On Track for Murder Page 7

  Ten minutes later the train finally left the station. Dunning sat opposite her, busying himself with a satchel of papers he had brought along to read. Abigail dearly wanted to open her journal and begin recording her observations, but was saddened to find her writing apparel had been packed in her luggage and stored somewhere else on the train.

  Barely a word was spoken as they rumbled on into uninhabited bushland on the outskirts of the colony. With speed increasing, the carriage began to rock and the passing scenery blurred. An odd guttural noise made Abigail look up. She grinned at the sight. Dunning’s face had begun to turn a light shade of green.

  Abigail leaned across. “I think you will find that the motion of the carriage doesn’t agree with your reading. It’s the rocking that does it.”

  He groaned as he looked up. “Oh, I am starting to feel decidedly unwell.”

  “If you look up, you will feel much better.”

  Dunning breathed in deeply and took his attention away from the satchel. “Thank you. I feel I’d require a chamber pot or a bucket were I to continue.”

  “I do understand.” She smiled. “I became sick on a train in England. It was most distressing.”

  “Tell me, Miss Sergeant.” He was obviously trying to take his mind off the nauseous feeling. “Are you truly convinced we’ll find something to help your brother?”

  “I am. I feel most strongly that we will prove him innocent.”

  “You seem awfully sure of this. Is there something I should know?”

  Abigail stared out the window at the passing Australian bush. Oh, how she would love to turn back the clock. She would stay home that fateful day, not go off in search of Prentice Sleath. She would ignore his midnight rendezvous with Frances. She would be there, able to stop the murder. Or would she? Maybe she would become a second victim? The thought sent a shiver through her entire body.

  “Are you cold?” Dunning gazed across the compartment.

  “No, the temperature is fine. I was thinking about Father.”

  “You don’t want to upset yourself.” He leaned forward. “Let’s talk about our plan for Albany.”

  Abigail returned her attention to Dunning. “We have a long way to go before then. We ought to work during our overnight stop in Beverley. We should look for anyone who saw Frances or Sleath on their way down.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “It would confirm that we are on the right track. We may learn whether Sleath was with Frances or not. For some reason I feel that may be significant.”

  Dunning rubbed his chin. “We must also check in with the electric telegraph office. There is a possibility the line may have been repaired.”

  “I would dearly love to discover when Frances’ ship is due to leave for New Zealand. We could send a telegram and find out. I would hate to miss the boat.”

  Dunning pulled out his pencil. “There’s not a great deal we can do to avoid that. We can’t move any faster than the train.”

  Abigail stared out. “No … no we can’t … but I’m sure we will find what we need.”

  “Please, you haven’t said, what is it that makes you so convinced? If there is anything you haven’t told me?”

  “No, I have no other evidence. It’s just that …”

  Dunning sat forward, the anticipation of a marvellous revelation quite enthralling. “Yes?”

  “Well, I never told you about Seaman Stanley Larkin.”

  Dunning began to chew his pencil. “Who is Stanley Larkin?”

  “He’s a sailor from the SS Elderslie. He abused Bertie and myself after the storm—”

  Dunning dropped his pencil. “He laid a hand on you? Did you report this?”

  “No, no. Not physically. He just spoke harshly of Bertie’s condition and about how he wanted to spend time with me in Fremantle.” Her eyes began to tear up. “He asked if I like it rough.”

  “I hope you reported this.”

  “I didn’t need to. He was overheard by an officer and ended up in the brig.”

  Dunning retrieved his rather disfigured pencil from the floor. “Well, good riddance then. We don’t need men like that harassing young women.”

  Abigail looked down, her mind racing. “There’s more.”

  “More?” He revisited his pencil.

  “When you found us beside the jetty in Fremantle, Larkin was watching us. He stood for hours, just watching. He was still there when we left.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this at the time?”

