The coachman was staring up at her now, ignoring Frank. His gun had come around and was aimed up in her direction as if he intended to shoot. If he had the chance he would come up and kill her, she was sure. But Frank had reached him. He hit the gun from his hand and followed it with a roundhouse to the chin. The coachman staggered back, but regained his feet and his gun.
Time stopped as she wondered what she should do. She made a decision and stood up. They were both going to die. If she was there the coachman would have two people to deal with. She had seen Frank at his bravest, and he would try anything if he thought she was in danger. She would go down there and make it harder for the coachman to kill them all.
She was half way down the path to the house, when Hemi came out of the soddy holding the rabbit gun.
“Leave my brother alone.”
“Shoot him, Hemi, shoot him,” she said. Or screamed. She was running as fast as she could, unclear what she was going to do, but knowing she had to get to Frank - to her family. If they were all going to die, it would be together. And now there were four of them to fight against the intruder. And Hemi had a rabbit gun.
She was nearly there when she heard an explosion. Hemi had fired the gun. He had done what Frank told him to do when he gave him the gun, and fired over the intruders’s head. But in attempting to avoid what he thought would be a direct shot, the coachman tripped. Frank was on him in an instant. He lined him up and hit him with a massive punch on the jaw, sending him sprawling. The gun flew from his hand. As Mette reached them, Hemi darted forward and picked up the pistol. He held it pointed at the coachman, his hands shaking.
“Get some rope, Mette,” said Frank, as he tied him to the fence with his own belt. “The piece I was repairing this morning. It’s in the kitchen. Bring my revolver as well. Well done Hemi. Keep the gun on him.”
Mette ran into the house and got the rope. She put the revolver in her skirt pocket, loading it first as a precaution. It didn’t load the same way as the Snider-Enfield but she knew she had to put bullets into the part that turned around and was starting to feel like an expert. She’d heard Frank call it a Peacemaker, which was strange considering how dangerous it looked.
As she went outside, Mrs. Patterson came through the gate. “Is my coachman still in here?” she asked. She looked worried. “He said he had to stop…he wanted to ask you about what was happening with Bernard. He hired him and felt responsible for what happened to you. I didn’t want to bother you, so I waited in the lane…”
Frank glanced at Mette. She saw a message in his eyes, and a tiny shake of the head. She slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew the gun carefully.
“There’s a gun pointed at you, Mrs. Patterson,” Frank said. “My wife has already taken down your coachman, and she’ll take care of you as well.”
Mette felt a bubble of laughter in her throat. How ridiculous. She felt like Highwayman Dick or Buffalo Bill from Hohepa’s penny dreadfuls. But she held the gun pointed at Mrs. Patterson and did her best to look like she knew what she was doing. Frank would have no problem with Mrs. Patterson. She was not Bernard, for heaven’s sakes.
Smiling slightly, Mrs. Patterson opened her purse and took out a gun herself. “I’m sure your wife is a crack shot,” she said. “But my advantage is I don’t care what happens to me, and both of you care about each other, as you’ve made abundantly clear.” She turned to Mette. “Put down the gun or I’ll shoot your husband in the leg. And you…” to Hemi. “Drop that gun. I’m sure you don’t want the sergeant to lose his leg, do you?”
Hemi let the rabbit gun drop to the ground. Mrs. Patterson pushed it away with her foot.
“What do you want, Mrs. Patterson?” asked Frank. “Is it still about the horse?”
Mrs. Patterson sighed. “About the horse, yes. Very much so. That was my horse…mine since I was a young girl…and no one should have sold him. But they’re going to hang Bernard. The best man I ever took to my bed. A real man.”
“Bernard?” said Mette. “You think Bernard is a real man? Do you know what he did to me?”
Frank looked at her. She could see fear on his face for the first time. He would be remembering Gottlieb of course.
“He hit me in…”
“In the stomach, I know. And he killed your child. Serves you both right.”
Frank gave a strangled cry and launched himself at Mrs. Patterson. He had his hands on her throat when Mette put her hand on his and said gently, “He didn’t kill our baby, Frank. The baby is still alive. I felt him move when I shot at the coachman. Let her go.”
He released his hold and Mrs. Patterson fell back coughing. Frank took the gun from her without protest and slipped it into his belt.
“Hemi, you and Hohepa take Copenhagen and go and find help. Find as many men as you can. Tell them we have the gang leader at the farm and we need to get her to the constabulary.”
“The gang leader?” said Mette. “You think she’s the gang leader?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mrs. Patterson. She had regained her composure. “Do you think men like that would pay any attention to a woman?”
