by Geoff Lawson
glowering and baleful, less his trouser belt and shoelaces. I
watched the cell door clang shut while giving him a big cheesy
grin, then walked back to the barbershop to apologize for the
earlier performance and finally have my shave.
Upon my knock, Potts opened the door of the Colonel’s
room, which served as our common room during the day. I
sauntered in – swaggered would be a better word – then sat in
a vacant chair and theatrically crossed my legs while placing
my hands behind my head.
“Bloody hell Wilson, now what have you done?”
The others looked up and took particular notice of the large
purple bruise under my eye. “Can’t we leave you alone without
you getting into some sort of bother?”
“Yeah, for a posh gent you sure have some rough friends!”
“Apprehended one of ‘em too,” I answered, smirking. That
shut them up. They stared back, obviously surprised and
impressed. “He’s now in the jail under lock and key.”
Half an hour later we were all at the police station. We
followed the Chief Constable through a door to the rear of the
station where a short brick corridor brought us to the cells, all
two of them. Our detainee was sitting on his bed with his arms
folded, glowering while the Chief Constable unlocked his cell
and we all filed in.
Potts grabbed him and forced him to sit down on a stool,
where the Chief Constable cuffed him with his hands behind
his back. Then we crowded around, faces serious, forcing him
to look up which he was understandably reluctant to do. He
50
squirmed on his stool and looked a good deal less than happy.
As well as having a bruise on his face from where I’d punched
him, I was pleased to note that he also had a lump on his
forehead that had scabbed, a fat upper lip and a bruise on his
nose where I had rammed him with the muzzle of my revolver.
“Question and answer time boy-oh and we’d better get the
right answers.” Potts appeared to be in charge, although all he
got was an apprehensive stare. “Who is this detestable worm,
constable?”
“We call him ‘Furtive Ferg’, sir,” replied the Chief
Constable. “He’s a local crook. Strictly a light-fingered, small-
time footpad and trouble-maker.”
“That so Fergy, well you’re certainly the centre of attention
now, me boy. Hit the big time huh?”
No answer, just a baleful stare and a tightening of the jaw
muscles.
“I’ll ask you a question. What were you looking for when
you stole the key to the stable locker and ransacked our
equipment?” Ferg’s reply was a stone-faced stare before
glowering at the floor. “Oh come now Fergo, don’t tell me
‘bashful’ is one of your aliases?”
Ferg cringed and his eyeballs swivelled around like a
cornered fox, but his mouth was one tight, straight line and he
wouldn’t volunteer a thing.
Potts swung round. “Look boys, he is bashful,” then swung
back suddenly, ramming his elbow straight into Ferg’s fat lip.
Ferg yelped as the lip split like a ripe grape and blood
gushed down his chin. Potts leaned closer, his voice edged
with menace.
“Listen, Ferg ol’ boy. You’re playing with big trouble, you
are. We’re special. We’re straight from the Secret Service
y’know, in charge of national security an’ all and, we have
draconian powers; if we want, we can take you out on the veldt
and shoot you in the back of the head, then just ride off nice as
you please and leave your bloating carcass for the jackals to
eat, provided of course that the vultures don’t get to you first;
an’ the constable here wouldn’t give a damn if we did because
we’ll be getting rid of the bane of his life; because that’s what
you are Ferg – a bane. A complete and utter nuisance. That
51
right constable?” The Chief Constable looked staunchly at
Ferg.
“Yes sir, neither use nor ornament, I say.” Now Ferg did
look worried. His eyes grew larger.
“Don’t fool with us Ferg. You better start singing ol’ boy
and tell us the whole damn story, right from the beginning. If
you do you’ll get a week in the slammer for common assault
an’ a fine, then you’ll be out. Otherwise, who knows what
might happen to you. You’ll have to think yourself lucky if you
get a lifetime of being manacled to a post and breaking rocks
in the sun.”
Ferg’s eyes expanded further if that were possible,
zigzagging from one face to another. A stricken look flashed
over his unremarkable features which, with the exception of
the blood on his chin, were drained of all colour. With sweat
beads on his brow and deference to his sore mouth, he slowly
and laboriously began to talk.
“I was watching you lot comin’ into town when this
stranger comes up t’ me see, an’ offers me thirty pounds to find
out who you are and what you’re up to, like. Thirty pounds’ll
just about pay the rent on my room fer a year y’know, so I
follows you to the ‘otel and watches. I see these two unload the
‘orses an’ take em’ round the back, so I climbs the fence back
o’ the place next door an’ watches through a gap in the fence. I
see this one come out o’ the stable, an’ put a key in ‘is pocket
like, so as soon as these two disappear back inside I jumps the
fence an’ I follows at a safe distance into the ‘otel in time to
see ’im go into this ‘ere room, which has t’ be where ‘e’s
stayin’.”