  Abigail shifted in her seat. “Well, we had only just arrived, and you were so kind. I did’t want to appear paranoid. I thought he would just go away.”

  “That’s the last you saw of him, though?”

  “No. I’m afraid not.” Abigail’s brow furrowed. “When I went searching for Sleath at the engine sheds, Larkin was there. He was in a sore mood.”

  “He was at the locomotive works?”

  “He had just been turned down for a job. It seems my story of his exploits cost him the role.”

  “So what happened?”

  “He just yelled. He didn’t see me, but said if he found me he would hurt me.”

  Dunning scribbled furiously. “That is unacceptable. How dare he.”

  Abigail sat back and wiped away the tears. She couldn’t hide the feeling of relief at finally saying something. “I am so sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. It does seem to have relevance doesn’t it?”

  “It certainly does. I need to get this information to Detective Hobbs. This Larkin needs to be questioned.” Dunning looked Abigail in the eye. She found his deep blue stare quite disarming. “So, Miss Sergeant, do you believe this Larkin character committed the murder?”

  “You know, it’s funny, but it never crossed my mind. Bertie said we should talk to Frances, so I just ran with that. Do you think I have done wrong?”

  “Of course not. There’s no guarantee that Larkin remained in Perth. If he found no work there he may have travelled to Albany looking for a job. The docks there are big.”

  “So, you don’t think me silly?”

  “I definitely don’t think you silly, Miss Sergeant.”

  Abigail dabbed her eyes and smiled. “Please, if we are to spend time together on this trip, call me Abigail.” Was that too forward? She watched for a reaction.

  “Thank you … Abigail.” Dunning returned the smile. “And you must call me Ridley.”

  “Ridley Dunning. I like that name. It’s different.” Abigail smiled and was warmed by the return beam. The faint smell of Coal Tar Soap drifted across to her. Her heart beat a little faster.

  Abigail considered the man before her. He was tall and thin. His probing deep blue eyes held the promise of compassion. She was normally attracted to a physical sort, the kind of man who could fix things. She had imagined herself contriving all manner of machines that her practical husband could build and perfect. This constable was different. Kind and understanding, more of a thinker than a practical builder. Yet there was something about him.

  “Tell me, Constable Dunning,” Abigail said, as she held a finger to her cheek.

  “Please,” he replied. “Ridley.”

  “Well, Constable Ridley, I was interested in what drove you to become a policeman?”

  “Ah,” he beamed as he sat forward to answer. “I am really interested in becoming a detective. It’s wholly possible if I can prove myself worthy enough to switch departments.”

  “What does it take?”

  “Well, the truth is that the superintendent needs to see something in me. Something to justify me moving to the detective department.”

  “Wouldn’t that be easy to achieve?”

  “Not while chasing thieves and pick-pockets around town. The population is growing and so is the force. That is bitter-sweet for me.”

  “How so?”

  “More people means more crime to solve. But it also means more competition for the attention of the superintendent. It’s becoming harder to get notice
d.”

  Abigail’s mouth turned down. “Oh, that’s terrible.”

  “I managed to secure a secondment to Inspector Hobbs, but only through my willingness to perform extra duties. That’s how I come to be here with you.”

  “Well, I’m glad you are.” For the first time since the discovery of her father on the dining room floor, Abigail felt her shoulders relax and her breathing become clearer. She glanced up, catching Dunning smoothing back his hair. Smiling, they sat back.

  After a rather long silence, Dunning shuffled forward in his seat. “Miss Sergeant … sorry, Abigail. You are a very attractive woman.”

  Abigail gasped. “Constable Dunning.”

  “Please, hear me out. As I was saying, you are a very attractive woman and obviously well educated. I was wondering how it is that you haven’t been snapped up by some well heeled gentleman by now?”

  Abigail leaned back. “Well, you see. When Mother died, Bertrand was only eleven years old. I had to look after him as well as the house. It was only when Father met Frances, that Bertie and I were sent off to London to complete our education. Although in Bertie’s case it was more of an institution. He’s quite backward, you know.”

