‘If it becomes necessary, yes.’
‘Would you come with me?’
‘I don’t think that would be possible, because my work with the league is here in Dundee. But we could stay in touch.’
‘Then I’m not going. I’ll take my chances here.’
Martha was unsure whether it was fear or defiance she detected in Ethel’s eyes, but she had no intention of arguing with the girl.
‘As you wish.’
‘Besides, if the police aren’t prepared to do their job, we’ll have to do it for them.’
‘You mean, we should look for the killer ourselves?’ Kirsty looked at Ethel with awe. ‘But wouldn’t that be dangerous?’
‘Not any more dangerous than sitting back and waiting for him to claim his next victim, which could be you or me.’
A smile tugged at the corner of Martha’s mouth.
‘That is perhaps a trifle extreme, Ethel, although I admire your keenness. But we are not the police. They might look on it as interference.’
‘I couldn’t care tuppence what they think.’ Ethel scowled.
‘Maybe we can tackle it in a different way. Make discreet enquiries and feed our findings to the police.’
‘I can’t see that inspector paying attention to anything we say.’
‘There is more than one way to skin a cat,’ Martha murmured. ‘That constable who accompanies him seems to have taken a shine to you, Ethel. Perhaps you could give him a little encouragement and we could impart our findings that way.’
Kirsty gasped, but Ethel nodded her head vigorously.
‘I can manage that.’ Ethel turned to Kirsty and patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry. I know how to handle men – I won’t come to any harm.’
‘In that case, I suggest we make some initial enquiries,’ Martha said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Tuesday, 30th June 1908
Kirsty tapped the top of her boiled egg and peeled the shell away. Her thoughts were on the events of yesterday. She’d never been involved with anything of this nature before and, though it sent shivers up her spine, it was strangely exciting. Murder! Up to the present, it had been a word with which she was unfamiliar but now, within the space of a few days, the bodies of three women had been found in circumstances that indicated they had been murdered.
On top of that, there was Ethel’s problem with her father. Kirsty couldn’t imagine a father inflicting violence on his daughter, but Ethel came from a background very different from her own.
‘You are up bright and early.’ Aunt Bea bustled into the room. ‘Have you something planned for today?’
‘I’m seeing my friends, Martha and Ethel. We thought we might partake of tea at a hotel.’
Kirsty concentrated on her egg rather than meet her aunt’s eyes. She didn’t think her aunt would approve of a meeting at the WFL headquarters, nor its purpose.
Aunt Bea pulled the bell-cord hanging at the side of the fireplace and crossed to sit at the table.
‘I’ll have scrambled egg and toast,’ she said when the maid entered the room, ‘and bring fresh tea.’
‘I haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced to your new friends. In her last letter, your mother was wondering how you were spending your time.’
‘She still doesn’t trust me.’ Kirsty’s voice shook with the effort of disguising her resentment.
‘It is natural for a mother to be concerned about her child.’
‘But I’m not a child any more. I’m eighteen. I’ll be nineteen in August.’
‘That might be so, but you are under the age of consent, so your parents have a responsibility for you.’
‘Would that be in the same way they have a responsibility for Ailsa?’ Kirsty couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice. ‘Did they mention Ailsa?’
‘I’m afraid not. Perhaps they think it better not to remind you.’
Kirsty stared at her aunt in dismay. Aunt Bea was usually understanding, but all of a sudden, she appeared to be siding with Kirsty’s parents. The sense of suffocation she thought she’d thrown off reappeared and Kirsty had trouble breathing. She rose from the table and crossed to the window to hide her distress. Would she ever escape the expectations of her family?
Outside, the town was coming to life. A carter struggled to calm his horse after a tram car clanked past. A convoy of hansom cabs making for the cab rank in the Nethergate bowled along the street in single file. Two young women, their faces obscured by hats, passed below the window. The feathers in their bonnets danced in the breeze as a man doffed his cap to them. Kirsty imagined them giggling as they continued on their way, and she envied their freedom.
Several deep breaths later, once her composure returned, Kirsty came back to the table. Her aunt raised her eyebrows, questioning silently.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, but I don’t want to be dependent on my parents for the rest of my life. As long as they treat me like a child, that will never change.’
Her aunt leaned over and patted her hand.
‘I understand, Kirsty, really I do. But it would be common courtesy if I met your friends.’
‘Of course. I’ll mention it to them. I’m sure I can arrange something.’
‘I am free this afternoon if you wish to invite them to take tea with me.’ It was more a command than a statement.
Kirsty left the breakfast-room, wondering how to manage this. She couldn’t imagine Martha indulging in polite chitchat without mentioning her belief in women’s rights or the necessity of women acquiring the vote. Neither could Kirsty suggest these topics didn’t arise. She had been accepted into the league and didn’t want to lose face by making any such request.
She adjusted her bonnet, anchored it to her hair with a hat pin, and left the house. It was time to meet Martha and Ethel and follow through with their plan.
