If Jock Clement had expected his 'brothers' to come to his aid and support him he was sadly disappointed, they distanced themselves from him - completely.
He was charged with the murders of Doug Ashby, Neville Franklin and Genevieve Etienne Blake. It was easy to prove he was responsible for Ashby and Franklin but harder to convict him of murdering Lucien's mother. All they had was circumstantial, hearsay, supposition, and Clement's ravings about her. For Doug they had Matthew's and Lucien's witness statements.
The most damning evidence was the diary retrieved from Munro's desk, the one that had disappeared from Franklin's desk that fateful morning. Franklin had detailed all he knew from the night Genevieve died right up until his own death. Matthew wondered why he had stayed in the Masons, he seemed to have little time for this particular group, perhaps he wanted to change it from the inside, when he became Worshipful Master, they would never know.
Clement was sentence to death.
It saddened Lucien; he had been his parents friend but his obsession with his mother had been his undoing. He should have bowed out gracefully, found someone else and lived a less regretful life. Ashby had said they all respected his father but loved his mother. Did Ashby harbour such feelings about Genevieve? Would he had pursued her if he didn't respect Thomas so much? But in the end he had found someone to love, had a daughter he was proud of and seemed to have been a good and strong copper. Lucien had liked him, even if Jean still held a grievance after Jack was sent away from her as a young teenager.
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With cases and missing wives returning and leaving, while young lodgers left to pursue their dreams, highlights and low lights, after a time Jock Clement faded from most people's memories. He was still awaiting the day he would be hanged when Jean and Lucien finally were able to marry in a lovely ceremony where the bride looked radiant and the groom like the cat that got the cream. They headed off on a four month honeymoon, where Jean could explore the world she had dreamed of as a young girl.
Jock Clement waited. He had tried to lodge an appeal against his sentence, saying he hadn't meant to kill Ashby but in the tussle the gun had gone off. It just postponed the inevitable, he was still guilty of murdering Neville Franklin.
He would still hang.
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Lucien hit the ground running. As soon as he and Jean returned, and while kissing in the kitchen where Jean had planned to put the kettle on, Matthew had whisked him off to a crime scene.
"Where's Alice?" Lucien asked as Matthew shoved him into the police car. Alice had stepped in for him while he was away and he was surprised she wasn't taking this case - whatever it was.
"That's why I need you," Matthew grimaced, "she went to oversee Clement's hanging, and that's where it all went wrong. One of the guards is dead, as is the hangman, the priest is unconscious; the doctors aren't sure he'll ever wake up; the other guard, Clement and Alice are missing."
"Bloody hell," Lucien whistled, "he had to have planned this. How would they get out of the jail?"
"A van left, around the time Clement was supposed to be hanged, we were only alerted because the undertakers were waiting so long." Matthew's mouth was set in a thin line, "the van was a laundry van, but the usual launderers were held up in a traffic incident so they were late. Looks like that was a set up, too."
They pulled up at the jail and were instantly let in and taken to the room where the one guard still lay where he had fallen. The hangman was hanging by his own noose, lifeless.
"Cut him down," Lucien told the two officers who had been standing guard outside the room as he knelt down to the fallen guard. "Hm," he turned the beaten head from side to side, "looks like he's been hit with something hard," he looked round the room then stood up and went to the wall. "Here," he pointed to a mark on the stone, "blood. My guess is he was smashed into this part of the wall, repeatedly. Probably choked on his own blood."
Matthew took his cap off and ran his hands over his head.
"Why Alice?" Lucien stood up, worried for his colleague, and friend, "why didn't the usual doctor attend. Isn't it usually Wallace?"
"Wallace has left Ballarat," Matthew leant heavily on his cane, "he decided to head for pastures new after the stories about him disrespecting Dr Harvey that time got around, you know when he accused her of ruining a sample during the Tyneman case."
"Ah," Lucien nodded, he remembered that, and Alice's embarrassment when she told him how Matthew had defended her, though she insisted she didn't need man to defend her.
