by Téa Cooper
Oxley loitered at the bottom of the steps, eyeing her with a look of disapproval.
‘I know, Oxley, I know I have to go, but there’s something I’m missing. Just a couple of hours. Miriam won’t be ready to leave until at least ten o’clock.’
Everything in the study was as she’d left it the day before, the piles of books and papers, the boxes and suitcases stacked behind the door. With a sigh, she took Evie’s map from the drawer. Aching, aching for Evie, for Olivia, for all that had gone before. She was no closer to finding Evie than on the day she’d arrived.
She ran her finger along the Maitland road. Evie must have gone that way. Why else would she have written Hume on the map? And presuming the dates on the headstones were correct she might well have found Andrew’s parents. The question remained: where had that led her? Had she gone to Dartbrook? Did she know that Andrew had grown up there? What had happened to prevent her from returning?
Lettie unrolled the map, releasing the faint but distinctive scent of boronia, turpentine and paint. ‘I can’t leave it be.’
Tracing the route she’d travelled with her finger, Lettie followed the road out to Maitland and Largs marvelling at the small illustrations, properties and people going about their business, tiny slices of life, and then finally the hastily scrawled word Hume, written in pencil, slightly east of Maitland and the four men with their horses.
She reefed open the desk drawer. The magnifying glass. Where was it? She’d used it before, before she’d left for Maitland. The men with the horses—not drovers or stockmen, they had none of Nathaniel’s easy grace, their clothing different too, their hats. One wore a bowler hat for heaven’s sake, another a heavy, almost military jacket. Was one of them Andrew Hume?
She traced the track to Singleton Tops, and beyond to Muswellbrook, to the spot where she’d turned off the stock route and crashed the car, then Rossgole and up to Dartbrook and back down to Yellow Rock. All the miles she’d travelled because the woman in Largs had said that the Humes once lived at Dartbrook. A place not marked on Evie’s map.
Was it all a fantasy of her own creation? How she wished she could hand a pencil over to Evie and ask her to fill in the map, tell her story. Maybe Denman and Olivia were right, Evie had gone no further than Yellow Rock. All that detail incorporated into the map but nothing where she needed it, a vast blank canvas beyond the narrow confines of Evie’s life.
Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she studied the details around the house, the white rose bushes, the angophora tree covered in blossom, the two wedge-tailed eagles. The tiny figures of the drovers and the cattle around their huge bonfire, so perfect she could hear the music of the fiddles, smell the roasting meat, feel the warmth of Nathaniel’s body as they’d danced under the stars, the drays in a semi-circle beyond the fire, the spot where they’d sat and he’d told her the story of Lizard.
A strange sensation prickled beneath her skin. She couldn’t shake the thought Evie’s bones might lie out there somewhere hidden, unknown and uncared for. Blocking her morbid thoughts, she followed the path from the bonfire to the stables. Two horses standing in the small paddock, their eyes trained on the stable door, waiting no doubt for their nightly feed. And there in the doorway of the stables—her breath caught and a flush rose to her cheeks. She angled the magnifying glass—two people locked in an embrace. More than an embrace. She bent her head closer. Angled it to the light. Jumped to her feet. She hadn’t concentrated on the details around the house, been too taken in her unshakeable belief that the answer lay in Maitland. Her fingers gripped the horn handle of the glass.
There was no mistake, two people, a man and a woman, the girl’s hair hanging free to her waist, her head thrown back in a gesture of abandon. The man’s shirt, a minute blaze of colour, his fingers entwined in her long dark curls. Who were they?
The skin on her neck tingled. Had she discovered Evie’s secret? Was it another self-portrait? Evie clasped in the arms of her lover. Had they left together? And who was the man? A drover, judging by his clothes.
She replaced the magnifying glass in the drawer and wandered to the open door, gazed up at Yellow Rock. Did the rock truly hold the secret to Evie’s disappearance? Maybe Denman wasn’t far off the mark when he’d said Yellow Rock had taken Evie. Maybe she’d met her lover there, changed into the clothes Nell had provided and ridden off to make a life for herself with the man she loved.
Surely she wouldn’t have left without telling Olivia, even risked her possible censure and disapproval. She wouldn’t have shunned the family she loved, her work with William. From everything Olivia had told her, she and William had shared a special bond.
She scrambled around the desk, slipped the map back into the drawer and made her way to the door. There were too many questions still to be answered. But first she had to go to Wollombi, brave Miriam and tell her she would not return to Sydney with her.
Lizzie was in no condition to make the trip back to Sydney, still sitting askew where she’d pulled up when she’d returned to Yellow Rock, under a blanket of fading gum flowers from the ancient angophora. One lamp still hung at a rakish angle, tied with the piece of twine Denman had provided, the other tossed behind the seat, and the roof couldn’t be lifted because of the broken struts. She tipped the front seat and rapped her knuckles against the petrol tank, the hollow ring telling her what she already knew—enough spirit to cover the twenty miles to Wollombi if she was lucky, no further.
She’d see Miriam and, while she was there, call in to the forge and have Armstrong see to the repairs.
