On Track for Murder Read online

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  - Author's Note

  Copyright © 2015 Stephen Childs

  All rights reserved.

  For Debbie. Without you none of this would have been possible.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Saturday, June 29, 1889 - SS Elderslie - Two days out from Fremantle, Western Australia.

  Abigail Sergeant sat on the edge of the bunk, clutching her sobbing brother’s hand. The sputtering oil lamp swung wildly from its hook in the ceiling, casting deep shadows that danced menacingly around the darkened cabin. In all her eighteen years of life, Abigail was sure this was the most unpleasant experience she had lived through. Squeezing Bertrand’s hand harder she tried with all her might to console the distraught boy. While he was only two years younger than Abigail, Bertrand was considered slow, even described as backward and dim-witted by some. Abigail hated the disparaging comments levelled at him by ignorant observers, but she had to admit that he could be a handful at times. This was one of those times. Experiences such as this storm merely unnerved Abigail, but it reduced her brother to a gibbering mess.

  Bertrand rocked back and forth. “No, no, no,” he muttered, continually.

  Abigail frowned and tightened her mouth. Her consoling words were not getting through. She knew this was due partly to his temporary inability for rational thought, and partly because Abigail’s voice was barely audible over the unsettling roar outside. The sound was incessant, howling and moaning. Occasional crashes, followed by shouts from desperate sailors, cut through the constant drone. The sailors’ sporadic cries supplying the only evidence of human existence outside the darkened cabin. It was midday, but it felt like midnight.

  Abigail took her gaze to the salt stained porthole. Blackened sky was barely distinguishable from menacing grey waves. The all encompassing melee assaulted the ship like a pack of wolves attacking a wounded beast. There was no escape. Those onboard were imprisoned by the storm, the tossing of the vessel preventing all but the most urgent of activities. Even reading one of the half-a-dozen novels Abigail brought with her had become challenging. The smell in the ship had changed too; transforming from that of dry sacking mixed with straw and stale human sweat, to that of damp, salty, fear.

  Abigail considered she and her brother were amongst the fortunate. Having paid over eighteen guineas for a cabin on the SS Elderslie, they were spared the cramped conditions of the assisted passengers. Nonetheless, Abigail couldn’t keep her heart from racing every time the ship lurched wildly from one side to the other.

  She looked down at her hands, damp with nervous perspiration, then across to Bertrand’s saucer wide eyes. His terrified demeanour exaggerated his rather stunted look. While Abigail had inherited her mother’s thick blonde hair, statuesque frame and compelling light blue eyes, Bertrand more resembled Father’s family. With drab brown hair and grey eyes, Bertrand had developed a slight hunch. Abigail considered this was due to his constant desire to not be noticed. Although they called him simple, she saw nothing simple about him. He was complex and demanded careful attention. At times such as this, Abigail knew that a loving touch was required. Without it he may shut down, entering what she called his dream-state. When he succumbed it was less of a daydream, more of a complete removal from reality. She would do anything to avoid that.

  Wiping her palms on the front of her dress, Abigail moved to clasp Bertrand’s hand once more. His wailing grew more intense at the loving touch.

  “I’m scared, Abi. I’m really scared.”

  “It’s all right, Bertie. I’m here with you.”

  “You won’t go anywhere, will you?” His rocking sped up.

  “ I won’t.” A tear began to form. “I’ll be here for you.”

  “Why … why is it so bumpy? It hasn’t done this before. I’m scared.”

  “Bertie, calm down. It’s fine. The storm just makes the ocean waves bigger, that’s all. We have to climb over each one to get where we are going.”

  “I don’t want to go there any more. I want to go home.”

  “Bertie, we are only days away from Fremantle. We should arrive on Monday. Won’t that be good? We can get off this ship and enjoy some sun by the Swan River.”

  The cabin door swung open, banging on the side of the bunk. Bertrand, startled by the unexpected noise, increased his wailing. Abigail took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Something had to be done.

  “Bertie, calm down. Now, listen to me. Can you do that, Bertie?” She gazed into his eyes. His sobbing calmed somewhat. Between faltering breaths Abigail continued her attempt. “Now, Bertie, you must calm down. Think how Mother would expect you to behave. She would be able to help you through this.”

  “But Mother is dead. She isn’t here any more.”

  “Yes, Mother died, but she would want us to be strong. Imagine seeing her at the end of the journey.”

  “But Mother has gone to Heaven.” Desperation flooded into Bertrand’s eyes. “Are we going to die? Are we going to be with Mother?”

  “No, no, I don’t mean that. We will arrive in Fremantle in a day or two. We will be all right. Do you understand?”

  “We won’t die?”

  “We won’t die.”

  “I still don’t like this. Make it stop, Abi. Make it stop.”

  Abigail’s heart broke every time she saw Bertrand troubled. He became so easily distressed causing Abigail more than her fair share of melancholy. She needed to take a new tack. “Bertie, look at me, darling. I forgot to tell you that last week Captain Ollsen took me on a tour of the ship.”

