Monday 5 January 1880
Ann mopped her brow of sweat and took a deep breath. She picked up the bundle of jute from the batching and softening area and lugged it over to the carding machine. The stench of whale oil hit her nostrils and she tried to hold the bale away from her but it was hopeless. Again, she would have oily patches all over her dress. She dumped the bundle by the carding machine and looked over to Alf for her instructions.
‘Take this lot over to the drawing frames, Annie. Then go and see the spinning girls over yon. It’s time you learned more about winding the yarn onto the bobbins.’
She looked up at him, her blue eyes imploring.
‘And don’t give me that look, Annie. You’re thirteen, it’s time you were doing a proper job, not just helping your Ma. We’ve got to get Alyth mill producing as much as Dundee. Get a move on.’
She walked towards the spinning frames and looked up. Peering over the railings on the gallery was a young man, gazing down at her. She tilted her head up a little and smiled a coy smile. She knew he had been watching her and he had even spoken to her outside the mill the day before. She had tried to speak proper, like Ma told her. Keep in with Robert Craig, she had said. Even though he’s a peelie wallie sprauchle, he’s the boss’s son. Never know what might happen. And so Ann stood up tall and nodded in acknowledgement of his gaze.
‘Get on with your work, lass!’ came a cry from behind her. The stench of the oil began to stifle her; she thought she might fall down if she didn’t get some air. She ran to the door, ignoring the manager’s shouts. At the foot of the stairs, the boss’s son met her and extended his arms. She put up her hands to try to stop him embracing her because of the stench, but he pulled her into his arms and then the dust and stour of the mill was choking her, and then they were in the water together and the sea was suffocating her and…
Ann woke with a start and opened her eyes wide. What a horrid dream. She sat up and reached in the early morning light for her water, shaking her hair from side to side to get rid of all vestiges of the nightmare.
Did the dream mean her husband was still alive? If only she had had the dream before visiting Blind Mattie, she might have explained what it meant.
Ann remembered walking barefoot with her mother every day from Glenisla to the mill in Alyth and at the end of the village passing Mattie’s cottage, a wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney. Ann used to be scared when she saw her standing at the door, pipe in hand, facing them with her dead, blank eyes. Everyone in the village knew the story of how Mattie had started in the Alyth mill at twelve and soon became better than everyone else at stitching the jute bags. Then when she was only sixteen she became ill with a fever and, though she eventually recovered, it left her blind. The minister had said the doctors in Dundee might have done something to save her sight if she’d been taken there quickly. Her parents believed it was God’s will and so she stayed home to look after the family. Now everyone else was gone, she lived with her only relative, a young niece, in Dundee. Ann’s mother had told her to be kind to her, that although she could now see nothing in their world of hills and glens and streams, she had an inner sight.
Ann was thankful Mattie had not remembered more about her from the village. When Ann’s mother had died and Ann was only fifteen, she had been taken into the care of Robert’s aunt in Perth and groomed to become a lady. Aunt Ethel had doted on her only nephew and said she would help provide him with a perfect bride. When he told her that he was infatuated with one of the mill workers, she had been shocked. But she soon realised that nothing would change his mind.
Aunt Ethel taught Ann everything about being a lady. Ann twisted her wedding ring round and round her finger as she recalled their wedding. She was just eighteen. It was a splendid affair and she looked beautiful, everyone told her. So tall with such clear, pale skin. All Robert’s family and friends had marvelled at this flower who had been hidden away for three long years. Where had this divine young woman come from?
Only Robert knew the truth, as his father and aunt were both long dead. He had told her one night that had his mother been alive she would have sent him abroad to get over his foolishness: how could a jute mill owner’s son have become infatuated with one of the workers? Aunt Euphemia, his mother’s sister, was never told. Thankfully for Ann, those relatives who knew were gone; indeed, until eight days ago, her future had been secure. Even though she had never loved her husband, she had a big house with servants and had felt confident that her past would never be revealed. And she had her two wonderful children. She loved them so much; she would kill to protect them. The relationship she had with them, mother to child, unknown in her childhood, was something they would always remember.