The engine fired at the first turn of the crank and Oxley landed on the front seat a moment later. She slid in after him. ‘We’re not going far, and you’ll have to behave yourself. No jumping out and following interesting smells. Do you hear me?’
He turned and lifted the corner of his mouth in what might have been a grin and settled onto the seat.
With the wind fanning her hair and the air full of the intoxicating aroma of slashed hay she bowled along, slowing only when the road curved and her vision became obstructed. There’d be no repeat of her foolish disaster with the culvert on the Dartbrook road.
As she crossed William’s Bridge she spotted a small figure sitting on a guard rail, hat in hand waving frantically. She slowed to a halt. ‘Sam, what are you doing here?’
‘Trying to cadge a ride back to Yellow Rock.’
‘What were you doing in Wollombi?’
‘Telling her ladyship you weren’t going to Sydney.’
So, Peg had decided to send Sam to deliver the message. ‘I could have saved you a trip. I’m on my way to see my mother now.’
He hunched his shoulders and the corners of his mouth drooped. ‘Just as well because she wasn’t takin’ any notice of what I said, miserable old cow. Set the bulldog bloke on me.’ He rubbed at his ear. ‘Tossed me out, he did. Said I didn’t know what I was talking about.’
Poor Sam. She could well imagine the scene. Miriam would have worked herself into a rage. Being thwarted was not something she handled well. ‘I also need to talk to the blacksmith and pick up more motor spirit. If you’re not in a hurry you can come with me. I’ll be a couple of hours …’
He vaulted onto the seat before she’d finished her sentence. ‘Thought you’d never ask. Shove over, Oxley.’ The lad was such a skinny beanpole both he and Oxley fitted in the space easily.
‘Hold tight!’ She opened the throttle and Lizzie responded to Sam’s whoops of excitement and took off.
A few minutes later they drew to a halt outside the general store.
Sam leapt out of the car. ‘I’ll go and tell Armstrong you’re here,’ he called over his shoulder, heading into the forge.
Lettie pulled off her goggles and cast a look up and down the street.
Before she’d made it to the door of the forge, a heaving, panting noise made her turn around and she found Connors’ lugubrious face, shiny with perspiration, glaring at her. ‘Miss Rawlings, Miss Rawlings.
Wait a moment,’ he wheezed.
Restraining a groan Lettie came to a halt, hand on the gate.
‘Mrs Rawlings wants to speak to you now.’
Habit made Lettie turn to follow him and then she stopped. ‘Tell Mother that I will come to the hotel when I have attended to my business.’ The audacity of her remark made a blush spring to her cheeks but she held her ground.
Connors’ eyes widened and his brows crawled up his domed forehead. ‘Mrs Rawlings is waiting.’ He gestured towards the sleek black motor parked outside the Family Hotel.
‘I will be there when I have attended to my business,’ she repeated and walked into the blacksmith’s shop, head held high and her heart beating a liberating tattoo.
Sam sat parked on a stool next to the roaring fire, mesmerised by Armstrong’s hammer blows. Her tap on his shoulder almost sent him into the fire.
‘Armstrong will be ready in about ten minutes. I told him what needed doing,’ he said once he’d recovered.
‘And how would you know that, Sam?’
‘Said you wanted motor spirit. He’s got some and I told him there were some bits and pieces that had fallen off your motor when you drove it into the creek that needed fixing.’
The story of her misadventure must be all over town, probably halfway to Sydney, Lettie thought—and without a doubt the details would have made it as far as Miriam and the Family Hotel. ‘In that case I’ll leave everything in your capable hands while I go and have a word with my mother.’
‘Want me to come wiv you? That big bloke’s a bit of a handful.’
Not as much of a handful as Miriam and twice Sam’s size. ‘I’ll be fine, thank you. I’ll only be across the road. I’ll see you and Armstrong when you come out. I can call for help if I need to.’
‘Right you are.’ He settled back on the stool and Armstrong threw her a nod before blasting the fire with a huge pair of bellows.
With a resigned sigh Lettie left the forge and walked down the road to the spot where the large black Cadillac was parked. Miriam sat with her chiffon scarf screwed into a tight ball in her fingers and her face a perfect match for the car’s paintwork.
‘Good morning, Mother. I trust the hotel was to your liking.’
Miriam stared moodily through the windscreen.
There was little point in stringing it out. Lettie looked down at her. ‘As I said yesterday I won’t be coming back to Sydney with you. Olivia has invited me to stay longer.’ Not strictly the truth but close enough. ‘I am halfway through collating Grandfather’s notes, and it is a job I intend to finish.’ Again not entirely truthful but there was little point in starting the argument about Evie all over again.
‘And what of your commitments in Sydney?’ Miriam tilted her head up. ‘You have invitations to answer and engagements.’
‘None that I organised, Mother. Please convey my apologies. I shall deal with them when I return.’
‘When will that be?’
‘I’ll let you know.’
Miriam’s face turned an interesting shade of plum, and from the corner of her eye Lettie spotted Sam and Armstrong emerging from the forge. ‘I hope you have a pleasant trip back to Sydney. I’ll write and confirm the date of my return. Goodbye, Mother.’ She turned on her heel and strode across the road, barely able to control her feeling of triumph.
