“Be careful,” said Wiki. “If you have an accident he’ll never let you near it again.”
“I’ll wait for him in Palmerston. He’ll be so happy to see me he won’t mind that I drove the pony trap,” said Mette confidently. She raised the little whip and flicked it over Miss Lucy’s head in the way she had seen Frank do it. “We’re off to catch the coach,” she said, grinning at Wiki. “And to keep you away from the constables. Hold tight.”
7
The Argument
Frank looked at Mette, trying his best to suppress his annoyance. It had been a long, difficult day and night, and he had arrived back in Palmerston wet, tired, and marshalling his strength to make one last rush out to the farm to save Mette from Boyle. And here she was outside Hop Li’s coffee tavern in the trap, talking to Karira, and smiling as if everything was normal. He should have been happy she was safe, but the tension of the night overcame him and he got angry instead.
“You came to town with the trap as soon as my back was turned? What on earth where you thinking?”
“I needed to get something at Snelson’s,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry Frank but I…”
“Couldn’t it wait? Karira told you that…”
Karira had stepped away from them and was studying his watch intently. He turned and said quietly, “I didn’t tell her everything in the telegram, Frank. She didn’t know…”
Frank could tell Karira was annoyed with the way he was talking to Mette, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d been in a panic the whole ride, and to find her casually off on a shopping expedition had made him irrational - especially when he’d told her several times that he didn’t like her driving the trap alone.
“And to make matters worse, you left Hemi by himself, in charge of the horses…”
Something sparked in Mette’s eyes, and Frank knew he’d said the wrong thing. “And you left me with that awful man,” she said. “After I told you…”
It was too late to back down. “That makes it even harder to understand,” he said. “You could have got yourself into trouble just being on the road…”
She was shaking now, holding on to the locket he had given her, and he wanted to stop, to say he was sorry, it was all his fault. But he couldn’t. Instead, he shook his head and let out an impatient breath.
Mette stood for a moment, her face twisted with emotion. Then she turned away from him. “You can go home and take care of the farm,” she said. “I’m going to take the trap with my horse Miss Lucy and stay with Agnete and Ernest out in Longburn for a day or so. You can come and get me when you’re ready to say you’re sorry.” And with that she marched off towards the paddock behind the Royal Hotel. He watched her go, already regretting his own stupidity. But at least she was headed somewhere safe…better than if she was at the farm by herself.
“You’re in the wrong, you know Frank,” said Karira, watching Mette’s departing back. “She did something foolish, but you did leave her alone…”
Frank hit his fist into his palm a few times, and took a couple of steps after her. Then he stopped. He could think he was stupid himself, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Karira. “She’ll come around after a couple of days with Agnete and Ernest,” he said. “She hates even having Sunday dinner with them, let alone staying with them for two days. I’ll let her cool her heels…”
“And what about you?” asked Karira. “My impression is that you can’t live without her. Won’t your heels be getting much cooler than hers?”
Frank exploded. “Godammit Karira, I was worried sick, and she…”
“She came into town with the trap, which she’s perfectly capable of doing, and which other women do all the time.”
Frank found it hard to disagree, but said nothing. If she’d come into town for something important it would be a different matter. But she’d come in to go shopping, of all reasons. Spending that windfall of hers, no doubt. It seemed so foolish and unlike her, which made it even worse.
Karira watched him pace back and forward for a few minutes, and then said, “What are we going to do about Boyle? And what exactly did he do?”
“He wounded a stable boy and killed a filly…part of a gang who’re putting pressure on Milroy, he thinks,” said Frank. He was distracted, still staring after Mette who had reappeared from behind the Royal and was trotting off towards Longburn in the trap. She seemed to be managing the pony, thank God. “I don’t know…where should we…?”
Karira took charge. “I went to the train station early this morning and he wasn’t there. I didn’t expect him to be, really. I think Mette warned him, accidentally. She said you were up in Patea. But he hasn’t left town. His horse it still in the paddock behind the Royal. He must have a connection in Palmerston where he can go to ground. New chums town, do you think? That’s where all the crooks seem to be congregating.”
