Mette was angry with Mr. Harding, but even angrier with herself. She did not even like the man, but had gone to his house to see his library because she was enthralled by the idea of seeing all those books. She hadn’t stopped to think for one minute that she was going to look exactly like Mrs. Johnston to anyone who saw her.
What would Frank think if he heard she had gone to visit a man she barely knew in his own home, by herself? She knew he trusted her, but would he think she’d been foolish? Or worse?
She strode towards Mr. Tomlinson’s house, thinking desperately. What was she going to tell Frank? Should she keep it all a secret and risk someone else telling him that they’d seen her? Or should she confess her error to him immediately and risk his anger—or at least his annoyance. At least she still had some time. He’d only been away for a few days, and might not return for another week. For the first time since she had arrived, she was happy he wasn’t with her.
As she turned the corner, she saw a familiar horse in front of the store. Copenhagen! Forgetting all her problems she broke into a run.
Frank was sitting in one of Mr. Tomlinson’s chairs, his coat off, with a strange man wrapping some kind of sheeting around his arm. His face split into a broad grin when he saw her come through the door.
“Mette. Here you are. I was ready to comb the town for you.”
“What happened to your arm?”
The man wrapping Frank’s arm turned and nodded at her. “Mrs. Hardy? I’m Dr. Johnston. Sergeant Hardy and I met on the way to Woodville recently. Your husband dislocated his shoulder, and I’m putting it in a sling. Come here and I’ll show you what to do. The sling will need to come off for washing every few days and you’ll have to put it back on.”
Mette stood close to Frank, her hand resting on his unencumbered shoulder, and watched as the doctor explained his wrapping system. She could feel Frank looking up at her, and stole a look at him. The look in his eyes set her heart pounding with worry. Mr. Harding was prowling through her mind again, with all his nasty suggestiveness.
“I believe I met your wife,” she said to the doctor, tearing her eyes from Frank’s. “I was watching a cricket match yesterday, and we sat together.”
“Just the two of you?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Um, yes,” she said cautiously. Did Dr. Johnston know his wife had been visiting the local hotel with a strange man? “We sat on the grass together.”
“I suppose Mr. Moore was playing in the match,” said the doctor.
“I…I’m not sure,” said Mette. “I don’t know many people here yet.”
The doctor made a humphing sound as he tore the end of the sheet into two strips and tied the final knot. “That should keep your arm secure, Sergeant Hardy. Now try to keep it as still as possible.”
“How long should I wear this thing?” asked Frank.
“At least two weeks,” said Dr. Johnston. “While your wife washes it, make sure you’re doing something relaxing. Reading the newspaper or taking your dog for a walk, for example. No climbing over fences or throwing sticks for your dog fetch. And keep it still.”
“We don’t have a dog,” said Frank. “But I’ll need to ride my horse occasionally or she’ll start to stiffen up. I’ll make sure I’m wearing the sling when I ride.”
“Good,” said Dr. Johnston. “And remember, even after two weeks, you’ll need to be careful for a month or so. No hammering, or lifting anything heavy. If you dislocate your shoulder again it could become chronic and you’ll be unable to do any physical work for the rest of your life. Are you right-handed?”
Frank nodded. “I suppose I can still do some things with my left hand,” he said. “That won’t matter, will it?”
The doctor glanced at Mette and Frank, pressed closely together, Mette squeezing Frank’s undamaged shoulder. “You can,” he said. “But be careful. And don’t do anything that will create leverage. No leaning on your elbows for example.”
Mette blushed as she realized the implication of what the doctor was saying. She caught Frank’s eye and tried to look away. He was grinning happily.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to avoid that somehow,” he said.
“Did you find what happened to Peter Kane,” asked Mette, mainly to change the subject?
“I think so,” said Frank. He stood up. “I believe he died in a slip. The same slip that threw me down a slope and dislocated my arm. I found a couple of his belongings at the site. A watch and a lockbox. I’d like to talk with Mrs. Kane and explain what I think happened. There’s some good news as well. Kane made a downpayment on a piece of land, and she can get the money back if she sends him a notarized letter. It isn’t much—twenty-five pounds—but I’m sure it will help.”
“I spoke with her this morning, and…”
Mr. Tomlinson came from the back of the store, where he’d been stocking his shelves. “Back so soon, Sergeant Hardy?
Frank gave a quick explanation of what he had discovered. “We’re going to see Mrs. Kane,” he said. “I’ll come back afterwards and you can decide what you owe me.”
