Come to Grief

by Wendy M Wilson

  “The middle of the night,” said Frank. “On the night before last. He came into the shearing shed where I was sleeping with the baby; he was carrying a hammer or an axe, and I thought he intended to attack me. He could have been murdered any time between then and now.”

  “He wasn’t here yesterday,” said the photographer. “Mr. Brunton brought these coffins down in the late afternoon, and I was here until dusk. He must have been put under the tarpaulin on the dray overnight.”

  The inspector eyed Frank, pulling at his beard, looking like he was trying to work something out. Mette was worried. Wouldn’t Frank be a suspect if one of the men he’d been following was murdered?

  “Tell me about what you were doing,” said the inspector, confirming her suspicions. “Why were you following him? Who hired you for the job?”

  “Colonel Roberts of the Armed Constabulary in Wellington asked me to follow three men who were suspects in the gold robbery last year. You can check with him if you like. I saw two of the suspects on the ship after I boarded in Wellington, and this man came aboard in Dunedin. The Constabulary thought the gold might be concealed somewhere in Dunedin, so I suspect he brought it on board with him. It’s probably gone to the bottom.“

  “You saw McNab at Otara Station two nights ago, and he tried to attack you? What would he have to gain from doing that?”

  “He didn’t try anything, but he was in the shearing shed with a weapon. At the time, I thought one of the other suspects was on to me and had told McNab, but my wife saw that suspect, Robert Hinton, on his way to the Bluff in the train. He hasn’t had time to contact McNab and tell him of his suspicions. The third suspect, William Sampson, went down with the ship. I saw his body in Fortrose in the goods shed.”

  “Can you show me the list Colonel Roberts gave you?”

  Frank pulled the list from his pocket and handed it to the inspector. “His name’s at the bottom of the page. William McNab. Not that common a name, I don’t think.”

  The inspector spread the crumpled piece of paper on his hand and stared at it intently. He handed it back to Frank. “Take another look at that third name.”

  Frank looked at it. “What am I supposed to see?”

  “William McNay,” said the inspector. “Not McNab. That letter is a y not a b.”

  “William McNay?” said the photographer, who had been following the discussion with interest. “We buried a man with that name yesterday morning. I was going to take a photograph of him, but then we found an old identification card on him. A steward, it said he used to be, on the Tararua. He’s buried right over there, next to where you put the young lad.”

  Mette sat up on the tarpaulin, her senses tingling. “If Mr. McNab wasn’t the person involved in the gold robbery, doesn’t that mean he must have been involved in the kidnapping? And couldn’t that mean that Mr. Smith is the person who wants him dead? It must have been McNab they were looking for last night, not us, Frank. Don’t you think the Bruntons could be in trouble, inspector?”

  13

  Frank and the Inspector

  Inspector Buckley took the hill to the Brunton’s place, gun in hand, moving at military quick time, covering the ground efficiently and fast, like a soldier. Frank followed him up the zigzagging sheep tracks, around the bush where they’d left the food and blankets, and over the hill to the shepherd’s hut. His double-time marches up Mount Victoria in Wellington had got him back into fighting condition, but the slope was uneven and difficult to negotiate, and he was breathing hard by the time they arrived at the shepherd’s hut. The inspector wasn’t winded at all, even though he must be a good fifteen years older than Frank.

  Frank was ready for a fight, but Inspector Buckley had turned down his request for a weapon; he felt naked and exposed going in to battle without a gun. Three men with weapons would easily overcome two men with one gun between them. He had grabbed a couple of rocks. Better than nothing, but not much.

  From the shepherd’s hut they could see the kitchen window of the Brunton homestead. A night lamp was glowing behind the undrawn curtain, although morning had long since arrived. A prudent farm wife like Jane Brunton would not waste kerosene, and she would certainly have pulled the curtains back the minute she entered the kitchen. As they watched, a shadowy figure holding something that looked like a gun moved from one side of the window to the other.

  “Someone’s there,” said the inspector. “Someone who has no business being in that kitchen. Your wife was right.”