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Everything had happened too fast for Alice. They had entered the room in silence, Clement in front with the priest offering to take his last confession. As he was fast approaching the end of his seventies handcuffs were deemed unnecessary, by the guard. As the door was closed Clement was pushed into a corner, the priest was knocked out with a baton and while Alice tended to him, because she was a doctor, the hangman was knocked out and the other guard was pushed repeatedly into the wall until his face was a bloody mess and she knew she could do nothing for him.
She tried to stop the guard stringing up the hangman but was pushed to the floor where Clement put his foot on her to keep her down. She squirmed but Clement knelt down and pushed his face close to hers.
"Shut up or you'll get the same as him," he pointed to the guard and back handed her across her mouth; she tasted blood.
"Why," she coughed.
"I don't intend to die in prison," he hissed, "not because somebody had to meddle, you and young Blake."
"Lucien had the right to know how his mother died, not the lies - his father should have known too," she swallowed, "you killed a wife and mother just because you couldn't have her, he was right, you are a sad old man with no one to love or to love you back."
He backhanded her again before the guard, having finished hanging the hangman, hauled her up.
The room was set away from the main prison so after locking the door Alice was bundled into the laundry basket with Clement. They were wheeled out and the whole thing was lifted into a van. Clement climbed out and crawled through to the front seat leaving Alice wiping her face on a sheet.
She felt round her mouth with her tongue and decided she wasn't about to lose any teeth, just yet, but she had no idea what they were going to do with her. She was surplus to requirements, now and they had killed the others without pause or remorse. She wasn't going to cry, to give them the satisfaction of seeing a weak female. However, she had to get out of this predicament, somehow. It would be sometime before the carnage would be found, and then Matthew would be looking for her, she hoped. She rather liked Matthew; he treated her like a human being and seemed to respect her intelligence. They had had dinner together on a few occasions while Jean and Lucien were away and toasted the end of cases with a whisky, either at Mycroft Avenue or once or twice at her little bungalow. Yes, she liked Matthew. Perhaps if she kept that in her mind she could get through this.
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"What d'ye want to do with her," the guard nodded to the back of the van, "she knows too much."
"I don't want to kill her, not myself, perhaps we can drop her off, somewhere out of the way," Clement thought about it, too many had died but all he wanted to do was die in a bed, of old age.
"Good, 'cos you're not payin' me enough for that," the guard huffed.
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Jean was horrified to hear that Alice was missing, and possibly in a lot of danger. When Matthew and Lucien returned she had already changed out of her travelling suit, started the laundry, put a roast in the oven and gone through the post.
"Right, well I'll make up a room on this floor, your old one, Lucien," she dried her hands, "she can't go straight home after this."
"Er ... " Matthew scratched his head, "we haven't got her yet."
"You will, Matthew, you will," she patted his cheek and headed to sort out Lucien's old room, it would need a vacuum, clean linen and perhaps a small vase of garden flowers.
"Nice to know someone has faith in us, Blake," he grumbled.
"We'll find her, Matthew," Lucien patted his shoulder, "so let's get to it. Does anyone know what the van looked like, surely it would have to register with the front gate?"
"Yeah, well, it was a blue laundry van, or it looked like one," Matthew sat down at the table and took out his notebook.
"Going out of the jail?"
"Headed left, so, north," he checked his notes.
"Any laundries out that way?"
"I used to use the one down Lydiard Street," Matthew grumbled.
"Jean!" Lucien called through, she was the one who would know. "Jean!"
"Lucien! I'm not deaf, what?" she came through at a pace normally reserved for catching the bus.
"Laundries in town ..."
"What about them, my washing not good enough?" she folded her arms.
"Of course not, I mean yes it is, no" Lucien got flustered.
"What he wants to know, and so do I, is are there any laundries on Lydiard Street, heading north of the prison.
"Not that I know of, a couple of laundrettes, why?"
"The supposed laundry van headed north ..."
"Out of town," she stated, quite simply, "if they continued that way."
"I've sent the men out, all ways, to see if they can spot the van. They have instructions to stop all vans that answer the description we have ... they could be miles away by now." His shoulders sagged.