The Colonel interrupted. “Who was this man you spoke to,
the one who offered you thirty pounds?”
“I dunno, honest. I’ve not seen ‘im ‘round ‘ere before, but
‘e was Irish.”
Potts and the Colonel exchanged glances and looked back at
the prisoner. Potts unfolded the picture of Eric von Smidt and
held it out.
“Have you seen this man before?”
“No, don’ know him.” Potts and the Colonel looked at each
other again.
52
“Take another look; have you ever seen him?”
“No, never clapped eyes on ‘im, ever.”
“Absolutely sure?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, keep telling your story.”
“Well, I goes an’ gets a pal see, an’ we goes back to the
hotel an’ we’re standin’ in the lobby, wonderin’ what to do
when this fella ‘ere comes along an’ requests some water for a
bath, so we waits an’ watches like, an’ sees the staff come with
the water, an’ leave again, so we sets ourselves up an’ there’s
no-one else in the hall, so I knocks on ‘is door an’ while he’s
lookin’ at me, my pal bops ‘im on the head. We drag ‘im in an’
close th’ door an’ ransacks ‘is stuff, but finds nothing, ‘cept
this key see, so knowin’ what it’s for, we leaves ‘im an’ goes
through everythin’ in the locker without findin’ anythin’
inter
esting, ‘cept this military uniform an’ a bandolier of
cartridges, which me mate takes a shine to. Me mate buggers
off with the bandolier an’ I goes back t’ watchin.’ Then, this
mornin’ I sees you lot ‘ave got a bomb up yer arses an’ are
going from building to building. I starts to wonderin’ what I’ve
got meself into like, then I see’s this ‘ere lot comin’ back, so I
dives into the barbers t’ keep out ‘o the way, except
unbeknown to me this ‘ere gent follers me in an’ nabs me.”
We look at one another. It is fairly obvious that we have no
Moriarty spy. All we had was some small-town goon that made
the mistake of messing with something way out of his league. I
felt a sense of disappointment pervade the room. Our big
breakthrough had just gone belly up.
“Did this man pay you thirty pounds?”
“I got ten pounds, the rest when I had somethin’.”
“How were you supposed to collect it?”
“Well, tomorrow mornin’ at six I was to meet ‘im at the
crossroads north o’ town an’ give ‘im a report.” He looked
eagerly at our faces, sensing that the heat had lifted somewhat.
We reconvened in the Chief’s office to discuss the
outcome. Colonel Anderson began thinking out loud.
“Well, Ferg’s information hasn’t helped, except by
confirming someone is on to us and knows who we are, so it
goes without saying that we may as well stop masquerading as
53
land buyers. We also need to figure out what the last twenty
four hours was about in the overall scheme of things.”
“I think this was an organised wild goose chase,” quipped
Potts. “While we were trudging around town, something else
was going on.”
“Or somewhere else,” I cut in. “While we are wasting time
chasing footpads, someone is putting as much distance
between us and themselves as they can. This was all about
delay.”
“I think you might be onto something. We were probably
supposed to waste a couple of days looking for Flirty Ferg but
you’ve wrapped it up already – the big question now is, where
the hell did the rest of ‘em go?
54
Chapter Seven
THE WILSON FARM. December 1898
It was a Monday and two weeks had passed by since Rachel
had left Patea and returned to Whanganui. It was breakfast
time with the family and I was brooding, pointedly studying
my plate when Victoria walked in. She was my only sister and
since she had returned from church the day before, she had
been smirking as though she were the possessor of an earth-
shattering secret.
“Guess who’s big brother has got himself a girlfriend,” she
said with a theatrical flourish. I shot my head up and looked.
Everyone else looked up too, then stared at me. I glanced down
and continued to study my plate.
“How do you know that?” piped Mother, which was
probably what everyone else wanted to know.
“Joanie McBriar was at church yesterday,” claimed Vic’s.
“It seems she was walking through the reserve in Patea a
couple of weeks ago and saw big brother here – alone, with a
strange girl!”
Damn, I thought, feeling irritated. Why do women talk so
much?
“Really,” mumbled Willy disinterestedly, being slow to
grasp the potential of where this was heading.
Vic’s on the other hand, having got herself on a roll, had
gone past the warm-up stage and was preparing for the meaty
bit.
“Oh indeed and she … was sitting extremely close to our
hero and they were gazing rapturously into each other’s eyes.”
Silence. Everyone stared at me again. Father coughed, rose
from the table, and placed his cup on the sink bench before
leaving via the back door. Dutifully, Willy stood up and
followed father out. Mother’s gaze swung back to me.
