Come to Grief

by Wendy M Wilson

The wharfie glanced idly in the direction Frank was pointing and shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “Does anyone know?”

  “The Hawea?” guessed a grey-bearded man sitting on a capstone nearby staring at nothing. “Or the Rotomahana? Maybe the Te Anau? They’re all due this week.”

  “The Hawea isn’t leaving until tomorrow. And the Rotomahana just got in.”

  He couldn’t decide what he should do. He could find the newspaper and see what ships were due to leave and then telegraph Colonel Roberts. But what if Hinton was heading back to America? On the very ship Frank could see leaving? Maybe he was on his way to Port Arthur in Tasmania, or Sydney, rather than Melbourne? No, he needed to know what ship Hinton had boarded and where it was going. The Te Anau seemed to be the best possibility, but he had to be sure.

  He worried for a moment about Mette, alone in the room with the girls and decided he had to take the chance and find where Hinton had gone. Mette would be alright for a bit longer. And the reward for finding out who had taken the gold was important for their future.

  He said to the wharfie, “Is there a place where I can see a ship up close as it leaves the harbour?”

  “Try the pilot station at Stirling Point,” said the wharfie. He emptied his nose off the side of the wharf and wiped his hand on his trousers. “The boats go real close to the point. The pilot keeps his cutter there, and there’s a light. Don’t want ships running up on the coast, like the Tararua. Did you hear about the Tararua?”

  Frank raced back to the stable and threw his saddle back on Nightingale. He’d be back in no time. Mette would understand, once he told her why he’d left. The possibility of making a thousand pounds was churning in his head. What a boost that would be to their finances. It would solve everything.

  Stirling Point was a mile or more away from the port, along a dirt track, nestled beneath The Bluff, the hill for which the town was named. He was there in less than ten minutes. The pilot was in his cutter, with two men pushing it out.

  “Are you off to meet a ship?” he asked.

  The pilot put his hand to his ear, signalling he hadn’t heard.

  “He’s meeting the Te Anau, to guide it around the coast and past Dog Island,” said one of men helping the pilot. “It’s on the way to Melbourne, stopping at Port Phillip in Tasmania first.”

  The Te Anau, then. He looked at the pilot station and saw that a short ladder ran up one side to the lamp. “Do you mind if I climb up the station to take a look at the ship as it passes?“

  The pilot didn’t answer, and the man who had answered him shrugged. Taking that for permission, he climbed the ladder and clung to the top. The wind buffeted him, but he could see the Te Anau coming. He watched, hoping he’d see some final proof.

  It took another twenty minutes, but the ship came right at him, less than five hundred yards away. The pilot’s cutter went out to meet it, and the pilot was pulled on board. He shook someone’s hand — the captain, Frank assumed — and headed to the wheelhouse.

  He scanned the ship, looking for Hinton, thinking it would be a miracle if he found him. But standing at the prow, his duffle bag and his Gladstone bag on the deck beside him, there he was. Robert Hinton, on his way to Melbourne with the gold. Success!

  Frank slid down the ladder and vaulted back onto Nightingale. He raced back into Bluff feeling absurdly happy, dying to tell Mette that he had secured the reward and their future.

  Mette could wait a few more minutes, however. First, he had to send a telegram to Colonel Roberts, informing him that two of the suspects were dead, but the third, Robert Hinton, was on his way to Melbourne aboard the SS Te Anau with the gold. He returned Nightingale to the stables and hurried across the street to the post office, whistling to himself.

  18

  Caroline’s Father

  Mette could scarcely contain her excitement. She had the gold, or at least some of it, and now Frank would be able to claim the reward. She did not know how much a gold ingot weighed, or even how one looked. The most gold she’d ever seen was a British Full Sovereign from the Royal Mint in Melbourne, which her sister Maren had shown her. Maren’s husband had purchased five of them from the Bank of New Zealand in Palmerston North, one for each of their children. They looked beautiful, and were quite heavy, although light enough to carry around in your pocket. Maren had done that when she came to show them to Mette. The ingots must be a lot heavier than five gold sovereigns, but without knowing the weight of one, she couldn’t guess how many were hidden in the bottom of the bag. But one, at the very least.

