On Track for Murder Page 2

  Following a feast of oatmeal porridge with smoked herring, chipped potatoes and scrambled eggs, Abigail decided to take Bertrand out on deck. Her hunger satisfied, she now needed to satisfy her increasing curiosity over the condition of the ship. The knockdown must have caused significant damage. Breaking noises at the time had furnished proof of that. An investigatory tour would provide much material for Abigail’s journal. She might even be able to speak to Captain Ollsen.

  Abigail’s eyes quickly grew accustomed to the severe sunlight that bathed the deck. She was amazed at the sight. Rigging from the centre of the three masts dangled across the funnel. The topmost part of the mast lay to one side, ready to be secured with ropes. Turning to look back, she saw the rear mast completely broken from its mount. The beam had been recovered and neatly secured to the side rail with rope lashings.

  Five sailors busied themselves untangling the rigging from around the funnel. Four others sat on the side of a cargo hatch, smoking. They laughed as they relayed stories of previous knockdowns each had supposedly experienced. One in particular was more verbose than the others. Abigail noticed he relayed increasingly ridiculous experiences to gain one-upmanship. This game was obviously played often. None seemed too concerned.

  As Abigail and Bertrand moved out into the light, the overbearing sailor looked up. “So, what have we here then?” he called out, loudly. “The gorgeous, Miss Sergeant, with her simpleton brother. How did you like the storm, darling?”

  Abigail smiled and moved closer to reply. “I could do without that sort of thing, but we are well thank you.”

  “Well, I am glad. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to such a lovely young girl as yourself, now, would we?” He turned to acknowledge murmurs of agreement from his fellow sailors.

  “Thank you for your concern. It’s most gratifying to know we are in good hands.”

  The sailor nudged his closest comrade before continuing. “I’d like you to be in my hands, darling.” He laughed as his mates slapped him on the back.

  “I’m flattered, sir, but I’m afraid you are not my type.” Abigail’s smile grew.

  “Well, I’m sure you are my type,” the sailor bawled out. “I’m getting off this tub in Fremantle. How about you and I get together and see what we can cook up?” His mates guffawed with laughter, goading him to take the interaction further.

  Abigail raised her eyebrows and shook her head gently. “I like a man I can converse with on an equal footing. How is your knowledge of new technologies and industrial progress?”

  “I could make industrial progress with you, darling. Just ditch the lunatic and we’ll be set.” He stood as the sailors next to him fell deathly quiet. “Just you and me. I’m looking forward to this.”

  Abigail took a step back and pulled Bertrand after her. This had gone far enough. She turned to leave but halted as Bertrand stepped forward.

  He was red in the face and shaking. “Just you leave her alone. You shut up. You stop now.” He was stammering and dribble ran down his chin as he yelled.

  “Hey, the dummy speaks. Tell us a story, dummy.” The rest of the sailors now moved back, away from their antagonistic mate. “Tell us how good your sister is with the boys. I bet she likes it rough, now, doesn’t she?”

  “Stop … stop … you just stop now ….” Bertrand began to pant uncontrollably.

  Abigail stepped forward and addressed the sailor. “That is enough. I will not have that sort of talk. If you stop now I will speak no more of this incident. If not, I will be forced to report you. Do you hear?” As she spoke, the five sailors who had been disentangling the funnel stopped and stared. Her opponent’s three mates stood, wide eyed.

  A barking shout from somewhere behind her made Abigail start. “That man. You there. Stop this instant. What is your name, sailor?” A smartly dressed ship’s officer appeared from behind the open hatchway. “Come on, jump to it, man. What is your name?”

  “Seaman Stanley Larkin, sir.” He barked out the response with obvious contempt.

  “Larkin. We’ve had trouble with you before, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Consider yourself on report, Larkin. In fact ….” The officer paused before beckoning two of the funnel clearing party over. “You men, take Larkin down to the brig. He can spend the time until we reach Fremantle considering the seriousness of his actions. Go.” The officer turned to face Abigail. “I am so sorry, miss. We demand much better behaviour than that from our crew members. Rest assured, you will not be bothered by that man again.”