* * *
Ethel stood at her bedroom window, scanning the street outside. Her da never ventured to the city centre, but he was a fearsome man when roused and there was no knowing how he might react when he couldn’t track her. By this time, he’d probably have taken his anger out on her ma. Guilt swept through her and she shivered. But she’d never been able to protect Ma from his fists, so it made no difference whether or not she was at home.
Tears formed in her eyes and she shook her head in despair. There was nothing she could do to change things in the past. She would have to learn to accept that and concentrate on her new life. A life where she had purpose and could fight for the cause of women, freedom from male subjection and a right to have a say in the laws of the land.
A door slammed downstairs, indicating the arrival of Martha’s maid. Ethel pushed her distressing thoughts into the recesses of her mind. It was later than she thought. She raised her hand to the roll of hair nestling on her neck, checking for any stray wisps before hurrying to join Martha.
‘Miss Fairweather is waiting for you in the drawing-room,’ Aggie said, passing her on the stairs.
‘Thank you.’ Ethel ran down the last few steps. She never knew how to respond to Aggie. Despite wanting to be friendly, there were no maids where Ethel came from and she wasn’t sure how to react when they met.
She was out of breath as she swung the drawing-room door open. The scene before her eyes wasn’t what she had expected: Martha sat by the window, studying a newspaper spread out on the occasional table in front of her. Early morning sun glinted through the windows, colouring her cheeks and making her blonde curls look more golden than usual. The reporter stood beside her, leaning over to point to something on the page. Even from where Ethel stood, she could see his admiration for her friend.
For a moment, Ethel experienced an unexpected pang of jealousy, which she quickly suppressed. She had no right to feel that way.
‘Come, Ethel.’ Martha held out a hand towards her. ‘Paul has brought today’s newspaper. It has an article about Amelia. It doesn’t mention she was a suffragette, but it does say she was found at ou
r headquarters.’
‘There was more detail in the piece I wrote,’ Paul said. ‘But my editor cut it.’
‘At least he included the story,’ Martha responded. ‘And if the deaths are being reported in the newspapers, then the police will have to take the matter seriously.’
Ethel raised her eyebrows but made no comment. Martha had more faith in the bobbies than she did.
‘I thought we were ready to leave?’ Ethel said, after studying the newspaper for a moment.
Martha reached for her hat on the chair next to her.
‘You’re right. It is time we left. Kirsty will be there before we arrive.’ She perched the hat on top of her curls and rose. ‘Paul will accompany us. He has offered to help.’
‘Is that necessary?’ Ethel’s voice sounded curter than she intended.
‘I’m a reporter,’ he said with a note of amusement. ‘I can often access information that others might find difficult.’
Ethel’s cheeks burned. He was right; he could be useful.
* * *
Kirsty’s mind churned as she thought about the events of yesterday. She tried to visualise Amelia, but her memory of her was fleeting. All she could remember was a young girl, not much older than herself, and her excited manner as she’d talked to Martha.
‘I don’t think they open until ten o’clock.’
Kirsty, jolted from her thoughts, nodded her thanks to the elderly woman. She watched her hurry across the street toward the Overgate.
She turned back to the entrance to the WFL headquarters and tried the doorknob again. If it was locked now, it must have been locked on Sunday night, when Amelia was killed. Questions rumbled around Kirsty’s mind. How could the body have been left here if the place was locked? According to Martha, there was no sign of forced entry when she and Paul arrived yesterday, though the shop door was hanging open. Did the killer have a key? Did Amelia have a key? Perhaps she knew her killer and let him in. Was it a tryst gone wrong?
So many questions and no answers. Kirsty paced while she tried to calm her mind. After a time, she stopped to peer through a gap between the posters in the window, but it was too dark inside to see anything.
Where were Martha and Ethel? They’d said they would be here at nine o’clock, and it was now well past that. Should she call at Martha’s house, or would that be an impertinence?
Despite the earliness of the morning, the street was busy. Women, shopping baskets clutched in their grasp and intent looks on their faces, were heading for the shops and markets. Some of them headed along Whitehall Street on their way to the Green Market, where the best vegetables were to be found. Others sped towards the Overgate and the shops that lined this narrow thoroughfare.
At last, she heard footsteps in the close at the side of the shop, but when Martha and Ethel emerged, they weren’t alone. A frown creased Kirsty’s brow as she took in the reporter’s form. What did he want?
‘I’m so sorry we are late,’ Martha apologised. ‘I have no excuse other than that Paul brought us the early edition of the Courier. There is a small piece about Amelia in it. Have you seen it?’
‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t,’ Kirsty said.
Martha produced a key from her handbag and, unlocking the shop door, she ushered them inside.
‘I was wondering,’ Kirsty said, ‘whether Amelia had a key?’
‘No,’ Martha said, her voice thoughtful. ‘Amelia was a member, but she wasn’t part of the organisational team.’
‘It’s just . . .’ Kirsty hesitated while she wondered if she was being too forward. ‘It’s just that . . . whoever killed her must have had a key.’
