The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

  ‘This is most unexpected.’ Olivia settled in the chair opposite Miriam, arranging her skirt, her back as straight as a die. ‘Now which specific yarn would you like to discuss?’

  Unable to stay still for a moment longer, Lettie made for the door.

  Olivia glared at her. ‘Sit down. I’d like you to hear what your mother has to say.’

  Lettie subsided onto the edge of a chair, her gaze darting between the two women. The beginnings of a dowager’s hump showed beneath Miriam’s coat whereas years of outdoor work with the horses had served Olivia well, straighter, taller even when seated despite the generation that separated them.

  Miriam moistened her lips and swallowed. ‘Thorne was to inherit Ludgrove on his thirtieth birthday.’

  ‘A birthday which he sadly didn’t see.’ Olivia’s tone reminded Lettie of the fact she was Miriam’s aunt, the matriarch of the family, no matter what Miriam might like to imagine. ‘I think you’ve forgotten the intricacies of William’s will. In the event of Thorne’s demise before he inherited Ludgrove I remain trustee of the property.’

  ‘Lettie is Thorne’s heir and therefore next in line.’ Miriam drew herself up. ‘Pa’s dying wish was that the properties should remain united, therefore Lettie should inherit both the Maynard and Ludgrove properties.’

  ‘That is my decision.’ Not a flicker of emotion showed on Olivia’s face.

  ‘Both properties must pass to Letitia, if the future is to be secured. The law has changed. Women can own property in their own right. It will not pass to her husband. Letitia is therefore the rightful owner of both the Ludgrove land, and when you pass—’

  ‘—which won’t be any time soon. You can wipe that avaricious look off your face. It may have been William’s wish for the properties to be united, however the decision as to who inherits is mine, and mine alone.’

  Lettie kept her hands firmly in her lap, fingers interlaced as the two women tossed the conversation between them. Lettie was certain Thorne never entertained the thought that she would inherit in his place. He’d always said the car would be hers if anything happened to him. She doubted he’d ever thought any further. He’d lived for the moment, and died before he could inherit. Just that one idea to come and visit Olivia and introduce himself, the only pointer to the future, a future he’d never see.

  Lettie stood up. There was little point in her being in the room. Neither Olivia nor Miriam could settle the debate. It would require legal consultation, in that regard Miriam was correct.

  A fine sheen covered Miriam’s face and she tugged at the collar of her coat. ‘I am entitled to benefit from the inheritance.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I am the only woman to produce an heir in the last generation. Both properties belong to the Rawlings family.’

  And with a flash of blinding clarity Lettie understood. It had nothing to do with her. Everything to do with Miriam.

  ‘For goodness sake. Haven’t you come to terms with it yet? Evie is dead. Ludgrove belongs to the Rawlings family, as will Maynard once you pass.’

  ‘It is my decision. Thorne had no legal claim to Maynard. Why should he?’

  ‘Because he was my son, because it was Pa’s dying wish for the properties to be united.’

  The silence hung long and low like the thunder clouds above Yellow Rock. Colour suffused Miriam’s cheeks and her eyes widened. She cleared her throat. ‘Because he is … was … This is ridiculous, we are going around and around in circles.’

  For the first time in longer than she could remember Lettie agreed with Miriam.

  ‘There is little point in raking up old arguments, arguments that cannot be proven, that only go to your jealousy and petty—’

  ‘There is nothing petty about the truth nor about the reason your marriage was indecently hasty.’

  Miriam’s cheeks flushed and her lips pinched. ‘That is none of your business. None of anyone’s business.’ She smoothed her hands down her skirt. ‘You’re nothing but a jealous old woman.’

  ‘I might be old, but there’s nothing wrong with my memory.’

  Miriam struggled to her feet. ‘Keep your malicious thoughts to yourself. Letitia, go and pack your bag. We’re leaving.’

  Lettie jumped. ‘Leaving?’

  ‘I came here to settle the matter amicably but I see that was a foolish mistake. I have taken rooms at the Family Hotel. We will spend the night there and return to Sydney on the morrow and seek legal consultation.’

  No. It was not what she wanted. ‘I can’t return to Sydney. Thorne’s car needs repair.’