  “Thank you. I would normally handle such matters myself but he started to overstep acceptable boundaries.”

  “I understand, miss. Please accept my apologies and allow me to invite you to dine with the captain and officers this evening. We should be glad of some educated female company.”

  “I would enjoy that very much, only I have Bertrand to consider.”

  “He is welcome too. You’ve both dined with us before, have you not? Shall we say six-thirty for drinks in the officers’ mess?”

  “Oh, yes. It will be a pleasure. Thank you.” Abigail regained the grin she had previously lost. It had been four weeks since her last captain’s dinner. She recalled the joy of engaging intelligent men in conversation. She particularly liked the discussions around advanced ship design and what each man thought the future held. What a pleasant way to end a rather taxing voyage. Abigail gazed up at the clear blue sky and smiled. Relocating to the Swan River Colony was going to be good for her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The SS Elderslie arrived at Fremantle Jetty just after lunch the following day. Abigail ensured Bertrand was packed and ready well in advance. He could become quite difficult over the most innocuous of circumstances, so to keep him occupied she allocated him the task of observing activity on deck and reporting back. Sailors had repairs to undertake, passengers had belongings to pack. At least a dozen excited trips back and forth were made before the pair finally stood in line ready to disembark.

  Bertrand had been dressed in a grey wool suit and matching cap. Abigail had kept her appearance practical with a green tunic over a white blouse and matching green skirt. She had foregone the bustle knowing how uncomfortable it could be when riding in a wagon. As Father was to be greeting them she felt such a liberty was reasonable.

  Formalities completed, Abigail and Bertrand stepped out onto Australian soil for the first time. Though the sun shone brightly, the air remained cool. Abigail considered this for a second before remembering that July in Australia was actually winter. I could grow to like winters such as this. She shrugged a lace shawl over her shoulders and adjusted her hat.

  Minutes later a porter arrived pushing a hand cart. “This is the first of your luggage, Miss Sergeant. There are two more loads. Will here be good?”

  “Here will be fine, thank you. My family will be here somewhere to greet us.” Abigail scanned the surroundings. It was fascinating. Men wheeled seemingly endless trolly loads of travel chests and wooden crates across to waiting wagons. A family gathered together, the father instructing five children to remain close at all times. Abigail could see that the two boys were paying no attention. She quickly checked Bertrand. He was still by her side. He stood, squinting, mumbling under his breath. He seemed pleased to be off the heaving ship but remained full of trepidation.

  Something else caught Abigail’s attention. A different smell. At first she couldn’t ascertain what it was, then she realised. Horses. As she watched the animals pull away with each full wagon, the scent of dung and sweat rekindled memories of home. Memories of sitting alongside Father on their way to market, or to collect Bertrand from his school classes. Father. Where on earth is he?

  Abigail peered up and down the street. She could see no sign of Father, or Frances, anywhere. “It doesn’t look as though Father is here yet, Bertie. Shall we wait, or make our own way?”

  “Wait.” Bertrand was quick with his decision. Abigail smiled. His answers were not u
sually well thought through, but they came instantly.

  “Then we shall wait here for a while. I suppose if they are running late it would be remiss of us to leave without them.” She sat down on one of their trunks, pulling Bertrand in beside her.

  Time dragged. Abigail took to counting women walking past. There were not that many, only six in the last hour. Here, at the end of the overly long wooden jetty, women were apparently an uncommon sight. Two workmen stopped to ascertain whether Abigail required assistance. She gave assurance that their transport would be arriving momentarily. Now, an hour later, she began to regret dismissing help so readily.

  The arrival of a constable made her look up. “I’m sorry to intrude, miss, but you ought to be moving off soon. I wouldn’t worry you, but the jetty is no place for a lady after dark. May I be of assistance?”