“I had my suspicions of you from the start,” said Frank. “But after we discovered that Ernest was He Kino I decided that I’d been wrong. But it was you who opened the window, wasn’t it? Bernard was probably hiding in your coach the whole time.”
Mrs. Patterson shrugged. “Good luck trying to prove that I’m some kind of mastermind.”
She refused to say any more, and Frank and Mette leaned against the paddock fence, Frank holding tight to her hand, and waited for help to arrive. Eventually, constable Gillespie entered the yard at a sedate trot.
“Are you having a problem here?” he asked. “I ran into two Maori boys down the road and they said you’d been attacked. I was…”
“He tried to kill me,” said Mrs. Patterson in a breathy, childish voice. “He shot at me. I came to see how they were - to pray with them. I heard his wife lost their baby. And he hit me. He thinks it’s my fault that my man…”
Constable Gillespie looked at Mette, and she saw a spark of understanding in his glance. He cleared his throat, looked down at Mrs. Patterson calmly, and said, “I was on the way to tell Sergeant and Mrs. Hardy that I’d heard from Inspector James. He knows who you are…”
“He knows?” asked Frank. “She’s the leader of the gang, isn’t she?”
Gillespie dismounted and walked over to Mrs. Patterson. “She’s the daughter of the man who was the biggest crook in Taranaki until his death last year. When she married the colonel - Colonel Patterson - her father gave all her property - everything she would have inherited - to her husband. And her husband spent all of it. When he was killed falling off his horse - Dead Shot - everything went towards paying his debt. Even the horse.”
“My horse,” snarled Mrs. Patterson, losing the breathy, childish voice. “My horse, since I was a little girl. He gave my horse to my fool of a husband, and my husband lost it…”
“She took over the business from her father,” said Gillespie. “She’s been using the temperance meetings to control and meet with her people, and to make a little money on the side.”
He laid one hand on her shoulder.“Mrs. Margaret Patterson - I am arresting you for conspiracy to murder Patrick Boyle and Mrs. Ruth Gammel. And also for the abduction and concealment of Hohepa Te Tamaiti, Mr. Hop Li and Mrs. Mette Hardy. Further charges in regards to other criminal activities may be made at a later date. Until then I must advise you that I will take note of anything you say and it may be used against you at trial.”
He handcuffed her and turned to Frank. “I have two men outside waiting with a police wagon. I knew she was in the area, but I wasn’t expecting her to make it so easy for me. We’ll keep the pair of them in the lockup in Palmerston until they can be transported to Wanganui gaol for trial.”
Frank kept his arms around Mette until everyone had gone, and Hemi and Hohepa had returned and gone into the soddy. He see
med afraid to let her go. Hemi’s face was red with embarrassment at the sight of the two of them in an embrace, but Hohepa grinned and made a kissing motion with his lips accompanied by a rude motion with his fingers. He had been watching Dead Shot servicing mares and knew what it was all about.
Frank grinned. “He’s a little rascal, isn’t he.” He let her go finally, and put his hand through her arm. They walked to the fence around the paddock together, both of them smiling slightly about Hohepa’s antics.
“Maybe we should adopt him,” said Mette. “Then I’d feel free to give him a good smack on the bottom when he misbehaves.”
“Wouldn’t help,” said Frank. “He’s incorrigible. And I like his spirit. But if you really feel like spanking someone…”
Mette put her hand on Frank’s cheek and looked up at him. “If you want to, I’m…”
They were interrupted by the sound of a horse whinnying. Turning in Frank’s arms, Mette saw Dolores rubbing her ears against the fence. After a minute or two she started running around the paddock, stopping every few minutes to rub her ears again. Her tail was flicking back and forth like a whip on race day. Dead Shot gave an answering whinny, trotted obediently towards her and raised himself on his hind legs.
“For Chrissake, Dolores. Not now,” Frank said. “Of all the bloody times…”
32
Mr. Robinson’s Gift
“Frank,” said Mette. “Could you help me reach a book?” She was standing on a stool attempting to retrieve the first volume of Middlemarch from the top shelf of her library. Mr. Robinson had given her the full eight volumes for her birthday before he died, and the size of it had discouraged her from starting to read it.
Frank came from the sitting room where he had been cleaning his rifle and took the book from the shelf, first lifting her to the ground. “I wish you wouldn’t stand on stools like that. I don’t want you to fall…not in your condition…”
Mette smiled to herself. It was no use. He would never learn - not completely. “Do you know George Eliot made eight thousand pounds in royalties for this book?” she said. “I read about it in the paper the other day. Just think. Eight thousand pounds. We’d never have to work again.”
