On Track for Murder Read online

  In the dim red glow she saw them. Dunning was tied to a rusty mechanical pump about ten yards in front of her. Prentice Sleath, bound to a large iron ring on the opposite wall. Flames licked at both, the heat becoming almost unbearable. Abigail stood motionless, insensible with fear and uncertainty. Where do I go first?

  She looked at Sleath, his muscles useless against the fire. Gagged and well tied, he remained awake. His large amber eyes pleaded with her. She turned to Dunning. He too was gagged and well tied, but his head sagged onto his chest. Was he already dead? Abigail panicked. Without need for further contemplation she rushed forward and knelt beside Dunning. Grabbing his head back she saw he was still breathing. She struggled with the knots. They were tight and weren’t about to relinquish their hold easily.

  Standing, Abigail turned a full circle before spying a rusty saw sitting against the wall a few yards further down. As she stepped towards it, a lump of flaming timber fell from the roof across her path. It knocked the saw from its perch, springing it out away from the wall. It landed close to the roaring cart, the ground around it licking with flames. The heat was intense. Gritting her teeth, she reached out and grabbed the now scalding saw. The cry of pain was completely involuntary. Throwing the blade to the ground, Abigail kicked dust across it, hoping to cool the metal. The effort paid off.

  It took quite a bit of ripping at the rope to free Dunning. He remained slumped over as the ties finally broke free. Pulling at his shirt front, Abigail slapped his face in desperation. She had to revive him. Dragging a fully grown man across the flaming floor on her own was not a viable option. She looked around for anything that may help. Nothing. She bent down in front of his face, tears streaming.

  She called out, “Ridley. Wake up Ridley. Don’t die now. I need you. Please wake up.” Without thinking she ripped off the gag and shook him wildly. She hugged him to her and cried loudly. Feelings she had never previously explored rose within. Feelings of happiness and pleasure preceded those of loss and sorrow. He can’t die. As another beam crashed down from above, Abigail pulled his face around to hers and kissed him on the lips. Her tears smeared across his face. He coughed.

  “Ridley, Ridley, wake up Ridley. Come on, we have to get out of here.” Once again she shook him as hard as she could. He groaned loudly before opening his eyes and gazing at her.

  He smiled. “Are you rescuing me?”

  “No time for that. We have to go. Get up and run. This way. Please. Come on.” The desperation in Abigail’s voice seemed to work a magic in Dunning. He rolled to his knees and struggled to his feet. Staring around he grabbed Abigail’s hand and began to head for the front door.

  “No. Not that way. It’s locked.” Abigail fought against his pull. “To the back door. Hurry.”

  Dunning doubled over in a coughing fit. Abigail pulled him violently and he succumbed, running after her, coughing as they went. A louder crash sent sparks flying past them as an entire roof beam collapsed inwards. Behind the flaming cart Abigail could still see Prentice Sleath, struggling against his bonds, a look of sheer terror in his eyes. She paused. Another crack and the beam directly above Sleath gave way, crashing down on him. The plume of sparks and increased flame blotted out her view. The flames raced up the wall with renewed vigour, swirling around what was left of the roof above. There was no hope. Sleath must have been killed. Another beam crashed across the first, confirming Abigail’s fears. She stood, captivated by the turn of fate that was able to extinguish a life with such ease.

  Amidst the commotion Abigail heard Dunning call. “Abigail. Come on. Quickly. We must get out of here.” He doubled over with increased coughing. They ran, out into the daylight.

  Upon reaching the outside air, Abigail stopped for breath, but Dunning pulled her on. The wall of the building had a marked bow in it. Columns of smoke began to pour from cracks in the wooden walls. Finally, less than a minute after their escape, the rear of the building collapsed in on itself. Sparks raced for the sky, heralding the final demise of the shed.