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The number of police cars didn't go unnoticed on the streets, there was a general hubbub of wonder on the streets and in the cafes. It wasn't a secret that Jock Clement was due to be hanged that day and the usual groups protesting against the death penalty were outside the prison. Each and every one of them had been rounded up and interviewed and soon word got out that Jock Clement had escaped. Stories became embroidered as to who had helped him, the ambulances that collected the bodies of the dead guard and hangman and the one that took the injured priest were seen heading to the hospital. Lucien registered the bodies and had them stored in the morgue while he got Matthew back to the house. He could run the investigation from there; everybody knew the number of the house and while Jean had only been home less than a few hours she was busy rustling up food for the officers that passed by to give Matthew an update or files. She hustled Lucien back out of the house and told him to go and do what a good police surgeon should do - the autopsies.
"I doubt they will take long, darling," she breathed in his ear, "you know how they died, it's just that it has to be done and I don't think Alice will be up to it for a while."
"You really believe she will be back, don't you?" he hugged her and brushed his lips across her temple.
"Of course," she smiled softly, "it's Alice we're talking about, she's survived so far, and her life hasn't been all roses, has it?"
"No ... no, I suppose ..." he sighed, "well, see you later, then."
"You will," she kissed him softly, "you will."
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Lucien's autopsy reports stated that one man had died from a broken neck, having been hanged from a traditional hangman's noose the other died from a serious beating that had caused him to choke on his own blood. He signed the reports, slid the bodies back into the fridges and took the paperwork up to the office. There were a couple of officers manning phones but otherwise, he knew, everyone else was out looking for the van, Clement and Alice.
"Have calls been put out to outlying stations?" he asked.
"They have, doc," a constable nodded, "nothing so far, but ..."
"Of course, lad," Lucien patted his shoulder. The morgue had seemed 'lifeless' without Alice, he didn't want to imagine her never being there with him, again, they were a team, and judging from Matthew's attitude she meant more to him than your average police surgeon. He decided he could do no more there so headed out of the station.
He was frustrated. He had nothing to go on. It was pointless him going out in his car, if he found them he wouldn't be able to call it in, he had no radio and all the police cars were out judging by the empty car park. He was standing staring down the street, willing her to appear admonishing him for starting an autopsy without her when one of the constables ran down the steps.
"Doc, thank god you're still here, they've found her, Dr Harvey," he gasped.
"Where?" he fumbled and dropped his car keys.
"Out towards Eddington, she was chucked out in a laundry basket ..." but Lucien was already in his car, shouting to let the Superintendant know.
"... and send an ambo!"
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As the van had continued its journey, throwing Alice out of the back was just what Clement and the guard did. Clement climbed back into the rear and opened the doors. Prison had not diminished his physicality, always a relatively fit and active man, when not sitting at the Masonic Hall, he had used his time in solitary wisely, while he plotted his escape, working out which guard he could bribe. He stood behind the laundry basket and shoved it, hard. Alice wasn't heavy and the hamper was practically empty so a good hard push to the edge and then one more sent it tumbling out and bouncing along the road before coming to rest on its side. Alice was already dazed when the basket landed and tipped her out. She banged her head and blacked out.
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"Stay here!" she vaguely heard a voice yell, "I'll call it in and keep following the van."
Then the roar of a car engine.
"Doc," a voice closer now and a hand on her shoulder, "doc, can you hear me?"
"Urgh!" she groaned, the sound echoing in her aching head.
"Help's on the way," the voice continued, "Hobart's following the van."
She tried to open her eyes but the light was too bright.
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Matthew put the phone down and stomped out of the house as fast as he could, calling to Jean that Alice had been found. She watched him, determination and anger written all over his stiffened back. There was nothing she could do except make the house welcoming for him, and Alice, when he brought her back, no doubt insisting she would be fine at her own house. Two of a kind.
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Lucien pulled up next to a constable crouching beside an upturned laundry hamper.
"Dr Blake," he introduced himself to the new man, "how is she?"
"Doc, slipping in and out of consciousness," he stood up. Lucien noticed he had put his own uniform jacket over Alice, warmer than the thin sheets that were in the hamper. "She has groaned, and tried to open her eyes, I think she knows I'm here, I told her help was on the way."