  She walked up and down between the beds, hugging herself with excitement, trying not to wake the girls, and hoping Frank would soon be back. Every few minutes she stopped to stare out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

  And finally, there he was, coming along the street with another man. She couldn’t see who the other man was, because all she could see the was tops of their heads. But the man in front was definitely Frank. She would recognize him anywhere.

  For ten minutes she did not know where to put herself, hurrying to the door to listen for a knock, sitting on the bed to calm herself, then jumping up and running to the window; finally, she heard a soft tap. She moved the bag away from the door, but stopped herself from flinging it open, remembering Frank had said not to open the door for anyone. Her heart was pounding in anticipation of the surprise she had for him, but to show him she’d paid attention, she left the chain on the door and opened it a tiny fraction. Frank was standing outside in the hallway, his back to her. Or she thought it was Frank. There was something about him that did not quite look like Frank. His clothes were different. Had he taken the time to buy himself a new coat and boots? Was that why he’d rushed off from the stables so suddenly?

  “Frank?” she said tentatively. He turned around.

  Not Frank, but a tall, dark-haired man about the same size as Frank, although younger and beardless. He had a long, thin nose and narrow-set eyes that made him look cruel. She stared at him, and he stared back, his lips curving slowly into a smile.

  “Is this her?” he said to someone standing just out of view.

  The other person moved forward so she could see him. “Yes, that’s her.”

  “Mr. Smith,” she said. She had been sure he’d drowned, but here he was.

  She slammed the door in the man’s face, but before the lock could click into place, he raised his booted foot and stamped it hard against the door panels, splitting one with a loud crack as the door came off its hinges and the chain snapped.

  The force knocked her back onto the bed beside Helen. Both the girls woke up, crying. The intruder strode into the room, stopped, and stared down at them, his eyes going from one to the other.

  “Ah, as you said, Smith. There are two of them. Now, which is mine?”

  Mr. Smith followed him into the room, looking around nervously as if he expected Frank to jump from the wardrobe. “I’m not sure, but I think the darker one is hers. The other one must be yours. I haven’t seen that one before.”

  “Hmm.” He eyed the girls, taking his time, looking from one to the other. “I think the darker one looks more like me. Are you sure she isn’t mine?”

  Mette threw her body across the cot, covering Sarah Jane. “She’s mine, she’s mine,” she said. “Please don’t take her away. The other one is yours, not this one.”

  “Aha,” he said. “A double bluff, perhaps?” She could smell alcohol on his breath, and could see his pupils were dilated. He had been drinking. “You’re defending the wrong baby in hopes I’ll take the other one instead of yours, aren’t you. Clever girl.”

  Mette was confused. “What do you mean…?” She started to say, but he interrupted her.

  “Tell you what, Smith. “Let’s take both babies. We can always toss one away when we find which one is mine.”

  “No, no, please,” said Mette. Frank would be terribly unhappy if she let this man take Helen, but she would do anything rather than have him take Sarah J
ane. “I’ll pay you if you let me keep both of them. I have gold. In the Gladstone bag. Lots of gold. Please take it. It’s worth thousands of pounds. But leave my baby with me, and leave Helen as well.”

  “Who the devil is Helen?” he asked. “You mean Caroline?”

  He strode over and picked up the Gladstone bag, almost losing his balance as he rounded the end of the bed. Perhaps if she delayed him until Frank returned, he would punish this evil man who thought throwing a baby away was reasonable.

  “The bag is empty,” he said, letting it fall by his side.

  “It has a false bottom,” she said. “Please. Lift it up to the light and look inside. You’ll see. There’s gold in there.”

  He did as she asked, holding it to the window. “Ah, I can see something. An ingot perhaps. Barely worth my while.”

  “We’d better hurry up, Sir Charles. The husband will be back soon. I promise you, I saw him with the darker baby of the two, and it was definitely his. The other one is yours.”

