Saddled with Death

by Irene Sauman

  ***

  Lunch was another quiet affair. A burial is one sure way of reminding people of their own mortality, regardless of any grief that accompanies it. And there was the shadow of another that would come soon enough. What had befallen them didn’t seem to affect anyone’s appetite, however, as the mutton stew and thyme-flavoured dumplings were soon cleared from their plates, though she wouldn’t have counted on some of those present being able to remember later what they had eaten.

  “Perhaps we may get a steamer going up this afternoon,” Madame Fournier remarked hopefully to her brother at one point during the meal. She was nothing if not single-minded. Claude was non-committal. Would he comply if his sister persisted?

  There was no reason for any one of them to stay now that the person who had invited them was in the ground. She thought she had an idea for keeping them another day or so but was loath to voice it at the table. She really would be seen to be pushing herself forward if she did. She would mention it quietly to Mr. Macdonald. It was important she speak to him first.

  After lunch, the men went down to the training yard, working on the theory, no doubt, that keeping busy was therapeutic and prevented too much thinking. Besides, there was a necessity to be practical. The shipment to India would not be filled of its own accord. After helping Bea and the girls clean up after lunch, Emma left them and took herself off after the men.

  The training yard was a large fenced area beginning behind the stable and extending down past the barn towards the men’s quarters. A number of semi-mature gumtrees dotted around the fence line provided summer shade for the watchers but did nothing to cut the wind.

  She found Mr. Devereaux and Anthony at the stable end, watching the Macdonald boys working several of the horses. Mr. Macdonald was by himself further down the yard. He stood in the age-old stance, one foot up on the lower bar of the fence. As she approached, he pushed back his hat, showing the white band across the top of his forehead where his hat normally sat, shading his face. Tall and otherwise sunburnt, he looked older than the fifty-three she knew him to be. He didn’t look at her as she stopped beside him.

  “Are the horses all right after the disturbance last night?” she asked, by way of greeting.

  “Seem to be.” His tone was dismissive. This conversation was never going to be easy.

  “Mrs. Macdonald asked to speak to me this morning. She wanted to know what had happened.”

  He turned to look down at her. “And of course, you told her.”

  “I didn’t have much choice.”

  “What? A clever girl like you?”

  She had never really understood why her education bothered him. He was successful at what he did, knew things she didn’t. Wasn’t that enough?

  “I couldn’t lie to her, when she asked me straight out, now could I?” she demanded. She was getting tired of all this disapproval. She hadn’t caused this problem. “She wants me to find out what happened. Find out who did this.”

  “Tighten the rein, Jim,” Mr. Macdonald called out to his son, as his mount tried side-stepping. “Give him more bit.”

  “Will you help me find out who did it, Mr. Mac?” she asked, deliberately using the more intimate form of his name, the one she had used since she was a child. “Can you tell me anything about last night?”

  She was going to be quiet now. He either answered or he didn’t. He pulled a tobacco pouch and papers from his shirt pocket, rolled a cigarette and took a drag.

  “All right,” he said finally. “For whatever good it will do you. But just remember, I’m talking to you about it because it’s what Martha wants. She didn’t need to know about it but now she does, well, it might give her something to occupy her mind for a bit, I suppose. I went out for some air, have a smoke. I’d been sitting with Martha all evening. Sitting there to keep away from Vernon and then I find him in the stable.”

  “Why did you go there?”

  “I heard some noise. He’d opened one of the stalls and was leading a horse out.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I yelled at him. He yelled at me. He was going to open the main doors and let the horses out, make it difficult for me to meet the shipment, so he could demand…” He bit off whatever he was going to say. Demand repayment of the investment? “It was your Pepper he had, would you believe,” he went on. “Didn’t even get that right, did he.”

  “He told you he was planning to let the horses out?”

  “Of course not.” Mr. Macdonald gave her a scornful look. So much for your education, he seemed to imply. “He wouldn’t admit to it, would he? Gave me some cock and bull story about having a sudden urge to get up on a horse again. As if I was going to swallow that. But it was obvious what happened because he let several of them out afterward and got knocked down. Well, that’s what I thought when I saw him, later, anyway.

  “Always full of nasty goings on, he was. Blamed me for pushing him out of a tree and smashing up his leg. It was the other way around. He fell trying to push me out.”

  How true that was only the two of them would ever know. That he was angry at his half-brother was obvious, but there was something else under the bitterness, regret perhaps, about business that now would never be finished. If Vernon Appleton had chosen Pepper, the quietest horse in the stable, perhaps he really was just doing what he said, on a sudden whim, away from prying eyes.

  “Did you leave him there, in the stable?” Emma asked.

  “No, of course not. I saw him out, saw him head towards the homestead.”

  “And he went in? I suppose the lamp on the back verandah was lit.”

  “It was lit. But no, I didn’t stay to watch. I went down to the river. He must have gone back to the stable, blast him.”

  Had Mr. Macdonald visited the stable a second time himself, to make sure everything was still as it should be before heading to bed, and found Vernon there letting out the horses again?

  “What do you think happened to him?”

  “Someone beat his head in and stabbed him to death, didn’t they?” he said harshly. Emma winced at the words, but he took no notice. “Couldn’t even die without causing trouble.”

  “I suppose you’ve spoken to the men? Did anyone hear or see anything last night?” She had to ask as she couldn’t very well question them herself.

  “I told them this morning what had happened. As much as they needed to know anyway. Any questioning I’ll leave to the police.”

  “Matty said you had sent for them. But do you think it might be better to question the men yourself?”

  “I don’t have the time, Emma.” It was final. She didn’t press it. He took a last pull on his cigarette and dropped the butt, crushing it under his boot into the sand. “I suppose Martha’s afraid I did it. I can see why she wants to know. Vernon and I got into a bit of an argument yesterday. She saw that.”