  “Yes, I had gathered as much.”

  “So, when Father sent word for us to come to the Swan Colony, I was only too pleased to be getting Bertie away from that.”

  “Did your father have any enemies? People who would like to harm him?”

  “Not that I was aware of. Other than that sailor from the SS Elderslie, Stanley Larkin.” The memory of Larkin led quickly to recollections of the days that followed. An involuntary flood of tears gushed forth.

  Dunning leaned in. “Come now, Abigail. I am here to protect you if this Larkin comes after you.”

  “It’s not that.” Abigail let out a staccato sob. “It’s Bertie. All alone in a cell. He won’t know what is going on.”

  “Well, consider this. If we succeed in our mission, Bertrand will be free. Does that not spur you on?”

  Abigail sniffed loudly. “You’re right. We must do this.” At that moment, Dunning seemed like a perfect companion, protector and confidante. Steeling herself, Abigail sat straight up in her seat and forced a grin. She must succeed.

  As they stepped out onto the platform at Beverley station, a loud hiss cut through the chatter. Dunning jumped back, a shocked look on his face.

  Abigail laughed. “It’s just the safety valve. Don’t panic. It goes off if the crew have too much pressure in the boiler.” She continued chuckling as Dunning gathered himself. A second wave of laughter hit her as they began to move away from the engine. Several other passengers stared incredulously at the excessive mirth. They had no idea what she was going through.

  Beverley was a small town, and the overnight stop was short. Rooms were provided at an inn near the station. The sole sitting for dinner was scheduled to coincide with their arrival. Sustenance was welcome after the journey, although Abigail could’t help feeling it would be better if the train just carried on into the night. They would be in Albany long before sunrise.

  Over dinner Dunning managed to ascertain that the electric telegraph had only been operational for three hours the previous Tuesday. It would be of no help to them. An Albany docks timetable confirmed that the SS Peary was due to leave the morning they were to arrive. Overhearing their angst, the station master informed them that a revision had come up on the train that morning. It stated that the SS Peary had been delayed with engine trouble and would be in port for an extra day, maybe longer.

  “We may still catch her,” Dunning said, as they moved to the lounge for an after dinner port. “We can only hope the ship will still be there when we arrive.”

  “I’m not giving up.” Abigail tightened her lips.

  “There is little we can do.”

  “There is always something.” Abigail grew more staunch with each statement. “And there’s the solicitor.”

  Dunning turned. “The solicitor?”

  “Henry Robinson. His was the card we found in Father’s bureau.” She looked up. “There was also this note. I forgot to tell you.” Reaching into her pocket, Abigail extracted the neatly folded paper and handed it to Dunning.

  “What is it?” He turned it over in his hand without unfolding it.

  “I’ve read it. It’s not private.” Abigail gestured to the note. “Read it. You may know what it’s about.”

  Dunning unfolded the letter and read in silence. “I don’t understand?” he said, as he finished.

  “It says Robinson holds further documentation.” She looked directly into Dunning’s blue eyes. “It says to contact Robinson in the event of Father’s death. What do you make of that?”

  Dunning sighed. “It’s probably to do with your father’s will. The bank statements we found showed not inconsiderable funds were deposited in an Albany bank. There may be other assets.”

  Abigail gazed down at the table and sighed. “I suppose you’re correct. I was hoping for something more intriguing. Maybe something to help Bertie.”

  Dunning folded the note and handed it back. “Don’t get your hopes up. It most likely relates to Albert’s property. That is all.”

  Abigail nodded agreement and placed the paper back into her skirt pocket.

  They finished their drinks and decided to retire early. The task ahead would be taxing and they needed to remain alert. After exchanging pleasantries, Abigail mounted the stairs to her room. At the top, she paused. How could she sleep knowing Bertie was still incarcerated? Her mind reeled. She tried to quell the building emotion but met with only minor success.