  Miriam narrowed her gaze. ‘Repair? Why does it need repair?’

  Lettie cleared her throat. ‘I had a slight accident.’

  ‘For goodness sake, girl, is there nothing you can successfully accomplish? Connors can see to the car and we will leave in the morning.’

  Miriam had an answer for everything. ‘I have to take it to the blacksmith for repairs before I can make the return journey to Sydney.’ Lettie lifted her chin.

  Olivia stood up, walked to the door and held it open. ‘I suggest that you leave, Miriam. Lettie will see you in the morning in Wollombi once she has made her decision.’ Leaving the door ajar Olivia swept from the room, only the tip-tapping of her heels offering any form of farewell.

  Sometime later Lettie heard the motor start and the gravel crunch as Connors and hopefully Miriam left. She raised her head and pulled her feet up beneath her, not knowing what to do next. Should she go and speak to Olivia? She wasn’t ready to go back to her old life. She wanted to stay and finish what she’d started. Inheriting Ludgrove was of no consequence; until she knew what had happened to Evie, she couldn’t consider the matter.

  Lettie scraped back her hair and followed the cloud of dust as Connors took the driveway at a ridiculous speed. Almost as much dust and clouds as Evie had drawn around the trail of cattle making their way up the stock route. Her resolve firmed as she slipped out of the sitting room. She would not be a pawn in the age-old chess game the two women insisted on playing.

  Reaching down, she scratched Oxley’s head then made her way outside. Despite the chill in the air, the sky was bright and the sun warm. She’d promised Olivia she would attend to the study and there might well be something she’d missed in her madcap race to Maitland and Dartbrook. Settling into a chair on the corner of the verandah, she tipped her head and watched the eagles riding the currents way above the tension and familial disunity pervading the property.

  Sometime later Oxley lifted his head, sniffed the air and took off. Peg came into view striding across the paddock between the two houses. Lettie walked down to meet her.

  ‘There seems to be some debate about whether you’re leaving with your mother. Are you?’

  The thing Lettie liked most about Peg was her blunt approach. No words couched in double meanings. She dealt in facts. ‘No.’ The word was out of her mouth before she gave it a second thought. ‘I can’t leave the car. It needs some more work. And there are other things … William’s papers for example.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Peg gave her shoulder an absentminded pat, rather as she did Oxley, and turned. ‘Let her ladyship stew overnight then I’ll send Sam to let her know in the morning.’

  ‘Will Olivia mind if I stay?’

  Peg raised one heavy eyebrow, pursed her lips and didn’t bother to answer.

  Apart from the horrific thought of being trapped in a car with Miriam for the best part of a day she had no desire to return to Sydney. Not before she had done what she set out to do—make sure she’d missed nothing in the study that explained Evie’s fate.

  Twenty-Five

  A lot more than an hour had passed before Nathaniel got back on the road. Hopefully Olivia and Lettie had sorted out Miriam. If the rumours around Randwick were to be believed she could be as wild-winged as an unbroken colt if she didn’t get her way.

  Although busy, the road wasn’t jammed the way it used to be. Trains were moving more than people these days: livestock, goods and a
whole lot more. Not that he was over keen on the huffing puffing monsters but they had their uses.

  Once again it was dark before he and Raven arrived at Frog Hollow but a light still burnt in the house and the old man sat silhouetted on the verandah.

  Nathaniel’s cooee received no welcoming wave. An icy blast gut-punched him. He leapt from the saddle and took the steps three at a time.

  Denman’s head lifted slowly and a pair of rheumy eyes pinned him.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Aye.’ He dropped his head, peered into his lap at a piece of metal he was working compulsively with his fingers.

  ‘I planned on being back here earlier but I picked up a job, a stallion had to be delivered to Yellow Rock, I stopped for the night, got tied up with Olivia and Lettie. Then Miriam Rawlings turned up and there was some sort of barney.’ He might have been talking to a rock. Denman didn’t flick a gaze in his direction, didn’t acknowledge his words. ‘Lettie got back without any worries, you must have done a good job on that motor of hers, it didn’t look too bad to me.’

