The Night He Left: Episode 71

So she killed her own husband just over there on the green. Some genes you’ve got, Fiona Craig!

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.

After tea, Dorothy said she was going to continue sorting through the papers in the study – she was making good progress. “Is it okay if I take Jamie out to play with his new bat? “There’s enough light from the lampposts over on the green. Stru had a cricket ball in the shed I think, didn’t he?”

“Key’s there, go and see,” Fiona said, pointing to the fruit bowl.

“I’ll wait here for a bit then join you. Martha’s on her way.”

“Someone else to make me eat humble pie,” said Pete.

“Yes, you’ll need to butter her up big time, she’s been my crying shoulder since you left.”

Pete bent down and kissed Fiona then rootled around under the apples in the bowl and picked up the shed key.

“Come on, Jamie, let’s practise a few strokes.” “Put your jacket on, Jamie,” said Fiona. “It’s getting cold!”

“Leave him be, Fi, he never feels the cold.” Pete looked down at Jamie, grinning. “Unless you’ve changed while I’ve been away?”

Jamie shook his head, grabbed Pete’s hand and pulled him towards the door.

Surprise

Martha rang the bell then walked in the back door. “Why do you ring the bell when you just breeze on in anyway, M?”

She grinned and shrugged. “Done it since I was little, why change now! So what’s the big surprise?” “Wait and see. Glass of wine?”

“Please.”

Fiona poured two glasses and Martha got some photocopies out of her bag.

“Here’s the newspaper piece from The Courier, found it at last. From May 7 1880, the day after the court case. Look at this bit here.

“There’s a lot of preamble about the nitty gritty of what exactly each witness said – you can read that later– but the last paragraph’s the one to check out first. Look!”

“What are you talking about, Martha? What court case?”

“Just read it!”

“Mrs Ann Craig of 73 Magdalen Yard Road, Dundee was tried and found guilty of murdering her husband, Robert Craig, of the same address. The murder took place on the promenade south of Magdalen Green on January 11 1880.

“Two accomplices, Doctor Archibald Donaldson of 75 Magdalen Yard Road, Dundee and Alfred Johnston of 40 Mains Road, Dundee were found guilty of collusion.

“Doctor Donaldson was sentenced to two years in prison for falsifying a death certificate. He is also barred from practising as a medical practitioner for three years.

“Alfred Johnston was sentenced to two years in prison for aiding the accused in disposing of the murder weapon.

“Ann Craig was sentenced to hanging by the neck until dead. Given her condition, the timing of her hanging is deferred until her child is born and weaned.

“In summing up, Judge Kennedy said he had never known such a vicious and wicked crime, and certainly not one conducted by a woman.”

“Bloody hell, M! So she killed her own husband. And just over there on the green.”

“Some genes you’ve got, Fiona Craig!” “Wonder if Mum knows all this. Mum! Come and see this.”

“Be there in a minute,” called Dorothy. “I’ve just found something.”

“So this Craig woman was what relation to your dad and you?”

“Well, this took place in 1880 so let’s assume that baby was born that year. God, it must’ve been born in prison.

“So, if Dad was born in 1944, then his dad was born some 25 to 30 before that. So, looks like that baby could have been Dad’s grandpa maybe? Or his greataunt or uncle?”

Hidden away

“Wait till you see what I’ve found, Fi!” Dorothy stood at the door in an old pair of dungarees. “Hello, Martha, love. How are you doing?” “Grand thanks. More importantly, how are you?” “Okay, keeping busy, it’s the best way. Now, look at these, girls.”

She spread three certificates on the table. “I found them fastened together with an old wooden clothes peg, hidden away.

“Here’s Struan’s birth certificate. So he was born in 1944, Fi, I don’t know why I was worrying about that.

“Then here’s his dad’s certificate. William Craig, he was born in 1910.

“And here’s Stru’s wonderful Grandpa, the one Mark was going on about.” “Grandpa Archie?”

“Yes, look, here he is, Archibald Craig, born on September 9, 1880.”

She pointed at the place of birth column on the certificate and her eyes gleamed.

“Look where he was born, girls. Dundee Prison!” “Of course, this is the baby from The Courier article.” Fiona peered closely at the birth certificate.

“It says his mother was Ann Craig, née Robertson, formerly of 73 Magdalen Yard Road, Dundee and his father was Archibald Edward Donaldson, formerly of 75 Magdalen Yard Road, Dundee.”

“A fling with the next-door neighbour!” Dorothy sat down.

“So Grandpa Archie was born in prison but presumably brought up here in the house.

“Mark said he’d lived here all his life, brought up by some aunt. How strange is that.”

“Look, Mum, read this article,” Fiona said, pouring her mum a glass of wine and pushing the photocopy in front of her.

Dorothy peered through her glasses at the piece, her mouth opening wider with each paragraph that she read.

“Goodness gracious me, I never knew all that. So she was the woman who brought the Craig family to shame. It’s all so incredible.”

Ashamed

Dorothy sipped her wine.

“I wonder if Stru knew. Maybe that’s why the certificates were hidden at the bottom of his desk drawers.

“But why would he be ashamed of it, all these years later?”

“So that’s my big surprise, Fi,” said Martha, leaning back on her chair. “What’s yours?”

“Don’t say a thing, Mum, she doesn’t know yet.” Fiona beamed.

“Let’s all head down to the green and see Jamie. I’ll take the red kite down.

“In fact, Mum, why don’t we take a bottle of that bubbly in the fridge and we can toast Dad on the green overlooking the river?”

Dorothy smiled. “Why not, I’ll get four glasses.” Martha looked around.

“Wow, a glass for Jamie? You guys are pretty liberal with that boy. Allie and I think giving him Irn Bru’s a bit risqué!”

More tomorrow.