“He’s Irish, not English,” said Frank. “Would he know anyone in new chums town?” New chums town was the informal name of the area where new immigrants from England gathered. Small houses were springing up along the newly metalled Campbell Street, which ran through the reserve of the same name. Many of the houses were rented from older residents, who were taking the opportunity to enrich themselves on the inexperienced backs of the new arrivals. Meanwhile the new arrivals were up in arms about the lack of work and the low wages being offered for the work they could find.
“I’ll get Hop Li to take the saddle from Boyle’s horse and put it in his garden shed,” said Karira. “That’ll make sure Boyle doesn’t have a way of getting out of town. Then we can take a walk along Campbell Street, ask a few questions.”
“The horse,” said Frank, remembering suddenly. “Boyle’s horse. Is it a filly with a blaze on its forehead…a crooked blaze.”
Karira nodded. “I think so. I didn’t pay much attention…”
“I spoke to a woman up in Patea who lost a horse like that,” said Frank. “She thought it had been stolen. We’ll have to find a way to get it back to her, once we have Boyle safe in the lockup.”
“Horse theft,” said Karira. “When we find him we’ll be able to put him away for that alone while he awaits trial for injuring the stable boy and killing the horse.”
“Let’s hope we can find him soon, then,” said Frank. “Before he gets up to more trouble in Palmerston. I feel responsible for giving him a place to work…he could have gone elsewhere and been someone else’s problem.”
Karira nodded. “True. But as long as he’s our problem we have to do something about him.” He paused and looked after the pony trap which was almost out of sight. “And will you apologize to Mette soon?” he asked.
Frank did not reply. Mette would be safe for now at Ernest and Agnete’s place, and he would push his guilt to one side and concentrate on finding Boyle.
“You said something in your telegram about hiring me to help with a horse…” said Karira.
“I’m taking a stud horse for a couple of months,” said Frank. “Dead Shot. He’s in Milroy’s Stable up in Patea. Milroy has had some trouble with a mob from Australia and he wants to send the horse down here until the heat’s off. I said I’d hire you as a guard. He’ll pay fifteen shillings a day. Is that alright with you?”
Karira scratched his chin. “Inspector James is pretty keen on me looking out for whoever is fixing the totalisator…but I suppose I could do both. Same gang probably.”
“The first thing I need you to do is to go to Foxton in a couple of days and take charge of the horse,” said Frank. “He’s coming in by steamer. Mr. Milroy is going to telegraph me the details. You’ll have to bring him to Palmerston. I’ll take it from there…”
“Do you think I might need some help?” asked Karira. “Is the horse in any danger?”
“Could you hire someone in Foxton to come back with you? A couple of good men who’re handy with weapons?”
“There’s a Marae not far from Foxton - Motuiti Marae. Some of the boys from my pa went there aft
er it was sold to the government. I’ll stop off there and hire a couple of them to help out…”
“Not the same boys who tackled me when I tried to stop Anahera killing Captain Porter, I hope,” said Frank.
“Ah…possibly,” said Karira. “Would it matter?”
“I suppose not,”said Frank. “Let bygones be bygones and all that. Just make sure they’re big strong men…they were a muscular lot, as I remember.”
8
Ernest and Agnete
Mette found it hard to drive the trap while she was crying, but couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. She and Frank had never had an argument before, and it was breaking her heart. If only Wiki hadn’t made her promise not to say anything to Frank. She was sure…well almost sure…he would understand and would help Wiki. He was Wiki’s friend too, and Wiki had hidden him at the pa when he was on the run from the armed constables. But at least Wiki was safely on the coach to Foxton and would be at the Motuiti Marae soon. She had looked so small standing by the coach wearing Mette’s slightly shabby brown dress, with an old-fashioned bonnet covering her short hair. What a courageous woman she was. Mette wished she could be half as brave.
