Ann let the curtain go and looked inside her bag for the note she had received from Willie Robertson, stationmaster at Leuchars. He had said he would be at Dundee’s train station for a meeting at two o’clock then would have half an hour before he went for his ferry across the Tay. She was to ask for him at the ticket office.

She adjusted the ribbons in her bonnet, a splendid black hat with a broad dark grey satin ribbon. She had removed the blue-and-copper peacock feather before departing, for fear of appearing less than respectful of those in mourning. She herself still did not feel as if she was in mourning. According to the Baxters, everyone in the town was shedding tears; where were hers?

She heard a ‘whoah!’ from the driver and felt the carriage slow. She pulled back the curtain to reveal Dundee station. The carriage driver helped her descend and she looked up at the large clock over the entrance. ‘Wait here for me. I should be no longer than twenty minutes.’ He lifted a finger to his hat then plunged his hand into his pocket and retrieved a morsel to feed the horse.

She went down the steps, thinking that this was the third time she had done so in less than a week. Usually she only went to the station once a year for the family’s summer outing to the beach at Monifeith.

‘Good afternoon, I am here to see Mr William Robertson from Leuchars.’

The man at the ticket office pointed towards the platforms. ‘Second class waiting room.’

‘Thank you.’

She knocked on the door and it was opened by a small man with a large moustache. He carried his hat in his hand.

‘Ah, Mrs Craig,’ he said, gesturing for her to enter. ‘I find I only have ten minutes until I must leave for my ferry. My apologies, but the timings are all muddled up today, even though this is the first day of the regular timetable. Please take a seat.’

Ann sat down and angled her head up. She knew he was looking at her face; she was used to men giving her admiring glances. She brought her fingers to the jet brooch at her neck and smiled.

‘So, Mr Robertson, what can you tell me about Sunday night and the first class passenger who alighted at your station?’

‘Well, Alec here told me it might have been your husband, so I know how keen you are for more information. But I have to be honest with you and say that I have no idea who he was.’

‘Do you not have a record of passengers’ names? In first class surely?’

He shook his head. ‘No, it’s all just a question of collecting tickets, we’ve no record of their names.’

‘So could you see him at all? How would you describe his figure?’