by Téa Cooper
Olivia hung her head, then shook it slowly. ‘No I didn’t.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Evie could be quite secretive about her drawings. I found these in her bedside drawer. I wasn’t sure … I had nothing left of her. I thought the sergeant might take away my pictures.’ She gestured to the miniatures scattered across the quilt. ‘These weren’t going to help find Evie.’
But the map in the desk drawer might have done. Surely William would know about a secret drawer in his own desk. ‘What about William? Did he show the sergeant Evie’s map?’
Olivia’s head came up with a snap. ‘Where did you find it?’ The accusatory tone in Olivia’s voice made Lettie’s stomach churn. Had she got too close to the truth, found something Olivia hadn’t expected her to?
‘There’s a hidden drawer in the centre of the desk. I stumbled upon it by accident. It was jammed shut with an old paintbrush.’
Olivia’s brow wrinkled. ‘William couldn’t find her map. Asked me time and time again if I’d seen it. He decided she’d taken it with her. We never spoke of it again. Gave up in the end. Same as he did with life. I think he blamed himself. Saw it as some sort of divine justice for leaving Evie here and going to Sydney. I told you. He died of a broken heart. His hero taken and his daughter — the same unknown fate had befallen her.’
‘Poppycock!’ Lettie clamped her hand over her mouth, horrified at her insensitivity. Poor Olivia’s face was a mask of distress. ‘I’d like to go up to Yellow Rock, will you come with me?’
Olivia’s face paled making Lettie regret her impatience. ‘I haven’t been up there since the search parties.’
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you again. I can go alone. I have a map.’ She threw a wry grin and immediately hated herself for it.
‘And how do you intend to get there?’
‘I’ll walk,’ Lettie answered, silently questioning her sudden attack of bravado. Under the cloudy grey sky the rock threw jagged shadows across the paddocks.
‘Have you any idea how difficult the land is?’
‘But there’s a track, marked on Evie’s map.’ She had to go up there. It was the starting point. The place where Evie’s journey began.
‘Yes, there was a track but no one’s used it for years. Then there’s a climb. A difficult climb.’
For goodness sake, what had possessed her? In her enthusiasm she’d forgotten she was talking to a seventy-year-old woman. ‘I’m sorry it hadn’t occurred to me. If it’s too difficult—’
She didn’t have the opportunity to finish her sentence. Olivia’s finger came up in front of her face. ‘It’s not me I’m worried about. Nothing wrong with my stamina. It’s you. Can you ride a horse or is that something else, along with your manners, your mother forgot to teach you?’
A flush rose to Lettie’s face. ‘I beg your pardon, Aunt Olivia. Yes, I can ride.’
‘And I don’t mean around Centennial Park. I mean ride. Astride, not side-saddle, this’ll be no picnic.’
‘I believe I can manage.’
‘We’ll see. We’ll leave at six tomorrow morning.’ She cast a disparaging glance at Lettie’s neat skirt and pin-tucked blouse. ‘I’ll find you something suitable to wear. Go and get a decent night’s sleep. You’ll need it.’
The hairs on Lettie’s neck rose in response. Evie’s story had lured her in. It held an inexplicable fascination crammed with frustrating discrepancies that even decades after her disappearance made the air hum.
Seventeen
The morning dawned clear and bright despite the storm overnight and Lettie woke before the koels. She found Olivia in the stables dressed very much as the drovers, a pair of moleskins held up by worn leather braces over a pale pink shirt that might once have been red and highly polished knee-length riding boots. She handed her a pair of patched moleskins and a shirt. ‘Put those on, the horses are saddled,’ she barked.
The trousers fitted perfectly. Lettie removed her skirt, tightened the belt and pulled the shirt over her head, ditching her blouse.
With a grunt of approval Olivia led the way outside and stood with a bemused expression on her face until Lettie had managed to hoist herself up onto the broad back of an old grey mare.
Thankfully the horses maintained a sedate walk, no doubt in deference to her lack of ability. She had no intention of letting Olivia know that she had described her riding ability with uncanny accuracy—a gentle trot around Centennial Park, nothing more and nothing she very much enjoyed. Once Thorne had returned from Victoria with Lizzie she’d eschewed the mandatory riding lessons and replaced them with driving lessons.
