The Horse Thief (13 page)

‘I don't know. The man who owned it had to sell to cover the debts he'd incurred during the depression in the forties. Papa bought it lock, stock and barrel. Most of the workers stayed on. He'd never owned a property and he needed their expertise. Over the years the property prospered, Violet was born and then my brother, Oliver …' India stalled; she didn't want to spoil the pleasure of the afternoon with her sorry family secrets. Letting out a huge sigh she shook her head. ‘It's a sad tale no-one wants to hear.' So many hopes, all broken. Shattered dreams, such a series of misadventures. ‘That's why I am so determined to restore the property. In some way perhaps I can bring back the happiness my parents dreamt of.'

Jim sat up and dropped his arm across her shoulder, squeezing gently, encouraging her.

‘Soon after my brother was born my mother went out riding, against Papa's wishes. They'd waited for a son for so long. Mama wasn't young and she'd had a difficult confinement. Goodfellow was Papa's horse. He was headstrong and skittish. Mama had ridden him a hundred times, but she was weak after months abed. Our stud master saddled him for her. When they found her she'd cracked her head, lost her senses. She has no memory of the accident.'

‘The lady in white.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘The lady in white. I saw her on my arrival. She was searching for someone. What happened to your brother?'

Goosebumps flecked India's arms and she rubbed at them. Mama's words now made sense. Why hadn't she realised before? Mama hadn't seen Goodfellow. She'd seen Jefferson. ‘My brother died.' Tears scuffed behind her eyes; she couldn't say more. To talk about Oliver and how he'd died was too painful, too difficult. ‘When my mother recovered her senses her baby had gone. It broke her heart and caused her such melancholy she never recovered.' Try as she might India couldn't stop the tears pouring down her face. How she wished she hadn't left Oliver alone, had picked him up, not tucked him tight and left him. No matter how many times she remembered those awful months, relived the events, the raw pain never diminished. In one fell swoop everything had gone and they'd lived in the shadow of that day ever since.

India's agony was palpable. There was no way he could alleviate her pain as much as he wished otherwise; however, the story he'd heard, told by his father, wasn't the same. His father hadn't saddled Goodfellow, hadn't even been in the stables the night Mrs Kilhampton had gone out riding. He'd been asleep by the fire in the cottage. When Kilhampton challenged him there was nothing he could say to convince him of the truth. In his grief Kilhampton had ordered his father and the family off the property and, according to his father, allowed him to take the injured Goodfellow in lieu of his wages. The two stories simply didn't make sense. Didn't tally.

Completely at a loss Jim stared out across the river. He was a fool. In coming to Helligen under false pretences he perpetuated the lies that had destroyed his father. It was time to rectify the situation and discover the truth. ‘Let's get you home. Today has been a difficult day. Tomorrow we'll start afresh and restore Helligen.'

India's wan smile twisted his heart. ‘I'd like that. If I could make the property prosper, breed a champion, maybe Papa would come home and we would all be happy again.'

He helped India to her feet and they retraced their steps, Jefferson nudging his back as if prompting him to speak, to tell the truth. Ask the questions. How could he do that without causing India more grief?

Fifteen

Peggy's feather duster flicked across the surfaces in the library like a dragonfly over water. Dust motes danced in a shaft of sunlight, bathing her in a shower of gold so she resembled a fairy godmother bestowing magic.

‘There you go, my big boy.' She flicked an imaginary speck from the portrait over the fireplace. ‘You were one mighty fine horse. Shame, shame.'

‘When did you start working here?' India asked. It was difficult to imagine the place without Peggy as she was the focal point of Helligen; even Violet went to her with her troubles. She filled so many roles: cook, cleaner, nursemaid—even mother. She'd been more of a mother to both her and Violet than poor misguided Mama.

‘After the accident, when the Cobb family left. Mrs Cobb was the cook and Mr Cobb ran the horses. Your father was in a right mess when they left and Mrs Bagnell from the village sent me up here and told me to offer my services. Best thing I ever did. Mind you, that was in my younger days. I was a tad more energetic then.'

‘But you never married?'

‘No, I never married. I had a beau there for a while but he took off to the goldfields full of high hopes and blarney. Said he'd be back when he made his fortune. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since.'

‘That's sad. Don't you wish you had children?'

‘Got children, haven't I? Got you and Violet.' She ran the duster over the two matching candelabra on either end of the mantel.

‘Not while we were at school.'

‘True. There were holidays, and Anya needed a lot of help with your mother in those days.'

‘I think Mama's quite a lot better. I just wish she wouldn't ride out at night.'

‘Time heals.' Peggy resumed her dusting with a burst of vigour.

‘She spoke to me the other day.'

The feather duster stopped in midair and Peggy spun around. ‘She did?'

‘Mmm. She said she'd seen Goodfellow.'

‘What, him?' She gave the portrait a dismissive flick. ‘He's dead and buried under that there rock. Doesn't sound like she's getting better to me.'

‘I think she became confused. Remember Jim said he'd seen a woman riding around the lagoon on the evening he arrived? Mama must have seen him. Jefferson's a lot like Goodfellow.'

‘Aye, he is that.' Peggy picked up a handful of loose papers and shuffled them into a neat pile. ‘Haven't you got work to do? I thought this was your day for catching up.'

‘It is.' India sighed. She'd prefer to be outside with Jim, maybe taking a ride down to the river again. ‘Jim's setting up our first pairing.' The thought sent a tremor of excitement rippling through her. ‘The paperwork is going to have to wait. I've backed myself into a bit of a corner. I hadn't thought out the routine well enough. Out of the twelve brood mares I only have eight I can use with the young stallions—the others are all related.' She followed the lines in the studbook. ‘I need another unrelated stallion. I'm going to have to buy services from one of the other studs. That's going to take time and put me behind schedule. I planned to have the paddock full of foals by August next year.'

