On Track for Murder Read online

  “Please, do tell.” Abigail couldn’t imagine any better news.

  “It’s about your brother, Bertrand.”

  “Bertie, yes. Is he all right? He isn’t in any more trouble is he?”

  “No trouble. No trouble at all. I have communicated with the court in Perth and described the evidence we gathered. They agreed that Bertrand was innocent. After consulting with the police superintendent it was decided to drop the charges against him. They consented to releasing him.”

  “Oh, Mr Robinson.” Tears flowed down Abigail’s cheeks.

  “I received word only half-an-hour ago that he has since been released.”

  Abigail stood and flung her arms around Robinson’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you, Mr Robinson. Thank you so very much for all your hard work …” She stopped suddenly and stood up. “Oh, but he has nowhere to go. He is unable to fend for himself. I hope they don’t just let him out. He wouldn’t know what to do, where to go.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Miss Sergeant. I have a colleague who runs a school for slow witted children. He agreed to look after Bertrand until you return. He has a very comfortable facility and the children there seem most happy.”

  Abigail’s sight turned fluid as the tears flowed. “Oh, Mr Robinson, what have I done to deserve such favourable treatment? You have been so kind. How could I ever repay such generosity?”

  “My dear,” Robinson responded. “You agreed to continue with my services. Your father helped me out with compassion and support after my wife died. He was a real gentleman. It is only fitting that I reciprocate when his daughter needs help. I consider you almost like family. I had hoped you would be disposed to treat me similarly?”

  “I would be most honoured,” Abigail replied. “What do you think, Ridley?”

  Dunning smiled. “I think that would be most satisfactory.”

  With so much to give thanks for, the trio ordered another round of drinks and settled back to enjoy each others’ company. Abigail felt secure and happy for the first time since arriving in the Swan River Colony. As she sat, the large fat cat rubbed around her legs, then jumped up onto her lap. It nestled in and began contentedly cleaning itself. Abigail smiled. This was going to work out just fine.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  After three weeks of scrubbing and painting, Abigail had made the house in Guildford a home for her and Bertrand. Frances’ things had been removed and several of the pictures replaced. The books by Jacobson had been taken away by the police, as had all of Frances’ personal papers. Even the disturbing tapestry of biblical retribution had been secured as evidence. It was never needed.

  Bertie had been given the say over the decoration of his room. The result, Abigail felt, was remarkably tasteful. Bertrand had been entranced by recollections of Frances’ capture. He sat, mouth wide, at the description of the fire and of how Abigail had sabotaged the small steam boat, thus thwarting the criminals’ escape. When it came to the upcoming execution of their step-mother, both Abigail and Ridley felt it wise to gloss over the truth. All Bertie needed to know was that she had gone away forever. He was satisfied with that. Abigail noticed him physically relax when he was given the news. He began to speak again and even asked for some paper to draw pictures of his feelings.

  Bertrand had been allocated a tutor who spent every day, and three evenings a week, with him. His progress was remarkable. It seemed to Abigail that Bertie had turned a corner in his development. He was beginning to understand basic concepts and even became a pleasure to converse with. The occasional outbursts, and associated dark moods, were becoming less frequent; Bertie even taking himself off to his room after the last effort, in an attempt to calm himself.

  This afternoon, Bertie sat in the dining room with his tutor. A burst of laughter leaked down the hallway revealing that he was very much enjoying his lesson. Abigail smiled. Perched on a new floral sofa in the front sitting room, she patiently waited for Ridley to arrive. Sunlight streamed in through the large french windows, a foretaste of a hot summer to come. Abigail mulled over the events of the past three months, quietly recounting each element. Her smile grew wider as she recalled Ridley’s exploits. More than any other event, they hung in her mind; fond memories of her hero saving her from the beast. Butterflies played in her stomach as she contemplated the wonderful future they would enjoy together. She couldn’t be happier.

  Just as Abigail was about to rise and organise a cup of tea, the door rattled open.