The path wound ever upwards. The vertical face of the rock looming large and far more intimidating now she was closer. The play of the golden light and the inky shadows revealed slabs like giant tombstones, others grooved and fluted by thousands of years of fire, wind and water.
Just as Lettie was getting used to the rolling gait of the old mare Olivia dismounted. ‘We’ll leave the horses here and go the rest of the way on foot.’
Lettie slid down, rubbing her backside while Olivia hobbled the horses and left them to graze in the shade of a pair of stunted trees.
They followed no track on this part of the rock and if there’d ever been one it had long since vanished, however Lettie’s feet chose a way of their own weaving through the boulders as if she’d walked the path before.
Olivia reached the summit long before she did and stood shoulders square against the buffeting breeze, her stance belying her age. Lettie moved to her side in silence. The wind dropped and a cloud scudded across the sun. Suddenly it grew cold. Below them a deep vertical drop stretched into an exquisite patchwork tapestry.
As if magnified by a powerful telescope, the vast scene stood out with blinding clarity. The paddocks with the mares gently grazing, a gambolling foal, smoke idly curling up into the sky from the chimney of the farmhouse where Peg would no doubt be stirring her jam. Sam, the young stable boy, forking the hay, tiny figures coming and going along the tracks to Wollombi and Broke and the wind moving the long grass like waves upon water.
Every detail clearly defined and separate. A vast panorama from the ocean to the furthest reaches beyond the Hunter River. A steep escarpment with a narrow rocky end scrambled down the overhang at the end of the spur.
‘Even the lowest and most accessible levels of the rock are treacherous, especially for city girls.’ Olivia’s voice quavered as though she’d woken from a dream, a sleepwalker finding herself in an unexpected place.
The ridge sliced its way across the landscape. Tall trees, deep valleys, rocky outcrops radiating across a wide plateau dissected by deep, steep-sided valleys. The thought that perhaps Olivia suffered from trances as Evie had drifted through Lettie’s mind and she rested her hand on Olivia’s arm and guided her away. ‘You’re making me feel quite giddy, standing close to the edge.’
‘Close your eyes and listen … you’ll hear her.’
Lettie’s heart beat fast against her ribcage, the hairs beginning to quiver on her skin. The realisation spread icy and instant across her flesh. It was the same mood she’d felt floating in the dull hallways of the big house the first time she’d ventured up the stairs to Evie’s bedroom.
With her head down and her hands rammed deep into her pockets, Olivia cleared her throat. Lettie leant close to catch her words … ‘They told me the whole affair would be cleared up within hours, that I had no idea how many people got lost if they stray a few yards off the beaten track. I knew well enough. Hadn’t we all lived with William and his stories of Leichhardt? They brought in a tracker? What could he do that the drovers and their dogs hadn’t already done? They knew the area as well as anyone, as well as I did. Then they brought in a bloodhound! He spent more time sniffing Oxley’s tracks than looking for Evie. The locals all came and combed the surrounding scrub. News travelled faster than a wildfire and by Sunday evening William had arrived, though what he thought he could do that I hadn’t d
one was beyond anyone’s comprehension. Finally the sergeant closed his notebook, the interviews were written out in full and shown to us later for approval.’
‘And do you still have those?’ Lettie asked.
‘They’ll be in William’s study somewhere.’
Along with everything else. Nothing that offered any obvious explanation for Evie’s disappearance.
‘We’ll sit down here for a while. Take in the view.’
Lettie’s knees buckled as Olivia lowered herself to the ground and sat, legs dangling into the abyss.
‘Come and sit next to me. This is where Evie liked to sit and draw. Have you got her map?’
Lettie pulled out the map and unrolled it trying to get her bearings. ‘Wollombi is that way, and Broke over there. The coastline leads up to Newcastle and here is the Hunter River.’ She traced her finger north, over the herd of cattle moving north. ‘Where does this road go?’
