these improvements.
At about eleven in the morning there came a knock and the
receptionist appeared, dressed in her signature black skirt,
pleated white blouse with wrap around collar and cameo
brooch.
“Sorry to interrupt sir, but there’s a policeman here to see
you.”
A fleeting thought flicked through his mind that something
may have gone wrong at home.
“All right Dorothy, send him in.”
Alistair rose from his chair and skirting his desk, shook
hands with his visitor. The policeman was a large and
imposing man whose broad chest strained the buttons of his
uniform. His face sported scarred cheeks and his nose and ears
had that more-than-once battered look about them.
“Good mornin’ to yer sir, I’m Constable Reagan from
Central an’ I need to make some enquiries regardin’ one o’
your sons.”
“Good Lord. Which one? He’s not in any trouble is he?”
“Well sir, in a manner of speakin’ ‘e is; the one called
Albert, I believe.”
“Well you’d better sit down Constable.”
The afternoon sun failed to lighten Alistair’s mood as he
wove his way home, his mouth a tight, straight line and his
mind deep in thought. Albert had always been a self-important
little brat and was always in confrontation with others. Many
times he had tested Emily Ellen’s patience to the limit and
Alistair had to resort to the parental cuff in the ear to prevent
him from getting worse. It would even work for a while,
although eventually he would slip back into his old habits,
ensuring the inevitable confrontation would occur again.
Albert’s older brother John had been entirely the opposite -
courteous, astute, and good at tennis and cricket; the pair of
them couldn’t have been more different. Alistair had hoped
that life at university and being away from home would mature
185
Albert, round off his perverseness, but now that too had fallen
apart.
“You’re home early,” greeted Emily Ellen, temporarily
delighted until she caught the look on his face. After hanging
up his coat, jacket and hat he walked through to the kitchen
and sat himself down. While Alistair talked, Emily put the
kettle on.
“This morning, I learned something disturbing and I can’t
keep it in any longer. I had a visit from the police, who were
asking a lot of questions about Albert. They were particularly
interested to know if we knew where he is.”
“Well that’s easy,” interrupted Emily Ellen. “He’s in
Christchurch, we all know that.”
“Well, apparently not. It appears that he may have become
involved in a swindle and he’s taken off; current whereabouts
unknown according to police, who have spent a lot of time and
resources looking for him – along with a couple of other shady
individuals, who they say, have skipped off with twelve
thousand pounds of their clients’ money.”
Suddenly, Emily Ellen needed to sit down.
“I don’t understand. This simply cannot be. Albert couldn’t
possibly be connected to anything like that, he’s doing a law
degree!”
“Well my dear, there seems to be some doubt about that.
It’s beginning to appear he’s been up to no damn good, which I
may add, he’s done a good job of concealing from us.”
“Why would he need money? What has he done with all
the money we’ve been sending?”
“Good question. I’ve given that some thought and I’ve sent
a letter to the University to ask for a copy of his records,
should there be any, with particular emphasis on his
attendance. That should tell us something, but of course we
won’t know anything for certain until they reply. Don’t be too
surprised if the answer turns out to be a good deal less than
you like.”
Alistair held the letter with both hands; the envelope was
clearly marked that it had come from the University of
Canterbury. He was dreading having to open it, his mind a void
186
of mixed emotions; he was pretty sure that he was about to be
disappointed with the news it contained. With almost surgical
precision he used an ornate, bone-handled letter opener to
slowly expose the contents. He had the foresight to ask the
university that the reply be posted to Warner's, so that if the
news was really bad, he could conceal the worst by giving
Emily Ellen an amended rendition to soften the blow. Now, he
slowly unfolded the piece of paper in his hands.
Dear Sir,
I was asked to respond to your letter regarding the absence of
one Albert James Ernest Purdue and the reality is, there is
little I can tell you. These students are adults and therefore are
not obliged to sign attendance forms as such, but each lecturer
has a list of those students who have undertaken to attend and
should they not hand in assignments by the due date, they are
given two months to make known their intentions. If they do
not, their names are removed from the rolls and they are
considered by the university to have dropped out. Albert
Purdue’s last assignment was handed in midyear and no news
has materialised since. He has not contacted anyone
concerning this to date and his name will be struck from the
roll. An additional note from the University Rolls Dept. has
been included with this, in lieu of that.
