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  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

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  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

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  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