She turned back to Margaret, trying to dismiss the feeling of jealousy bubbling within. Her childhood had been hard, every day a struggle

Fiona ran upstairs to her room, dragged out a wheelie suitcase and started shoving things in. Then she stopped and sat on her bed. No, she couldn’t go anywhere, let alone Skye, without Jamie knowing what was going on. Also, she remembered Martha and Allie were out at some ball later, she couldn’t presume they’d cancel everything.

She ran downstairs and flung the satsumas out of the fruit bowl to find her car keys. She was at the back door when she stopped.

What would be the point of driving to Tannadice as the fans emerged? She’d never find them.

She had to wait. She delved in her bag for her phone and texted Martha and Allie.

Then she hurried towards the stairs. She would pack a bag for herself and one for Jamie, they would leave the minute he was home.

At the foot of the stairs, she sniffed; what was that smell? She peeked into her dad’s study and noticed the vase of flowers her mum had been sent for her birthday.

They were almost dead; she’d forgotten Dorothy had told her to throw them out once the pollen started dropping on the floor.

She went over and inhaled. It was the smell from the night before, which she thought was the face paints.

The smell was sickly, almost musky. It was the smell of jasmine, the scent her mum associated with death.

Thursday January 8 1880

“Mrs Donaldson to see you, Mrs Craig.” “Good morning Ann,” said Margaret, as she swept past Jessie and went to take her friend’s hand. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you, Margaret. Please take a seat.” Margaret tucked her dark grey skirt around her legs and peered at Ann. “You do not look well. Are you sleeping?”

“Sleeping? Oh yes, like a baby.” Ann forced a smile. “I have a bout of melancholy, but it will go. It is all this black.”

“Ah yes, I recall my mother feeling the same when she was in mourning for my father.

“She told me that simply putting on her black clothes every day sent her into a deep depression. She told me it was like sitting under a heavy black rain cloud.”

Ann nodded and brushed at her black silk gown. “Did your mother mourn your father’s death in such a way, my dear?”

Ann suppressed the urge to laugh. “Of course, just as one is duty bound to.”

She remembered her mother rushing into the kitchen where 10-year-old Annie had been scrubbing tatties.

Her mother was beaming. “He is gone, gone at last!” she had shouted. “The prison just sent me the news. Now we are free.”

Ann then remembered vividly how her mother drank herself into the sort of stupor her father had been prone to, the drunkenness that caused him to almost kill a man and put him in prison for life.

Her mother’s spree, in contrast, meant they had no money left and had to exist on porridge, made from oatmeal handed in by Mattie across the street.

She turned back to Margaret, trying to dismiss the feeling of jealousy bubbling within.

Her childhood had been hard, every day a struggle, whereas this woman opposite had been brought up in the lap of luxury.

“Will you take some tea?”

Stronger

Margaret shook her head. “I have no time to linger, Ann. I simply came to see you to let you know I shall be away for a few days.

“I think you might recall me telling you my sister in Glamis was having problems with her health.

“And so now it seems that, although she is most definitely out of danger and is becoming stronger every day, she is in need of my company, for we are close.

“I intend to read some novels to her and perhaps play some Chopin, her favourite composer.” Margaret smiled. “We loved doing these things together as children.”

Again, Ann could not help but feel resentment towards her friend.

She did not have a sister, but even if she had, she could never imagine finding pleasure over a book or music.

Their memories would be of the dust and stour in the jute mills clogging their eyes and noses, and of the fatigue of having to get up at dawn each day, from the age of 11, to set off for the mills.

“I am sorry she is still not strong but what good news that she is recovering well.”

Margaret continued speaking about what she would do at her sister’s house and Ann’s mind began to whirr. When her companion had stopped talking, she said: “So how many days do you anticipate you must be away?”

“I hope not more than four days but if the weather sets in, it might be longer.”

“Might we assist with the children in any way?” “Oh, how kind, Ann. But that will not be necessary. They are coming with me. Helena has the most wonderful governess for her two children and she insisted the twins come too and join classes there.” Ann smiled, perhaps too eagerly.

“That is wonderful, what a pleasant trip that will be, Margaret.”

She felt round the back of her head to pin up a stray lock of hair into her loose bun.

“And Archibald? Will his mother move in again to take care of him?”

Margaret got to her feet.

Alone

“Goodness me, no. He has in fact stated that he will only visit her for tea, he would never have time for his patients if she were at the house all day and night.

“No, he will be alone, he says it will be a chance for him to catch up with work.

“As you know, he is still assisting at the mortuary and there is much to be done there.

“Have you heard there are now many more bodies recovered? Archibald said last night the count was 22.”

Ann’s mind raced. She raised her shoulders so that she appeared even taller beside the dumpy figure of her neighbour.

“Shall I have Jessie fetch your cloak?” “Thank you,” said Margaret as she headed for the door. She shook her head then stretched out to grasp Ann’s hand.

“Let us hope that you have news soon. The waiting must still be horrid.”

Ann shrugged. “I am resigned to it now.”

More tomorrow.