Ann didn’t reply, her eyes shut tight, lips moving as if in silent prayer

Fiona put the car into first gear and eased off, her mouth open. She looked at the registration number in her mirror. Yes, it was definitely Pete’s car, she could even see the Superman air freshener Jamie had insisted he buy, dangling in the windscreen. How could it be stolen? She opened a can of Diet Coke, took a slug then tried to arrange it all in chronological order in her head. It was the end of May now. He’d sold his old banger during Jamie’s Easter break and had bought that car the following week.

He’d said he got it for a bargain after some mate recommended a local garage. So, he had had the car for a month. It couldn’t be stolen, it would’ve been noticed before.

Though when she began to think about it, she realised he had been nowhere in the car other than round the village or north towards Glenshee for a day’s walking in the hills.

As she headed into Alyth, she remembered that she needed cash. She stopped outside the RBS in the town square and parked the car. She pushed her debit card into the machine and tapped in her pin number.

She hit the button to select £50 and an error message popped up: Insufficient funds. Strange, she thought, and tried again. The same thing happened. Feeling slightly panicked, Fiona clicked through to check her balance.

Nothing.

He had taken all their savings.

Sunday December 28 1879. 10pm

Donald Baxter helped Ann out of her wet cape and ushered her into the morning room on the ground floor. He stoked up the fire then went to the door. “Jeannie,” he shouted, “come and give us a hand.”

The noise of heavy footsteps drew nearer and Mrs Baxter entered the room. “Mrs Craig, you look like a drowned rat. Warm up by the fire and I’ll fetch a hot toddy.”

“Are the children all right, Mrs Baxter?” asked Ann from the depths of the chair. Mrs Baxter nodded. “Aye, fine.”

Ann sat up and stretched out her hands towards the flames. “Baxter, I’ve been thinking. I need you to go to the harbour, they must surely put out boats to rescue the passengers.”

Mrs Baxter lifted off her husband’s coat with two hands. The wool was a dead weight, sodden with rain.

“Fetch your other coat, Donald!” she said, placing another log on the fire. “Aye, I’ll do that, Mrs Craig, but I don’t see how even a big ship could make it out there in this wind.”

He turned to his wife, who was raking the fire. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

“Are the children asleep, Mrs Baxter?”

“Like I said, the bairns are fine,” she said, poking at the logs. “Took a wee bit o’ time to get them over but they’re sleeping away now.”

“Good.” Ann sat back from the fire and stretched her neck. “I think I should like that hot drink now.”

“Right you are,” said Mrs Baxter, bending down to lift the hemline of Ann’s gown. “This grosgrain silk is drenched, it doesn’t dry well. You’ll get poorly if you don’t go and change.”

Ann nodded but remained sitting.

Mrs Baxter struggled upright, her hand on her lower back. “Mrs Donaldson next door sent her girl Aggie round to see if we needed anything. She heard about it from Billy the gardener when he came back from the evening service.”

Ann didn’t reply, her eyes shut tight, lips moving as if in silent prayer.

“Mrs Craig, d’you think there was any chance Mr Craig wasn’t on that train?”

Ann sighed deeply and opened her eyes. “As you well know, he has taken the 4.15 Edinburgh train for the past six weeks after visiting his aunt in Fife.

“I cannot see why tonight should have been any different. I do not feel any good can come of this, none at all.”

Ann bit her lip as she considered the future. If the situation was as dire as she presumed, how on earth would she survive without her husband? Without his income?

Powerful

Donald Baxter emerged from Whale Lane and crossed over towards the harbour. Noisy crowds had assembled, people shouting at each other over the wind.

Donald pushed his way towards the lights and movement surrounding a large boat that was preparing to leave the harbour. Everyone was clamouring for news, and snippets of it began to reach him.

“The harbourmaster’s sending out a steamer.” “The train’s in the river.”

“I heard there’s some folk clinging to the piers.” “There she goes!”

The powerful steamer moved off through the choppy river. The wind was still severe, though at least the thunder and lightning had ceased. Donald looked up to a large clock above the harbour building. It was quarter to eleven, three and a half hours since the train had disappeared. Was there still the slightest chance that anyone had survived in those icy black waters?

During the interminable wait, the gale began to subside. Eventually someone shouted, “Look! There’s the boat coming back in!”

People in the crowd bellowed questions to the men on board the ship as they threw thick ropes and tied knots round the mooring bollards and soon more rumours began to fly.

“The wind was too strong, couldn’t get near enough.”

“The current was against them.”

“I heard the ship got out there, saw a whole section of the bridge had collapsed.”

“They tried to look for passengers but there were none.”

“Everyone’s drowned.”

“Nobody kens that, my Johnnie’ll be fine.”

Jostling

Donald nudged his way through the jostling crowds towards the gangway. There was a seaman coming ashore, his head bent against the wind that continued to lash the waves into foam. He looked up at the expectant crowd, holding onto his cap, and shouted, “Gone, the train’s gone, down into the water.”

“Nonsense. How could you see in the dark?” called an anxious woman.

“We were lowered into the lifeboat, got as near as we could, looked all around. There’s no sign of life. No one survived.”

“But could they not be hanging onto the piers?” The seamen shook his head and walked away. “No survivors,” he repeated, as the captain appeared at the top of the gangway and the provost and harbourmaster rushed forward to meet him.

Donald cupped his hand round his ear to hear better as words were exchanged and heads shaken.

“No survivors.” The provost shouted it loud, his voice breaking with emotion: he was very sorry for their loss, but there were no survivors.

Wails were heard from the crowds, paroxysms of grief as those awaiting loved ones heard the news they had all expected but somehow hoped could not be true.

Donald tied his scarf tightly around his neck and headed off home. How could he tell his mistress that her husband was at the bottom of the river?

More tomorrow.