  Still no response.

  Nathaniel dropped to his haunches, rested his hand on the old man’s knee. ‘Come on, why don’t we get you to bed.’ He inhaled deeply—no smell of rum. Denman rarely touched the stuff, just a dash in his tea now and again—he certainly wasn’t drunk. More as though he was in a trance or something. Had he taken a turn? Had the trouble with Lettie been too much for him? ‘Come on, old fella.’ He tugged at Denman’s hand but he pulled away, stuffed the lump of metal in his pocket, batted Nathaniel back and eased to his feet.

  ‘Go and look after Olivia’s horse or you’ll never hear the end of it. I’m fine. I’ve got the billy on.’

  Nathaniel let his breath go. Denman looked steady enough on his feet. ‘Right you are. Won’t be a tick. A quick rub down and some tucker, then I’ll be back.’

  ‘There’s oats in the stable.’

  That was more like it. Strange he hadn’t asked about the auction. Well and good, better told over a cup of tea.

  By the time he returned from the stable, Denman was back on the verandah, two cups of tea sitting on the rail, the steam curling in the night air. Nathaniel plonked down next to the old man, took the cup, inhaled and sipped the sweet black brew. Perhaps bad news was better kept until morning. He studied Denman’s familiar face as he peered out into the darkness, one hand in his pocket the other clasped around his tin mug.

  Finally Denman broke the silence. ‘Here. Take a look at this.’ He pulled his hand from his pocket and held out his palm, flat.

  A lump of metal, big enough to wrap his hand around. Nathaniel picked it up, hefted it and turned it over.

  ‘What do you reckon it is?’

  ‘Looks like a bit to me.’ Nathaniel put down his cup, scooted forward into the light and turned the metal.

  Denman grunted his approval. ‘Not any bit.’

  Nathaniel squinted down, turned it this way and that. ‘Got your mark on it. One of yours. And it’s heavier than usual.’

  ‘That’s because of the copper inlay.’

  Nathaniel whistled through his teeth. Hadn’t known that Denman did such intricate work. Usually solid, cheap, serviceable. ‘Must be pretty special. Looks old.’

  ‘’Tis.’

  Nathaniel handed the bit back to Denman. He slipped it into his pocket and they sat together looking out towards the hills of Rossgole. A view he’d hoped he’d be able to call their own. ‘I’ve got news. It’s not the best.’

  ‘I made this for Bailey.’

  Not the right moment. Denman had something on his mind, there’d be no stopping him and if he was talking about Bailey then it was important. ‘And you’ve kept it for him?’ That could be the only answer. Perhaps the mob at Dartbrook had another go at him; he still wore the brunt of the local belief Bailey’d done a runner, though where the hell he’d gone and how he’d managed it no one could say.

  ‘No. He used it from the moment I gave it to him. Never used another. It’s the copper in the brass, it produces a sweet taste, makes the horse salivate then they accept the bit more readily.’

  Nathaniel tossed the information around in his head. ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘I didn’t. Lettie did.’

  ‘Lettie.’ Christ, it was getting stranger by the moment. Lettie’d said nothing about the bit. Only that the woman at Dartbrook had mentioned Bailey doing a runner with the wages and the thoroughbreds.

  ‘Must have been in the stream where she bogged the car. She’d knocked off a lamp and a few other bits and pieces, scooped them all up and threw them in the car before you picked her up.’

  He thought back to the night; his mind hadn’t been on what she’d done, more the way she’d nestled against his chest on the ride down the hill.

  ‘How the hell did it get there?’

  ‘A question I keep asking myself. Means Bailey must have been close by, could have washed downstream over time. Must have let his horse free, too.’ Denman turned the bit over and over in his hand, compulsively smoothing the shiny metal.

  ‘You cleaned that up since you found it?’

  The old man pinned him with a stare. ‘Told you Lettie picked it up with all the bits and pieces that had fallen off her motor and some charred bits of timber.’

  ‘Charred? Like fire you mean.’

  ‘Yep. Lettie and I came across old Fred Parker. Wanted to ask him a question or two. See if he could remember a bushfire through that way.’