The hard part of this situation - or one of the hard parts - was that she had told Frank she was going to stay with Ernest and Agnete. She thoroughly disliked both of them, with their fervent addiction to temperance and their proselytizing. It was especially hard coming from Agnete, who had flung herself at every available man in Palmerston before reeling in Ernest like Maui pulling up the South Island. And Ernest Robinson, who was a mild little man - Frank preferred to call him oily - who was obviously only interested in her money. She wondered how long that money had lasted. As Frank said, times were hard…but thinking about Frank set her off again. She wished she could hear him give his opinions again. Right or wrong, they were part of him and what made her love him.
To her surprise, a large coach was drawn up outside Ernest and Agnete’s house, with a coachman, a tall thin man with a stoop, his hat and coat on the seat beside him, seated up front smoking a clay pipe.
“Morning, missus,” he said between puffs. “Lovely day for a ride.”
“Are Agnete - Mr. and Mrs. Robinson going somewhere?”
She hadn’t seen the coach before, but she could imagine Ernest and Agnete buying something like that. Always the best for them. And the coach was quite beautiful - black with red wheel rims and silver trimming, and pulled by a matched pair of jet black percheron. It was the kind of coach you’d expect Queen Victoria to step down from.
“I’m waiting for Mrs. Patterson,” said the coach driver. “You’ll meet her inside no doubt.” He seemed to imply that Mette was in for a special treat.
Curious, she knocked on the door and waited. Eventually, when no one came, she opened the door carefully and called out, “Ernest? Agnete? Are you home?”
A burly man in working men’s clothes was sitting in the hallway underneath a highly polished brass mirror reading a newspaper; he stood up abruptly. “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for my sister-in-law…”
Agnete came from the kitchen wearing her apron, looking flustered. “Mette? What are you doing here?” She did not sound welcoming.
Mette wished Frank was with her. Her confidence was leaving her rapidly. “I was hoping I could stay here…”
“Stay here?” Agnete looked puzzled. “Why on earth would you want to stay here?”
It was true they had never been friends - in fact quite the opposite. Agnete was Pieter’s sister, the man married to her own sister Maren. Mette would probably not have anything to do with Agnete if it weren’t for Maren. The six of them gathered at Pieter and Maren’s place every Sunday after church. Frank complained every Sunday about going there, but went anyway, to keep her happy. He liked Pieter, at least. Mette and Agnete had had their differences over the two years they’d known each other, but she’d assumed Agnete would take her in. She was family, after all. “I…Frank is away and I was alone…I thought…”
Agnete glanced at the burly man apologetically, and Mette saw him shrug and return to reading his newspaper. Did Agnete have to ask for his permission? Who was he? He didn’t look like someone important. Quite nondescript in fact. “I suppose you can stay for one night,” she said grudgingly. “But you’ll have to wait in the kitchen with me until Mrs. Patterson and the men leave. Ernest is having a meeting with her and two of his associates.”
Mette followed Agnete into the kitchen, looking enviously at the huge American stove beside the sink. Agnete and Ernest had filled their home with all the best furniture and cookware. But she knew Agnete was a terrible cook and the pair lived on mutton stew almost exclusively. What a waste to give such wonderful equipment to someone who was incapable of putting it to good use.“Should I know who Mrs. Patterson is?” she asked.
Agnete turned to her, shocked. “Mrs. Patterson? You don’t know Mrs. Patterson? Sister Patterson? Didn’t you see her coach?”
Mette shook her head. “I saw a beautiful black coach, but…”
“She’s very, very famous,” said Agnete. “She’s here to speak at the meeting tomorrow night. Have you not heard of the Blue Ribbon Movement? Bernard is her man. That’s why he’s in our hallway. He takes care of her. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“I…yes, of course,” said Mette, still mystified.
“And you’ll sign the pledge?”
