| |
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.