  Moonlight shone through the open window at the end of the hallway. Through the warm evening air, the sound of nearby revelry drifted in. Abigail glanced around furtively before deciding to retrace her steps to the street outside. Fresh air was needed and she wasn’t going to get any cooped up in a stuffy room.

  Outside in the stillness, Abigail could hear the faint hiss of the laid up locomotive. She imagined they would try to keep the engine warm for an early start in the morning. It would be interesting to find out how they went about it. And, it would be a good excuse for a short walk.

  Abigail found she was alone in the street. Drunken laughter drifting across the rooftops offered the only proof of life elsewhere in the town. The revelry grew fainter as she neared the railway line. A short gravel path led past a series of small wooden sheds before opening out onto the dimly lit platform. The gently hissing locomotive sat beyond, still coupled to its passenger carriages. Abigail sauntered towards the station, gazing up at the night’s starry display, dreaming of piloting her new flying machine.

  “Miss Sergeant.”

  She jumped. Was someone calling her name? Spinning through a complete circle she spotted no-one.

  “Miss Sergeant. Back here.”

  Abigail’s eyes grew wider as she scanned the surroundings. Darkness filled the space between the sheds. The silvery moonlight was no longer wistful and romantic. It took on a sinister quality, hinting at all manner of perils hidden beyond its reach.

  “Miss Sergeant. Help me. I’m in here.”

  The sound definitely came from the space between two sheds. She glared in, knowing that to venture further would be her worst move yet. A moan caught her by surprise as a shadowy figure lurched forward. Jumping back, Abigail narrowly avoided a broken sign hanging loose from the wooden wall. Her heart raced, her instinct to run stemmed by curiosity. Whoever this was knew her.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here.” Prentice Sleath emerged from the shadows and promptly collapsed onto the gravel at her feet. His face was covered in blood and there was a large rip in his left trouser leg. “You have to help me. Please.” His hands and feet were bound with a furry twine.

  “Sleath?” Abigail wasn’t sure if it was his presence or his condition that shocked her the most. “What happened? What are you doing here?” She swung down and began untying the twine around his wrists. “Who did this to you?�
��

  “Please, get me out of here.” He shook uncontrollably.

  As Abigail struggled with the much tighter ankle restraints, she noticed blood flowing from a wound in his leg. That will need attention. She began to work faster.

  Sleath looked up and slurred. “There will be bandages in the guard’s van and water in the station building.” His legs finally came free. He tried to stand but collapsed from the effort. “Would you help me get there?”

  “Of course I will.” Abigail reached down and pulled with all her might. He was heavy, stockily built and quite tall. There was no way she could raise him to his feet on her own. “Let me get help. I can be back in no time.”

  “No. No, please. He may still be around.”

  “Who may still be around?”

  “That man. The one who says he is looking for you. Says you cost him a job.”

  “Larkin?”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  “He did this? Why?”

  “Please. Can we get to the station?” Sleath pulled himself up, hauling on the broken sign. Abigail held his arm, offering as much support as she could. It was slow going.

  Leaving Sleath on a wooden bench by the ticket office, Abigail retrieved bandages from the rearmost van. She then filled a bucket with water from a barrel at the side of the building. Sitting down on the hard wooden seats, Abigail began to tend Sleath’s wounds. He winced as she rinsed each split of skin. He was in quite a state. When she was satisfied that the lacerations were free of dirt, Abigail utilised the bandages to stem the flow of blood. Pulling them tightly over the wounds seemed to work. With the job done, Abigail sat forward and washed her own hands clean. With the tension of the moment dissipating, she took the time to reflect. What is this all about?

  Abigail turned to face him. “Mr Sleath, what happened?”

  Sleath cast a look around. “He came at me, shouting that I was in league with your family. He said it was you who was responsible for him missing out on a job.”

  She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness.”