  Emma didn’t tell him she had seen the argument as well. Everyone’s suspicions seemed to hinge on it.

  “Well, she is worried, but I can’t imagine she really believes you had anything to do with it.” Though she knew that wasn’t true.

  “You reckon.” Obviously, he didn’t either.

  “Has anyone asked you to signal for a steamer going upriver?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “No. And no one will be going anywhere until the police say they can.”

  “Have you thought of asking Mr. Devereaux if he would like to help with the horses? Matty and Jim seem to think he knows what he’s about.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “It would keep him occupied and help you at the same time. You heard them at lunch. Madame told me earlier they are hoping to get away as soon as they can.” She looked down to the group at the far end of the yard. Madame had joined her brother and Anthony Appleton. “It would be better, don’t you think, if you didn’t have to keep them here by force?”

  “Is this what they taught you at that smart school of yours?”

  “No, Mr. Mac
. I learned that from growing up with people like you,” she replied with some spirit.

  “Too clever for your own good,” he muttered.

  He looked up toward the homestead and Emma followed his gaze. Mrs. Appleton was making her way down past the stable.

  7

  Mrs. Appleton Accuses

  As Mrs. Appleton came up, Emma prepared to leave. She took a couple of steps away but stopped when Mrs. Appleton started speaking.

  “George, it isn’t my want to cause trouble,” she said, “and I was just going to ignore what I’d found, but then I realised that I couldn’t. There is a murderer among us who must be brought to justice, to pay for what they have done.” Mr. Macdonald looked at her and waited. She took a deep breath and expelled it. “I know who killed poor Vernon.” She produced a piece of notepaper from her pocket with a flourish.

  Mr. Macdonald gave her a sharp look and took the paper, opened it and read.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “It was in poor Vernon’s jacket pocket. I almost missed its significance, almost threw it away. I couldn’t, didn’t want, to believe it.”

  Mr. Macdonald stared at it for a moment longer. Then he looked at Emma standing several paces off. Mrs. Appleton turned to look at what he was seeing. If she was surprised that Emma was still there she didn’t show it, but when he held out the paper to her, Mrs. Appleton’s gaze went smartly back and forth between them, assessing.

  Emma studied the paper. It was a folded piece of good quality notepaper, with a small entwined monogram embossed in one corner. She couldn’t make out the letters, but it didn’t matter. The note was short and it was signed.

  Meet me outside at eleven. Gabriela.

  “You see, she arranged to meet him. She wanted to marry again, you know, someone with money. They must have argued or, or he refused her and she killed him in a rage.” Mrs. Appleton was almost triumphant. “That is why she is so keen to leave now.”

  Had it happened that way? Emma remembered the possible scenarios she had presented to Matty. She’d suggested Vernon had made advances to Madame and she had to fight him off. Mrs. Appleton might want to put the blame on Madame Fournier, and not on her brother-in-law, as the instigator of whatever had happened. But it was Gabriela who had issued the invitation.

  “You must put her under arrest, George.” Mrs. Appleton was insisting. “She must be locked up somewhere secure until the police arrive.”

  “I don’t think we need go that far. I already have some of my men stationed around the place to make sure no one wanders off or tries to attract the attention of a steamer. The police should be here late tomorrow, providing there is anyone available at the station. Besides, we’re surrounded by miles of bush. Running off would be suicide for someone who doesn’t know the place.”

  “Would you like for me to speak to Madame and see what explanation she can give for this note?” Emma asked.

  Mr. Macdonald nodded. “Send Devereaux up here first. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “I will come with you,” Dora Appleton said firmly. Emma couldn’t very well refuse her company. They walked back toward the other group.

  “Miss Haythorne, I do hope you won’t hold my words earlier against me,” Mrs. Appleton surprised Emma by saying. “I’m not myself. This dreadful business has completely undone me.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable,” Emma murmured. “It has upset us all.” Perhaps she should give the woman a little latitude, even if she didn’t care much for her.

  “That is most kind of you.” They continued in silence for a few more steps, but were fast approaching Madame Fournier and her brother. “Mr. Macdonald holds you in great esteem, it seems.”

  Ah, so that was it. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Mrs. Appleton. He holds his wife in great esteem. I am but a go-between.”

  “I really should pop in and see dear Martha.”

  There was no time to say more.

  “But we are just in the way here, Claude,” Madame Fournier was saying, her voice rising slightly. It seemed she was running out of patience with her brother.

  “Hello,” Emma greeted them. “I’m sorry your visit has been interrupted in this way.”

  Mr. Devereaux acknowledged her words with an incline of his head.

  “It is very distressing,” Madame Fournier agreed. “We really must leave.”

  “I think Mr. Macdonald has a favour to ask Mr. Devereaux,” Emma said. “He would like to speak to you,” she said to the Frenchman.

  “What favour?” Madame Fournier demanded. “Don’t agree to something that will keep us here Claude, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Stay calm, Gabriela,” her brother said, patting her on the arm. “We are not in any danger.”

  “You cannot know, Claude,” Madame Fournier responded sharply. “There are bushrangers, and there are men with guns. Are they meant to keep us in or out?” She shivered and drew her shawl more tightly around her, tucking her gloved hands underneath the folds.

  “You are upsetting yourself,” Mr. Devereaux repeated, more firmly. “It is understandable, as I have been telling you. We can’t leave until we have spoken to the police. Now I will speak with Mr. Macdonald.”

  He left them, and Anthony, after a moment’s hesitation, followed. Emma realised she hadn’t yet said a word to the lad since they were introduced. How was he dealing with the death of his uncle? She would have to talk to him soon. Right now, she proposed that the ladies return to the homestead. Madame Fournier’s note was burning a hole in her pocket.