She waited for Olivia’s answer but none was forthcoming. The ribbon of road, probably not much more than a track, wound its way north into the distance. ‘Olivia?’
‘That’s the stock route you can see. It goes through Singleton, Scone and Murrurundi all the way north to the Liverpool Plains. And over to the west that’s Cassilis and Merriwa.’
‘Here’s Maitland.’ Lettie stabbed her finger at the word written above several church spires nestling in the bend of the river. It’s marked here on the map next to Hume and Largs.’
‘Largs is a small village on the outskirts of Maitland. No place called Hume.’
‘Perhaps it says Home?’
‘Yellow Rock’s home. Always has been. Always will be.’
‘But Evie’s got the place marked. It seems quite large, look.’ Lettie squinted at the map, there was no doubt. ‘Perhaps it’s a property.’
Receiving no reply Lettie rolled up the map and clamped it tight in both hands. With the wind gusting she could imagine it being snatched away. The last thing she wanted to happen.
‘Here comes Oxley.’ Olivia pointed her finger down towards the base of the rock.
‘I hadn’t realised he’d left us.’
‘Picked up the scent of a rabbit. He’ll be up here soon.’ As Olivia spoke Oxley’s bark carried on the wind and the flag of his tail became visible between the scrubby trees eking out an existence on the rocky slope.
‘I’d love to have a look at some of these places.’
‘You’re looking at a good day’s ride to Maitland and that’s if you’re flogging it. I doubt you’d be walking at the end.’
As unwilling as she was to admit it her backside felt as though it had been well and truly tanned and her thigh muscles burnt like the blazes. ‘How many miles is it? I did Sydney to Yellow Rock in a day in the motor.’ For heaven’s sake now she sounded like one of the locals, this place had seeped into her blood with barely a whisper. She could hear Evie egging her on, as though she’d reached down across the decades, and stood beckoning her. ‘Come with me.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, Aunt Olivia, you. How long is it since you went on a trip somewhere, took a holiday?’
‘I’m not leaving. I can’t. I haven’t and I won’t.’ A flush blossomed on Olivia’s cheeks.
Lettie’s stomach did some strange circus backflip. ‘What do you mean you haven’t?’
‘I’m not leaving and that’s that.’ Olivia pressed a palm against her heart. ‘I’d never forgive myself if she came home and I wasn’t here.’ She bounced to her feet and peered over the edge, making Lettie’s stomach do another flip. ‘Time we were going, it’ll take you a while to hobble down the track.’
Lettie struggled to her feet, Evie’s map rolled tight, hugged to her chest. Three decades and Olivia had never left the property. She couldn’t believe it. What kept her here? Guilt or love?
‘I did receive Miriam’s letter.’
Lettie stopped in her tracks. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘There didn’t seem to be much point in replying.’ She pulled out a sheet of thick writing paper and held it out, all the while continuing to stride down the steep track.
There was no doubt that the letter was from Miriam. The expensive embossed paper, the scent of her cloying perfume and the sharp pointed handwriting in purple ink. The words blurred. ‘Just a minute. Wait. Let me read it.’
Both the Ludgrove and Maynard properties will now pass to my daughter, Letitia Miriam Rawlings, the family’s sole heir.
The cold stilted words said nothing of her regret at the loss of her only son, nothing of the quirky wonderful man he was, his razor-sharp wit or his loving heart or of his dreams and aspirations. Nothing of Evie. Nothing of the loss of her sister who was the rightful heir to Ludgrove. It might have been a demand for payment.
Heat, anger, boiled in her blood. If she’d received such a stark missive she would have thrown it in the fire. ‘She had no right. I had no knowledge. I’m not expecting …’
Down the twisted track they went, without speaking, a great ridge of cloud stretched across the setting sun. It wasn’t until they reached the horses that Olivia spoke again. ‘And I don’t think you should be traipsing off on your own. I couldn’t stand to lose two of you. Miriam would have my hide.’
‘Two of us? Thorne’s passing was not your fault. A dreadful accident. No one’s fault.’
‘Not Thorne. Evie. Punishment for my sins.’
