Margaret was standing open mouthed, aghast at the sight of a lady throwing a snowball. And on a Sunday

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.

Ann pushed her black bonnet down a little over her forehead at an angle she knew suited her profile. She would walk down the aisle slowly as usual, knowing that the other members of the congregation would probably be looking at her statuesque figure. “Hat, James!” she whispered to her son, who was still gazing at the two boys frolicking in the snow over the road.

He swept it off and put it under his arm, as he had seen his father do on countless occasions.

They proceeded down the aisle, Ann taking the lead, then the children and Miss Graham behind. The Baxters headed upstairs to their usual place in the gallery.

As she walked towards their pew near the front, she took in the dark cloaks and hats. There were many ladies wearing full black veils, she noticed.

Goodness, would they think her disrespectful not wearing a mourning veil? Jeannie Baxter had suggested that very morning she could fetch it from its box in the attic.

“I am not mourning my husband until we have proof he has gone, Mrs Baxter,” she had retorted. “And from what Lady Cruickshank said, and the lack of firm evidence, there is hope.”

Unseemly

But after her housekeeper had left, muttering about Ann’s behaviour being “unseemly”, Ann took the fur wrap from the bed and put it back into the wardrobe.

Fur and velvet were inappropriate for a lady in mourning and, at least in church, she ought to comply.

The whole city was still grieving, or so it seemed by the even more sombre tone of the congregation this morning.

They took their seats on the hard wooden benches in the third row. Once Ann had arranged herself in a favourable pose, she tilted her head slightly forward and looked over to the other side where the Donaldsons sat.

Margaret was dressed in black with a grey bonnet and her twins were both in dark colours. Only Dr Donaldson had a splash of colour – a hint of his mustard waistcoat emerged from the top of his coat.

She inclined her head a little in acknowledgement of his nod. He was beaming, a smile she knew was directed at her, even although he took in the entire family.

“Let us pray,” intoned the Reverent Arbuthnot from the high pulpit and the entire congregation bent their heads low.

Outside the church after the service, Ann and the children watched the Baxters and Miss Graham walk gingerly down the hill. Ann looked round to see the Donaldsons approaching.

“Oh, Ann, my dear, how did you feel when the minister said those special prayers for those drowned?” Margaret whispered in her friend’s ear.

“It needed to be done,” said Ann, turning to face Archibald, who was chatting to the children.

He smiled, showing his dimples. “The sermon was tasteful, do you not think, Ann?”

“Indeed, although I do wonder about the choice of hymns. Surely ‘Eternal Father’ was unwise, since its theme is saving those in peril upon the sea.”

“Oh, my dear,” said Margaret, “you are, of course, right. I had not thought.”

Ann stopped abruptly as something white whizzed past. A snowball landed with a thud on James’s shoulder. She spiralled round to see the two boys from the tenement laughing.

Concentration

Without thinking, she bent to scoop a handful snow from the railings. She squeezed it tight and then, her eyes screwed up in concentration, threw it across the road with an unladylike grunt.

It reached the other side and landed with a thunk on the pavement. The boys fled back inside the dark close as Archibald marched towards them.

“That was some shot, Mrs Craig.” Alec Smith stood at her side, hat in his hand.

“Yes, well, perhaps I should not . . .” said Ann, flustered. She removed her kid gloves and beat them against each other to shake off the snow.

Margaret was standing open mouthed, aghast at the sight of a lady throwing a snowball. And on a Sunday.

Archibald returned and said, grinning: “Well then, yet another sign that Mrs Craig is an unusual lady. Snowball rolling is to be added to her long list of talents!”

“I will have no one hurt my children.” She spat out the words. “Ever!”

Margaret raised an eyebrow. She was always telling Ann she was too over-protective and affectionate towards the children, which did them no good at all.

There was silence until Archibald chuckled. “Quite right, these urchins need to be kept in their place.” He turned to Alec Smith, extending his hand to the stationmaster.

“Good morning, Mr Smith, how is the knee?” “Better, thank you, doctor.”

“Good. What news from the station?”

“Not good, I am sorry to say. Yesterday afternoon, a mesmerist was taken out on to the river by a fishing boat and they stopped the boat, as she commanded, to the east of the high girders.

“She stood up in the boat as it sailed north-east and muttered some things and after an hour or so on the water, she gave her prediction.

“She said that many bodies would be found that day and the next two, delivered up from the depths.

“She also said that she saw three clearly and that one had a watch on his body and she saw silver in his pocket.”

Ann and the Donaldsons leant in towards him.

Horrified

“Well, this very morning, in the midst of the snow shower, three bodies were washed ashore at Broughty Ferry beach.

“Of those three bodies, one gentleman had a silver pocket watch on him. The time said a quarter past seven, the time the train fell into the Tay. The mesmerist’s prediction was true. So we await the other bodies.”

Ann fanned herself with her gloves. Margaret looked horrified. “A mesmerist? What nonsense. What does a mesmerist have to do with it?”

“She has second sight, gets herself into a trance and can see all sorts of things. Which is surprising as she’s blind.”

Ann Craig put her hands up to her face. “Was it Blind Mattie?”

“Indeed it was, Mrs Craig. They went to Lochee yesterday to take her down to the harbour.”

“So, there will be other bodies in the next few days,” Ann whispered.

“If you believe the rantings of some mad woman,” Margaret tutted.

“She will be right, she always is.” “Mamma, the twins are going on to the green this afternoon to build a snowman. Please say we can go too?”

More tomorrow.