  “You went to see the rest of the ship?”

  “That’s right, Bertie. I went with the captain.”

  “I didn’t go?”

  “No, Bertie, you didn’t go. You played snakes and ladders with that nice army officer. That was fun wasn’t it?”

  “He was nice.”

  “Anyway, Captain Ollsen took me to see the engine working. It was magnificent. Such power. Such a marvel of technology.”

  “You liked that?” A look of curiosity crept into Bertrand’s eyes.

  Abigail knew he would not have enjoyed the experience. The noise alone would have seen him running for his life. “I did enjoy it. So much power, all harnessed to drive the ship forward. Anyway, what I want to say is that the captain told me the ship was a good sound vessel. She’s made of iron, you know. Very strong.”

  “Stronger than Father’s trains?”

  “I would say definitely as strong as Father’s steam locomotives.” Abigail sensed a hint of relief work its way into Bertrand’s psyche. “Bertie, the steam engine is very powerful and drives the ship forward much faster than any sailing vessel. The sails
are only to help out when the wind is behind us. We are on a good strong ship.”

  “Strong enough to beat the storm?”

  “Yes, strong enough to beat the storm. Look, why don’t we find a book and read for a while. Would you like that? It will take both our minds off the wind.”

  “I’d like that.” A smile grew across Bertrand’s face. Abigail felt her muscles relax and closed her eyes in a moment of quite relief. Any fear she had been harbouring over the severity of the storm now seemed diluted.

  As Bertrand passed across a copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, he paused in a rare moment of contemplation. “Abi?”

  “Yes, my darling.”

  “Do you think Frances will be pleased to see us?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “She didn’t much like us in England.”

  “I’m sure her new life here with Father will have softened her attitude towards us. Don’t forget, she is your step-mother now so we must be on our best behaviour.”

  “She didn’t like us … but I didn’t like her either.”

  “Now, now, Bertie, we must be positive.”

  “But she says you are a witch.”

  “I know, but she is wrong. Her problem is that I stopped going to church. What’s more, she hated the books Mother gifted me.” Abigail turned over the leather bound copy in her hand. “She said they were against the church and ought to be burned.”

  “But she had books.”

  “Yes, Bertie, but Frances’ books were all from a religious author. She used to quote from them all the time, if you remember?”

  “You talk about the words in your books.”

  Abigail opened the novel and drank in the smell of leather and slightly damp paper. “My books are about science. She hates that. She hates, even more, the science fiction novels like this one.” Abigail stroked the open page.

  “Well, I like them.” Bertrand held a look of earnest.

  “So do I, Bertie, but that doesn’t matter to her. Now, when we arrive I will be keeping my feelings to myself, just to maintain the peace. You should do the same. It will make things easier at home.”

  “Very well, Abi. I will.” Bertrand was quick to accept all that Abigail said. Aware of this, she constantly edited her communications with him to avoid triggering inappropriate action.

  Before commencing her reading, Abigail gazed once again out the port hole to the turmoil beyond. In truth, she wasn’t at all sure they were safe. She was well aware of the perils the sea held for all travellers. At this time, though, she needed to be strong for Bertrand’s sake. She would never admit her fear to him.

  Abigail settled the book into her lap and began to read. Bertrand became still and leaned in to listen. This was his favourite story and one that had been visited many times during the voyage. She began reading out loud, adding emphasis to the voices as each character spoke.

  Two pages into the chapter, the constant roar outside appeared to change. It developed a high pitched whine, a sound that Abigail found hard to ignore. This grew in intensity until it was necessary to raise her voice to be heard. At this point Abigail stopped to listen. She noticed Bertrand’s eyes growing wider by the second, probably aided by the look of fear she felt creeping across her own face.

  This was not a normal situation. As the puzzled look on Abigail’s face grew, a loud rumbling noise overpowered the existing cacophony. As it grew louder, a plunging sensation forced Abigail to grip the edge of the bunk. The ship ceased lurching, now taking on a more serene and ever increasing tilt to the right. Abigail flung her head around to gape through the port hole. All she could see was sky. Dark foreboding sky offering no clues to explain the change of motion.

  The noise as the wave hit was deafening. Slamming into the side of the ship, it lifted the vessel as though it weighed nothing. The sound of splintering wood and scraping metal was barely distinguishable from the roar and hiss of seething water. Everything swung to the right, throwing Abigail to the floor. Bertrand quickly followed, landing squarely on top of her. Abigail screamed as the pair slid towards the inside wall. The port hole was now directly above them, white roiling water the only thing visible. All motion paused, the ship seemingly hanging, suspended in time. The vessel creaked loudly, as if complaining bitterly over the treatment it was receiving. Cries could be heard, faintly cutting through the continual roar. Bertrand gasped for breath, petrified, trying in vain to release his anguish. His stuttering, grunting sounds, instantly lost to the surrounding clamour. Creaking of iron and timber echoed around the cabin as the ship continued to hang in mid-air. After what seemed an impossible length of time the ship began to slowly return to its previous state. Bedding from the bunks slid down the wall to heap against the door. Bertrand rolled away from Abigail, still clutching his chest, desperate to draw enough breath for the inevitable bellow. As the ship righted and began the familiar side to side lurching of the past twenty hours, Abigail dragged herself over to Bertrand’s side. She gently lifted his head to her lap and stroked his forehead. “There, there, my darling, it’s all over now. See, we’re back to normal again.”

