‘Madeira? Can I offer you a glass?’ Ann rose and rushed, with too much haste, to the table and began to pour. Her hand was shaking so she steadied it on the table before handing each man a glass. She sat down and took a sip from hers.

‘Murder, did you say? How awful. How might I be of any assistance, gentlemen?’ Be your most charming, Ann Craig, without being coquettish.

‘I don’t know if you recall but the first body to be found after the tragedy on the the twenty-eighth of December was a serving maid. One Janet Clark of Tayport.’

Ann’s breathing slowed down a little. ‘Yes, I believe I do recall.’

‘Her father has just made a dreadful allegation, Mrs Craig, and one that will come as a shock to you.’

Just then, Mrs Baxter shuffled in with a tray of tea and cake. ‘Ah, Mrs Baxter, you must be feeling better?’

‘Aye, that I am,’ she muttered as she placed the tray on the table. She looked round at the policemen and nodded then did a double take. ‘Is that you, wee Jimmy Hutchison?’

The younger policeman flushed bright red and stuttered, ‘Aye, it’s me, Auntie Jeannie. Did you not ken I’m now a policeman?’

‘Your mother and I have not spoken for five years so no, I did not. Look at you!’

‘Mrs Baxter, it is wonderful you have rediscovered your nephew after all these years, but these men are busy people and must go about their business.’ Ann nodded towards the door.

‘Aye, right. Bye then, Jimmy, grand to see you. Remember me to your big sisters.’

‘You were saying something about a servant girl?’ Ann was cursing the big village that was Dundee, where everyone either knew or was related to everyone else. How on earth could Mrs Baxter turn out to be the policeman’s aunt? How unfortunate.

‘Aye, well William Clark’s allegation is…’ The older man looked towards Ann. ‘I’ll read his statement aloud, if that’s all right, Mrs Craig, for I fear it will be more shocking in my own words.’ Ann stretched to pick up her fan.

‘Here is the statement of William Donald Clark of 5, The Cottages, Tayport, dated Monday the twelfth of January, 1880. “My daughter Janet Clark, a twenty-five-year-old servant at Kirkmichael House, Fife, began a relationship with the nephew of her mistress, Lady Cruickshank. After several weeks, Janet became with child to her Ladyship’s nephew, one Robert Craig of Dundee. On hearing the news of the child to be, Robert Craig, in a rage, hit my daughter, her head cracked open on the kitchen floor, then he threw her in the sea on Sunday the twenty-eighth of December, 1879. It was all seen by Janet’s sister Edith.”’

Ann sat, her breathing shallow. Good Lord, was that why they were here? She took her time to speak.