Sincerely Yours,
Anton Hills, Senior Administrator, Canterbury University
Alistair dropped the letter on his desk, removed his glasses
and rubbed his tired eyes. His suspicions about Albert were
now confirmed, although there were more questions raised
than answers. What was he up to? Had he spent all the money
they’d sent? Was he gambling? He was obviously in trouble, so
why hadn’t he said something? Alistair would have been only
too willing to engage a lawyer to look after Albert’s interests,
or put up bail if it came to that. Had he done something really
bad? So bad, in fact, that all he could think of was to run?
Alistair stopped rubbing his eyes and leaned back, gazing
listlessly at the far wall. The police were only interested in
finding Albert to grill him about his possible role in the
187
disappearance of investors’ money. Alistair, on the other hand,
wanted to know a good deal more than that, therefore it
seemed appropriate that he should see his lawyer this afternoon
– with their legal contacts they would be able to engage a
Christchurch law firm to recommend an investigator and act as
a go-between. That was bound to answer some of his
questions, although he realised he may not necessarily learn
everything he would really like to know.
The following morning, Rachel was deep in thought as she
readied herself for work. She stood in front of her bedroom
mirror, patiently brushing her hair with long practiced strokes
before deftl
y binding it in place behind her head. The news that
Albert had disappeared and that the police were looking for
him in connection to a crime had been a surprise the household
were still coming to terms with.
Mother was still visibly upset from the previous evening
and Father wasn’t talking either. Wilmot was the only one who
seemed unfazed, although he probably wasn’t mature enough
to fully understand the implications, for if word of this were to
leak out the rumour machine would swing into gear and Lord
only knows how far it would go.
Surely it was only coincidence that Albert had vanished at
the same time as the embezzlers; that he had simply became
bored and decided to slope off for a while on some adventure
or other and was, therefore, bound to reappear again soon. He
wouldn’t be smiling for long when he did – Father would have
a raft of pertinent questions to ask and after the police were
finished with him all hell would break loose. Still, from
Albert’s point of view that would be preferable to having the
police actively involved as well.
She had chosen to wear a dark red dress with a button-up
front and a cream boater hat. Slipping on a pair of matching
red shoes, she stepped out with a coat over one arm, while she
pulled on a pair of pigskin gloves; all the while with her eye on
the overcast sky and wondering if she should take her umbrella
as well.
188
Closing the front gate behind her, she turned in the
direction of town and spied a woman walking by on the other
side of the road.
“Hello Ella,” she called. Ella smiled warmly and waved
back, before she disappeared around the corner.
Rachel wondered what her father would do. Christchurch
was a long way to go for what could easily become a wild
goose chase. If the police couldn’t find Albert then there was
probably little chance that Father would do better – but what
else could he do? It could be wiser to just wait until some news
came to hand and then decide what would be best. Albert was
headstrong and full of ideas that were never any good. If only
he was more like his older brother. John was sensible and on
his way to becoming someone; he would probably inherit
Father’s business, for he was more than capable of running it
and Father was proud of his oldest son. One would have
thought at the very least that some of that would have rubbed
off on Albert, but no. Fractious and argumentative, he could be
relied upon to disagree about everything – there were always
too many issues, too many times when he was completely and
utterly tiresome.
With John, university was just another logical step, but not
so for Albert. Disinclined to apply himself to anything, he had
fallen in with a crowd that had too much pocket money and
idle time, so as soon as a place at a university had been secured
Father had packed him off; although now, it was obvious that
this hadn’t worked either.
As she approached the corner a van with three well-dressed
men came into view and stopped beside her. One man hopped
down while the others looked on.
“Ello Miss, does the Purdues live around ‘ere by any
chance?”
“Why yes,” she replied, completely surprised. “They live
just…” Her arms were grabbed while another man jumped
down from the van and pulled a large burlap sack over her
head. In the blink of an eye she was up-ended, sliding down
into a ball. The bag’s opening was tied shut and she was
bundled into the back of the van. Stunned, she heard the rear
189
doors close behind her and in panic she started to scream; then
a foot came down hard on her back.
“Shut up miss, or things will get worse for you.”
She struggled for breath but shut up. Hurt and frightened,
she lay still, not daring to move or make a sound.
190
Chapter Nineteen
DUNTROON, Cape Colony South Africa.
