‘Good Morning, Mr Johnston.’ Ann stretched her hand out, through habit, and immediately regretted it. She touched his hand lightly then pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her nose. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

He blushed red. ‘The mill opened this morning as usual, after the holidays. I called the workers together to speak about their fellow workers who had been on the train. We believe we lost one of our weavers, Eliza Lawson, and the husband of one of our best spinners, Margaret Watson. While speaking to the workers, I informed them that Mr Craig had been on board the train too and they were keen for me to deliver their condolences in person.’

‘Condolences?’ Ann snapped. ‘We know nothing yet. Until there is a body, we must presume otherwise.’

Alfred Johnston frowned. ‘But we had all understood that Mr Craig was on the train last Sunday evening?’

‘That is what we are led to believe but, until we know more, there is always hope.’

‘Forgive me, but they have all said there are no survivors.’ He began fidgeting with the cap in his hands before him.

Ann fixed him with a cold stare. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, Mr Johnston, and do please convey my thanks to your workers.’ She struggled to maintain her composure as she tried to be polite; she might need him in the future. ‘Now, was there anything else?’ She drew up her shoulders, so that she towered above him, and forced a smile.

‘Yes, there was. It’s something of a delicate nature, but it might be of use to you and the family as you wait for news. You remember that I meet with the whalers down at the port every couple of weeks? I get my barrels of whale oil there for the mill.’

‘I recall my husband telling me, yes,’ she said, evading his gaze.

‘Well, I spoke to the whalers last night. There are fifteen whaleboats out searching at the mouth of the Firth. They said that the bodies would only come to the surface after a full seven days.’

‘I had already heard such information from Alec Smith down at the station.’

‘How’s he doing? What a mess he’s having to deal with.’

‘Mr Smith is coping well, I believe.’

‘Well, that’s all I had to say. I’d better get back to the mill.’

He went towards her, hand outstretched, the pungent odour of whale oil hovering about him. ‘Goodbye then, Annie.’

There was a sudden flush in her cheeks. ‘Don’t you ever call me that in my house,’ she hissed, flicking his hand away. ‘Or anywhere.’

She pointed to the door then turned her back on him and strode to open the window. A fresh blast of winter air entered and she took a long, deep breath.

CHAPTER 20

Chapter 20

2015