The Horse Thief (18 page)

She dropped her head onto his shoulder and let out a trembling breath. ‘She's gone to Sydney to see her father. To tell him we must sell Helligen. I don't want to leave. Oliver is here.' She lifted her head. ‘See. We buried him there. My poor, poor baby. Alexander said Goodfellow was with him. He's not. I know he's not. Thomas couldn't shoot that horse. He loved him. He didn't tell Alexander. He was too angry, too upset. Alexander blames your father and Goodfellow for my accident.'

The keening sound reminiscent of that first day ricocheted through his ears and he held her firm. He rocked her and bit by bit her cries ceased. For a long time they sat entwined, almost like lovers, as the moon rose and bathed them in its alabaster light. After a long silence he made up his mind. ‘I know where Goodfellow is.'

She lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, and pushed back her hair. ‘I've been looking for so long. Where is he?'

‘At Munmurra. My father took him there when we left. He's an old horse but he's well. He sired Jefferson a few years ago. That's why you mistook Jefferson for Goodfellow. They are so alike.'

A frail smile hovered around her lips at his words. ‘Just like you and Thomas. You comfort me as he did. Strong and calm. Can you bring him home?'

‘I can do that,' he said.

‘What about Thomas? Will he come home?'

Oh God! This was the final straw. To have to tell her his father was dead. Not another death. Just when the woman was regaining her senses.

‘Come, let me take you inside.' He rose and held out his hand, hoping she'd forget about his father.

She didn't. ‘Thomas is dead, isn't he?'

‘Yes, he is.' What else could he say? Please God don't let her ask for details. Don't expect him to tell her how he died a broken man, unable to forgive himself for the sin he'd committed.

‘And that's why you came. Why you came back. To put it right. He would want that.'

How well she knew his father. ‘Yes, he wanted that. He said he'd done something he wasn't proud of and I should right past wrongs …' The quaver in his voice built and the tears scuffed behind his eyes. ‘I had hoped to find the deed of sale for Goodfellow so I could register Jefferson to race.'

She must have heard because she took his hand. ‘Come and meet Oliver.'

The hairs on Jim's arms prickled as she led him a few paces to the right of Goodfellow's granite slab. A small Celtic cross sat facing out towards the lagoon.

‘This is where Oliver rests.' She smoothed the stone with her hand. ‘He was our angel. We'd waited such a long time. He was too special to stay with us.'

Lost for words Jim stood, head bowed while she kissed her hand and smoothed the stone once more. She'd always known where her baby lay.

The blow almost bent him double. She hadn't been looking for her son. India, Anya, and Peggy—they were all wrong. For all these years she had searched for Goodfellow. Goosebumps covered his skin. The time had come to bring the old horse home, back where he belonged.

‘I'll fetch Goodfellow.' The rightness of it sat well in his chest and the radiant smile she bestowed on him proved he still had the ability to make at least one person in the world happy. ‘Meanwhile, let me take you upstairs. Anya and Peggy will be worried.'

‘Oliver and I will sleep well tonight knowing Goodfellow is coming home.'

Jim led Mrs Kilhampton through the silent house to the foot of the carved staircase.

‘Good night, and thank you.' She rested her pale hand on the banister. ‘You are a good man, and I'd expect nothing less from Thomas's son.' With a nod she drifted up the stairs.

Once her bedroom door clicked shut he left the house. A light shone under the kitchen door and he knocked. ‘Peggy?'

Receiving no response he pushed the door open.

Peggy sat at the kitchen table, a pot of tea in front of her and her legs stretched out towards the range. ‘What do you want?'

‘To talk.'

‘It's not me you owe an explanation to.'

‘I'm not going to explain anything to you. What I have to say is for India's ears. Where is she?'

Peggy wrinkled her nose. ‘Not much of your business really.'

‘It's a lot of my business. How's she getting to Sydney?' Jim screwed up his eyes. Mrs Kilhampton was right. India had left. He'd feared as much. ‘When did she leave?'

