On Track for Murder Page 25

  “I would expect nothing less.” Abigail wore a stern look. “Have they recovered the trunk, yet?” She attempted to stifle a yawn but failed.

  Ridley paused for the yawn to pass. “They are bringing it up now. It is apparently locked so they have called for a blacksmith. It won’t be long before we discover whether there is useful evidence in there, or not.”

  Abigail gazed into his eyes. “There will be. I’m sure of it.”

  Ridley looked down and sighed. “You know, I’m glad we didn’t have to go down to the fire site. I don’t think I could face that right now.”

  Abigail stroked his cheek. “Oh, my darling. I hadn’t even considered that it may be upsetting for you.”

  He retained his look to the floor. “I don’t know that reliving it so soon after the event would be a good idea. It has been haunting me. Do you realise, I owe my life to you, Abigail. You saved me.”

  “Oh, my darling. I would do anything for you.”

  “I do have a question, though.” Ridley looked up. “Why me?”

  Abigail allowed his gaze to envelope her. “I couldn’t leave you. I just couldn’t …” She coughed, attempting to hide a tear.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ridley rubbed the small of her back. “I am so grateful you chose me. I do know you had spent time with Sleath and found him quite handsome.”

  Abigail stared at the desk. “He may have had muscles but he was no conversationalist. And there were secrets that he hid from me. I’m sorry he died, but even if he were still here, it wouldn’t change how I feel about you.” She smiled.

  A knock at the door saw both heads turn. Constable Parbery stood with a grin across his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” his smile grew. “The trunk is here and the blacksmith has just arrived. You may want to watch this.” He quietly left, closing the door behind him.

  Abigail stood immediately and pulled Ridley to his feet. She kissed him firmly on the lips. “You are fabulous, Ridley Dunning,” she said, as she pulled back. “Now, come on.” Grabbing his arm she shot out the door.

  It took the blacksmith longer than anticipated to release the locks on the trunk. He commented that this particular lock was especially strong. Two failed attempts proved him correct. Eventually he succeeded, utilising a brace-and-bit to bore out each lock in turn. The lid creaked open.

  Abigail gasped. Half filling the trunk was an ornately embroidered white dress, with an ivory jacket thrown on top. A red cloth was scrunched down one side. No, it wasn’t red; it was white. White with red stains across it.

  “Allow me,” Dunning said, reaching in to remove the contents. It was clear immediately that these garments were covered in something red. As Dunning held up the dress it fell to its full length.

  “That’s blood,” Abigail said. “The dress is covered in blood.” She gazed down at the jacket. It too was covered in distinct blood splatter.

  “This is very definitely an important find,” Dunning said, as he laid the garments out on the table. He turned the jacket lapel to locate a name. There it was, like an oasis in the desert; the name ‘Frances Sergeant’. The dress, too, bore the same label. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

  “Frances’ clothing?” Abigail could hardly speak. “Covered in blood. Does this confirm what we have discovered?” She felt silly for asking but it seemed too incredible to be true.

  “I think it very much confirms Frances as your father’s killer,” Dunning replied. “Now it makes sense why Hurley and Burge were hired to burn the trunk. Unwittingly, they were to destroy the evidence.”

  Frances? Father’s killer? That means Bertie definitely didn’t do it. Abigail fought back the tears. She considered the charges relating to Bertie were now sure to be dropped. Mr Robinson would see to that. Mr Robinson.

  Her thoughts quickly turned to Robinson’s insistence on gathering evidence. He was correct. The evidence clearly revealed Frances as Father’s killer. The blood stained dress placed her at the scene. That she had arranged to destroy this evidence threw even more weight behind the assumption of guilt. And now her attempt on Abigail’s life would be damning indeed. All they needed was the innkeepers’ testimonies, and for the Beverley stationmaster to confirm Frances’ movements, and the case would be watertight.

  Abigail considered her grin the widest anyone could wear. She looked across at Ridley. His smile split his face between deep dimples.

