laid her buttered toast on a plate and rose.

  ‘I won’t
be long, Aunt Bea.’

  Ethel was pacing back and forth in the hall. Her face lit up when she saw Kirsty.

  ‘Has something happened? Is it your father?’

  Ethel shook her head.

  ‘Martha’s missing,’ she blurted out. ‘She wasn’t at home last night when I finished work and when I got up, she wasn’t there. Her bed hasn’t been slept in. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Have you told the police?’

  ‘Police? What good will they do?’ Ethel grasped Kirsty’s hands. ‘We have to figure out where she went, and you think better than me.’

  After making her excuses to Bea, Kirsty joined Ethel and hurried to Martha’s house.

  ‘She’s been going over the evidence sheets we made,’ Ethel said. ‘Look, she’s made another one for Constance.’

  Kirsty picked up the sheets of paper.

  ‘It looks as if she’s been trying to figure out who the killer is. She’s scored off all the names apart from two – Paul and Archie.’

  ‘She wouldn’t confront Paul on her own,’ Ethel said, ‘but she trusts Archie, which means she’s probably gone to see him.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time a husband killed his wife,’ Kirsty said, frowning. ‘And, if I recall, he was at our table when Amelia told us she’d seen Victoria going into the Howff.’

  Ethel gasped.

  ‘Does that mean Archie could be our killer and Martha’s in danger?’

  ‘We won’t know if we do nothing, and Archie will be at the funeral today. If it’s nothing to do with him, then no harm will be done. But if Martha is in his house, we need to find her.’

  * * *

  ‘Wait for us,’ Ethel said as she climbed down from the hansom cab. ‘If anyone other than me or my friend instructs you to go, you must refuse.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ The cabby settled back on his perch and pulled the brim of his hat forward over his eyes.

  Kirsty had already opened the gate and climbed the steps, but she turned to wait for Ethel. They needed to present a joint front whenever the door opened.