  Abigail sobbed as Ridley held her. His closeness offered a solace she had never experienced before. She didn’t want to move. Even when people from the town began arriving, the pair held the embrace. They had escaped. They were alive, and they were free.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Abigail sat in the back room of the police station. A blanket had been draped over her legs and a woollen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She gazed down at her hands. Sore, red and swollen, they resembled those of a rough manual labourer. She coughed, a raspy, phlegm filled, cough. The smell of burned cloth hung in the air.

  A knock at the door brought her to her senses. “Hello, miss. Would you like a cup of tea?” The tall policeman with the red moustache stood in the doorway. “Constable Dunning will be with you shortly and Sergeant Graves would like to record a statement. Do you feel up to that right now or would you prefer more time?”

  “No, please,” Abigail replied. “I need to speak to the sergeant as quickly as possible. And I would love to see Constable Dunning.”

  The tea was set down and the officer left to relay the news. Abigail sat back and sighed. Life had taken a bit of a sharp turn and left her wondering what course of action to follow next. Spending time with Ridley sat high on her agenda, but that alone wouldn’t bring to light the required evidence. How much weight would her word, and that of Ridley Dunning, have in a court of law? Mr Robinson would need to be consulted.

  The tea smelled good. It tasted even better. Within minutes the sergeant entered carrying a large notepad and a selection of pencils.

  He sat. “Well, Miss Sergeant. That was quite some escape you pulled off. Constable Dunning owes you his life.”

  Abigail looked up at him over her clasped cup. “Anyone would have done the same.”

  “Well, miss. It is unfortunate, but I know that not to be the case. Many would just stand and stare.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t just watch while people were in trouble. I think that may be one of my faults.”

  “Not a fault, miss. An admirable quality. Now …” he licked his pencil as he sat in the chair opposite. “Constable Parbery informs me you would like to speak to me?”

  “Yes, yes.” Abigail sat forward, the cup still warming between her hands. “There were three men in a boat that exploded in the harbour—”

  “Yes, we were notified by a ship’s captain. We sent out a launch to pick them up. Only two men, though.”

  “Only two?” Abigail sat bolt upright. “Do you know their names?”

  “I do. Thomas Hurley and Eugene Burge. They are known to us.”

  “There was no-one else?”

  “No, miss. Do you know something—”

  “Yes, I do.” She leaned forward. “You must keep them in gaol. Don’t let them get away. There was also a third man, Stanley Larkin. He was on the boat as well.”

  Sergeant Graves scribbled quickly. “How do you know all this, miss?”

  “Just keep hold of them, would you. We must find Larkin.”

  “Hold on, miss. You’re getting ahead of me here. Please could you start at the beginning?”

  “You have Thomas Hurley and Eugene Burge, don’t you?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “And you will keep them?”

  “We will. For now, anyway.”

  Abigail sank back in her seat and placed the empty cup on the small table. “Thank you.”

  “Now, may we start from the beginning?” Graves tapped his notepad.

  “Well, as you know, I came into town with …”

  “You were with a young man, yes.”

  “Well, he persuaded me to go down to the waterfront. Beside an old fisherman’s cottage … where the fire was.”

  “Yes?” Graves scribbled madly.

  “Then Ridley … sorry, Constable Dunning, arrived and they fought. Prentice Sleath, the young man, had tied me up.”

  “Why was that, miss?” He turned a page of his notepad.

  “I do
n’t know. Sleath came to Albany with my step-mother, Frances …” Abigail stared at the ceiling, trying to find a reason.

  “And?”

  “Oh, and … then Larkin arrived with those two men, Thomas and Eugene. They took me to the steam boat and left Constable Dunning and Sleath tied up in the shed.”

  “This is very confusing, miss.”

  “I believe he wanted to extract ransom money from my father.”

  “I see. Your father has money, does he?”

  “Well.” Abigail’s mouth dropped. “He was killed in Perth. That is why Constable Dunning and I came down to Albany.”

  “But didn’t you come down with Prentice Sleath?”

  Abigail shifted in her seat. She was happy to tell Ridley about stealing the locomotive, but wasn’t so sure about this sergeant. “Is Constable Dunning coming to see me?”

  “He will, yes, miss. When we are finished here.”

