Who was this from? She turned the page and read, With sincere regard, Alec Smith, Taybridge Station, Dundee. Why was he writing to her?

I had news last night which I believe may be of interest to you. My colleague Willie Robertson, the stationmaster at Leuchars Station, sent me news of an interesting incident on Sunday night past. When the Edinburgh train stopped there at 7 p.m., one first class passenger disembarked and stood waiting on the platform. When Robertson asked for whom he waited, he was told he had arranged for a coach to meet him.

The gentleman saw no coach and so got back on the train. Then, through the roaring wind, came the noise of the carriage. Robertson ran to open the first class compartment door, alerted the gentleman and proceeded to help him onto the platform with his luggage and to his coach.

He knows neither his name nor anything about his circumstances but he thought it might be of interest to any relative of any first class passengers awaiting news, for he was the last passenger to leave the train that night. With sincere…

Ann leant forward and pressed her forehead, now hot and clammy, against the cold windowpane. Had that been Robert? Did he get off the train at Leuchars? But why would he do that; how was that possible? And surely Robert had no luggage with him apart from his leather portmanteau? Why he even took that over to Kirkmichael each Sunday was a mystery. When confronted, he insisted it contained papers and writing material as his aunt usually required him to write letters and other such matters pertaining to the estate. She often wondered if he tried to emulate Archibald, who held essential medical equipment in his bag. What need did a jute mill owner have of such a capacious bag unless to simply portray grandeur?

Ann stood up, lifting a hand to her now cool brow, and sat at the writing desk. She opened the inkwell and dipped in her pen. There were questions to be asked. She must try to meet this Mr Robertson. She would ask Smith; he would do anything for her. Quickly, she finished her letter and rang the bell.

‘Jessie, ask Mr Baxter to deliver this by hand to Mr Smith, the Dundee stationmaster. At once.’

The girl bounded away towards the stairs and Ann turned to the low table, lifting the stopper from the Madeira decanter to pour herself a glass. She brought it to her lips and then glanced round at the door, which the girl had left ajar in her rush. She tipped her head back and downed the drink in one draft, the tip of her tongue licking the last drop from the bottom. She sighed as she remembered how Robert would berate her every time she did that.

Out on the river, tiny waves were lapping against the shoreline. A light breeze was picking up.

CHAPTER 18

Chapter 18

2015