Ann got out of bed and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. She tiptoed to the window and looked out towards the River Tay. To the east, a pearly light shone through a thick layer of murky grey clouds. Straight ahead was the silhouette of the bridge, at the far end of which was the dark, twisted structure, a reminder of how transient life could be. She stood by the chill of the window and resolved that, whatever had happened to her husband, she would not suffer; she would not put James and Lizzie through what she had gone through as a child, the deprivation and hardship. The three of them would survive. She was proud, but also pragmatic; perhaps she might need to call in some favours. She must ensure the money from the mill continued to come to her, whatever happened. She went back to bed and rang the bell for tea.
* * *
‘Mrs Craig, there is more news this morning,’ Mrs Baxter said, as she served her luncheon in the dining room.
Ann had just placed her fish knife at the head end of the sole, ready to fillet it with a deft hand. She loved doing this in front of her housekeeper – who evidently believed she had had such exquisite table manners all her life.
Ann placed her cutlery down and looked up, expectant.
‘First of all, you might ken this from the newspaper, but there is a court of inquiry beginning today.’
Ann nodded.
‘But the other thing is, you ken how Jessie’s pa has that wee job at the post office? Well, she says that they found a bag with bank notes. Completely intact, you’d never even ken they’d been in the water. How’s that possible?’
Ann shook her head. ‘Some things are too much to comprehend.’
‘So, they’re saying at the post office that yon mailbags they found on the shore might have letters that can still be sent out. Imagine that!’
Ann nodded. ‘Did you hear how many bodies have been recovered today?’
‘Donald is away the now. We heard another dozen or so. He’ll let us know later.’
Ann dabbed at her lips delicately with her napkin, lifted up her cutlery and began to fillet the fish on her plate. ‘That will be all.’
* * *
Ann looked into the cheval glass, tilting the mirror so she could see her face at its best angle in the dim late afternoon light. She leant forward and pouted, her full lips soft and pink. She fixed the tortoiseshell comb into her hair at the back then admired her dark grey taffeta gown, shot through with a silver thread. It was perfect for this evening. She had invited the Donaldsons for their New Year drink, and although they had remonstrated that it was unnecessary this year, she had insisted and persuaded them by saying that things must continue as usual, if only for the children’s sake. James and Lizzie had been in the kitchen all afternoon helping Mrs Baxter prepare special shortbread for the guests.
Ann turned a little and smiled as her skirt caught the light and the metallic threads sparkled. Her smile broadened as she thought of Margaret, who would no doubt be wearing her usual heavily brocaded gown in dark colours that did nothing for her pale skin.
A knock at the door.
‘Enter!’ she commanded, turning away from the mirror.
‘Might I have a wee word please, Mrs Craig?’ Baxter stood at the door, cap in hand. ‘As you know, I was down at the station this morning and went to the morgue, checking everything for you. It’s not a pleasant task, that’s for sure.’
Ann swallowed and looked at him, expectant.
‘There were ten men’s bodies there, none of them Mr Craig.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Yes, none of them was a gentleman.’
She nodded and touched Baxter’s arm. ‘Thank you, I appreciate you doing this for me.’
‘They’re moving the morgue to the main hospital tonight. Did you ken?’
‘No, I did not, but it makes sense.’
There was a crashing noise downstairs and they both ran out of the room and looked down from the balcony to see Miss Graham pulling the little hall table upright; she had evidently knocked it over as she flung open the front door. She is so clumsy, thought Ann. The governess looked up and picked up her vast carpetbag from the floor.
‘Mrs Craig, I have news. Such news!’
Ann and Baxter watched as Miss Graham bounded up the stairs. She dumped the bag on the floor and bent down to prise its shiny clasps open. She took out a package, tipped it up at one end then carefully pulled out a letter.
‘As you know I had many errands to do this afternoon, one of which was to visit the post office. While there, I heard talk of the mailbags that had been on the train last Sunday. Even though the bags were in the water for several days, they were tightly sealed, so some of the addresses were legible. I enquired if there was anything for Magdalen Yard Road and the postmaster returned with this package. It feels heavy, from having been in the water. He said it might still be damp inside so to dry it out fully, but the address is fully legible. Look, Mrs Craig, it’s for you.’
Ann took the letter and stared at it. It was Robert’s writing. She turned it over and looked at the sender’s name. She bit her lip; it was from her husband.