  “But it is so confusing, even I don’t know what is actually going on.”

  Graves flipped over another page of his notepad and licked his pencil. “Why don’t you tell me what you do know.”

  “Well, Father was killed in Perth three days ago. The police suspect Bertrand, my brother. But he insisted we speak to Frances, our step-mother.”

  “Do go on.”

  “Frances had left Father the day before and travelled here. She took Prentice Sleath with her. He has now burned in the fire.”

  The sergeant sat forward, his brow furrowed. “There was someone else in the shed?”

  “Yes. Sleath was tied up against the far wall. I couldn’t get to him. It was awful.” The vision swam across her memory. The writhing, and the look on his face, would be something that would haunt her forever. She forced back a tear.

  “Was there anyone else, miss?”

  Abigail sniffed, searching for her handkerchief. She realised it had been left on the boat with her skirt and tunic. “Anyone else? No, not that I was aware of. Constable Dunning may know more.”

  “Indeed. He has furnished a report. It seems he is in the dark as to motive, much like yourself.”

  “It is very confusing.” Abigail gave up the handkerchief search and, as delicately as possible, wiped her dribbling nose on the back of her fingers.

  “So, miss.” Sergeant Graves shook his head and tutted as he re-read his notes. “What about these two men, Hurley and Burge?”

  “They worked with Larkin to kidnap me. They have a hideout on an island outside the harbour. The hut had burned down, which is why they returned with me to town.”

  “Breaksea Island? Where the lighthouse stands?”

  “No, the other one.”

  “Michaelmas Island?” He tapped his notepad, waiting for a response.

  “Michaelmas,” Abigail smiled. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

  He looked up. “Tricky. It’s quite rocky there.”

  Abigail turned and coughed repeatedly into her hand. After a breather, she turned back. “I’m so sorry. The fire, you know.” She wiped her hand over her mouth.

  “Are you in need of a doctor, miss?” Graves looked concerned.

  “No, I’ll be all right.” Abigail forced a smile and continued. “They have some sort of makeshift jetty set up. In a small rocky bay.”

  “We’ll check the nautical charts.” Another page was flipped over.

  Abigail paused, waiting for Graves’ note taking to catch up. When he stopped and looked up, she continued. “They have stolen goods there. And papers from the solicitor’s office.”

  “Interesting,” he said. “So was it these two men that set the fire?”

  “I believe that to be the case. I heard breaking glass before they left. I think there was some kind of fuel oil in bottles.”

  “And you hid from them?”

  “Yes. I sabotaged the steam boat so they wouldn’t get far. Then I watched as they sailed away. It didn’t take long …” Abigail stopped and stared at the ceiling. Her countenance dropped. “If I had gone straight to the shed, Prentice would still be alive. I could have rescued him, too.”

  “Now, now, miss. You can’t afford to think like that. It isn’t your fault that you weren’t a few minutes earlier on the scene. You mustn’t say that. It will upset you.”

  Abigail snapped at him. “I am already upset.”

  “Yes, yes, I apologise. Please, don’t shout.” He stared at his pencil and frowned. “I think I will allow you some time with Constable Dunning, now. Would that be satisfactory?”

  Abigail Shuffled and rearranged the blanket over her knees. She smiled gingerly at the Graves. “I do apologise, sergeant. It has been a harrowing few days and I am so tired.”

  “Think nothing of it, miss,” he replied. “I’ll leave you with Dunning. We will speak later.” He walked to the door, picking up the empty teacup on the way.

  After what seemed like hours, Ridley Dunning entered clutching the sergeant’s notepad. He placed it on the small table before gently closing the door. Abigail stood to face him. The blanket dropped to the ground, leaving her standing in her ripped under-garments. There was no embarrassment. Without a word, the pair embraced. Abigail felt the warmth of his body easily through her soft shift. The scent of Coal Tar Soap evoked new feelings, unfamiliar feelings. A strange fluttering in her belly, an almost nervous feeling.