  “You … you … you said we would be all right. You said we wouldn’t die.”

  “Come now, calm down. We aren’t dead are we? See.” Abigail rubbed her hand against his, proving life still held sway. “Come now, calm down. Take a deep breath and try to relax.”

  “I … I ….”

  Abigail put her arm around him as he finally gained the impetus needed to let forth the inevitable wail. Tears formed in her eyes as she held him tight. It was all she could do to not commence bawling herself. Checking her free hand, Abigail realised she was shaking uncontrollably.

  The door banged as someone attempted to push in from the corridor outside. Heaped bedding blocked the opening, preventing entry. A second heave was equally unsuccessful. Abigail brushed aside the bedraggled hair from her face and moved to clear the obstruction.

  A sailor holding a lantern stood in the corridor, the yellow light revealing a worried look on his face. Despite that, it was a relief to hear his calming voice. “Miss Sergeant, Master Sergeant, are you in there?”

  “We are here, sir,” Abigail called, attempting to right herself. “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, miss. We were laid flat when a rogue wave broadsided us. There is considerable damage to the rigging and we’ve lost some cargo, but the ship is sound and we have regained control.”

  “My goodness, I wouldn’t want to experience that again.”

  “No, miss. Are you and your brother hurt at all?”

  “I appear to be uninjured. Bertie, are you hurt?” Abigail turned to her brother who was gulping in vast amounts of air as he shuddered with every sob.

  “I … I don’t want to be here any more.”

  She turned back to the sailor. “I’m sorry, sir, he is quite distressed, but he appears to have no injuries.”

  “Thank you, miss. If you would kindly remain in your cabin we would like to secure the decks before allowing passengers to stroll about again.”

  Abigail felt a ripple of amusement sneak into her mind. She doubted any passenger would be contemplating strolling the decks after this recent incident. More likely they would be cowering in their bunks for the foreseeable future. “Certainly, sir,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm. It was lost on the earnest sailor.

  As the ship returned to its lurching and heaving motion, Abigail found herself strangely relieved. The familiarity of the incessant noise and the dark foreboding light seemed to offer solace after the severe treatment of the rogue wave. She busied herself tidying up the mess while Bertrand sat hunched in a corner, whimpering.

  Lastly, Abigail returned the scattered selection of books to their place on the small dresser. Carefully straightening out a crumpled page from Jules Verne's novel, she sat down on the edge of Bertrand’s bunk and turned to face him. “Shall we continue our story?”

  “I don’t like it here.”

&
nbsp; “I think reading will take our minds off the storm.”

  “Will you stay beside me?”

  “I will remain here, my darling. You just settle back and I’ll continue reading.”

  “I love you, Abi.”

  “Oh, Bertie, I love you too. You are so special to me. I will protect you for as long as I am able.” Abigail turned the page, shuffled her position so that she could lean back against the wall, and began reading.

  Sunlight woke Abigail from her sleep. Filtered through the salt encrusted window it took on a rather soft quality. For a moment Abigail was disorientated but quickly came to her senses. The sound of men’s voices from the deck outside helped locate her. The laughter that followed provided welcome relief. Such frivolity had been missing for over two days. Something else helped ease any built up tension. Behind the sailors’ vocalisations, all was quiet. No roar, no creaking. Only the gentle chuff of the steam engine provided any suggestion they were still at sea.

  She looked across at Bertrand, sleeping soundly with his mouth wide and his pillow skewed to one side. Oh, how she wanted to head outside and assess the situation. She hung her head. The promise made to remain by Bertie’s side curbed her burning curiosity. It would be terrible for him to wake and find her absent.

  Standing quietly, Abigail moved to the tiny desk that sat beneath the port hole. Her journal, pens, and ink bottles had been secured in the locked drawer since the storm had begun. Now, Abigail would be able to update her account of the journey including the terrifying events of yesterday afternoon.

  As she sat, a sudden pang of hunger flushed through her. She realised they hadn’t had a proper meal for over two days. Bertrand will be so hungry when he wakes. The realisation seemed to conjure up memories of delicious food and enticing smells. Memories? The aroma seemed so real. It is real. Familiar smells had begun wafting through the ship. Abigail now knew exactly what they were. Breakfast. She beamed. What better way to rouse Bertrand than with the promise of a hearty meal. Gently stroking his brow, Abigail cooed to wake him. The smile as he opened his eyes brought a huge grin to her face.