Frank slung his coat over his shoulders and he and Mette left the store. Outside, as soon as they were out of sight of the doctor and Mr. Tomlinson, he stopped to give her a quick kiss. “I missed you,” he said. “I’m not as keen on adventure and living rough as I thought I was. I’m afraid I’ve already been ruined.”
His turn of phrase jolted Mette. She’d better tell him about Mr. Harding now, before he heard something from someone else. She crossed her fingers and plunged in. “I met someone here who has a whole library of books,” she began. “Actually, he knocked me out of the dray when we first arrived.”
“He did?” Frank stopped walking and frowned. “You mean he attacked you?”
“No. He was driving too fast and made Mr. Tomlinson’s dray horse jump sideways. Anyway, he lent me a book—which I didn’t like very much—and I saw him just now in the street and told him so. He asked me to come into his house and pick another book. And I did.”
Frank looked angry. “What did he do, Mette. Tell me and I’ll go and kill him.”
Mette knew Frank wasn’t exactly speaking in an exaggerated way. He had killed for her before. So she said quickly, “He didn’t DO anything. It was what he said. He asked me to go into his bedroom with him, and when I refused he was very rude…I felt…”
Franks’ expression softened. “You were worried about what I might think if I found out, weren’t you?” he asked. “Especially considering the way Mrs. Johnston has been behaving. You don’t need to worry. I trust you.”
She let out her breath, which she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “Yes, I was. I felt so stupid. Mr. Tomlinson warned me against him, and when I saw him—Mr. Harding—try to cheat at cricket…”
Frank laughed. “He went that low? My God, he must…did you say Harding? You don’t mean Cyril Harding, do you? Colonel Feilding’s blue-eyed boy?”
Mette hadn’t intended to mention his name, but it was out now so she nodded. “You know him?”
“Not very well. I’ve run into him at volunteer recruitment meetings in Palmerston. He seemed like a pompous fool.” He started walking again. “A handsome fool, I suppose.”
“Not as handsome as you,” said Mette. “And quite ugly inside.”
“I’m not going to worry about him,” said Frank. “And neither should you. But if he does anything more to upset you I’ll challenge him to a duel…” He saw the look on Mette’s face and stopped. “No, I’ll challenge him to a boxing match and ruin his pretty face.”
“Not until your shoulder is better,” said Mette.
Frank laughed. “He’s safe for a couple of months, then,” he said. He squeezed her arm. “And we’re going to have to work out how to get around the ‘no leaning on my elbows’ rule.”
Mette giggled. She liked Frank making jokes like that. It felt naughty, especially in daylight.
They walked together to Mrs. Kane’s house, arm in arm, chatting about their time apart. Mette was shocked by the details of the murder in Woodville. She’d been there shortly after it happened, and thought she might have seen Harry Thomsen when he returned after the trial and tried to get people to stay at the Accommodation House. She’d seen swagmen ignore him and continue on to Mr. Murphy’s hotel, even though it was a lot more expensive. He must have left town since then.
“How awful that Samuel Kemp felt he had to shoot himself,” she said when Frank reached the end of his story. “Did it remind you of Will?”
He nodded. “Yes, it did. Although my brother didn’t die by his own hand. But the head…”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, Mette stroking Frank’s arm. She had seen him wake up after a nightmare, pale and sweating, but he was hardly ever sad during the day.
Mrs. Kane was in the back garden, taking down the washing. She nodded at Mette and kept working, her thin hands flashing in and out of the peg bag tied around her waist.
Mette went and stood beside her.
“Mary,” she said softly. “My husband—this is my husband Frank—has returned with news of your husband. Would you like to sit down so we can talk?”
Mary Kane looked around tiredly. “I have no chairs in the house. There’s only that branch over there, where Peter and I used to…” She sat down on the willow branch they had sat on earlier. Mette sat beside her and took her hand. Frank knelt in front of them both.
“Mary…you don’t mind if I call you Mary, do you?”
She shook her head. “Did you find Peter?”
“I traced him from Waipukurau, where he visited a land agent,” said Frank. “He’d been up to Waipawa to withdraw twenty pounds from the Bank of New Zealand. He’d been shearing at Mr. Nairn’s station at Pourerere and felt an attraction to the area. He left twenty-five pounds with Mr. Monteith, the land agent, to hold a nice piece of land. He told Monteith that it was hilly, with a view of the ocean, and that it reminded him of Tyrone.”
Mary Kane smiled. “That sounds like Peter,” she said. “He loved Tyrone, even though he hadn’t seen it since he was young. He was in Australia, you know…”
“But he told Monteith—the land agent—that he was coming home to fetch you and the children, and that he had to pick up the rest of the money as well.”
