Fiona put the car into first gear and eased off, her mouth open. She looked at the registration number in her mirror. Yes, it was definitely Pete’s car, she could even see the Superman air freshener Jamie had insisted he buy, dangling in the windscreen. How the hell could it be stolen?

She opened a can of Diet Coke, took a slug then tried to arrange it all in chronological order in her head. It was the end of May now. He’d sold his old banger during Jamie’s Easter break and had bought that car the following week. He’d said he got it for a bargain after some mate recommended a local garage. So, he had had the car for a month. It couldn’t be stolen, it would’ve been noticed before. Though when she began to think about it, she realised he had been nowhere in the car other than round the village or north towards Glenshee for a day’s walking in the hills.

As she headed into Alyth, she remembered that she needed cash. She stopped outside the RBS in the town square and parked the car. She pushed her debit card into the machine and tapped in her pin number.

She hit the button to select fifty pounds and an error message popped up: Insufficient funds. Strange, she thought, and tried again. The same thing happened. Feeling slightly panicked, Fiona clicked through to check her balance.

Nothing.

He had taken all their savings.

CHAPTER 5

Chapter 5

Sunday 28 December 1879

10 p.m.

Donald Baxter helped Ann out of her wet cape and ushered her into the morning room on the ground floor. He stoked up the fire then went to the door. ‘Jeannie,’ he shouted, ‘come and give us a hand.’

The noise of heavy footsteps drew nearer and Mrs Baxter entered the room. ‘Mrs Craig, you look like a drowned rat. Warm up by the fire and I’ll fetch a hot toddy.’

‘Are the children all right, Mrs Baxter?’ asked Ann from the depths of the chair.

Mrs Baxter nodded. ‘Aye, fine.’

Ann sat up and stretched out her hands towards the flames. ‘Baxter, I’ve been thinking. I need you to go to the harbour, they must surely put out boats to rescue the passengers.’

Mrs Baxter lifted off her husband’s coat with two hands. The wool was a dead weight, sodden with rain.

‘Fetch your other coat, Donald!’ she said, placing another log on the fire.

‘Aye, I’ll do that, Mrs Craig, but I don’t see how even a big ship could make it out there in this wind.’ He turned to his wife, who was raking the fire. ‘I’ll be back as fast as I can.’

‘Are the children asleep, Mrs Baxter?’

‘Like I said, the bairns are fine,’ she said, poking at the logs. ‘Took a wee bit o’ time to get them over but they’re sleeping away now.’