“The…oh, it’s for the temperance people.” It was all clear to her now. Ernest and Agnete were dedicated templars, and Agnete frequently spent her mornings handing out pamphlets in The Square to people who weren’t at all interested in taking them. The temperance craze had gripped the entire town, and especially the Scandinavians. Mette knew that she was one of the few Scandinavians who had not taken the pledge. Frank had convinced her that drinking small amounts of alcohol would not put her on the path to eternal damnation. Sometimes at night she had a small glass of ginger wine, which made her giddy in a pleasant way.
“Why aren’t you meeting with Mrs. Patterson? I thought you were a templar as well?”
Agnete picked up a cloth and began to wipe an imaginary spot from the table. “The meeting is too important to include me,” she said. “Ernest had something he wanted to discuss with Mrs. Patterson. And he has two…business associates in there with him.”
Knowing Ernest, they were probably discussing something related to money. He was desperate for money all the time, constantly trying to borrow from Pieter, Agnete’s brother, who, like his sister, had received a small inheritance from his aunt in Copenhagen and by thrift and hard work had built himself into one of the leading dairy farmers in the district. Ernest lived on the proceeds of a single book shop, and lived well beyond his means, according to Frank. She was sure Agnete’s share of the inheritance was long since gone.
One thing Ernest did own that Mette considered valuable was his father’s collection of books. He had removed all the best ones from the book shop and put them on shelves in a tiny library adjacent to the parlour where Ernest and his associates were meeting with Mrs. Patterson. They had gathered dust there ever since.
“Do you think it would be alright if I spent some time in the library?” she asked. She was not going to be able to converse with Agnete for any length of time, and was longing to see Mr. Robinson’s books again.
Agnete bit her lip. “I suppose…” she said. “Come along then. But don’t listen to anything they’re saying. I know Ernest doesn’t like it when I eavesdrop.”
A secret society, thought Mette. Perhaps they were Fenians. Although Ernest was definitely English, so it seemed unlikely as Fenians were Irish. He’d grown up with his mother in Reading, outside London, while Mr. Robinson went off to New Zealand to make a new life for them. Mrs. Robinson, his mother, had died when Ernest was still a young man, and after many years he’d come to New Zealand - around the time Mette and Frank were married - to help his father with the book shop. Agnete had lost
her husband to a falling tree and come to live in Palmerston at the same time; the family had been suspicious of Ernest’s motives for marrying Agnete, but at the same time happy to see someone willing to take her off their hands.
Agnete led her into the library, smiling apologetically at the man seated in the hallway. Someone - not Ernest - was speaking in the parlour. A woman’s voice, strong and assertive. As they entered the library she heard someone say something about Melbourne. The Melbourne Cup, perhaps? The cup was the most prestigious trophy in the southern hemisphere. Perhaps Mrs. Patterson came from Australia. Lots of famous speakers from Australia toured New Zealand. She’d seen a lecture by Mr. Henry Baker recently on the Irish poet Tom Moore. Mr. Baker had even sung some of Moore’s songs, accompanied by his brother. It had been a very entertaining evening. Frank had come with her, but had spent the evening looking at his watch and sighing.
Once in the library, Mette quickly forgot about her troubles. She was amongst books once more. And Mr. Robinson had owned so many books she wanted to read. She pulled Mr. Trollope’s book Barchester Towers from the shelf and opened it. Mr. Robinson had the full collection of the Barchester Chronicles, and had promised she could borrow all of them. But he had died unexpectedly before she was able to ask for them, the poor man.
She spent almost an hour browsing through the books, wondering if she should offer to buy them from Ernest, the sound of the discussion next door echoing in the background. As she returned the last in the series to the shelf, she noticed a small book wedged in awkwardly behind the set. A book she recognized. Charles Dickens’ book A Tale of Two Cities: the book that she had read so many times as she tried to improve her English. She pulled it out, wiping away a tear as she did. Poor, poor Mr. Robinson, dying so soon after his son had arrived, and of such an unusual accident. And now Frank was angry with her. It was all too much.
Dead Shot Page 5