  He made no pretence of trying to hide his elation as the evidence was laid out, labels proudly displayed. Dunning called to the sergeant. “Would someone be able to get Robinson the solicitor down here? I would like him to note this.” He began to walk in circles and Abigail noticed a fresh pencil was already missing the top third of its length.

  She sidled up to him as the sergeant left them alone. “This is it. We have the evidence we need. Bertie is as good as released.”

  “Now, don’t get ahead of yourself.” Ridley took hold of her hand. “We still need to present this evidence to the Perth police. Detective Inspector Hobbs isn’t a man to readily admit he is wrong.”

  “But this proves that Bertie didn’t do it.”

  “It also explains why Bertrand was so insistent we get to Frances. He must have witnessed the whole thing.” Dunning shook his head. “It would have been devastating for him.”

  Abigail wiped away a tear. “He was so distressed. I’ve never before seen him unable to speak. Do you suppose when we present the truth he will recover?”

  “I’m afraid I am no expert on such matters but I’m sure it will help.” He kissed Abigail on the forehead, pulling back just as Sergeant Graves returned.

  “I’ve arranged for the evidence to be transferred to Perth and informed them of events here.” Graves gazed once more at the laid out evidence. “Your inspector isn’t too pleased. He says you had better be right.”

  “That sounds like Hobbs,” Dunning said. “Sometimes it feels as though getting a result is more important than getting to the truth.”

  Abigail looked up. “Isn’t that a bad trait for a police detective?”

  Dunning turned to face her. “I was exaggerating, but he does like a swift solution. We had better make sure our case is, indeed, watertight. Having Robinson with us will be a great asset.” He returned his attention to Sergeant Graves. “Did you manage to speak with Mr Robinson?”

  “Yes. I informed him of the discovery. He was most pleased. He said to inform you he has made the bookings for tomorrow.” Graves turned to Dunning. “And I’ve allocated a constable to accompany you. He will look after the evidence. We arranged secure storage for it in the guard’s van.”

  Dunning nodded approval and smiled at Abigail. “This is going to work out just fine, my darling.” They gazed into each others eyes, ignoring the presence of the Albany police sergeant.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A storm rose up that evening. Abigail sat in the sitting room of the Chusan Inn with a copy of Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea clutched in her hand. She had read this volume at least three times before; fortunate really as she was not taking in any of the story. Her mind swam with events from the past two weeks. So much had happened, it took all her energy to mull over the facts and their respective implications.

  Rain battered against the windows. The roar of wind hung as a low background sound, menacing the nervous guest. Flashes of lightning preceded loud thunder claps. Abigail’s mind was taken back to the SS Elderslie and the storm off the Fremantle coast. Then, she had felt her life was in definite danger. A ship at sea was not a safe place to wait out a storm of such ferocity. She recalled Bertie’s fear, manifest in loud wailing and incoherent babbling. He had suffered tremendously since they had left England. Not just the storm and the arguments in Father’s house. Being incarcerated in Fremantle Gaol for a crime he didn’t commit would be taking its toll. She wondered whether he would ever be able to recover from the ordeal.

  As another flash briefly lit up the dim sitting room, Abigail considered the heights s
he would go to for her simple brother. She would do anything to ease his pain and help him live a full and enjoyable life. Now, with Father’s fortune and the granting of support for Bertie in Perth, she would realise that goal. The rumble that followed made Abigail feel strangely secure. The inn was motionless, not tossing about like the ship. The steady gas lamps cast fixed shadows. A low hum of contented chatter revealed little angst amongst those present.