"Well done, lad," Lucien patted his shoulder, "and you did the right thing, putting your jacket over her, it's getting a bit chilly and she needs to be kept warm."
"Right," he hummed, "Bill Hobart headed off to follow the van."
"Ok, well let's have a look at Dr Harvey, shall we," Lucien knelt down beside her and put his hands round her head to feel for any cuts, any blood. She had an emerging bruise on the side of her forehead but he couldn't feel anything else. "Hm, now," he took out a small torch and lifted the lid on one eye, shining the beam into it and noting the pupil reaction. He did the same to the other eye which earned him a groan.
"Hello, Alice," he said kindly, "well this is a strange welcome home."
"Uh? Lucien?" she slurred.
"In the flesh, my dear Alice, now where are you hurt?"
"Head, mouth, shoulders ..." she winced and tried to open her eyes to look at him, to assure herself it wasn't a dream.
"Ambos on the way," he stroked her cheek, "and I expect the Superintendant is too."
Even in her battered state she still blushed a little, "no' fair," she mumbled.
No, it wasn't but it told him a lot about how she was and he wasn't too worried.
"Well, when I've checked you out at the hospital, Jean has a room all ready for you, and don't think about trying to argue, not with Jean."
She huffed but in her current state even she wasn't going to complain.
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She was gently lifted onto the stretched and pushed into the ambulance.
"I'll be right behind you," Lucien told the driver, "Superintendant?" he raised an eyebrow at Matthew, inviting him into the Holden. Matthew was wondering if it would be forward of him to climb into the ambulance with her but there was already a technician in there so perhaps, on balance ... he sighed.
"Come on Blake, I shall need a statement from her as soon as she is able to give one."
Lucien smiled and waited while he settled into the car, things had changed while he was away, it would seem. 'About bloody time,' he thought.
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Once in the hospital Alice was properly examined and her head x-rayed. There was found to be a tiny, hairline fracture under the bruise on her forehead and the examining doctor told her he would like her to stay in hospital overnight.
"Really?" she questioned his decision, "can't I just go home and rest?"
"Now, Dr Harvey, if you were me would you let you go home with a fracture to the skull?" he pursed his lips.
Of course she wouldn't, but, "if that patient was me, I probably would," she tried a touch of levity.
"You also have some other bruises and grazes," he ignored the comment, "you will be stiff and sore for a while."
She heaved a sigh and wondered when Lucien would turn up to tell him she was going to stay with him and Jean.
When he duly turned up with Matthew in tow the doctor had had nurses dress her in a hospital gown and settle her in a bed, despite her protestations that Dr Blake would be overseeing her ongoing care.
Lucien hid a smile at the decidedly grumpy looking Alice Harvey in the bed. The doctor who had insisted she stay in had showed him the x-ray and outlined her injuries.
"Overnight stay, Dr Blake," he grunted, "standard procedure."
"Quite, but I think Dr Harvey will be happier staying with my wife," he tried not to grin at this, " and I. I can oversee her recovery and Mrs Blake will make her comfortable. Indeed she has already set up a room for her."
"Well ..." the doctor hummed, "I suppose so."
"Marvellous," Lucien nodded, "well, if the nurse can help Dr Harvey get dressed ..."
Alice heaved a sigh of relief, which made Matthew smile, he had never met a doctor who liked being a patient. Thomas had been dreadful even at the end, and Lucien was always itching to get home or back to meddling, he expected no less of her.
"Come on, Superintendant," Lucien brought him out of his musings, "let's leave Dr Harvey to get dressed, we can wait outside."
"Uh, oh, right, of course," he stuttered.
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Alice had walked out of the hospital with her head held high, denying she felt stiff and uncomfortable, that her shoulder hurt and her hip where she had lain on it at the roadside. To her dying day she would not admit her head hurt and she was scared that Clement would come and find her, because by not ensuring she didn't survive the ejection from the van he had left a loose end, someone to tell the police what was going on. He hadn't been prepared to actually kill her himself but had been happy to leave her where she could die of exposure, or thirst or be run over by the next vehicle that came along. Fortunately that vehicle was driven by Bill Hobart and he was on the lookout for her.