  Ridley entered clutching the recently delivered mail. “Good afternoon my darling,” he called, as he approached the sofa.

  “Good afternoon to you, good sir,” Abigail replied, with an over-dramatic bow.

  Ridley nodded respectfully before nestling in beside Abigail and placing the sole letter on a side table. “I think you should read this newspaper first,” he said, handing Abigail a copy of the Albany Mail. “It arrived with the post. Robinson sent it up.” He placed the paper in her lap and sat back to observe her reaction.

  Abigail lifted up the paper. It had been opened to the relevant page and folded over to allow easy reading. She read the heading out loud, “Two men hanged for waterfront fire murder.” She looked at Ridley. “So, they’ve finally gone.” As he nodded she turned back to the text. “Two local criminals, Thomas Hurley and Eugene Burge, have been hanged today. They had been sentenced for the murder of Mr Prentice Sleath, formerly of Perth. The men were accused of setting a fire that destroyed the old waterfront boat shed on the sixth of July. The resulting conflagration resulted in the death of Mr Prentice Sleath. It was also responsible for injuries to Constable Ridley Dunning, of the Swan River Constabulary, and Miss Abigail Sergeant, wealthy heiress of Guildford.” Abigail smiled. “I have never considered myself a ‘wealthy heiress’, but I suppose the description is quite correct.”

  Dunning leaned forward. “My darling, you have become quite the celebrity in Albany. It appears you have made many new friends down there.”

  Abigail grinned as she imagined news of the daring rescue spreading through town faster than any flames could. She continued reading. “The pair were conspirators in a plan to dispose of evidence from a Perth murder case. The death of Sleath was deemed a deliberate act, as was the attempt on Constable Dunning’s life.” She looked up. “Well, they got what they deserved.”

  Dunning nodded slowly. “They definitely did.”

  “It’s such a shame,” Abigail sighed. “They weren’t exactly the brains behind the crimes, but then they did nothing to try and stop what was happening.”

  “Remember, the judge commented on that very thing.” Ridley tapped his nose. “He said the pair were devoid of conscience and relished the opportunity to break the law so flagrantly.”

  Abigail’s eyebrows rose. “I thought he put it quite harshly, but what he said was true.” She continued reading from the paper. “The case for a capital sentence hinged on the supposition of premeditation. It was held that the pair were well aware of the two men shackled to the shed when they lit the fire—”

  “Well, that’s true,” cut in Ridley. “I can still recall the look Thomas Hurley gave me as he broke open those bottles of paraffin.”

  “Oh, my darling,” Abigail reached over and took his hand. “At least you got to relay your story to the court.”

  “I must say, it was quite cathartic to offload that particular burden,” Ridley replied.

  Pointing to the paper, Ridley stifled a grin. “Have you read the comments regarding our testimonies?”

  “Not yet,” she said, continuing to scan the page. “It states that your testimony was quite damning and pretty much sealed the case.” She paused as she scanned ahead. A smile crept over her face as she recommenced reading aloud. “Abigail Sergeant was hailed a hero for her daring rescue of Constable Dunning. The judge commented that without her strong will and determination Constable Dunning would surely be dead along with Sleath.” She paused as a chuckle rose to her lips.

  “Well?” Ridley grinn
ed.

  “Well,” she flushed crimson as she ruffled the paper and continued reading. “This reporter, for one, found Miss Sergeant to be the most captivating woman ever to be reported upon. A special honour is to be bestowed upon Miss Sergeant by His Worship the Mayor in an upcoming ceremony. The town of Albany wishes to acknowledge the immense bravery and tenacity of this most beguiling woman.” Abigail put down the paper. “I can’t read any more. It’s all a bit much.”

  Ridley stroked her hand and smiled. “You have certainly become quite the local celebrity. I believe you will be treated with the utmost respect every time you visit the area.”

  Abigail reach down to pick up the letter. “And with a large property down there we shall be visiting quite a lot, I feel.”

  “We?”

  “You do still intend to marry me when the time is right?” She placed the letter in her lap and grasped Ridley’s hand.