  Abigail stood. “I must confess, constable, your help would be most appreciated. I’ve been expecting my father to collect us. It seems he may have forgotten.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can do then shall we? I wouldn’t want to be responsible for leaving you down here at night. Where does your father live?”

  “He used to live here in Fremantle but moved to a place called Guildford. Father works for the railway. He said he moved because they were planning to relocate their workshops there.”

  “That’s correct, miss. Unpopular move around here, taking away the workshops. But your father will be close to the new site if he lives in Guildford. Good markets there too.”

  “Yes, Father said they were excellent.”

  The constable cast a look around. “Now, how do we get you there?” He scratched his chin. “The train goes that way but I’m afraid you’ve missed the last service of the day. Would a carriage suffice?”

  Abigail smiled and nodded. “Thank you, constable. A carriage would be most welcome.”

  The constable held up a hand. His action drew acknowledgement from a rather scruffy man across the street whose subsequent whistle easily cut through the sound of horses clattering past. Such organisation.

  “Won’t be long, miss … sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Miss Abigail Sergeant. And this is my brother, Bertrand.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Sergeant. I’m Constable Dunning.” He removed his helmet and touched his forelock. Abigail’s smile grew. She liked a man in uniform, and this officer was particularly pleasant.

  He returned the smile before striding over to hail the approaching carriage. Abigail gazed after him. He was tall and slight with neatly trimmed black hair. The uniform was unflattering but Abigail was sure there was a handsome man hidden underneath. A second smile from Constable Dunning caught Abigail by surprise. Had he noticed her stare? Maybe he found her alluring? She was tired and had been at sea for a long time, maybe she was mistaken? She had been in Fremantle barely half a day and already men were at the forefront of her mind.

  To break the discomfort, Abigail glanced back at the jetty. Her attention was drawn to a small wooden shed that sat on the other side of the railway tracks. There, leaning on the shady side of the building, stood the blustering sailor from the SS Elderslie. What was his name again? Larkin, that was it. He appeared to be watching Abigail and Bertrand load their possessions onto the carriage. A slight prickle attacked the back of Abigail’s neck. Larkin was trouble and he had just disembarked in Fremantle. Did he intend to bully Abigail further? She considered mentioning this to Constable Dunning but decided against it. They would be leaving the docks soon and Seaman Larkin would quickly become a distant memory. She paused her thought. What if he follows?

  Abigail put the consideration out of her mind and turned back to the loading of the carriage. “So, Constable Dunning,” she asked. “How far is it to Guildford?”

  Dunning wedged his helmet under his arm and relaxed his stance. “Well, now, how much do you know of the Swan Colony? Do you know of the river and the valley beyond?”

  “I’m afraid I know very little of the region’s geography.” Abigail removed her own hat to prevent the breeze flicking the brim into her face. “There’s a river and a sea port and that is about the limit of my knowledge.”

  “Well, miss, it’s a pleasant place to live. Fremantle is the sea port, as you have well experienced. It is positioned beside the mouth of the Swan River. We would like to be able to take ships further up river but the entrance needs dredging before anything like that can happen. On the cards, though, if the politicians can agree.”

  “So, is Perth up river from here?”

  “That it is, miss. Perth is on the northern banks of the river. Perth is the main business centre for the colony. Further up is Guildford. That is the market centre. A lot of trade is undertaken up there. Not far from there is the new home of the railway workshops. You mentioned your father is involved with the relocation?”

  “I believe he’s quite heavily involved with the entire railway. He was brought out here to oversee the connecting of Perth to Albany on the south coast, and to install new locomotives. He used to work for Beyer Peacock, the locomotive builders in England.”

  “Well, miss, I’m sure he’s doing a fine job. Pity he couldn’t be here to meet you.”

  “He’ll have a good reason, I’m sure.” Abigail glanced at Bertrand. It was more of a check to ensure he wasn’t upset than to confirm his continued presence. She could feel a flush of sadness well up within and was sure the emotion had been noticed. A look at Dunning confirmed her suspicions.