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Jean had laid a tray for tea, turned down the bed ready and put out a spare pair of her pyjamas as a stop gap until she could get Alice's own clothes and toiletries, and had put out towels so the doctor could have a bath.
Alice had stiffened up on the short journey and winced as she was helped out of the car. Matthew noticed, as did Jean, waiting at the door. She opened her arms and took her gently into the house, explaining what she had prepared for her she then suggested she make use of the new bathroom off their studio suite.
"A warm bath will soothe those muscles, the bumps and bruises, then bed and tea," she steered her to the room she had prepared, "I won't take no for an answer, Alice, after all you should be in hospital."
"Thank you, Jean, you won't get any arguments, it sounds lovely," Alice whispered, "and, welcome home."
Jean ran her a bath and left her to it, telling her to call if she needed help.
"I'll bring some arnica for the bruises," she closed the door and left her with the privacy she felt Alice would prefer.
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Alice winced as she lowered herself slowly into the bath. Everything hurt. She bit her lip then realised that Jean had given her privacy and she let the tears fall - not from the pain but from what she had witnessed, what she had been subjected to and her inability to do anything about the guard or the priest. Alice had spent her life defending her and her sister against the beatings her father, and on occasion, her mother dealt out, from the male students at university that had tried to bed her and the men she had come across in the course of her daily life. Not until she had come to Ballarat had any man treated her as a human being with intelligence and feelings. Lucien had been the first, gently supporting her when Munro had tried to implicate her in the death of Dr Orton, when he recognised she wasn't as tactile as he was and treating her with respect. Then Matthew Lawson, who had turned to her when he needed a police surgeon and become a friend in the few short months Dr and Mrs Blake had been on honeymoon, around the world. Then Jean; Jean she felt was a friend, a friend she had never had, kind yet forthright, strong and sweet and kind, but most of all not judgemental, just there, when you need her most. That must be why Lucien loved her and had calmed, a little, but it was like having an older sister, that one could always turn to.
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"Tea!" Jean called through, hoping that Alice hadn't gone prune-like in the bath, "in the living room!"
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Alice heaved herself out of the bath and dried with the impossibly soft towels put out for her. She dressed in the pyjamas and robe Jean had provided and made her way to the other occupants of the house. Dressed thusly she felt exposed, without her usual armour of full undergarments and dress or blouse and skirt she felt vulnerable, even here, where she was completely safe. She straightened her shoulders and headed towards the living room and possible interrogation.
"Ah, there you are, better?" Jean went to her and guided her to a chair, "tea?"
"Thank you, Jean, tea would be lovely, and the bath was most relaxing." She sat down gingerly "and thank you, for ..."
"Alice," Jean passed her a cup of tea, "you are always welcome here, and never more so than when you are in need, you should know that."
"It's very kind of you, and not the sort of welcome home you were expecting I bet," Alice sipped the tea though it hurt her mouth.
"This is Ballarat, Alice," Jean smiled, "nothing surprises me here."
"I suppose ..." Alice shrugged ... and winced.
"Sore?"
She just nodded.
"Well, how do you feel about me going over to your bungalow and fetching a few of your things?" Jean squeezed her shoulder, too much gentleness would tip Alice over the edge and into floods of tears, she could see the storm coming. "Stay with us, just until this whole thing is cleared up." She decided against insinuating the pathologist couldn't take care of herself, but she was sure that if Clement found out she had survived he would come after her.
Alice knew it was the best idea, and Jean didn't need to voice her fears about Clement, she had the same, and at the moment she couldn't fight off a kitten.
"Alright," her voice was hoarse, tight with emotion, "thank you."
"Right, well while the boys are still here ..." Jean stood up, "keys?"
"In my handbag, it should be in the morgue, I didn't take it to the hanging."
"I won't be long," Jean smiled and stood up, "feel free to lie on the couch and doze, or the bed is made up in Lucien's old room."
