Sunday 4 January 1880
Ann stood at the door of the kitchen. ‘Will your husband be back soon?’
‘He left over an hour ago, Mrs Craig.’ Mrs Baxter looked round from the sink. ‘I would think he will be back soon.’
‘I shall wait.’
‘Are the children in the nursery?’
‘Yes, Miss Graham is about to take them to the Green to make a snowman. She is a daughter of the manse so if she says it is suitable for a Sunday, then so be it.’
Both women looked round as the back door opened.
‘Baxter, what news?’
Baxter shut the door behind him and walked towards Ann. ‘I did as you requested and asked Mr Smith to see the three bodies in the mortuary at the station. Two were women, one a man. He was indeed a gentleman but he was short and his hair white. I looked no more than I had to.’ He let out a sigh and shook his head. ‘That wasn’t Mr Craig, that’s for sure.’
Ann pursed her lips together and stood up tall. ‘Thank you for doing that, Baxter. There will be more bodies soon.’
‘Aye, they said they are going to use grappling irons to fetch any more up.’
‘It is simply too awful. But now there is an errand I must attend to this afternoon. Call me a carriage, will you, as soon as possible. And Mrs Baxter, ask Miss Graham to keep the children occupied until I return.’
‘Do you need to be accompanied? You’re not usually out on a Sunday afternoon.’
‘No, Baxter, I shall be fine alone.’ Ann saw Mrs Baxter raise an eyebrow at her husband as she turned and headed for the stairs.
* * *
‘Lochee? Where about?’ The driver stood at the carriage door, his cap in hand.
‘Just drive towards Lochee Road. I shall tell you when to stop.’
‘Are you sure it’s Lochee you want to go? Not a usual place for a lady.’
‘That is where I wish you to take me. Now drive on!’
Ann sat back and arranged her moss-green cloak. She wore a modest black felt hat; nothing fancy was required for this outing. Pulling back the curtain, she peered out through the frosted glass. They turned left onto Perth Road then right along the Hawkhill. Though a mere ten minutes’ drive from her splendid house, the tenement buildings here were some of the worst in the city. Those with two storeys still had rickety outside stairs leading to the top floor. The newer tenements were taller, with dark inner staircases and dingy passages that were filthy.
The carriage turned a corner and trundled along West Henderson Wynd. On the right was a jute mill, then another, and then Ann could see her husband’s mill. Built in creamy grey stone from the Angus quarries, there was a hint of red in it when the sun shone. The snow-capped roofs were peaked and the windows long and rectangular. She shivered as she passed it, thinking of the last time she had been up this road, only a couple of months ago, when that poor mill worker was killed. Robert had insisted she accompany him to inform the girl’s parents. When she protested, he had told her that his manager, Alfred Johnston, was off that day burying his mother and that he expected her, as his wife, to attend to her charitable duties.
The girl had been one of the many Irish workers in the mill and their home was even more of a hovel than those of the locals. On entering the room, Ann had noticed, apart from the odour of bodies, that there were at least eight people there. They all looked at Robert, standing incongruously in his frock coat and top hat at his side, as he explained that the girl, who was only fourteen, had become entangled in a carding machine and sustained such terrible injuries that she had died. He was socially ill at ease at the best of times but this had tested him and so Ann had tried to comfort the mother while he watched from the door.
What a terrible death the girl had suffered, but of course life for most of the workers was short. Living in overcrowded squalor, disease was still rife, even though the council had tried to improve the health of the community by introducing cleaner water. She recalled Archibald saying that the life expectancy of a Dundee worker was just twenty-four years. Ann shuddered as she thought of the dire poverty all around. Thank the Lord her own children would never know such deprivation. Of that she was sure.
‘Where are you wanting to go now?’ the driver shouted to her as he turned out of Smellies Lane onto Lochee Road.
‘Go up to the Market Cross and stop when you see someone on the street for me to ask.’
‘Whoah!’ he called and drew the horse to a halt.
She leant forward and saw a couple standing by the road, both dressed in black. The man whipped off his cloth cap when he saw the carriage stop.
‘Excuse me,’ Ann said, leaning out. ‘Can you tell me where Blind Mattie is today?’
They stared at her then the woman spoke. ‘Who’s wanting her? No trouble, is there?’
‘No, there’s no trouble, just someone who seeks her company for a moment.’
They looked at each other then the man said, ‘She’s not out on the streets the day, she’ll be at home. She bides in the next close from us. Round the corner at Logie Street then up to Paddy’s Brae. Ask there.’
Ann gave the driver instructions and, once the carriage had halted at the close, she alighted. ‘Wait here. I shall not be long.’ As she started to walk off, she saw two small boys, barefoot, running towards the horse. She heard the driver tell them to hold their hands out flat so they could help feed the horse.
She stood at the entrance to the close and removed her handkerchief from her pocket. The offensive stench all around was strong. She lifted her skirts a little so that they did not touch the rubbish at her feet. When she emerged at the other end of the close she looked up at the greenie, the wooden pole from which a multitude of washing lines was strung. Today being the Sabbath, the lines were bare. Ann took a deep breath, grabbed the rail of the outside stair and started to climb, the smell of pipe smoke strengthening with each step.