  She looked around the room. Fewer people occupied seats, nervous guests having left for their rooms as the storm took hold. She spotted Ridley sitting with Mr Robinson in a couple of high backed leather chairs. They each clutched a glass containing a small amount of a glistening amber liquid. Scotch whiskey, she guessed. The pair were in deep conversation, seemingly oblivious to the melee outside. Abigail longed for the comforting tones of Ridley’s voice beside her. She considered moving over to join the pair but paused as they downed the warming drink and ordered another. The earnestness with which they spoke appeared to be of a private matter. That’s ridiculous, Abigail thought. Why should they hold secrets from me? She glanced down at her own glass, still full of the gin-and-tonic she had hoped would ease her mind. She considered her enjoyment of alcohol was definitely wanting. It didn’t seem to hold the same allure as it did for the men.

  Still, she longed for her hero’s company. As she toyed with the idea of joining the men, a rather fat black and white cat scurried across the floor. It was the same animal she had observed across the road eying up magpies. Now, a half eaten piece of fish hung from its mouth. Abigail smiled. She could see exactly how the animal became so rotund. She allowed herself to indulge, watching the cat sneak behind a floral sofa and begin devouring the stolen snack. The sheer bliss in its eyes made her smile grow even wider. As she turned back to the room she was surprised to see Ridley standing over her, a slightly worried look on his face.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” Ridley replied. “I am just a little nervous—”

  “It’s only a storm,” cut in Abigail. “Nothing to worry about. We are perfectly safe in here.”

  Ridley shuffled his feet before pulling up a nearby footstool and perching himself on the edge. “I have something to ask you,” he said, leaning so far forward Abigail felt he may well fall off the edge of the stool.

  Abigail gazed into his eyes. “Very well. Please, ask away.”

  Ridley moved forward even further and actually fell onto his left knee before Abigail. He remained in that position while his face grew redder. “I would like to tell you …”

  “Tell me what? What is it, Ridley?”

  “I would like to tell you that I have fallen in love with you, Abigail. I would like to tell you that I have done nothing but think about you ever since you saved me from the fire.”

  Abigail began to flush. She felt the same way. She had already admitted to herself that she was falling in love with her constable hero. Now, the time to confess that love to him had arrived. She found herself lacking courage. But why? Feelings of trepidation over such a confession were far from sensible. She realised that she definitely did want to be courted by this man. “I … I …”

  “Please, Abigail, allow me to continue.” His demeanour was earnest. “Abigail, I have become besotted with you. You bring out something in me that I didn’t know existed. May I ask, please … would you do me the honour of accepting my proposal for your hand in marriage?” He slipped back to his footstool with a childlike look of anticipation in his eyes.

  Abigail gasped. She hadn’t even considered Ridley would be thinking about marriage so soon. She looked at him. He was handsome. Slim and tall, he held himself with assuredness, despite possessing only a limited endowment of muscular features.

  Her mind raced. She hadn’t thought through to this commitment. All she had considered was a courtship, maybe eventually leading further but not before they had become more familiar with each other.

  She thought back to something Mr Robinson had said. He had been most frank with her in discussions after the reading of Father’s will. His words echoed around her head, driving her to distraction with their consequences.

  “Abigail?” Ridley looked eager and nervous at the same time. “Are you all right? You seemed to drift off.”

  “I must apologise. I did drift off. I was remembering something I was told a while ago.”

  Ridley looked anxiously at Abigail. “I love you, Abigail.”

  “Oh, Ridley. I have to confess that I have fallen headlong in love with you too. There is—”

  “So your answer will be …?”

  Abigail reached down and took a rather long swig of her gin-and-tonic. “Ridley, I love being with you … and I would like nothing more than to spend my life with you—”

  “Yes? And?”

  “Ridley, at this time … right now … my answer would have to be … no.”

  Ridley Dunning looked crestfallen. Abigail considered he couldn’t appear more upset if his pet puppy had just died. Her heart ached for him. She longed to be with him. Oh, how she would have loved to say yes.

  Ridley sat on the edge of the stool, his head in his hands. “Why, Abigail? Have I done something wrong?”

  “Oh, no. You have done nothing wrong. You are perfect.”

  “So, why have you declined my offer?”