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While Alice was being cared for Bill Hobart was driving along the road through Carisbrook, hoping that the Eddington police were out looking for the blue van. What Clement had done to Blake's mother was unforgiveable and he deserved to hang, but to add killing the hangman, a prison guard and leaving Dr Harvey to die - well, he'd happily tie the noose round his neck! He was just musing on that thought when up ahead, way in the distance, he saw a blue blur. It could be the van, it could be anything, but he put his foot down and sped towards whatever it was.
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Ten minutes earlier: in a small house along the road:
"Police advise that residents of Eddington and along the road from Ballarat stay in their houses and phone in any concerns," the newsreader on the radio announced, "the driver and passenger are dangerous and should not be approached."
Reg Stanley continued polishing his rifle, aiming to do a little rabbit hunting, later. He stood up and wandered to his window that faced the road and peered out, left and right. He heard the faint hum of an engine, getting louder as it approached and turned towards it. A blue vehicle, probably the van he heard about on the radio; he tapped his rifle and whistled to himself. He was a good shot, he shot rabbits, perhaps he could get a tyre.
In the van neither Clement or the guard could see Stanley. He stood on his porch, pointing the rifle and squinting down the barrel.
CRACK!
The van swerved, the driver tried to correct his trajectory and hit the side of the road - a slight bank - and the van tipped over to land on its side and slide to a halt.
Stanley approached, still pointing the rifle, another shot ready. Standing at the front he could see the two occupants lying one on top of the other. The one on top blinked the one underneath him could barely be seen but did not move.
It was this sight that Hobart had seen ahead of him and he radioed the station as he slowed down.
"Looks like the van has tipped over," he surmised, "must have hit something."
Eddington force heard him and said they'd send reinforcements, Ballarat said they'd do the same and send a van to collect the men.
"Best send the doc," Hobart huffed.
"Will do."
Bill drew his weapon as he got out of the car.
"Senior Constable Hobart, Ballarat police!" he called.
"Bill bloody Hobart?" Reg grinned, "well, who'd a thought it."
"Who ...?"
"Reg Stanley," the so named called, "remember me?"
"Too right, you old bugger," Bill laughed, "what've we got, Reg?"
"Jus' happ'nin' to hear on the radio ..." Reg waved his rifle at the van, "bit quiet round here ... gonna do some rabbit shootin' ..."
"You always were a good shot, Reg," Bill approached, "tyre?"
"Yeah," Reg nodded.
Bill peered into the van. The guard was trying to get up off Clement and to the door. Bill opened the door and reached in, dragging him by the arm and hauling him over the edge of the footplate. He slapped the handcuffs on him and asked Reg to keep an eye while he checked Clement.
Clement had been knocked out when his head hit the door and there was no way Hobart could drag him out on his own. He was breathing so he decided to wait for back up, but radioed for an ambulance while he did so.
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It was a strange sight that greeted the police back up and the ambos - a copper, a man with a rifle cradled in his arm, another on the ground with handcuffs and an overturned blue van. When the ambos saw how Clement was they asked that the fire service be called to. They could not haul him out by the door as Hobart had done with the guard so they had two options: cut open the top of the van or roll it back upright.
They managed to roll the van upright and Clement was lifted out, given a cursory check over and loaded into the ambulance.
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Lucien looked down at the bed with cold disdain. Another hospital doctor was overseeing Clement's care, he had just come to see that there was no way he could get away again. The once proud and pompous Mason lay still unconscious and bruised. No one knew if he would wake up and Lucien felt that if he died like this he would have got away with his crimes. He deserved punishment. He'd mentioned this to Jean as he left the house.
"His punishment is at God's hands," she'd squeezed his arm.
Her faith still drove her at times like this, even if the Catholic church had abandoned her she still believed. But he didn't, not yet.
"When ... if he regains consciousness," a voice broke his thoughts, "he'll be transferred to the prison hospital." It was the doctor treating him.
"Your thoughts, doctor?" Lucien stared ahead, not making eye contact lest he see the anger there.
"He will, or he won't," the doctor shrugged, "he'll die one way or the other. What was he in prison for?"
