‘Hello? Fiona Craig here. Yes, yes, thanks for calling back, Cressida. Well, that would be great to meet up. I’ve got to be in Edinburgh next week. Great, looking forward to it.’

She got out her diary and flicked through the pages to the following week.

CHAPTER 19

Chapter 19

Saturday 3 January 1880

‘So is Miss Graham coming back today, Mamma?’

‘Yes, Lizzie, she is and about time too.’ Ann Craig looked up at the clock. ‘Although she ought to have been here half an hour ago, she’s seldom late.’ She continued untying the rags from her daughter’s hair.

‘Ow, Mamma, that hurt.’

‘Sorry, darling.’

‘Why do I have to have ringlets? Beatrice Donaldson does not have to have rags tied in every night. I asked her.’

‘That is because you were not blessed with curly hair as she is. But your nose is far prettier than hers. There, that is the last one. Look how lovely you look now with these curls, dear child.’ She kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

‘Do we have to have lessons today, Mamma, or will Miss Graham let us have a day off?’

‘James, you have had several days off during this holiday. I am sure that, when she eventually arrives, she will be keen to have you straight back into lessons.’

‘Even though we are still mourning?’

‘James, we are not yet officially in mourning. Mamma is wearing dark clothes as a mark of respect for those whose loved ones are no longer here. We don’t know what has happened to Pappa and, until we do, there will be no more discussion on the subject.’ Ann stood up and glanced in the mirror at her stern expression. She tilted her chin up to the light then smiled. At least she did not need to use rags to curl her naturally wavy hair; she was blessed. It was little wonder she was often gazed at. She so hoped her daughter would be a beauty like her.

She turned at a noise at the door.

‘Mrs Craig, there is a gentleman to see you. Mr Johnston, from the mill.’

Ann sighed. ‘What is that man doing here? Are the mill workers not back at work today?’

Mrs Baxter shrugged. ‘He says he wants to see you.’

‘Very well, show him into the morning room.’

Mrs Baxter turned to go downstairs when Ann called after her, ‘Do not bother with tea.’

She placed her hands at her daughter’s shoulders and bobbed her curls up and down, then patted her son’s head and headed for the stairs, wondering what might bring her husband’s employee here.

Before she had even opened the door from the hall, she could smell it all around. The loathsome, putrid stench that was impossible to remove from clothes and hair. Whale oil.