  “Are you all right, Miss Sergeant. I must apologise for mentioning your parents’ absence.”

  Abigail fought back the tears. She couldn’t allow herself to crack now after such a long journey. They were almost home and she needed to remain strong for Bertrand’s sake. Steeling herself, Abigail continued in a pragmatic tone. “They’re my father and step-mother, actually. My birth mother died about five years ago. Father took up with Frances a couple of years later and they were married soon after.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, miss.”

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, constable. I’m grateful for your assistance.” She smiled at him. The return look suggested it was probably rare for a Swan River constable to receive such sentiment.

  A glint in Dunning’s dark blue eyes forced Abigail to turn away before flushing red with embarrassment. She gazed back towards the Jetty. A frown grew across her forehead as she noticed the continued presence of Stanley Larkin. He had moved from the shed, and now stood beside an open cart tethered to a single horse. She sighed with relief as he flung his kit bag onto the rear of the cart. He was finally about to move off after hours of waiting. Yet Abigail was perturbed to find him maintaining a fixed gaze directed towards her. Thinking about it, she felt it was likely a deliberate ploy to intimidate. What a coward. A young woman and her simple brother were no threat to this man.

  For a second time Abigail toyed with the idea of mentioning this to Constable Dunning. Allowing herself to appear frail and easily intimidated was definitely not on her agenda, so she gave up the idea and took her attention back to the, now fully loaded, carriage.

  “There we are, miss.” Dunning called as he opened the half height door. “All loaded and ready to go.” He held out a hand. Abigail obliged in her most ladylike manner, accepting Dunning’s hand as she stepped up. Bertrand muttered something about being perfectly capable and pulled on the handrail to launch himself into the carriage. Overdoing the effort, he landed hard on his knees in-between the seats. He began to cry. Rubbing his back, Abigail called out the open window: “Thank you, Constable Dunning. Thank you for everything. I hope our paths cross again soon.”

  “I’m sure they will, Miss Abigail. Until then.” Abigail wondered whether the use of her first name was intended merely as a show of friendship, or was it an attempt to suggest something more intimate? She put the thought out of her head. She hadn’t even met up with Father and Frances yet. This was no time to be considering potential romance.

  Sh
e waved delicately as the carriage pulled away. A last look back revealed two men gazing after her. A police constable, and an angry sailor.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The house in Guildford was a great deal grander than Abigail had expected of her father and step-mother. It was sited on a large plot that ran all the way down to the river’s edge. Surrounding it on all sides, the well kept lawns were dotted with fruit trees. At the bottom of the garden Abigail spotted a small wooden jetty striking out into the river. Does Father have a river boat? This could be fun indeed.

  Returning her attention to the house, Abigail wondered why no-one had come out to greet them. This was definitely the right address. The name Sergeant proudly displayed on the letter box by the gate proved that. Abigail admired the home. Rising two storeys high with dormer windows in the roof, the white painted building shone a warm orange in the light of the setting sun. A flock of arguing rosellas banked in unison overhead, their pink and yellow plumage glistening as they swooped between the trees. Their intense chirruping brought a smile to Abigail’s face. It was a happy sound and a pleasure to listen to after the monotony of the sea.

  As the carriage pulled away Abigail reached over and clasped Bertrand’s hand. “Well, my darling, we’re here. No going back now.”

  “Can’t go back?” Bertrand’s eyes widened.

  “Well, not today anyway. Look at the house, Bertie. Isn’t it grand. Father has done well for himself here.”

  “It’s big.”

  “It is big. We should be quite comfortable here. I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

  “Frances doesn’t like us.”

  “I know Frances doesn’t like us, but in a house this size we needn’t have much to do with her. We can keep ourselves to ourselves.”

  “Where’s Father?” Bertrand’s overly cautious eyes flicked back and forth, searching.