"Murder. He killed Doug Ashby, a former police officer, Neville Franklin and forty odd years ago he murdered my mother."
"I'm sorry," the doctor sighed, these pains didn't go away, they may dull over time, but they would never go away.
"She refused to have an affair with him," Lucien thought this clarification was needed.
The doctor didn't quite know what to say just patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.
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Alice had retired to bed by the time Lucien returned from the hospital. Jean had collected her things and had prepared a light meal for her and served it on a tray. Alice hadn't wanted to be any trouble but Jean insisted and Matthew suggested she not argue.
"Jean looks after people, you know that," he smiled, "it's nice, when you need it, and she knows when you don't, even if you yourself don't."
"I'm not used to being looked after," she sighed.
"I know," he huffed, "heaven knows I've tried, when you got into strife with that drongo that tried it on with you."
"I could have managed," she scowled, and that hurt too.
"Yeah, of course you could, all six foot four of him," he grinned, "a push over, right?"
"Alright, I appreciated your help, and yes I was, am, grateful, it's just ..." she took a deep breath, "... I'm just not used to someone caring."
He thought she'd better get used to it, because he did care, more than he had cared about a woman for some time.
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Although Alice fell asleep relatively quickly her sleep was disturbed and she awoke in a cold sweat. She didn't know that Clement was lying in hospital, unconscious, so the image of him coming after her plagued her dreams. The house was quiet; she looked at the little clock by her bed and sighed to see it was only just past midnight. She didn't think she'd get back to sleep anytime soon and wondered if Jean would mind if she made herself a cup of tea. She had said to make herself at home.
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Matthew's room door was slightly open and he heard sounds unusual for that time of night. He stumbled out of bed and pulled his robe on; if he was going to confront a burglar he was going to be respectably dressed for the time of day.
He limped to the kitchen, taking his cane for a weapon rather than support, and stopped, just out of sight when he saw Alice making a cup of tea. He knew why; it had happened to him when he was trying to get back into the force after the accident; sleepless nights, bad dreams ... he gave a quiet cough.
She turned, "Matthew!"
"Sorry, I heard a noise," he stepped into the kitchen, "didn't want the newlyweds to be burgled on their first night back."
She gave a hint of a smile and reached for another cup, "I hope Jean won't mind."
"Nah," he shook his head and sat down.
They drank their tea in silence, each wondering if the other would start a conversation. In the end it was Matthew, realising Alice would have no idea Clement and his side-kick had been caught.
"It's ok, y'know," he hummed, "Clement is in the hospital, unconscious last I heard, and the guard is in the cells."
"Oh," she arched an eyebrow.
"Yeah, Bill caught up with them, an old pal of his was planning on going out rabbit shootin' when he heard the announcement on the radio, and went out to shoot a tyre." He blew across his cup, "got a front tyre, the van tipped over, needed fireys to right the van to get Clement out ... he won't come after you, Alice."
She relaxed, visibly almost sinking into her seat with relief. "What will they do with them?"
"Wait until Clement either wakes up or dies: if he wakes he'll be taken back to prison either to the hangman's noose or to see out his life behind bars, the guard? I expect he'll be charged and sent to court. Chances are he'll get a long sentence."
"Why did he do it, the guard?"
"Money I expect," he shrugged, "can't see why else."
"I suppose not," she stood up and took her cup to the sink.
"I'll do that," he followed her, "you go back to bed."
"Matthew ..."
"Go, you need the sleep more than I do," he took the cup off her and started to run the water.
"Thank you, Matthew," she turned and paused, then kissed his cheek, "goodnight."
He smiled and bade her sleep well before setting to washing the two cups and draining the tea pot.
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Alice slipped into bed and settled under the now cold sheet and blanket. She sighed, kissing Matthew was not new, she would do that when he dropped her off after a dinner date, but somehow this time it seemed more intimate. She fell asleep and dreamed of ... nothing.
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In his bed Matthew wondered if there would ever be anything to his and Alice's relationship. So far only little goodnight kisses to the cheek were all that had happened between them; her to him more than him to her, something about her shyness, her reticence and the story of her not needing to be protected since she was twelve years old told him that she had to take the lead.