Lettie reached out and placed her hand on Olivia’s arm. The intricate web of duty and resentment tying the two women held a morbid fascination. ‘You didn’t lose Evie. It wasn’t your fault.’ The poor woman held herself entirely responsible for Evie’s disappearance.
The following day Lettie hobbled along the path to the main house, every muscle in her body screeching. She’d tried not to wince as she’d sat at the table with Olivia and Peg for breakfast but their knowing eyes had glittered with amusement. Peg had even gone as far as to offer horse liniment, which she declined.
Oxley eyed her with disdain as she shuffled into the study then settled in his customary position underneath the desk. As always Lettie threw open the French doors, inhaling the warm eucalyptus-scented air blowing down from the rock before unrolling Evie’s map and spreading it out.
Gradually the contrasting shapes melded into a reality that only yesterday she’d witnessed from the top of Yellow Rock, and that brought her back to Maitland and the name Hume. All the other properties marked showed a cluster of buildings, fence lines; Glendon, in the horseshoe bend of the river, even had tiny figures sitting around a long table under the trees, the tableau implying some sort of festive occasion. She bent her head, narrowed her eyes trying to bring the tiny pictures into focus … A magnifying glass—that was what she needed. Grandfather had worn a monocle, perhaps he’d had one.
She pulled open the desk drawers, pushed aside a pile of bills and receipts, a set of keys, found a series of nibs, the stubs of several broken pencils which she’d somehow missed when she’d been looking for something to write her letter to Miriam.
The left-hand side of the desk proved equally disappointing until she reached the third drawer. Underneath several pamphlets, she discovered a square leather box. She opened the lid and found exactly what she was looking for. A small folding silver magnifying glass.
Returning to the map she peered at the word Maitland, the intricate church steeples drawn with such fine detail as to be invisible to the naked eye and a mere half-inch away the word Hume. No sign of a house, fences or anything to indicate a property.
She pushed to her feet ignoring the screaming in her muscles and paced the floor, coming to a halt in front of the bookcase. Olivia had insisted there was no place called Hume. Perhaps it was a German word, a word Leichhardt used, people he knew … She ran her finger along the spines of the books—no dictionaries in German, or any other language—then turned to William’s journals and leafed through some of the pages. It would take her an age to decipher his looping scrawl.
With a frus
trated mutter, she picked up the magnifying glass again and studied the writing; though perfectly formed, it was written in pencil, the paper rough as though it had been erased and then replaced or it had been written in haste. Blinking, she brought the magnifying glass closer and her gaze came to rest on the tiny unpainted illustrations she’d missed—four men and their horses.
What did the picture mean? That the men lived there, owned a property? That one of them was called Hume?
No! She was chasing shadows, and the shadows outside were lengthening too. Before long Peg would be calling her over to the farmhouse. She slipped the map back into the drawer, and sat with her chin resting in her hands. So much for making sense of the contents of the study for Olivia; she’d done nothing more than create an even greater mess.
She scooped up the keys and nibs and slid them back where they belonged, then replaced the magnifying glass in the box and put it into the third drawer. Such a lot to sort out.
Papers still covered the desktop. She reached out to one of the teetering piles. She’d take one each day and go through systematically. She slid one pile towards her and to her horror it collapsed scattering the papers to the ground. Grumbling, she bent to retrieve them.
It wasn’t until she’d almost completed her task that she noticed two sheets had drifted to the other side of the desk. She bent to retrieve them.
Evie’s neat block writing, larger than usual, covered the entire sheet. A long list with the name Andrew Hume blazed across the top.
ANDREW HUME
BUSHRANGER—ARRESTED—PARRAMATTA GAOL
RELEASED TO ROPER RIVER
RETURNED SYDNEY—RELICS MISSING
LEFT FOR SECOND EXPEDITION—SYDNEY 1874
MAITLAND
DECEMBER 1874 DIED IN DESERT
Lettie sank back into the chair and massaged her temples, forcing away the impending headache.
Hume was a person not a place. What did he have to do with Maitland and why was he important enough for Evie to make this strange list? What relics were missing? And Roper River. Wherever was that?
