It was late afternoon when they found Price, lying face down on a patch of thick lichen and moss a few yards beyond the bushline near the mill. Henry was the first to hear his weak cries. He rolled him onto his back and turned away quickly. One side of Price’s face appeared to have all but melted, and the eye had disappeared.
Henry swallowed back a sudden rush of bile. A closer inspection revealed that the man’s eye wasn’t missing; rather, the burns had fused the eyelids together. They hauled him to his feet, bound his wrists and led him out to the clearing.
‘Don’t waste any sympathy on him,’ the sergeant growled, turning his back on the man’s howls.
At the rear of the men, Henry heard a faint meow. He turned to see a flash of orange and white disappear into the bush.
‘Here, puss,’ he called, crouching, holding out a hand to the cat. Warily, the animal slunk up to him and dabbed its dry, roughened nose against his fingers. Then it darted back, playfully flicking a small dirty-yellowish object with its paw. Henry picked it up and examined it.
‘Jesus!’ It was a fingerbone.
Careful excavation of the site unearthed a skull with a tuft of hair still attached. Further digging uncovered the complete skeleton. Remnants of clothing still covered parts of the brownish-grey bones, as did the odd hunk of hardened fleshy tissue, due perhaps to the proximity of the grave to the swamp.
A shovel clanked against something metallic. Ordering the men to stop their digging, the sergeant knelt and scraped some soil away with his fingers, uncovering a dirt-encrusted guinea case.
The bodily remains were removed, wrapped in a sheet of canvas and strapped to one of the horses; the guinea case was pocketed by the sergeant. ‘Might shed some light on who he was.’
None of the men wanted Price doubling up to ride with them. ‘I’d sooner ride with the body,’ growled one of them, spitting as he looked over at Price. It was left to the sergeant to prop the man on his horse.
The cat had scooted into the bush when the men started digging, slinking out after they’d finished. ‘Here now, puss,’ Henry called softly.
Unblinking green eyes stared at him. Henry stared back, suddenly noticing the animal’s short stub of a tail.
‘Well, I’ll be damned. You’re no stray, are you? C’mon here, Bobby.’
The cat’s ears pricked up. Sidling up to Henry, he brushed his head against the man’s hand. A loud purr rumbled up from his chest.
‘C’mon then, boy, you’re riding with me.’ Henry slipped Bobby inside his jacket.
The mood was sombre back at the charred ruins of the Budds’ cottage. ‘We found this in the washhouse,’ said one of the men who had stayed behind to search the area. He handed the sergeant a canvas bag.
‘Good man.’ The sergeant rifled through the contents, removing an envelope and retrieving some papers from inside. He quickly scanned them.
‘The deeds of the Budds’ cottage and an insurance policy — surprise, surprise — and a whole lot of bills of sale made out to Arnold Price.’ He flicked through the rest of the documents, pausing at one that caught his interest. He held it up for the men to see. ‘This here is a receipt made out to one Alfred Thwaites, for a set of dentures from a dental surgeon in Dunedin. It’s dated 14 June 1876.’ He tapped the sheet of paper with his forefinger.
‘Desmond, m’boy,’ he said, addressing the only other policeman in the party. ‘You were in the district during that time, were you not?’
The constable nodded. ‘Aye, I was.’
‘D’you recall Grub Parker’s body being washed up on the beach near Hokitika some time in April that year? It was around the same time Donald MacKinnon died, that’s why it’s stuck in my mind. Is that not so?’
‘Aye … aye, you’re right,’ replied the constable after a moment’s thought.
‘Then I think we can safely assume the reason we never found Alf Thwaites’ body was because there never was a body. There’s our man there.’ He nodded his head in the direction of Arnold Price, slumped over the sergeant’s horse. ‘Mrs Budd’s new husband is none other than Alf Thwaites.’
Mai had been alternating between excitement and trepidation since returning from her outing that morning. It was almost ten in the evening and she, Anne and Jimmy were gathered in the kitchen, waiting for Henry to return from the search.
‘I have something to discuss with you all, but I daren’t say anything about it until Henry is here,’ she’d told them several hours earlier.
The mantel clock chimed the hour.
Jimmy yawned. ‘Mai, do you think whatever you have to tell us could wait until the morning? Sylvia’s long since nodded off.’ He inclined his head at Sylvia, quietly dozing beside Anne on the sofa. ‘Anne and I have to be up with the sparrows in the morning.’
‘Please, just wait a few more minutes,’ Mai pleaded, both relieved and apprehensive to see Henry walk in.
‘I must say, this is nice. A welcome committee waiting for me,’ he joked, opening his jacket and taking out a furry ginger and white bundle. Grinning, he put it on the floor. ‘I think we’re going to have a very happy Libby in the morning when she sees this.’
‘Bobby? Libby’s cat? The runt from Puss’s litter?’ Mai stroked the cat’s head as it rubbed against her chair leg.
‘It would appear so. I found him in the bush near Budds’ mill this afternoon.’ Henry took a cold joint of mutton from the safe and sliced off a piece. He held it front of Bobby, chuckling as the cat’s nose twitched and he stood on his back legs, begging.