  Frank shaded his eyes and squinted at the house. “That’s one of the two men who were taking my wife to the lockup in the Bluff, I think. The larger of the two men.”

  “I meant to ask you,” said the inspector. “How did you get her back?” He pulled back the hammer of his gun. “No. Don’t tell me. Best I don’t know. Let’s go get them.”

  They crept down the track to the house, staying on the grass to avoid making any unexpected sounds, the inspector with his revolver levelled at the kitchen door.

  They stopped in the yard and sheltered behind the shearing shed, watching for a sign they’d been heard.

  “The men who took my wife claimed they were police from Invercargill,” said Frank. “But they had no proof. They didn’t show warrant cards, and they weren’t in uniform.”

  “Oh, they were mine,” said the inspector. “A sergeant and a constable. Detective Tuohy said he chose them because they were useless and he couldn’t spare anyone else with more than half a brain. I hope they didn’t cause your wife any trouble. Tuohy was convinced she was a kidnapper, you know. It was her blond hair and the baby that made him think so. She matched the description of the female kidnapper.”

  “My wife was told the police didn’t have a good description,” said Frank.

  “There was an off-duty detective playing cricket at the grounds,” said Buckley. “And he gave the Dunedin police an excellent description of both of them. They couldn’t put that out, of course, but they asked us to be on the lookout for the couple.” He raised his gun again and peered over it around the shed. “No movement at all now. At this time of day there should be lots of women bustling around.”

  “How are we going to do this?” asked Frank. “With only one gun between us.”

  “We’ll check to see if Smith is there, and if he isn’t we’ll just walk in. I can control my men, misguided as they are.”

  “How about I go in first by the kitchen door?” said Frank. “I’ll distract them, and you can go around through the front door and come up behind them. They might say something to me that they wouldn’t say to you.”

  Inspector Buckley nodded. “That’ll work. Give me a chance to get to the other door and go in.”

  They ran, bent low, to the kitchen window and stopped on either side; the inspector looked inside, then pulled back, shaking his head at Frank. Then he gestured towards the back of the house and left, moving smoothly.

  Frank waited five minutes, took a rock from his pocket and held it behind his back as he threw the kitchen door open.

  “Sergeant Hardy! Thank the Lord you’re here,” said Mrs. Brunton. She was wearing her nightdress, her hair in a long braid, sitting bolt upright in a cane kitchen chair, her hands on her knees. She faced her husband who was slumped over, his mouth slack and eyes closed, asleep in his bath chair. The constable and the sergeant Frank had last seen escorting Mette to the gaol in Bluff were standing with guns trained on the pair. Smith was nowhere in sight. “These fools have had us here for hours, and they’ve locked my women in the larder. They came with Mr. Smith in the middle of the night and woke us up. He left saying…”

  He knew she was trying to tell him as much as she could, but she was cut off by the sergeant. “Shut your damn mouth.”

  Frank experienced a surge of anger. “I wouldn’t speak to the lady like that if I were you.”

  The sergeant sneered at him. “What are you going to do about it? Report me to my superior?”

  The constable swung his gun away fro
m Mr. Brunton and waved it at Frank. “I could shoot him, sarge, and say he was trying to break in. We’re allowed to do that, aren’t we?”

  “Seems a bit foolish to me,” said Inspector Buckley from behind him. The constable turned his head, leaving his gun dangling in Frank’s direction. Frank took the opportunity to knock the gun to the ground with a rock. He picked up the gun from the floor and held it against the constable’s head, noticing that it wasn’t cocked.

  The sergeant moved his gun closer to Mrs. Brunton, eying Frank nervously. “The Assistant Commissioner asked us to keep an eye on these two until he came back,” he said to the inspector. “He said they were accessories after the fact in the kidnapping of a baby girl from Dunedin.”

  “And you believed him?” asked the inspector. “Put down the gun, sergeant. You’ve been had. Roderick Smith has no authority to hold anyone.”

  The sergeant lowered his gun, his jaw out. “Detective Tuohy said he was someone important.”