“Oh and incidentally,” continued Vic’s, rolling her eyes,
“by all accounts our mystery girl is quite a looker.” Mother’s
attention swung back to Vic’s.
55
“Have you hung the washing out – you’d better go and do
it!” Victoria’s face dropped and she slunk out the back door,
leaving Mother and me alone.
Mother stared at me for a minute with an expression that
was half decision and half otherwise. Then she stood, pushed
her chair away from the table and my eyes followed her
progress as she came around behind me, where she leaned on
my shoulder and put her arm around me. I hoped my face
didn’t betray any embarrassment.
“Is something wrong son? I’ve noticed you have been
unusually quiet since you returned from Zelda’s.”
I sighed inwardly. The cat was out of the bag. There was
hardly any point in trying to deny it.
“Yes. I’ve met a girl, a friend of Agnes.”
“Oh, well that can’t be too bad, can it?”
“The trouble is, I don’t know when I will get to see her
again.” I surprised myself with the degree of frustration in my
voice.
“Patea isn’t that far away, I’m sure you will see her soon.”
“If only it were that easy – she lives in Whanganui.”
“Ah! In that case you definitely have a problem then, don’t
you? Anyway, what’s her name? Tell me something about her.”
“Her name is Rachel Purdue and she’s a pen-friend of
Agnes.”
“Purdue. That’s French isn’t it?” Well, I for one wasn’t
aware of that. “So she’s pretty, is she?”
“She’s more than just ‘pretty,’ Mother.”
“Ah,” countered Mother again, sitting down next to me and
giving me a knowing look. “She could be a heartbreaker, have
you thought of that?”
In truth I had. She couldn’t have hooked me better if she
had planned it as a precise military exercise. The bit with the
hatpins for example; if she had intended to get my attention it
had certainly worked. On the other hand, even if she did plan
it, it could only mean that she thought I was worth the effort. It
didn’t mean that she genuinely had no interest in me and
besides, you get a feeling about false people and I didn’t get
that with Rachel. She had an openness I believed in. I also
56
believed that at some point soon, she would return to Patea for
me.
In the autumn it came, the note I had been waiting for. She
was coming Friday week and would I meet her when she
arrived on the train?
Agnes and Emma would be there and Mother would be
too; it was time, Mother decided, that she and this Rachel met
face to face.
On the day in question, Mother and I were on our way as
the sun began to rise, so we could be at Zelda’s house some
hours before the train came in. Zelda saw us coming and
already had the kettle on; everyone seemed to be on the ball
today. It was really quite remarkable how my love life had
everyone so excited.
After a cup of
tea I gravitated outside, where I could be
alone. The older women were talking shop and I was
beginning to feel nervous. I couldn’t stop glancing at the clock.
I had been dreaming about Rachel for months and now that she
was about to arrive, I didn’t know what to do. I walked to the
woodpile behind the washhouse and started chopping the
bigger blocks into smaller pieces. Was she still the same or had
she changed? Were we still an item, or had she cooled since
our last meeting? Meanwhile, until I had answers to all these
intangibles, the exercise would do me good. I could relieve
some tension and do something useful at the same time. By
three thirty it was time to be on our way to the railway station
and not before time, for the clock had dragged the last couple
of hours and I was more than relieved to be on our way.
The train was probably half an hour late when it finally
arrived and slowing, it rumbled on by, exuding the acrid smell
of coal smoke and emitting clouds of steam. There was the
inevitable screech of brakes as it ground to a halt; the audible
panting of the locomotive’s air compressor continued to rasp
and wheeze through the background of sounds and smells,
even after everything else went quiet.
On the way past we had seen Rachel through her window. I
could see she was struggling with a hatbox and carry case, so
once the way was clear I sprang up the steps to help. Agnes
57
and Emma were the self-appointed administrators of
welcoming rites and as Rachel alighted they swept around her,
the three of them hugging and grinning like mad.
She was dressed in a navy blue sailor girl suit with black
stockings and shoes. Her head was covered with a large
panama hat and around her elfin waist was a pale blue satin
sash. As usual, she was impressive. She had style.
“Where’d you get that gorgeous suit?” Agnes and Emma
were equally impressed by Rachel’s choice of daywear.
“Ready-to-wear from Father’s store. Pretty good huh? No
more patterns and having to sew things.” She adopted a
theatrical pose and pirouetted around while rolling her eyes
skyward. We laughed. I held her elbow and steered her in front
of Mother.
“Mother, this is Rachel Purdue.” Mother looked at Rachel,
taking everything in. I could see she was impressed. Rachel
was beautiful; a dignified grin fixed on her face, her obvious