  ‘And what did you get for your trouble? A bullet in your pants?’

  ‘Pretty much.’ Denman raised his shoulders. ‘Had Lettie with me. Wasn’t about to risk it. Still maintains the property is his. Squatters’ rights I’m guessing.’

  Denman’s words sat heavy in the night air but Nathaniel needed to sort this business about Bailey before he gave Denman the news. ‘And you think Bailey was up that way.’

  ‘Stands to reason, doesn’t it? If his bit was there.’

  It all made perfect sense but it didn’t bode well for Bailey. Why would Bailey be cutting through there? He’d be better heading up the main stock route. Wouldn’t want to do it today, never mind thirty-odd years ago. ‘I’ll go and have a word with Parker in the morning.’

  Denman grunted his approval. ‘Now are you going to tell me what happened at the land sale?’

  Nathaniel lifted his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘We couldn’t do it.’

  ‘Outbid.’

  ‘Yep. I know how much you wanted it. Didn’t have enough. Just outbid plain and simple.’

  Denman raised his hands. ‘Can’t do much about it. There’ll be other blocks.’

  But Nathaniel wasn’t sure he wanted to wait that long. In fact he didn’t know what he wanted. Even Denman and his company wasn’t enough tonight. He needed a change, something had to change. Only trouble was he didn’t know what.

  While the moon rose and set and a grey dawn approached Nathaniel tossed and turned in the loft; Lettie’s scent clung to the hay, filling his mind with far-fetched dreams. When he couldn’t stand it any longer he went in search of tea.

  Denman had beaten him to it, had the billy rattling away on the fire. He thrust a mug into his hands. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘About Bailey?’

  ‘Yeah. We know he left Yellow Rock, collected the pair of thoroughbreds in Maitland to deliver to Scone then said he’d catch up with the mob they were bringing up the main route at Murrurundi.’

  Why was the old man going over this again? ‘And he never arrived at Scone, never mind Murrurundi. Disappeared with the horses, and the drovers’ pay. Nothing new there. It was the talk of the district.’

  Denman growled long and low. ‘Not his style, he wouldn’t have done that. Wasn’t made that way. But no one saw him once he’d picked up the thoroughbreds. Why not? I reckon for some reason he decided to bring them over the top—maybe he was in a hurry, needed to make up time. Everyone knew there was a cross-country tr
ack through Mccullys Gap, perhaps he came to grief there. Could be anything … bushrangers, an accident.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘Wildfire maybe. They come through those hills.’

  ‘You’re telling me he rode through the Gap while a fire was raging?’

  Denman’s face scrunched into a frown. ‘Don’t know there was a fire. That’s what I wanted to ask Parker, but he was in no mood for chatting and like I said Lettie was there. He’s been squatting up there for nigh on forty years. Suppose there was a wildfire? Bailey got caught. Let the horses go. Hoped they’d survive.’

  ‘He wouldn’t leave his own horse, might let the thoroughbreds go, let them find their own way out. He’d have a better chance of outrunning the fire on horseback than on foot.’

  ‘Unless he thought to take cover. In a cave? There’s sandstone caves dotted all through the area.’

  Nathaniel tossed back the remainder of his tea. ‘I’ll go and pay Parker a visit. Tell him he’ll not be kicked off the land by us. Maybe he’ll remember a bit more about the summer of ’81.’ Which was more than a long shot unless there was something to trigger his memory.

  ‘You watch that gun of his.’

  ‘Maybe at this time of the morning I’ll catch him abed.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Nathaniel dismounted and tied his horse under the shade of a large tree and set off on foot. Not quite sure what a visit could do to add to Denman’s theory, he’d rolled along with it. The old man had worried him last night—that vacant look in his eyes—although he’d picked up soon enough. Everyone had demons that needed to be laid to rest and Bailey was Denman’s.

  Before he’d gone more than a few paces he knew his chances of catching Parker abed were fanciful. A loud bang and a clatter sounded from the dilapidated shack and a thin curl of smoke rose from the small fire pit outside.

  It sounded very much as though Parker was either repairing or destroying the building. He didn’t want to surprise him but he’d far rather take on a man with a hammer than a shotgun.