Melbourne To Murder

Chapter One: All Aboard

The familiar countryside scenery rushes past outside the window as the train speeds onward, blurring into a mix of colours. The window itself is on the shabbier side, with peeling paint and loose screws. I suppose I shouldn't expect much, it being third class and all, but really! Only a few years ago I could have been in first class, sipping lemonade with Mama and Papa, but that's no longer an option, now that they're gone.

Looking around at my fellow passengers, I feel another wave of longing for the comforts of first class. There are two men sitting together, one smoking, the other reading. In different circumstances this could be considered refined but these two give 'ruffian' a whole new meaning. In another corner there is a large family who look as though they spent their last pennies on their tickets. There are at least seven children, all of whom look unwashed and are wearing clothes that look just as dirty.

Scattered around the carriage there are a couple of labourers on their way to the city as well as a small number of children who no doubt did not purchase tickets.

And then there's me, Maybella Collins. I'm 16 next month but you wouldn't guess it, I'm short, stick thin, have auburn hair, eyes the colour of fine chocolate and could honestly pass for eleven. Ever since Mama died, four years ago, I have had to dress frugally, mending frocks and re-purposing things. Despite my lack of resources, I have always managed to keep clean and wash the few clothes I have.

Up until last week I even had a few of Mama's best gowns to remember her by, but I had to sell them. How else would I have the money to get to Melbourne? After Papa died, I moved in with the Jones, our elderly neighbours, but as kind as they were, they could scarcely afford food let alone the fare to Melbourne.

This is my first visit to the city and I know very little about the place. I have booked accommodation at 'Miss Little's Boarding House for Girls' in St Kilda and will go from there. The reason for my trip is really quite strange. You see, on his deathbed, only a few weeks ago, my Papa, finally succumbing to the mustard gas remembered something.

Sometime before he met Mama, Papa had an accident. It had caused his memory to blur permanently, so that when he awoke after months in City South Hospital, he could only remember his name. He did not know whether he had a family or a job, so he became a doorman at an up-market department store where he met Mama buying clothes for her season.

It was love at first sight but the marriage would hardly be condoned, a rich society lady and a damaged doorman. Thy planned to run away to the country, Mama bringing with her enough of her family's wealth to keep them happily afloat. Papa left the city quite content, but years later he began to wonder whether he had done something terrible.

On his deathbed it came to him. He had a son, Hugh! So, here I am, a girl of fifteen, travelling to Melbourne all by herself, on the hunt for a mysterious half-brother. It sounds fanciful, almost like a story. I wish.

º º º

It's been dark for a while now and everyone else in the carriage has gone to sleep. All the children from the large family have dozed off, spread out across the seats that are desperately in need of reupholstering. The two rough men are snoring loudly, one of them with a lit cigarette still hanging from his mouth.

I've tried sleeping but it's impossible, I'm too hungry. The corned beef sandwiches that Mrs Jones packed were too long ago and my ticket doesn't include food. I begin to doze off, dreaming of the scrumptious offerings in first class when I'm roused by something.

Footsteps, not that unusual, but these are secretive, trying not to be heard is my guess. They are coming from first class, the carriage next to us. Then there's a thump, something on metal and retreating footsteps.