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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.