‘You're talking to the wrong person. I don't know nowt about this breeding lark.'

‘It's just like people, Peggy. You can't marry your uncle.'

‘Oh no! You wouldn't want to be doing that. Makes for weak babies.'

‘Exactly, and we don't want weak foals.'

Receiving no answer India looked up. Peggy's duster hovered around the portrait, her head cocked to one side. ‘You
have
got an unrelated stallion on the property, you know.'

India frowned and looked at the portrait, then closed the studbook with a snap. She shot out of the chair and grasped Peggy in a bear hug. ‘You're right! I have. Jefferson.'

A big grin split Peggy's face. ‘See, I'm not as 'alfwitted as I think I am.'

‘No, you're not, not at all. I'll have to pay him.'

‘Who?'

‘Jim.'

‘You're going to have to pay for any animal if it's not your own, and that Jefferson he's 'ere right now.'

Turning over one of the unpaid bills India licked her pencil and sketched a few notes on the back. ‘Peggy Dickson, you are a marvel. I don't know what I'd do without you.' She planted a firm kiss on Peggy's pink cheek then made for the door.

It was the ideal solution. Jefferson was a great horse, with speed and stamina, perfect conformation. She capered across the courtyard and coasted to a sedate walk as she rounded the corner to the mating yard.

Jim leant against the fence, his broad shoulders straining his shirt. Inside the mating yard Mistral and Maestro circled each other. There was a lot of tail flicking and nose rubbing going on but not much else. She dropped her hand onto his arm, loath to speak and disturb the two animals.

Jim turned. His smile sent a warm shiver through her. Something in her tummy twisted as she looked into his eyes.

‘Morning beautiful,' he whispered. ‘Looks as though this might be our first success.'

She nodded. ‘Can we talk? I've had an idea.'

He tipped his head in the direction of the cottage. ‘Come and sit down over here. I'll make us a cup of tea. Nothing's going to happen for a while yet.'

Leaning with her back against the warm sandstock wall India fiddled with the scrap of paper, re-reading and checking her plans.

‘There we are.' Jim handed her an enamelled mug. She put the paper on her lap and took the tea.

He sat so close she could feel the warmth of his thigh through the thin cotton of her skirt and smell his heavenly scent of leather and soap. And a tang of lucerne, she discovered as she pretended to inhale the steam from her tea.

‘Well? You've had an idea,' he said.

Dragging her mind back to her plan she turned to face him. ‘I have a problem and I think you can solve it for me.'

‘I'll do my best.' His green-gold eyes twinkled, flecks of amusement dancing in their depths.

She handed him the piece of paper. ‘I've been working out the breeding lines. I have four related mares and no unrelated stallion. I don't want to run the risk of interbreeding. I'm going to have to purchase four outside services.'

‘That's a nuisance.' He studied the paper. ‘You could approach Munmurra or one of the other Hunter studs. We'd have to take the mares to them. They won't send a stallion here.' He scratched his head. ‘You'll be lucky if you can get them bred to anything worthwhile this spring. You might have to wait until next year. I could have a word with Munmurra and see if they can help.'

India's lips twitched as she waited for him to finish, itching to blurt out her perfect solution.

He frowned at her and then a grin split his face. ‘But you've got an idea.'

He read her so well. ‘How do you know?'

‘Because you're not very good at hiding your emotions. It's easy to see what you're feeling.' He clasped her hand sitting in her lap and squeezed.

The colour flamed across her face and she snatched her hand back, spilling her tea. Plonking the mug down on the ground she took three deep steadying breaths.

‘And when you're embarrassed you close your eyes and take deep breaths.'

‘I'm not emba—'

‘I'm sorry that wasn't fair.' He ran his finger down her cheek. ‘Tell me about your plan.'

Dragging her hair back from her overheated face she twisted it out of the way. ‘I want to use Jefferson over those four females.'

‘You want to do what?' Jim stared at her, his mouth gaping wide.

A trickle of unease worked its way across her shoulders. ‘I'll pay you for the services, whatever is a suitable fee.'

‘No!'

The force of his refusal split the air and he surged to his feet, sending his mug of tea rolling across the dusty ground. It clattered to a halt against the wall of the cottage in a soggy puddle.

India peered at him. Two spots of bright colour stained his cheeks and he shook his head slowly from side to side.

‘Why not? It's the perfect solution. Jefferson's not infertile, is he?'

‘No. I've never tried him. I doubt it. There's nothing in his bloodlines to …' His voice trailed off and he scuffed the toe of his worn boot in the dirt, studying the puffs of dust with a fierce concentration.

‘Then why not?'

She stood and tried to make eye contact with him. He stared down at the ground. Hard furrows creased his brow as though something hurt. He let out a shuddering sigh and glared at her. ‘Can't you take no for an answer?'

‘I can. It's just that I don't understand why.'

‘You wouldn't.' He stormed into the cottage and slammed the door.

India sank back down onto the bench and rested her head back against the rough wall. It didn't make sense. Surely it wouldn't harm Jefferson. And she was quite prepared to pay Jim a fee. Picking up the mugs from the ground she settled them on the bench and peered through the window into the front room. Two overstuffed chairs flanked the fireplace but there was no sign of movement in the cottage. With a shrug she wandered over to the stables.

Jefferson stood in his stall munching on his morning feed of lucerne. He was a magnificent animal. He couldn't be infertile. She stretched out her hand and smoothed the soft velvet of his nose. He snuffled in appreciation then turned back to his breakfast. She would have to think again. So much for Peggy and her great ideas.