“Why don’t you write a book like that?” asked Frank. “It can’t be that difficult. And you’re always scribbling in notebooks…”
“My cookbooks are enough for me,” said Mette. “And I’m doing well with those. Although that may not last, with Mr. Robinson not around to print them and take them to other book shops. Agnete isn’t interested…”
“I’m sorry I can’t support you better,” said Frank. “Although Dead Shot is keeping our heads above water at the moment. Thank God he’s such an energetic horse. And once Delores has her foal, we’ll be able to sell the offspring for a good amount.”
“Have you heard any more about Agnete?” asked Mette. Frank had been helping in the sale of the house, but it was highly mortgaged and Ernest had owed money to several different people in town. Fortunately for Agnete, she had a small income from the book shop, although she’d had to hire someone to manage it for her. Mette had given her twenty pounds for a large collection of her best books, but that hadn’t helped much either.
“She doesn’t know what she’s going to do,” said Frank. “But Pieter says she’s considering going into a convent…”
“A convent?” said Mette, shocked. “Why would she want…she’s Lutheran…”
“She claims she’s had enough of men,” said Frank. “I’m surprised you don’t feel the same way. There’s a new convent opening in Wanganui, run by the Sisters of Mercy, and Pieter says she’s going up there to visit them. She’d have to sell the book shop and give them a substantial donation, but it might be the best thing for her.”
“And we couldn’t afford to buy the book shop, could we?” said Mette. That part of her life was over. She just hoped that whoever bought the shop would have good taste in reading and not fill it with penny dreadfuls and magazines crammed with stories about the aristocracy and the royal family.
“Talking of book shops,” said Frank. “Did you ever open that parcel Mr. Robinson left for you? The one Ernest gave you the day…”
Mette looked thoughtful. “I didn’t, and now I can’t remember where I put…wait a minute.” She hopped back onto the stool and reached up to the top shelf. “I put it in here when I was putting away the books I bought from Agnete.”
She turned and leaned against the shelves, holding a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. She pulled at the string until it slipped off, and then opened the parcel. “It’s a book…of course. I knew it was. That’s why I didn’t open it earlier.”
Another copy of A Tale of Two Cities. Why would Mr. Robinson think she needed…? She opened it, hoping to discover the reason for his double gift: and another envelope fell out. She caught it in midair. “It’s another letter from Mr. Robinson. He must have left me a second copy of the one Ernest tore up.”
She scanned the letter quickly, wiping away a tear. “He says to be careful of Ernest…not to trust him. Mr. Robinson’s wife wrote to him and said their son had a problem controlling his anger…and then he discovered his son had spent time in the goldfields of Victoria and picked up some bad companions there. He says he wanted to leave me this in case…” She switched to the second page, the one she had realized when she saw the letter the first time was a will. She stared at it for a long time, sniffing and rubbing her eyes.
She felt Frank watching her, knowing enough not to speak. Eventually she looked up. “He left the book shop to me,” she said. “And all the books as well.”
“That’s wonderful…it should solve the rest of our money problems,” said Frank. “But how will we tell Agnete?”
Mette folded the the letter in half and put it in her pocket. She looked at Frank, thinking about how hard he worked, and how the farm was on the verge of becoming successful in spite of the depression. “We won’t,” she said finally. “She needs the money from the book shop more than we do. We have each other. We have our farm, and some good horses. We have Hemi and Hohepa, who have no one else, and a place for Wiki when she needs us…” She rubbed her belly gently. “And soon we’ll have our…”
“Our little boy,” said Frank. He lifted Mette down from the stool.
“Or our little girl…” said Mette. Which she was quite sure it was. She heard the sound of a bird singing through the window, a parson bird with its distinctive call.
“Tui,” she said. “I want to call her Tui.”
Continue Reading…
Thank you for reading Dead Shot, the third instalment of the series, The Frank Hardy Mysteries.
If you would like to continue the series, read Lying Under Water which takes place during a flood on Frank and Mette’s horse farm near Feilding, New Zealand, where a knife-wielding murderer is on the loose, and trapped with them by the flood.
Follow that with Come to Grief, which sends Frank and Mette to the South Island of New Zealand on the s.s. Tararua, a ship from which gold bullion was stolen in 1880, and which sank after hitting a reef in April 1881. Both these real events come into play in this new novel. Will Frank and Mette survive the sinking? Find out.
Audiobooks are, or will be, available for all my books. For the best deal, buy my audiobooks directly from me at Authors Direct You will have to download an app to listen to the books, but you won’t have to sign up for anything!
If you want to hear about future books in this series, follow me on BookBub.
Wendy
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Dead Shot Page 21