  “Detective Tuohy has seen the error of his ways. Now, tell me about Smith. Where has he gone? What makes you think he’s coming back?”

  The sergeant and the constable exchanged glances. “He said he was meeting someone down at the beach,” said the constable. “And that he’d be back before dawn.”

  “You do realize it’s well past dawn,” said the inspector. He took the sergeant’s gun and tossed it to Frank.

  Mrs. Brunton was on her feet checking her husband. “He took one of our horses,” she said. “I heard him go over to the stables, and then I heard him leave.”

  “He was here earlier looking for us,” said Frank. “We saw the three of them in the yard, and we left the shepherd’s hut to get away from them.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think he was looking for you, or at least not both of you. When he first got here he said something about finding him.” She took a key hanging beside the larder door and unlocked it. “Come on out. It’s safe.”

  Three women trailed out and stood together, arms folded, glaring at the sergeant and the constable.

  “That was very unpleasant,” one of the women said to the sergeant. “I hope you get locked up in a small space like that yourself and see how you like it.”

  “Does anyone have any idea who Smith was going to meet?” asked the inspector. “You two, what did he tell you?”

  “He found something in one of the sheds,” said the sergeant. “He picked it up from the floor. A shipping ticket I think. He spoke to Mr. Brunton about it. I didn’t hear what they said, though.”

  The discussion had awoken Mr. Brunton; he rubbed his eyes, yawned and stretched. “I spoke to him first. My wife was still in bed, but I remembered him from a couple of days ago. He asked me if I’d seen a man with straw-coloured hair, name of McNab. I told him McNab was here the day before yesterday, but he left to look for his sister and her baby. He was hoping to find them alive here, and when he didn’t he was at a loss, although he was interested in hearing about the sergeant who had saved the baby. He asked me where he should search for his sister, and I told him all the remains were being sent to Fortrose first, and then transported to Tararua Acre, and he could look there. He said that’s where he would go, and he intended to stay there until he found her, one way or another. And that’s what I told Smith. I suppose I shouldn’t have, but he did have these two with him and they seemed to be real policemen.”

  “Even though they woke you in the middle of the night?”

  A guilty expression flitted across William Brunton’s face.

  “We’ve been used to that this week. People have been arriving at all hours. So many people are looking for family who were on the Tararua, and I assumed the person knocking on the door was just one more person searching for a missing relative.”

  “When I came down, William was already sitting in the chair with a gun on him” said Mrs. Brunton. “Smith told these two to keep an eye on us until he got back, and then he went outside. I heard him taking a horse. I looked out the window as he left.”

  “Which one did he take, dear?” asked Mr. Brunton. “Not Nightingale, I hope.”

  “No. He took my show horse, the small bay with black points. It makes me think he isn’t an experienced horseman. Nightingale would scare anyone who wasn’t used to riding. She’s a large horse, and fast. My horse is quite small and dainty, and not one most men find appealing.”

  “What about your son?” asked Frank. “Isn’t he at home?”

  Mrs. Brunton blushed and looked away.

  “He spends the night in Fortrose sometimes,” said Mr. Brunton. He sat up and squared his shoulders. “His wife died last year, and…”

  “I understand,” said Frank. “But the important thing is he wasn’t at home. Probably just as well. He would have fought with them, and it could have ended much worse for you.”

  They nodded, agreeing. The thought cheered them. Mrs. Brunton bit her lip, worrying about something, then said, “Sergeant Hardy, Nightingale would be a perfect horse for you. I’d like you to have her. I like you, and I like your history. My husband doesn’t ride any more, and the horse needs a big man who can handle her. Please take her with you now. You’re going to need a horse. I’ll send the papers to you care of the constabulary office in Wellington.”

  “As soon as we’re done with all this, the burials, and the searches, and the inquest, we’re going to the North Island to take the waters — to the hot springs at Lake Taupo,” said Mr. Brunton. “And I don’t expect to return, not really, so I won’t need a horse.”