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The prison guard sat in the cell nursing his bruises and wondering what had gone wrong. True he hadn't envisioned his partner being murdered or the hangman, and he wondered how the priest was. Nobody had mentioned the doctor - the way they had tipped her out of the van she should have been run over and either killed or badly injured. He didn't hold with attacking women, that wasn't how he was brought up, but Clement hadn't seemed bothered, as far as he knew he wasn't married, there was never a mention of a wife but he didn't seem to be one of those other sort of men. Maybe he just didn't like women. It didn't really matter, not anymore, he'd been caught, there was no point in lying when he was interviewed, he might as well tell the truth - and shame the devil.
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Lucien wanted to check on Alice but didn't want to go into her room and surprise her. Matthew had mentioned over breakfast that she had woken in the night and made tea, that he had told her Clement had been caught and he hoped it had helped her to sleep more soundly.
"Probably," the doctor agreed, "Jean ..."
"She's fine," Jean smiled, "you can check on her soon. I've been in and she's breathing evenly but is sound asleep."
"She could be unconscious," Matthew huffed, "how do you know she's only asleep?"
"Unconscious people don't usually turn over unassisted," she smiled and poured herself some tea.
Matthew harrumphed, at which she sent him out to work, to the station, a bit like a mother hen sending her boy to school.
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Jock Clement turned his head and tried to lift his hand. There was something hard and metallic around his wrist and a clanking sound when he did so. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a drip stand, then a chair, then a small window. He was lying in a bed, crisp cotton sheets and pillow case and a light blanket - he quickly came to the conclusion he was in hospital and handcuffed to the bed. He groaned realising he had been caught when the van tipped over. He wondered where the guard was, what had happened to the interfering doctor. There could now be four deaths on his conscience - if he had one. He didn't; these people had just got in his way and had to be removed. Genevieve had threatened to tell her husband about his pestering and unsolicited attentions and he knew that if she had done Thomas Blake would have had him drummed out of the Masons for ungentlemanly behaviour - and he couldn't have that. So he had got rid of her, easily, and him signing the death certificate and telling Thomas that she had died on the operating table while he was at home had been easier than he thought. Thomas was too grief stricken to ask questions and with her being a diabetic it had all been too easy. Why did Young Blake have to be so bloody nosey?
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Matthew was notified when Jock woke up and stomped round to the hospital to question him. The only question he really wanted to ask was 'Why?'
"I want to die in my own bed, not at the end of a hangman's noose," Clement grumbled.
"For that to have happened you should not have gone around murdering people that don't do what you want," Matthew informed him, grimly, "you ruined lives when you killed Mrs Blake in such a horrific manner, the same with Franklin, then Doug Ashby, who had more honour that you have ever had, the guard, the priest is still alive, thankfully ..."
"That woman doctor?"
"Dr Harvey is coming along just fine, no thanks to you," Matthew huffed, "she will be back working in the next couple of weeks, I am reliably informed by her doctor."
"Now what?"
"Back to the prison hospital, time will probably be added to your sentence or the noose, that's not my decision, that's up to the judge," Matthew turned, "you won't die in your own bed, of that I am sure."
Clement just snarled and lay back staring at the ceiling.
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This time there was no priest just two guards and the hangman. Nobody celebrated, nobody cried - the page was turned.
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Lucien carried on seeing his patients, performing autopsies and showing Jean just how much she meant to him; Alice allowed Matthew to court her, quietly, though the Blakes had an inkling. She wasn't sure how far the relationship would go but it was nice to be treated with respect and to be loved properly - for a change.
In time Ballarat forgot all about Jock Clement, which, Jean pointed out one evening, was probably for the best.
"I won't forget, Jean," he sighed adjusting his hold on her so her head lay just below his shoulder.
"Of course not, nor should you," she sighed, "she was your mother, Doug was your friend, but we don't have to think about him."
"I love you."
She lifted her head and kissed his chin, "I love you too - come on, time for bed."
"Alright, if you say so, but I'm not really tired."
"Did I say anything about sleep?" she teased.
"Be right there."