  Sir Charles walked over to the bed where Helen was on her knees, swaying back and forth, trying to get one leg under herself so she could stand, but having no luck because of the softness of the bed. He crouched down beside her. “I don’t give a damn about the husband. I’ll handle him.” He put his hand out to Helen and pinched her on the cheek. “Hello, Caroline. I’m your father. Would you like to come on a trip with me?” He winked at Mette. “I think I’ll take this one. I see you’re looking relieved, and I assume I now have the correct infant.”

  He picked her up. She frowned and asked, “Dada?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Dada. I can see we’re going to get along famously. And don’t worry about the gold, madam. This little lady is worth a thousand times any gold you might have in the bottom of your bag.”

  He took Helen — Caroline, she was now, and Mette would have to get used to that — and swept from the room, followed by Mr. Smith. She waited until she heard him clumping down the stairs and ran to the landing, and screamed as hard as she could. She saw them go out through the front door and turn right.

  Captain Scott hurried from his parlour on the lower floor and started up the stairs towards her. “What’s going on? Is someone hurt?”

  “Captain Scott, they’ve taken the baby, two men. A tall dark-haired man and another man in a light grey suit.” It was as much description she could manage in a short time, and Captain Scott jumped into action, sprinting through the front door and out into the street. He stopped to look either way, and took off running in the direction of the stables.

  She followed him at a safe distance. Other people who knew him would come to his assistance, and she wasn’t going to get involved while she was holding Sarah Jane. The captain stopped abruptly outside the stables and went inside as if he’d spotted someone inside. Sir Charles, already astride a horse, erupted past him, slapped the horse on the rear, and took off at a gallop towards Stirling Point.

  By the time she reached the stables, Captain Scott and a stable hand had wrestled Mr. Smith to the ground. They pulled him up, and, each holding an arm, dragged him back to the hotel. Mette followed, holding Sarah Jane tightly, her emotions in a swirl. What was Frank going to say about Helen being taken? What did Sir Charles whatsisname mean when he said his daughter was worth a thousand times more than the gold in the bottom of Mr. Hinton’s bag? He definitely didn’t mean he loved her so much she was worth more to him than gold — he was obviously talking about financial worth. He hadn’t even recognized his own daughter.

  “He doesn’t know the Bluff, that chap,” said Captain Scott as he manhandled Mr. Smith into the reception area. “He can’t escape in that direction. He’ll be back.” He pulled Mr. Smith’s arm behind his back and forced him into a straight-backed chair. The groom stood behind the captain, his arms crossed, making sure Smith could not leap to his feet and make a run for it.

  “Right, young fellow.” Captain Scott loomed over Smith, glaring down at him. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  “You won’t catch him,” said Smith. He looked defeated. “He has a ketch waiting on the other side of the hill, near Lookout Point. He’ll be out of the country within the hour.”

  “Can’t you ask the police to stop him?” asked Mette.

  “I could call out the volunteer rifles,” said Captain Scott. “But not within the hour. And we have only one policeman stationed here. He’s over at the lockup. He’s a good chap, but he’d never manage to get across Bluff Hill to Lookout Point in an hour. He’s a bit too fond of mutton bird and oysters, I’m sorry to say.”

  Mette stood in front of Mr. Smith, out of reach of his arms and feet. She didn’t trust him at all now. “Can you please tell me what’s going on? Is Sir Charles really Helen…I mean Caroline’s father? And why does he want her so badly? Did he pay for the McNab’s to kidnap her? And who are you, and how did you get involved in all of this?”

  He sighed and stared at the floor for a few minutes. Mette had decided she wasn’t going to get any answers from him, when he looked up at her and said sadly, “I’m finished, I suppose. What do you want to know?”

  “Start by telling me who you are. Is your name really Smith?”

  He nodded. “I’m the assistant to Caroline’s great uncle, the Commissioner of Crown Lands for Otago.”

  “So you are an Assistant Commissioner,” said Mette. “But not for the police.”