  “Don’t say that, my dearest.” Mrs Brunton held her husband’s hands in hers. “The hot springs have cured others. They’ll fix you up as good as new. But I don’t expect you’ll ride again, and Charles has his own horse.”

  Inspector Buckley looked embarrassed at the display of affection. “We need to find Smith,” he said. “But I can’t leave the wreck site yet. Hardy, the best thing for you to do is to get away from here. Get your family down to Bluff and lock yourselves in a hotel. I’ll be there as soon as I can. We’ll keep an eye out for Smith as we search the beach.”

  He turned towards the sergeant and the constable. “I don’t want to see your faces for a while. What I want you to do is go down to the shore and walk towards Porpoise Bay. Go along the water’s edge as much as you can, and keep an eye open for any debris from the ship.”

  “Walk? But it’s twenty miles to Porpoise Bay,” protested the sergeant. “And what are we supposed to do when we get there?”

  Inspector Buckley looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Turn around and come back.”

  “But….” The sergeant opened his mouth to protest, but the inspector stopped him with a raised hand.

  “Consider yourselves lucky. You deserve to spend some time in the lockup, but I’m feeling generous. You’re getting off lightly. Now, on your way.”

  The two men dragged themselves out the door, taking a last vengeful look at Frank.

  Frank had been considering Mrs. Brunton’s offer. He needed a new horse. His last one had died in his arms, and he’d been looking for another one that could become part of him in the way Copenhagen had. Nightingale fit the bill perfectly.

  “I’d like to take the horse,” he said. “But I’d have to pay you for her.”

  She shook her head. “We’re handing the farm over to Charles,” she said. “He has his own animals, and he doesn’t want any of ours. William is very fond of Nightingale and would like to see her go to a nice family. My mind is made up. You must take Nightingale and I refuse to take any payment for her. It will cost to transport her back to Wellington, of course. And you can cover those expenses.”

  Frank and the inspector left Brunton Station and rode back to the beach astride Nightingale, who carried them both easily. Frank had forced six pounds onto Mrs. Brunton to pay for a saddle and bridle, and she’d taken it without argument, disappearing into the pantry to hide it somewhere. He hoped Mette still had some of her money left. They might find themselves be
gging for a place to sleep at the Bluff lockup if she didn’t.

  Mette jumped up from the tarpaulin when she saw them coming. Frank could see the relief in her eyes. She’d been given food and a blanket to wrap around herself and the girls, but she had been worried. He dismounted and nodded to Detective Tuohy, who had been left to stand guard. “Thank you, detective.”

  Inspector Buckley followed him, and crouched beside Mette. “You were right, Mrs. Hardy. Your husband has an excellent assistant for his detecting work. Mr. Smith was at Otara Station last night and took the Brunton’s under his control. He left my two men — the two who were with you — to watch the family and came down here looking for somebody. You probably saved the Bruntons from considerable grief. And now I’m working on the premise that Smith murdered McNab.”

  He leaned over and tickled Helen, who giggled. “I have eight of these of my own,” he said to Mette. “Six of them are girls. I miss them when I’m in the field.”

  “Eight children! How does your wife manage?”

  She saw a little smile cross his face. “She has help,” he said. “I take the older ones to watch the cricket at the North Ground when I’m home. That way, she has a chance to rest. And the older girls mind the younger ones. You’ll find that’s how it works when you have a few more of your own.”

  Inspector Buckley sat down, stretching his legs. He moved rather stiffly, and she wondered if he was feeling his age. He must be close to sixty.

  “Now, I’d like to ask you a little more about Mr. Smith. When did you first see him, and what did you think of him?”

  “Mr. Smith was on the train with me from Dunedin,” she said. “And so was Mr. Hinton, Frank’s gold robbery suspect. Actually, I thought Mr.Smith was following Mr. Hinton, but then I discovered he was following me, because I was carrying a baby. I first saw Mr. Smith on the train platform in Dunedin. He walked beside the train looking in the windows, and then jumped on board at the last minute — into my carriage. I thought he might be a policeman at first, and I guessed he was following someone. But I never dreamed it was me.”