Sylvia woke up with a start. ‘What an odd-looking cat with its stubby tail,’ she said, seeing Bobby hungrily tearing into the meat. ‘Poor creature, how thin he is. You can see his bones sticking out.’
‘That’s nothing a bit of tucker won’t fix. You don’t recognise him, then?’
Sylvia squinted. ‘No … oh! That’s never our Bobby?’
‘We thought him long dead. It’s a miracle he’s survived after that horrible … accident.’ She looked at Henry, agitated. ‘I hate to dampen your enthusiasm at having found him, Henry, but I can’t bear to think of Libby harming that poor animal again.’
Anne spoke up. ‘Libby would never have deliberately hurt Bobby.’
‘Not deliberately, no. But there’s no telling what she will do when she has one of her tempers. She’s not responsible for her reasoning when she’s like that.’
‘Hopefully Libby’s state of mind will improve now that man is out of your lives,’ Anne offered.
‘I pray you’re right,’ said Sylvia.
Mai’s nerves had been jangling from the time Henry had arrived home. Pleasing as it had been to see Bobby alive and well, it had delayed her from revealing her plans.
‘I have a proposition to put to you all,’ she said now. ‘One that could benefit each and every one of us. It’s something that needs to be decided upon tonight.’ She sent a wary look Henry’s way, sure he would throw his hands up in horror when he knew what she was planning.
‘After what has happened with Sylvia and her family, and the likes of Agnes Roberts, it’s plain to me that there’s a need for a safe haven for women like her and their children. Somewhere they can flee to where their husbands cannot reach them.’ She looked at everyone in turn, defying them to disagree. As nobody voiced any objections she carried on, her gaze squarely on Henry.
‘Today I spoke with Mr Selby, Henry’s solicitor. He’s selling the Fairway boarding house on behalf of its owners. It was not too badly damaged in the fire, and with some elbow grease and some repairs it could be open for business within a matter of weeks. The owners have moved to Nelson and are prepared to sell it for what I consider to be a more than reasonable price. A bargain, in fact.’
‘Dammit, Mai! A boarding house? I’m a grocer, not a boarding-house keeper. What would I want with a place like that?’ Henry interjected, looking like a fish snagged on a hook.
‘Henry, please … if we were to buy the Fairway, Anne — if she is willing — could manage it for us for a wage and lodging.’
A delighted smile broke over Anne’s face.
‘And Jimmy, if he is interested, could board there, for a much lesser sum of money than he’s paying at the Exchange Hotel, in return for certain duties.’
‘To what purpose?’ Henry looked perplexed.
‘Taking in boarders, of course. What else would you use a boarding house for? But we could keep a room free for women and their children in need.’
Jimmy spoke up. ‘Before we go any further, would you mind explaining what sort of duties would be expected of me?’
‘A caretaker of sorts. Agnes Roberts said she could never leave her bullying husband; that even if she could afford lodgings for herself and her children, which clearly she could not, he would always find her. She said landlords would soon put her out on the street when their doors were regularly kicked in by the man.’
Warming to her theme, she looked at them all eagerly, delighted to see she had their undivided attention.
‘But if we owned the boarding house, and Anne was to manage it, and Jimmy to stay there at nights, he could deal with the Bert Robertses of this world. And it’s in Stafford Street — an easy walk to the shop.’
‘In Stafford Street, between the gasworks and the Anglican church. We could tap into our own gas supply, and we’d never be short of a prayer, which I’m likely to need if I’m to deal with Bert Roberts and the like,’ Jimmy quipped, but he quickly assumed a serious face at Mai’s slight frown.
Knowing Henry’s keen eye for a profit, Mai kept the best bit for last. ‘And we would make a tidy sum into the bargain. Think on it, Henry. There are twelve bedrooms: eight upstairs, four down. With a room each taken by Anne and Jimmy, it would still leave nine for regular boarders if we left one spare for distressed women and their children. It could double as a guest parlour when not in use.’
‘Dammit, Mai. I wish you’d discussed this with me before involving everyone else.’ Henry’s voice had climbed half an octave in his shock.
‘Henry, please. This is so important. There are women out there who desperately need help and this is a practical way of giving it to them.’
‘I don’t know … I’d like time to think upon this, Mai. What is so vital that it needs to be decided upon tonight?’
‘Because every minute we delay means another minute that some poor woman will take a beating from her husband that may well kill her.’
Mai knew most women in need of shelter would still be too afraid to leave their husbands, despite having a safe place to escape to. Society was not kind to women who did so: a stigma always remained.
‘She’s right, by God, Henry,’ Jimmy said, banging a fist on the table. ‘What do you say?’
Mai gave Jimmy a grateful look. Anne and Sylvia had been with her from the start, she’d sensed that. But she’d known convincing Henry would not be easy. Having a man speak in favour of her idea might very well tip the scales.
‘I say …’ Henry stared at the expectant faces around the table. ‘… I say let me see this boarding house for myself, and the accounts, and I shall make up my mind from that.’
Henry had not agreed outright, but Mai felt sure she’d won him over. Thrilled at her victory, she was also apprehensive at the responsibility it would bring. Taking in a deep breath to steady the rapid beating of her heart, she said, ‘Henry, I swear you will never regret this.’