It was not as convenient for Swallow, but it suited Harriet. She enjoyed the freedom of having her own home after two years in the confined routine of teacher training college, with fixed mealtimes, early curfews and a strict ban on visitors outside appointed hours, and even then within the stifling formality of the parlour.

At the same time, she liked the sense of security that came from living with her policeman brother. Dublin was a safe city unless one went looking for trouble. But Dubliners had been made nervous, as had the citizens of every other city across the kingdom, with the terrifying reports of murders from London’s East End.

‘Four poor women, done to death in the most brutal way since August. It’s absolutely horrible. And the police in London don’t seem to be doing anything to stop it.’

Harriet had thrown the statement at Swallow across the breakfast table after the murders of Catherine Eddowes and Elizabeth Stride in Whitechapel in September.

He had waved a hand in what was intended to be reassurance.

‘London isn’t Dublin, Harriet. Heytesbury Street isn’t Whitechapel. And the dangers that face unfortunate women of their class aren’t going to trouble you. Scotland Yard will have these cases cleared up fairly quickly.’

She misinterpreted his hand-wave as dismissive.

‘Well they don’t seem to be making much progress so far,’ she retorted. ‘The London newspapers have a name for the killer, you know. “Jack the Ripper” they call him.’

‘The London newspapers are much like our own,’ he sighed. ‘When they have no information, they make it up.’

She poured more tea, filling both their cups.

‘It isn’t just in London.’ she snorted. ‘There are murders in other cities too. And it could happen in Dublin. This “Ripper” might even be Irish. There’s lots of Irish people, it seems, in the East End of London.’

‘Yes, there are.’ She caught a tone of exasperation in his voice. ‘And there are lots of Russians, Jews and Poles. God knows, there’s even a few English, I’m told. As for murders elsewhere, yes there are murders every week. There always are. But if some barmaid gets killed in Dundee it doesn’t mean this “Ripper” is going up and down the country attacking all and sundry.’

‘It’s easy for men to take that position,’ she said sharply, gathering the books she needed for the school day from the sideboard. ‘Men aren’t being murdered by some maniac. They don’t have to worry, do they?’