When whispers of abuse at Arrol’s department store reach Mabel, a determined policewoman, she knows she must act. Set against the backdrop of 1920s Glasgow, where women’s voices are often silenced, The Devil’s Draper weaves together crime, justice, and the fight for equality. We hope this extract whets the appetite to read on!

The Devil’s Draper
By Donna Moore
Published by Fly on the Wall Press

Johnnie wended her way through the well-dressed people chatting in small groups. She caught brief snatches of conversation as she passed: the happy couple were going to be honeymooning on the Riviera; the bride’s father had a fine stable of horses; had anyone else noticed the ghastly hat worn by Mrs Ellice… She took in the lie of the land, noting entrances and exits and places where staff were positioned, and then followed the steady stream of people entering the anteroom, where the wedding gifts were on display. 

The embarrassment of riches weighing down the tables and floor of the anteroom took her aback and she came to a sudden halt just inside the door. 

‘I say, m’dear, I’m terribly sorry.’ A red-faced gentleman had cannoned into her from behind. ‘You can’t just stop dead like that, ya know. I could have knocked you over and then where would we have been, hmm?’ 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Johnnie smiled at him and then turned her face quickly away, as if suddenly shy. She didn’t want him to recall her face later. 

Johnnie sauntered around the tables, affecting an interest in the cards attached to the gifts. And it was a fine array of wedding gifts: a tortoiseshell and silver dressing table set from Colonel and the Honourable Mrs Ferguson; two Rockingham china figurines from Mr and Mrs William Brody; a silver plated inkstand and silver stamp box from the Misses Balfour; a rather ugly set of china jam pots from Mrs Ellice – presumably the same Mrs Ellice of the ghastly hat. Somebody had thoughtfully grouped the gifts into their different types, making Johnnie’s job easier, and her eyes lingered only briefly on the furniture, the paintings, the linens, the kitchenware and the eight heavy volumes of The War, bound in red cloth. Really, what had the Major McPhee who had given those been thinking? What would a newly married couple want with books about a war they doubtless wouldn’t want to be even reminded of, let alone read about it in eight volumes? 

The books weren’t the only dud gift. Eglantine Cameron-Head – clearly a sworn enemy of the bride – had given the gift of an umbrella; the bridegroom was getting the reel for a trout rod from a Mr Brand; and a Mrs Denholm had for some reason thought that an old steel trivet was a welcome gift for the happy couple. 

One area of the table caught Johnnie’s attention in particular. 

Pretending to inspect a Liberty blotting pad and calendar, Johnnie glanced at the display of items to its right: a solid silver etui case, a diamond and sapphire pendant and earrings, a pair of matching gold watches, amethyst earrings, a set of gold and ruby shoe buckles, a rather fine-looking string of pearls and what looked like an antique diamond bracelet. Those and some other small pieces would do very nicely. 

She glanced around the room. As well as the door through which she and the other guests had come, was another, less obtrusive, door at the far end. Probably one for the staff. If she wasn’t mistaken, this one would lead to one of the side staircases. 

At that moment, a bell tinkled and the wedding breakfast was announced. Johnnie, along with the other guests in the anteroom, joined the rest of the party in the main room as they made their way to their seats. 

Johnnie fluttered around as if trying to find her place, managing instead to find her way back to the anteroom door. She glanced quickly around. The guests were greeting their seatmates and the staff were all busy. Johnnie slipped inside the now empty anteroom once again. Her dress had been especially fashioned with numerous, carefully sewn pockets everywhere. However, Johnnie had a better idea. She picked up Eglantine Cameron-Head’s very thoughtful umbrella gift, unfurled it, swept all the jewellery from that end of the table into the folds of the umbrella, plucked two small, silver photo frames and a silver sugar shaker from their places, tucked them into two secure pockets in her wide sleeves, and exited the room via the small door at the far end. 

She had been right. The corridor she was in led to a set of stairs and she tripped down them, smiling cheerfully at a young man on his way up, and left by the Woodside Crescent entrance. The weather had been overcast when she had entered the Grand Hotel and now it was raining. But the umbrella in Johnnie’s hand would need to stay furled. 

The Devil’s Draper by Donna Moore is published by Fly on the Wall Press, priced £11.99.