  Abigail leaned forward and clasped his hands. “My darling, Ridley. I have just come into a great fortune. I don’t yet fully understand the implications of this, but I do know that this wealth caused Frances to commit murder in an attempt to secure it for herself.”

  “Do you think I would—”

  “Heavens no.” Abigail pulled his hands to her lips and kissed them. “It is to do with the inheritance, though. When I was speaking with Mr Robinson he informed me that, under the law, if I marry, the entire fortune becomes the property of my new husband. I relinquish all entitlement to it.”

  “I hadn’t considered that.” Ridley seemed genuine in his comments.

  “Neither had I. I asked Mr Robinson whether that really mattered, as being husband and wife is a combined effort.”

  “I agree.”

  “He spoke of several cases where the wife became accused of infidelity shortly after a marriage entailing wealth. This led to her being sent away with no funds or property at all.”

  Ridley fell back to the floor before Abigail. “Oh, Abigail. I wouldn’t do such a thing. Never in my wildest imaginations could I even contemplate such action.”

  “I do believe you.” Abigail placed her hand on his shoulder. “I was warned by Mr Robinson that many men would attempt to court me when news got out. He said that, even if tempted, I should wait. Through his gentlemen’s club he had news that law changes were being considered; changes enabling women who marry to own property and to enter into contracts and suchlike. Many women, and men for that matter, have been campaigning for such a change to the law. It seems they may be meeting with some success. Other colonies have already enacted such legislation.”

  “So, you aren’t saying no because you don’t want to marry me?”

  “That is correct. I am saying no at this time. If you were of a mind to tarry for a while, until this legislation is enacted, I would deem it an honour to become your wife.”

  Ridley beamed. After the shock of the previous conversation, this was the best outcome he could imagine. He returned himself to the stool. “Abigail, I would consider it an honour to wait for as long as it takes. I would wait my entire lifetime if needs be.”

  Abigail leaned over and, after glancing around to ensure no-one was watching, kissed Ridley on the lips. Her heart was pounding as she allowed him to grasp her hands and draw them close to his lips. He kissed them, lingering with his eyes closed. Her eyes watered as Ridley held her hands to his bowed forehead, the loving touch so gentle. Her love for him grew with every second.

  “Ahem.”

  Abigail jumped at the sound. Dunning shot his head up and blinked before spinni
ng to see who was interrupting. Henry Robinson stood before the pair, smiling uncharacteristically.

  “Mr Robinson,” Abigail said, shuffling to straighten herself in the seat. “It’s good to see you on such an inclement evening. Please, won’t you join us?” She gesticulated to a spare armchair nearby.

  Dunning wiped his brow and sat upright on his stool. “Mr Robinson. Miss Sergeant and I were just discussing our future.”

  Robinson pulled the chair around and reclined, facing the pair. “It appears you have come to some agreement?” His question was barely distinguishable from a statement.

  “Yes,” Dunning replied. “I asked Miss Sergeant to marry me … and she declined.” A smile crept across his face. “For the time-being.”

  Abigail turned slightly to face Robinson. “I heeded your advice, Mr Robinson. I do love Ridley so very much but have asked him to wait until the legislation is changed. As you suggested.”

  “Good,” Robinson nodded. “You are wise to follow my advice.” He took his attention to Dunning. “I am so very sorry for putting the brakes on your intentions. You must see it is for the best.”

  “Oh, I do,” Dunning replied. “Abigail is worth waiting for. It can take as long as necessary, I will still be here waiting when the time is right.” He squeezed Abigail’s hand.

  Robinson continued his nodding. “I’m delighted for you both. Please allow me to congratulate you, both on your upcoming engagement and also on your mature sensibility. It is most gratifying to see a young couple who are truly committed and prepared to allow time to prove that fact.” He shuffled in his seat to face Abigail directly. “Now, Miss Sergeant. To more pressing matters, if I may?”

  Abigail looked to Dunning before replying. “More pressing matters, Mr Robinson? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, my dear. Far from it.” His continuing smile put Abigail at ease. “I have some good news for you.”