  “I never said I was from the police,” he said defensively. “Everyone just jumped to that conclusion. When Caroline was kidnapped, the commissioner was sure it was her father who had taken her. And we knew about the pair who had most likely done it for him, Betsy and William McNab, a brother and sister. He’s ex-Indian Army, goes by the nickname of Whitey McNab, because of his hair. They’ve worked for him for years. I’d never seen them, but I’d heard them described as fair haired — very fair haired, in the way some British people are. When I saw you with the baby I was sure you were Betsy McNab. So I followed you. When you claimed your husband had gone down with the Tararua, I thought you were lying, and that you were really looking for your brother. So I came with you, and…”

  “And you sent a telegram to the Commissioner before we left Wyndham,” said Mette. Everything was falling into place.

  But Mr. Smith surprised her. “No. I never intended to take Caroline back to him. He’s a cheapskate. I always meant to get her to Sir Charles. He has more to gain and would be more likely to reward someone who helped him. I sent him a telegram to let him know that the ship carrying his daughter had gone down, but that I had found her. I asked him to meet me in Bluff as soon as he could. I would wait for him in a lodging house I knew about. After I jumped into the river, I swam ashore at the bend in the river and walked down to Bluff.”

  “Why not work with William McNab, then? Why did you have to kill him?”

  “That was an accident. I was trying to get him to tell me who had the real baby, once I knew there were two. He said your husband had rescued one after the wreck, and he thought she was Caroline. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but he fought with me. I had no choice.”

  Captain Scott had been listening to the whole story with great interest. “Tell me,” he said. “So I have the full picture here. Why was it so important for Sir Charles — what’s his last name, by the way? — for sir Charles to be in possession of his daughter?”

  “Pomeroy,” said Smith. “Sir Charles Pomeroy. It’s complicated…”

  “Go ahead,” said Captain Scott, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

  “There’s a woman,” said Smith. “A very pretty woman. She lives in Dunedin under the care of my employer, her uncle. She used to work as a lady’s maid for Sir Charles mother, at her place in Surrey. That’s in England,” he said to Mette, as if she didn’t know anything about England. “And he impregnated her. She wasn’t exactly willing, although she was just a maid, so it shouldn’t have mattered.”

  “Of course it mattered. It always matters,” sa
id Mette sharply.

  Both men glanced at her, puzzled, and then Smith continued. “The old woman — Sir Charles’ mother — was very upset, and she cut him out of her will. She was the one with all the money. Her father made his money in coal mining. Her husband, Sir Charles father, had the title. And she left her entire fortune to Caroline, everything except the house, which belonged to Sir Charles’ late father and was entailed to the male line.”

  Mette knew what was coming. She was half-way through Bleak House already. “Jarndyce v. Jarndyce,” she said triumphantly. “Caroline was made a Ward of Chancery, like Ada and Richard.”

  Mr. Smith seemed to understand what she was talking about. “Yes, only I believe it’s called Ward of the Court nowadays. Caroline is to receive everything when she turns eighteen. Until then, whoever has her in their care will have use of the money, on application to the Court of Chancery. Sir Charles was sure he would be treated fairly, as long as he had Caroline…”

  “What’s going on here?” asked Frank. He had come through the front door of the hotel looking pleased with himself, but his expression had changed as soon as he saw Mette and Mr. Smith.

  “Sir Charles has taken Caroline,” said Mette. “I’m sorry Frank, but I couldn’t stop him. I even offered to give him the gold in exchange for her, but he refused, and now we know…”

  “Sir who? Who the bloody hell is Caroline?” he asked. “And what’s this about the gold? Hinton has it. I just saw him leave for Melbourne on the Te Anau.”

  19

  At Lookout Point

  Nightingale seemed happy about being torn from the comfort of her stable for another ferocious ride so soon after Frank had left her there. She pranced out into the street as if she’d had a full day of rest, not merely twenty minutes, with Frank mounted on her, ready to run down the bastard who had taken Helen. Or Caroline, as he supposed he should call her, although she’d always be Helen to him.