Silence descended on the group as the implications of Kirsty’s statement sank in.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Hammond scowled at the files on his desk, one for each of the victims. Why couldn’t the damned women stay at home where they should be, instead of roaming the streets and getting themselves killed? It was all that suffrage stuff, filling their heads with nonsense about votes for women. If he had his way, he’d stamp it out, just as the London police did. They didn’t stand for it down there. The least little thing and they hauled the suffragettes to court and locked them up in Holloway. Pity the Scottish police didn’t do the same, but their instructions were to maintain order and send them home with a flea in their ear if they were misbehaving. Mark my words, Hammond thought, it won’t be long before they get up to their militant tactics here and when that time comes, he vowed to himself, he would run them in the same as he would do with any criminal.
He opened the file on the first victim, Victoria Allan, although her body wasn’t found until after the murder of the second woman. The autopsy report made grim reading. Statements from her brother-in-law and sister were brief, and he wondered if he should have pressed them for more information. He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t given the investigation any priority. In the scheme of things, a dead suffragette was not as important as other investigations awaiting his attention.
Gladys Burnett’s file was just as sparse. Death by strangulation. He’d sent Constable Buchan to do a door-to-door enquiry, but that had produced nothing. No one had seen or heard anything. They hadn’t been able to trace her husband and, as far as he knew, Gladys had no other relatives, though he hadn’t wasted time trying to find any.
The third file, on Amelia Craig, was similar. If he transposed the information to either of the other two, they would read the same. He could no longer ignore the similarities between the deaths. There was a killer on the loose in the streets of Dundee.
He closed Amelia’s file and placed it on top of the other two, letting his hand rest on it for a moment while he thought of how little information he’d gained. He’d been too quick to disperse the witnesses yesterday so he could concentrate on the body and the crime scene. Not that either of those had told him very much. A return visit to the WFL shop was in order.
With a sigh, he levered himself out of his chair and stomped down the corridor to the constables’ room. The clamour of voices died to a murmur and cigarettes were hastily dropped to the floor to be stood on and extinguished. Smoke nipped his eyes, but he narrowed them to slits to peer through the haze until he spotted Buchan hunched over a desk at the back of the room.
‘Constable Buchan,’ he roared. ‘This way. We have work to do.’
The constable grabbed his helmet.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, adjusting the strap under his chin.
* * *
Martha pulled a file from the wooden cabinet in the corner.
‘I’m sure there will be information about Amelia in here.’ She riffled through the contents. ‘We always document our members’ details when they join.’
Ethel and Kirsty hovered behind her while Paul wandered around, examining posters and literature.
‘I don’t see anything, but I have found Gladys’s registration form.’ Martha laid a sheet of paper on the counter.
Paul turned around, but Ethel grabbed it before he picked it up.
‘This is private information.’ She glared at him.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
‘And here are Victoria’s details.’ Martha kept on sorting through the papers. ‘Amelia’s must be here, somewhere.’
The door swung open and Lila entered the room.
‘You are early today,’ she said, divesting herself of her jacket and hat.
‘I thought I might pay Amelia’s parents a visit, and I was looking for the address and any other details, but they seem to be missing.’ Martha closed the file and turned back to the cabinet. ‘I’m not even sure if anyone has informed them of Amelia’s death.’
‘I visited yesterday evening.’ Lila hung her hat from one of the elaborately carved hooks on the coat stand. ‘They were distraught. I came away thinking I hadn’t provided them with any solace.’
‘All the more reason for me to visit and extend my condolences.’
Lila rummaged in t
he recesses of a writing bureau. Finding what she was looking for, she handed it to Martha.
‘I was in too much of a hurry to replace this yesterday. File it away once you have what you need.’
Martha selected three notebooks from the top of the cabinet.
‘You don’t mind if we take these, do you? They’ll come in handy to write our notes if we find information that might be helpful to the investigation.’
‘You don’t need to ask,’ Lila said. ‘You know you are welcome to anything.’
Martha smiled her thanks and ran her finger over the embossed WFL logo on the cover of the notebook before opening it. The information on the forms was scant, but she copied everything, giving a separate page to each of the murdered suffragettes. Once she had finished, she handed a spare notebook to Ethel and the other to Kirsty.
‘Amelia worked as a dressmaker at Draffen and Jarvie,’ she said to Ethel. ‘Could you and Kirsty call there and find out what you can about her? Who her friends were, if she had any admirers, that kind of thing. Make sure to detail anything you find out in these notebooks. While you do that, I will visit her parents to offer my condolences.’
‘You will need pencils,’ Lila said, handing one each to Ethel and Kirsty. ‘Good luck!’
Martha drew Kirsty to one side.
‘I have an account there,’ she whispered, ‘so take the opportunity to buy some new clothes for Ethel. Perhaps a skirt and blouse and some undergarments. If necessary, explain to her it is normal practice to help our volunteers to present a professional appearance and it is not charity. Don’t listen to any objections.’
‘Leave it to me.’ Kirsty smiled.
After Ethel and Kirsty left, Martha turned to Lila.
‘Those two young women will be a credit to our organisation. We need to encourage them as much as we can.’
‘Had you anything in mind?’
‘Ethel has lost her job in the mill. It would be helpful if we could employ her officially. Use her as someone who can talk to working women. A little encouragement and she could be a good speaker for the cause.’
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