Chapters (63)
- COVER PAGE
- PRAISE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- DEDICATION
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- CHAPTER 33
- CHAPTER 34
- CHAPTER 35
- CHAPTER 36
- CHAPTER 37
- CHAPTER 38
- CHAPTER 39
- CHAPTER 40
- CHAPTER 41
- CHAPTER 42
- CHAPTER 43
- CHAPTER 44
- CHAPTER 45
- CHAPTER 46
- CHAPTER 47
- CHAPTER 48
- CHAPTER 49
- CHAPTER 50
- CHAPTER 51
- CHAPTER 52
- CHAPTER 53
- CHAPTER 54
- CHAPTER 55
- CHAPTER 56
- CHAPTER 57
- CHAPTER 58
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘Aye, they said they are going to use grappling irons to fetch any more up.’
‘It is simply too awful. But now there is an errand I must attend to this afternoon. Call me a carriage, will you, as soon as possible. And Mrs Baxter, ask Miss Graham to keep the children occupied until I return.’
‘Do you need to be accompanied? You’re not usually out on a Sunday afternoon.’
‘No, Baxter, I shall be fine alone.’ Ann saw Mrs Baxter raise an eyebrow at her husband as she turned and headed for the stairs.
* * *
‘Lochee? Where about?’ The driver stood at the carriage door, his cap in hand.
‘Just drive towards Lochee Road. I shall tell you when to stop.’
‘Are you sure it’s Lochee you want to go? Not a usual place for a lady.’
‘That is where I wish you to take me. Now drive on!’
Ann sat back and arranged her moss-green cloak. She wore a modest black felt hat; nothing fancy was required for this outing. Pulling back the curtain, she peered out through the frosted glass. They turned left onto Perth Road then right along the Hawkhill. Though a mere ten minutes’ drive from her splendid house, the tenement buildings here were some of the worst in the city. Those with two storeys still had rickety outside stairs leading to the top floor. The newer tenements were taller, with dark inner staircases and dingy passages that were filthy.
The carriage turned a corner and trundled along West Henderson Wynd. On the right was a jute mill, then another, and then Ann could see her husband’s mill. Built in creamy grey stone from the Angus quarries, there was a hint of red in it when the sun shone. The snow-capped roofs were peaked and the windows long and rectangular. She shivered as she passed it, thinking of the last time she had been up this road, only a couple of months ago, when that poor mill worker was killed. Robert had insisted she accompany him to inform the girl’s parents. When she protested, he had told her that his manager, Alfred Johnston, was off that day burying his mother and that he expected her, as his wife, to attend to her charitable duties.