  They hugged. Abigail wished the moment could last forever. So, it seemed, did Ridley. The sound of footsteps passing the closed door eventually broke the spell of the embrace.

  Dunning reached down and grasped Abigail’s hands. “Abigail, I’m so glad you are all right. I was worried you may have been injured in the fire.”

  She gazed up into his deep searching eyes. “It was scary but I have escaped with only minor cuts and burns.”

  “You have burns?” Dunning noticed the redness of her hands.

  “It’s fine. I am fine. But how are you?”

  Dunning clutched her hands to his chest. “Knowing you are safe is all the tonic I need.” His eyes glistened in the dim light. They seemed to draw Abigail in, suggesting a closeness that was yet to be spoken of. She was transfixed. Her heart beat faster as she held his gaze. The firmness of his hands clasping her own offered security. Oh, how she needed that right now.

  With their gaze holding, Abigail tilted her head to one side, closed her eyes, and allowed her lips to move to his. The kiss was warm. His arm reached around her and pulled her close. The growing emotion was unexpected. Tears graced Abigail’s face. Her insides turned somersaults. Was this really happening? She felt his lips move against hers. Yes, this was happening. Abigail felt her entire body relax. They clung together, the relief of survival, mixed with a new found longing, keeping them from halting this most precious moment.

  Clomping footsteps in the corridor brought them back to reality. Once again, the embrace broke. They parted but this time Dunning held on to Abigail, gazing into her eyes. “You are an amazing woman,” he said. “Where have you been all my life?”

  Abigail giggled, then looked up. “It doesn’t matter where I’ve been, but I know where I would like to be from here on.” She smiled as he squeezed her shoulders.

  “Perhaps, later on, I could entice you out for a meal together?” His eyebrows lifted. “We might even engage in a moonlit walk afterwards?”

  “It mustn’t be too late. It’s not done for an unmarried woman to be walking out late at night.” Abigail leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. She giggled once again. “Especially a woman wearing nothing but her undergarments.”

  “Dear me, we will have to do something about that. I will get Constable Parbery to …” he paused. “No, I will go and select a dress for you. There is a haberdashery shop just up the road. Then, would you grace me with your presence this evening?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said, squeezing him tightly.

  While Dunning was away, Abigail was furnished with a hearty lunch. A thick chicken soup with slices of buttered bread warmed her thro
ugh. It had been days since she had enjoyed a proper meal. She had forgotten how hungry she had become.

  Abigail had barely finished her second cup of tea when Dunning returned, a large box under his arm. “Personal delivery for Miss Abigail Sergeant,” he quipped, placing the box on the table and lifting the lid.

  Abigail gasped as she gazed into the box. The crimson skirt appeared to shimmer in the afternoon light. She pulled it out and held it up. A gold braid ran down the front, forming a delicate detail around the hem. She picked out the tunic and examined that. In the same crimson colour, a row of intricately worked gold buttons ran down the front, with gold braid around the low neck line.

  “Oh, Ridley, this is too much,” she said. “I was expecting a workers’ smock. Something utilitarian. This … this is beautiful.”

  “A beautiful outfit for a beautiful woman,” Dunning responded. “I want you to feel good as well as look good. Even though we have come through this ordeal and are safe, we mustn’t rest. We have work to do if we are to save Bertrand. I’m sure you would like to appear properly attired for a spell of detective work.”

  Abigail rushed up and hugged him. “Thank you. You are too kind.”

  Despite having spent the last couple of hours with Abigail in her under-garments, Dunning excused himself, allowing her privacy to dress. He asked Constable Parbery to keep an eye out and ensure no-one disturbed her. Dunning then took time out to down a bowl of the chicken soup, mopping out the remnants with large hunks of thickly buttered bread.

  When Abigail emerged, a second empty bowl sat in front of Dunning. He was just finishing off the last hunk of bread when she entered the room. She stood tall. She had managed to clean the dust from her long hair utilising a wooden handled hairbrush Dunning had bought for her. Now, tied back in a pony-tail, it shone like the dress.