  “I do so very much intend to marry you,” he responded. “If you will still have me … a mere constable.”

  Abigail squeezed his hand tightly. “My darling, Ridley. I do love you so very much. Have no doubt that I desire to spend my life with you. You are the bravest most thoughtful man I have ever met.”

  “And you, my sweetheart, are the most captivating woman I have ever met. That reporter wasn’t wrong in his summation of your qualities.” Ridley leaned in and kissed her … then kissed her again. Abigail glowed as he reclined in the sofa. He made a dramatic show of leaning his head back with his eyes closed, an overemphasised grin across his face.

  “Oh, you big flatterer,” Abigail said. She lifted the letter from her lap and reached for the silver opener. Her smile weakened as she read. “It’s from Mr Robinson. He asks whether I want to be present at Frances’ hanging. He says he is prepared to request both of us be present, if we so desire.”

  Ridley recovered from his exaggerated recline. “And do you?” He leaned forward and grasped her hand. “I have witnessed hangings before. For you, though, this is personal. It can be quite disturbing.”

  Abigail stared at the letter, her lips pursed. Mere seconds later she lifted her head and exclaimed. “Yes. Yes, I do. If it is allowed, I would very much like to see that woman receive her just-desserts.”

  Ridley stifled a smile. “If you are sure?”

  “I am sure. I know it will not be pleasant, but neither was what she did to my father. I want to see her leave this life. Then I can move on.”

  Ridley forced a smile. “Well, you have the right if you want. It’s still a few weeks away. You can always change your mind.”

  “I won’t change my mind.” Abigail returned his flattened smile. “I can’t get her out of my head. I do believe witnessing her execution will help let it go.”

  Ridley’s smile grew. “Whatever you want, my darling, you shall have.”

  Abigail knew he meant every word. She stroked his hand. “I love you,” she said.

  Ridley gazed into her eyes. His look of total compassion warmed Abigail’s heart. She felt so lucky to be in this place, with this man, at this time. She allowed herself to drift into a dream: Her life stretched before her; a life with love and compassion, with care and understanding. She saw her role in looking after Bertie as a privilege rather than a chore. She felt the passion for invention and technological advancement spurring her on, taunting her with endless possibilities. She imagined herself soaring through the sky at the controls of a powerful flying machine. She would swoop down to wave at Bertie and Ridley who would be standing in awe at her prowess. She would then rise up into the clouds to bask in the freedom that flight offered the successful aviator.

  “Ahem.” Ridley waved his hand in front of Abigail’s face. “Are you in there?”

  “I am so sorry,” she replied. “I was away in a flying machine, enjoying the freedom of the empty skies.”

  “You know it is highly likely that you will fly one of those things one day?” Ridley regained his mischievous grin.

  “I will make sure you get to ride with me.” Abigail mimicked his expression.

  “I believe it would take a lot of convincing to get me into one of those contraptions.”

  Abigail cocked her head and fluttered her eyelids. “I can be most persuasive when I want.”

  Ridley just nodded.

  Abigail stood decisively and turned to face Ridley, mimicking standing to attention. “Sir,” she began. “I believe it’s time for tea, sir.”

  Ridley grinned and faked a salute. “Very well that man. Tea it shall be. Carry on.” Abigail left for the kitchen, laughing all the way.

  As the tea was set down, Abigail took on a rather pensive look. “Ridley,” she commented as she sat and leaned in to pour. “I have been thinking.”

  Ridley looked at her. The pencil he had been attempting a crossword puzzle with found its way to his mouth. “Yes?”

  “It’s just that … you know how Stanley Larkin supposedly drowned after the boiler explosion?”

  “That is how it seems.”

  “Well, what if he didn’t?”

  Ridley removed the pencil in favour of his teacup but remained perched on the edge of the sofa, gazing at the floor. “You do know that the boy, Smith, was lying when he said a big man gave him the note. He confessed that it was Frances.”