“He should have had the money with him,” said Mary Kane. “He always carried it…”
“He purchased a lockbox from Mr. Monteith—the father of the land agent—when he was passing through Woodville,” said Frank. “And I found a lockbox at the site of an old slip, just north of the Forty Mile Bush. But I lost it in a second slip.”
Mary Kane’s lips tightened into a line. “That could have belonged to anyone,” she said.
Frank reached awkwardly into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out the watch. “I found this at the slip as well,” he said. “It was in the water…”
Mary Kane did not look at the watch, but stared at the ground, her face stricken. “The last one,” she said.
Frank moved back to see what she was staring at. The package of Old Kents had fallen from his pocket and lay on the ground between them. He picked it up. “You recognize this package?”
She nodded and took it from him, blinking away tears. “He always carried a package of Old Kents, with one cigarette in it. He didn’t want to smoke—he said it cost too much. But he said if he had the last one on him it would always be the last one as long as he didn’t smoke it.”
“I found it near the watch,” he said. “There’s only one cigarette inside. It was going to be my last one as well.”
“Do you have the lockbox? Was the money still in it?” asked Mette.
He shook his head. “I had it, but it disappeared in the slip.” He refrained from mentioning the two men. He would let Constable Gillespie know what had happened, in case they had families waiting for them somewhere.
“Perhaps someone robbed him,” said Mette. “And left the watch and the cigarette package there.” She wasn’t sure if she should be giving Mary Kane hope that her husband might be alive somewhere, but she couldn’t help herself.
Mary Kane sat up straighter, her face brightening. “Yes. Yes. Maybe that’s what happened, but…” She slumped again. “But who would steal a single cigarette from someone.”
“I believe he’s under the slip,” said Frank. “It would have been very fast. I doubt he even had a chance to know what was happening.” He stood up and offered his hand to Mary Kane. “Mr. Tomlinson will help you retrieve the funds from Monteith. The money that your husband left with him for the down payment…”
“But if he comes home, he’ll be upset that he’s lost the land.”
Frank and Mette exchanged glances. Mette put her arms around Mary Kane. “You should probably accept that he died in the slip,” she said. “And start thinking about your children. Perhaps you could use some of the money Mr. Tomlinson has raised to go to California and start a new life with your brother.”
She shook her head. “What would he think if he came home and I was gone? No, I’ll wait for a while…a long while. I just don’t believe he’s dead.”
And with that, they had to be content.
Mr. Tomlinson insisted on giving Frank the full fifty pounds and took him to the paddock behind the store to see the broodmare he had promised Frank.
“This is Dolores,” he said. “She has several more years of fertility, and she’ll give you some excellent offspring if you mate her with the right stallion.”
Mette looked deep into Dolores’ soft brown eyes and fell in love instantly. “How will we get her to the farm?” she asked.
“I’ll tie a guide rope to my saddle and we’ll lead her there,” said Frank. He looked at Mette, who was stroking Dolores’ mane. “How are you at knots?”
“I can tie knots,” she said. “I grew up in a port city. Everyone there could tie knots.”
“I learn something new about you every day,” said Frank. “What other talents do you have that you haven’t mentioned?”
“I can use a hammer,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to help you build the house, but you were enjoying it so much I hated to mention it.”
“We can do it together,” said Frank. “I’ll do the heavy lifting with my good arm, and you can hammer the planks into place.” He saw her trying to hide a smile, and added, “I suppose you think you can do the lifting as well, don’t you?”
Mr. Tomlinson sighed impatiently. “You can take the mare home with you then? Excellent. I’ll get a rope for you from the house.”
He returned a few minutes later holding a flyer. “I had forgotten about this. Mr. Morley will have his stud-horse Bryan O’Lynn standing in Palmerston all next week,” he said. “In the paddock behind the Royal Hotel. And I think Dolores is due to be in heat any day now. It’ll cost you five pounds, but he’s a decent horse. A seven-year-old dapple bay, who stands 16 3/4 hands. You’d have your first sale by early next year. A good one, I would say.”
They left Sandon and rode towards the farm, Mette sitting in front of Frank, while Dolores plodded happily behind them as if she too was heading home.
“Did we solve anything?” he asked after a while.
“Of course we did,” said Mette. “We have money, we have a mare with a future, and you’re going to let me help you build our house. You don’t want to go off on adventures and sleep rough anymore.” She paused for a minute until honesty overcame her. “And I learned that having a husband who shares your exact interests is less important than…”
“…having one who is loyal and loves you,” said Frank. “Which is what you have.”