‘A while back.'

‘And you and Anya have been discussing the matter ever since, which would account for the fact I found Mrs Kilhampton wandering around outside in the dark again.'

Peggy dragged herself out of the chair. ‘Anya went back upstairs a good half hour ago.' Her face flushed at his criticism. ‘Where is she this time?'

‘I saw Mrs Kilhampton back to her room. Now, where's India, and how is she planning to get to Sydney?'

Peggy looked him up and down and her eyes narrowed. ‘She's ridden to Morpeth. Getting the morning steamer to Sydney.'

‘Thanks,' Jim said as he spun on his heel and left Peggy to her pot of cold tea.

Nineteen

The ostler accepted the pound note India held out with gleaming eyes.

‘I expect to be back within the week and I will want some change, plenty of change. In the meantime, and in case I am longer than I intend, this should cover the expenses.'

The man tugged his forelock. ‘First class accommodation. Don't you worry. Your horse will be fine, Miss Kilhampton. Give my regards to your father.'

With her small carpetbag grasped in her hand she made her way through the courtyard in search of a room. This time tomorrow she'd be in Sydney. The prospect didn't fill her with any great sense of excitement or achievement, more resignation than anything else. Payment for her foolishness. Swept away by the charms of a man she didn't even know. Taken for a fool. She deserved everything she got. If nothing else she had proved one thing. Her mother may have been capable of running Helligen but she was not.

A young girl dressed in a mob-cap and pristine white apron greeted her as she entered the inn. ‘Ma'am.' The girl bobbed a curtsy. ‘May I help you?'

‘I'd like a room for the night and I wish to purchase a ticket for the steamer to Sydney tomorrow morning.'

‘I'll just get Mrs Jones. Will your husband be along soon with your baggage?' The girl cast a sideways glance at the small carpetbag in her hand.

India gritted her teeth. ‘No. I'm travelling alone.' Even the little maid thought she needed a husband. Like Violet she'd think her insane to reject a life in Sydney with the likes of Cecil Bryce in preference to a property, a herd of horses and a dream.

It took an eternity for the older woman to appear.

She too bobbed a curtsy almost as ingratiating as the ostler's forelock-tugging. ‘Ah, Miss Kilhampton.' The maid received a heavy cuff across her broad backside. ‘This is Miss Kilhampton, Jane. She'll be going to Sydney to meet her father and her lovely husband-to-be.' She dropped her voice and with a conspiratorial wink asked, ‘How
is
Mr Bryce, and your father?'

‘Very well. Have you a room?' she asked, unable to keep the shrewish note from her voice.

‘Of course, of course.' The woman bustled behind the counter and produced a large key with intricate swirls and a pink ribbon. ‘Show Miss Kilhampton to the front room, Jane, and hurry up about it.'

Walking up the stairs was a nightmare; her feet dragged, her head ached and she couldn't summon an ounce of enthusiasm. What she wouldn't give to be back at Helligen. Tossing the notion aside she lifted her chin. Confess her sins, sort out the blasted mess, and with any luck she'd be allowed to return home.

After a disturbed night plagued by thoughts of Jim and the chaos she'd created, India struggled out of bed and peered across the dusty street to the wharf. The first streaks of dawn lit the hills beyond the town and the steamer sat puffing and smoking ready for the journey to Sydney. The accustomed sight of the busy wharf soothed her, boats coming and going, unloading their cargo and taking more on. She dressed and made her way through the inn to the wharf.

Passengers lined up to present their tickets at the
Waratah's
gangplank. The journey took close to six hours with a stop in Newcastle for breakfast before the trip down the coast. Familiar with the rancid smell below decks India opted to sit and wait until the majority of the passengers embarked, and then she'd travel up in the fresh air on deck, as far away as she could get from the sickening fug and the crush of people.

