Fiona shut the book and looked out at the rolling Fife landscape. She must bring Jamie on this train, he would love the journey

The Night He Left: Episode 13

Sue Lawrence is a popular novelist as well as a cookery book author. The Night He Left is published by Freight. Down to the Sea, her first historical mystery, was published by Contraband in 2019. Sue’s latest book, The Unreliable Death of Lady Grange, was published in March by Saraband.

Fiona sat back in her seat and looked out the window as the train drew to a halt: Leuchars station, she’d just read about that. She delved into her bag for the book that Martha had given her, remembering that this was the station where, in 1879, the last passenger had disembarked from the ill-fated train.

The exhibition the museum was planning on the Tay Bridge disaster was to tie in with the memorial erected on Riverside Drive.

Martha was putting it all together and had recommended Fiona to the museum for an assistant position.

She was so grateful to her friend, thought Fiona. What would she do without her?

Fiona flicked through the book to the section about Leuchars.

As the train pulled out, she turned to look back down the platform towards the main road to St Andrews, trying to imagine the scene that night in 1879.

The train from Edinburgh had been a couple of minutes late due to the high winds and had to delay even longer as one of the first-class passengers had arranged for a coach to meet him at Leuchars to take him to St Andrews.

On arrival at the station however, there was no sign of coach or coachman and so the gentleman climbed back into first class, having decided to continue on to Dundee instead.

Ferocious

Above the noise of the ferocious storm, the passengers on board heard the knock-knocking of the stationmaster’s hammer as he went along the train, tapping the wheels in each of the five carriages.

Once he was happy the train was sound, he pulled out his whistle and was about to blow it when he looked east to see the lights of an approaching vehicle, hurtling along the road at speed.

It was the gentleman’s coach, so the stationmaster rushed to first class and helped him and his luggage off the train and on to the platform.

What a lucky escape, Fiona thought as she continued reading.

The next stop on the track north – and the last one before the bridge – was St Fort.

It was here that all tickets were collected and although these were later counted, there were some passengers without tickets: off-duty railway staff and children accompanying adults.

This was why the final number of deaths was never known. There were 59 names on the memorial but it was reckoned that many more had died.

St Fort was only two miles from the bridge and as the train increased its speed to try to make up time that stormy evening, the catastrophe awaiting those poor passengers loomed.

Fiona shut the book and looked out at the rolling Fife landscape.

She must bring Jamie on this train, he would love the journey.

She pushed the book into her bag and pulled out her ipad to look up Edinburgh buses to Granton.

Doomed

As the bus swept round the corner into Granton, she looked out over the Firth of Forth and recalled the passage in the book about the doomed train leaving from Granton pier.

Having left Edinburgh Waverley at 4.15 pm, the train had stopped at Abbeyhill, Leith Walk and Trinity, then at Granton at 4.35pm.

Here the passengers boarded the paddleboat ferry, the William Muir, to Burntisland where they continued on the train through Fife and eventually to the River Tay and their fate.

She gazed out over the river towards Fife, barely visible in the morning haar.

Her bus stopped just after the Old Chain Pier and she got off and looked at the pub in amazement.

She’d heard the place had been gutted in a fire, not long after Pete had left the kitchens there for Glenisla, but the transformation was startling.

The roof was new and there was a conservatory, all freshly painted.

There were even tables and chairs outside on the pavement.

What a different place from the ferry booking office it was in the 19th Century, and from the dark dingy pub it had been before the fire.

She swung open the door and walked in. The room was brighter than she remembered, though the stale beery smell was much the same.

She checked her watch. It was 11 o’clock, so there ought to be someone around.

She cleared her throat loudly and headed for the bar. The kitchen was at the back, but she didn’t like to just go in.

She was about to cough again when a door opened. A man in his early thirties appeared behind the bar, staring at Fiona.

He put his tattooed arm up to his head and scratched under his white chef’s hat. “Christ, is that you, Fi?”

Fiona smiled and nodded. “Hi, Ross, how have you been?’

He came round the bar and threw his arms round her. ‘Where’s the hunk? He with you?’

Fiona drew herself away and looked at him straight in the eye.

“That’s why I’m here. I tried to call but they kept saying you weren’t here so I thought I’d come down myself and try to find you.”

“Been back home for a month, just got back at the weekend.”

He swallowed. “Mum died, I’d to sort stuff, funeral and things.”

“I’m so sorry. Was she ill?”

“Nope, car crash, all very sudden. Dad’s not coping too well, but I had to come back, got to get on with things now.”

“That’s awful, Ross, I’m really sorry.”

Beautiful

Fiona looked up at him, at his earring glinting under the light above her head.

“Where was home for you, was it Sydney?” Ross shook his head. “Noosa, up the coast.” “Of course. Pete said how beautiful it is up there.” He ushered her to a seat. “Coffee?”

“You got time?”

“Sure. There won’t be any lunch customers till twelve. Debs’ll be in soon for the bar.”

He went over to the coffee machine and started to fill the metal filter basket.

“You’ve not heard then?”

He slid the filter into position and looked round. “What?”

“Pete left, did a runner, just disappeared. No idea where, took all our savings and . . .”

Fiona felt tears start to fill her eyes. “Sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath.

More tomorrow.