December 1899
Sarah remained silhouetted in her upstairs window as I turned
and walked away. There were a lot of things going around in
my head and I must have taken another twenty or thirty steps
before I noticed him. I slowed my pace and squinted in the
bright afternoon sunlight to see him better. He was motionless,
watching; inconspicuous under a shop front on the other side
of the road. The verandahs were deep in shade and the road
was wide, but I instinctively knew it was him. He wasn’t a
priest anymore. He was a well-heeled businessman sporting a
topper hat, while confidently resting his hands on a silver-
mounted walking cane.
It was the hottest part of the day, but the sight of his lean
figure sent a chill down my spine. I stopped and turned back
towards the hotel, noticing for the first time the black coupe
parked in front. There was no such thing as coincidence where
this man was concerned and beneath my outward calm my
mind was racing at the potential implications. There was only
one thing at the hotel he could possibly want. Sarah!
As soon as I crossed the threshold I bounded up the stairs
to her room and Sarah opened the door. Breathless with
anxiety, I shut the door myself and flicked the key in the lock,
then sneaked over to the window and peered cautiously out
around the edges of the curtains.
Had I foolishly led him straight to her? I might have, but
then the local hostelry would be the first place he would look.
That was my mistake. I should have convinced Saunders to
have her put up in a private residence where her presence
could have been kept completely secret.
“Richard! What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
I looked up the street, but there was no sign of him. I
checked the other way just in case, but he was nowhere to be
191
seen. I moved away from the curtain and turned to face her.
What could I tell her? I didn’t want to scare her. I swallowed
and took a deep breath.
“Sarah, you’re in danger. There’s an enemy agent out there
and he’s casing this hotel.”
“Oh no!” Her hand involuntarily rose to her throat.
“Oh yes. He must have heard about our escape from the
commandos and realised we were on our way here. Now he’s
arrived and he could have a plan to take you hostage.”
The implications noticeably drained the colour from her
face.
“Surely not! Surely there’s no danger here? The British
Army is just down the road!”
“Yes and for that very reason people allow themselves a
false sense of security. If he were to walk away from here with
a pistol aimed at your head, the British Army would be unable
to do a damn thing.”
“Who is he? Why would he do this?”
“He’s Erich von Smidt, a spy and master saboteur and,
unless I’ve missed my guess, he’s about to try to add
kidnapping to the list. I’m
going downstairs to ask the
proprietor if he has a gun. While I’m gone, keep this door
locked and don’t let anyone in. Understand?” I slipped out the
door and heard the reassuring snib of the lock close behind me.
Downstairs I could see that there was no one at the front
desk. That was no surprise, for as far as I knew, Sarah was the
only guest. Instead, there was a note informing me that all
enquiries should be redirected to the kitchen. I knew where
that was, so I strode down the hall and entered a door at the
end of a short corridor. The proprietor was sipping tea while
perched on a stool, and as I approached his eyes widened.
Something in my manner must have struck a chord.
“Is something wrong sir?”
“There sure is. We have an emergency. Lady… Miss
Emily, may be in danger and needs to be guarded. Do you have
a gun in the house?”
He looked at me in surprise; well… shock would be more
like it and so did the cook, who stopped what she was doing on
the spot.
192
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I don’t have time to explain. If you have a gun – any gun,
bring it with some ammunition as quick as you can.”
“Look here, I …”
“For goodness bloody sake! Don’t you understand
English? This is an emergency. I need a gun right now! Do you
hear me? Right bloody now!”
In a flash he slid off his stool, his eyes blinking. “Steady on
sir, no need to shout.” He scuttled out of the room.
I realised I had been yelling and checked myself. The cook
looked as though she wished the floor would open up and
swallow her; her eyes were the size of belt buckles and too
frightened to even blink.
“Don’t worry,” I said calmly, trying to smile. “You’re not
in any danger.” I don’t know why I bothered. I could see from
the look on her face that there was no way in hell she was
about to believe that.
Just then the proprietor reappeared. He had a Damascus
barrelled shotgun in one hand and a box of Eley smokeless-for-
black cartridges in the other. I smiled as graciously as I could
and took them from his nervous and not entirely willing hands.
“Thank you,” I said, in a useless attempt to reassure him.
Then I sprinted back up the stairs.
Once in Sarah’s room I could see that the gun was an older
model Greener, but nevertheless a top quality piece, so I swung
Forgiven Page 25