  Abigail shuffled in her seat. “Yes, yes, I do know that. It’s just that, they haven’t recovered a body, despite the boat being salvaged in its entirety.”

  “There are sharks in that bay, you know.” Ridley sipped his tea. “Anyone bleeding or wounded would not last long.”

  Abigail maintained her worried look. “I agree, but what if he made it to shore?”

  Ridley set down his cup and cradled Abigail’s hand in his. “My darling. You have me now. I will protect you. And anyway, the police have Larkin’s description and will be on the lookout for him. Until a body is recovered he is still a wanted man.”

  Abigail allowed her smile to return. Ridley was right.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Two months later. Fremantle Gaol.

  Abigail stood in the small stone room at Fremantle Gaol, clutching Ridley’s arm. She wasn’t sure whether she should look or not but found herself unable to turn away. Merely being there was a privilege not afforded to many. Public hangings were a thing of the past, all now being carried out in closed rooms within the gaol walls. Knowing the strength Abigail possessed, Mr Robinson had used his connections to secure her a place. Constable Ridley Dunning’s presence, as the arresting officer, had been easier to arrange.

  A dozen people stood waiting for the condemned woman to appear. The mood was sombre, the atmosphere dense. Barely a word was spoken amongst the gathered witnesses. All listened intently for the sound of the gaol door. The wait seemed endless. Although the execution was scheduled for eight o’clock in the morning, the group had assembled a good half-an-hour earlier. That half-an-hour now seemed like days.

  Alongside Abigail and Ridley stood members of the press. They eagerly waited, pads and pencils at the ready. Abigail glanced at Ridley. He stared at the waiting rope with a glazed look in his eyes. When she saw him reach his right hand to his mouth, Abigail was certain he was hoping for a pencil to chew on. He hoped in vain.

  A light thump caused all to turn in unison. The lock rattled before the gaol door slowly creaked open. Whispers ran quickly around the room. All fell silent. The Sheriff entered first, followed by the Chaplain. Frances was flanked by two prison guards and followed by the superintendent of the prison. The medical officer along with several other wardens brought up the rear. As she entered, Frances loudly proclaimed that evil was rife in the colony and that she was dying for a righteous cause. The Chaplain seemed perplexed but continued with his duties regardless.

  Abigail felt numb. She had assumed this would be a chilling experience; one that she would struggle to contend with. The spectacle before her surprised her. The woman who had lived the life of her step-mother, all the while plotting her father’s m
urder, seemed like a surreal tailor’s dummy. There appeared to be no life in her. The protestations flowed more like gramophone recordings than human speech. Abigail mused that it was like watching a representation of one of ‘Conan Doyle’s’ novels.

  As she gazed at the unfolding drama, Abigail felt a calmness wash over her. A small voice wafted through her mind; consoling her. It will soon be over. All will be put to right. It was all Abigail could do to prevent a smile creasing across her face. She looked to Ridley. He stood still, engrossed in the proceedings. She hugged his arm tightly as the white cap was placed over Frances’ head. At that point, Frances had gone; her face now hidden from view. Abigail said a brief farewell, exhorting Frances to become a better person in her future lives. All feeling that this was a real person had departed. This was the releasing of a destructive soul from the world, and the world would be a better place for it.

  The sound of the trap door opening and the rope pulling tight, plucked Abigail from her dream. Journalists madly scribbled their accounts. Wardens pulled back, and the medical officer moved down to the pit where the final pronouncement would ultimately be made. Seemingly unending silence was cut only by the scratching of pencil lead in the pressmen’s notebooks. Ridley turned to Abigail and hugged her tightly. Never-mind what anyone else thought. In Ridley’s mind this was retribution for the killing of Abigail’s father, and he assumed Abigail would be upset. In Abigail’s mind this chapter in her life was finally ended. She could now embark wholeheartedly on the journey that would be the rest of her life.

  Author's Note

  The characters and events in this work are fictitious.

  Location, transport and communication details are based on historical accounts of the time, however their inclusion is purely for fictional effect.