Lost in her thoughts it took a loud yell from the man standing at the gangplank to rouse her attention. A red-faced official manhandled a fellow off the ship amid much whistle-blowing and huffing and puffing. Nothing like this had ever happened before and she'd made the trip so many times. She stood to get a better view. The offender hurtled onto the wharf and thumped against the wall before sliding to the ground and landing on his backside with a resounding thump. She peered down. ‘Jim!'

He pushed his hair back from his face and threw her a wry grin. ‘If I'd known you hadn't gone aboard I could have saved myself a lot of discomfort.' He rubbed at the seat of his trousers as he stood.

‘What are you doing here?' Was he going to plead his case, ask her not to tell her father? Perhaps, heaven forbid, he was going to use her foolish, foolish lapse against her. Threaten to tell the world of her wanton ways. Tell them how he'd duped her. How she'd fallen without a second thought for his winning ways and his flashing smile. The heat rose to her face as she remembered his hands on her body and how she'd begged for his attentions.

‘Your mother didn't tell me you'd left until late last night.'

‘Mama?' What had he told Mama? Why had he spoken with her?

He nodded. ‘It's a long story. I need to speak to you.' His face was drawn with tiredness and dark circles underscored his eyes.

She blinked slowly, resisting the temptation to fall straight into his arms and beg him to take her home. The very reaction that had her in this awful mess in the first place. The prospect of talking to Jim, even sitting next to him, terrified her and weakened her resolve. She sucked in a deep breath and sank onto the bench. ‘I have about ten minutes before I leave, though I'm not sure you can tell me anything I don't know.' She already knew how gullible she was, how she'd fallen for his lies. How he wasn't who he said he was. That was all that mattered.

When Jim sat down beside her the warmth of his body through his dusty moleskins seeped into her skin. She shuffled along the bench to keep a safe distance between them and concentrated on the mundane parade of people lining the wharf. There were a lot of people around them, saying goodbye, greeting friends, family, and lovers.

He laid his arm along the back of the seat and turned to face her. ‘You're angry.' His low, intimate voice wheedled its way to her heart. ‘I don't want you to marry Cecil Bryce. I don't believe Violet when she says you're in love with him.'

‘And I don't believe you, Jim, or anything you say. You lied to me.' She hadn't lied to him. He had lied to her. She must keep that at the forefront of her mind.

‘I'm not Jim Mawgan. My name is James Cobb.' He ran his hands over his eyes before scrubbing at his face.

So, he'd admitted it. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to clasp his warm hand. Tell him she didn't care who he was, where he came from or where he was going, as long as he stayed. Why couldn't he have told her from the very beginning? It was outrageous. How could she still see this man as attractive when he threatened everything she held dear? It wasn't only her heart at stake. It was her family. She mustn't think of herself. No matter what her body told her, the strange little bumps and swirls in her belly, Mama, her family and Helligen came first. She let out a long drawn-out sigh. ‘If I'd known who you were from the beginning I would never have let you set foot on the property.'

‘I'm aware of that. It's why I had to lie to you.'

‘Had to lie? No-one
has
to lie.' Had he lied to her when he took her down to the river, cradled her against him? She crossed her arms and pulled the jacket of her travelling suit tight across her chest. She'd seen him as a hero, her saviour, and a chivalrous man of honour. What a fool she was.

He had the grace to hang his head. A damp lock of hair behind his ear covered his scar and her fingers still itched to explore it.
Cobb boy, seventeen stitches
. Would she never learn?

‘Tell me to go and I will.' His voice was gentle, almost tender.

She couldn't do it. Until she spoke to Papa they had unfinished business. ‘You may stay at Helligen until I return. I'll be back in a day or two.' Of that she was certain. Papa would jump up and down, carry on, then send her back. He'd insist the house was closed and her mother and Anya dragged back to Sydney. The only person to benefit was Violet. The prospect was too dreadful to even contemplate and there was no alternative.