Armstrong straightened up, the broken car lamp from the back seat swinging from his huge hands. ‘No problems here, I can weld them both back on. You won’t be needing that any more.’ He flicked his finger at the piece of twine Denman had used to secure the second lamp. ‘Need to take off the back wheel and repair the spindle otherwise you’re going to get uneven wear. And fix the spare. No problems with the roof. Just sort out the struts and hinges and stitch up that tear. Take me a couple of hours.’
She felt like hugging the man, even more when Connors revved the engine of the monstrous black motor and Miriam vanished in a cloud of dust, her chiffon scarf streaming behind her, like a distress signal.
‘I can’t thank you enough. Sam and I will take a bit of a walk and find ourselves a drink, maybe even something to eat. Would you like me to move the motor?’
‘Take it around the back. Turn around, first on your left, there’s a track between the forge and the shop on the corner. Can’t miss it. There’s a spot out the back where I can do the work.’ Armstrong raised his hand and disappeared back inside.
Sam shaded his eyes and squinted down the road. ‘They’ve gone and if we’re going to have some tucker, I’ll go and get Oxley. He won’t want to miss out.’
She hadn’t given a thought to Oxley. ‘Where is he?’
‘Had to tie him up, he had a bit of a run-in with the big bloke while you were talking to her ladyship. Don’t think he likes them much.’
The memory of Olivia’s comment about Oxley being a good judge of character slipped into her mind and she curbed a smile. ‘Good work, Sam. Thanks. I’ll meet you down at the hotel. I expect they’ll have something for us.’
He rubbed his stomach. ‘Meat pie, that’s what you want. They’ll be just out of the oven.’
In no time at all, Lettie and Sam were settled on a bench overlooking the brook, meat pies in hand and Oxley at their feet salivating.
Sam wiped a dribble of gravy from his chin with the back of his hand. ‘Good job you’re staying. Miss Maynard could do with some company.’
A strange thing for a young boy to say. ‘She’s got Peg, and you and the drovers, when they call in.’ And Nathaniel.
‘But she’s up there all on her own a lot of the time. Not like it used to be in the old days.’
‘And how would you know that?’
‘Me grandfather, Joe. He worked up there. Was there when young Evie went missing, helped in the search. Everyone did.’
Lettie put the pie down in her lap. ‘Do you think I could talk to your grandfather?’
‘Bit hard. Died a couple of years back.’
Another door closed.
‘But I heard all his stories. What do you want to know?’
‘Tell me what it was like when everyone was living at Yellow Rock.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say before Evie disappeared. Maybe it would answer the question about the two people behind the stables.
Sam threw the crust of his pie in Oxley’s direction and he snatched it before it hit the ground. ‘Thought you’d know that, would have heard it from family. You’re related, ain’t you?’
‘Yes, but no one ever talked about Yellow Rock.’
‘Why not?’
A good question and one she wished she’d asked years before. ‘I grew up in Sydney.’
‘The first Ludgroves and the Maynards, they’d be your great-grandparents I’m guessing, they got the land grants. Years back. It’s one of the few places that hasn’t been broken up and sold off. In those days the properties around here were all enormous. Thousands of acres some of them. Not anymore. That’s what changed everything, Gramps said. Lots of folk bred horses, Ludgrove-Maynard had a name for themselves, the best stock. Used to send their horses to India for the army, even some of them maharajas used to buy them. Gramps reckoned they lived in huge palaces, wore jewels as big as pigeons’ eggs in their turbans. That’s those hats they wear, a long piece of material they wind around and around …’
She didn’t want a story about India, she wanted to know about Yellow Rock.
‘… some say the first Mrs Maynard had some of that blood in her. Heard tell she had hair way down her back, long and straight and black as …’
Which brought Lettie’s mind back to the picture on Evie’s map. She’d have to show Olivia and see if she recognised the couple behind the stables.
‘… and that’s why the business took off. Mr Maynard served in the army in India, knew lots of toffs, Gramps said. But it all went to pot when young Mr Ludgrove got tied up with that explorer bloke…’
And it all came back once more to Leichhardt. No wonder Olivia had such a set against th
e man.
‘That’s when times got tough, spent all the profits on those expeditions, had nothing put aside to see the place through the Depression. Gramps said you’ve got to look after what you’ve got. First all the cattle went, then they sold off a lot of the stallions and mares, and poor old Miss Maynard was left all on her tod trying to manage with only half the horses and none of the help.’
Meanwhile Lettie and the rest of the family had been living in the lap of luxury, the best schools, Thorne’s trip to England, her time at Sydney University, his motor imported from America and built in Victoria, the boat. Why had Olivia been left to struggle on alone? Her blood fired. It was outrageous.
‘Mr Nathaniel’s been good like that.’
Lettie’s head came up. ‘Nathaniel?’
‘He likes the horses. Not the cattle. She ain’t got no one else to help out with the horses. Don’t know what’ll happen though. Mr Nathaniel reckons he’s going start his own stud, reckons there’s a war coming and the army’s going to need horses. Cor, wouldn’t that be the go. Off to war with your own horse. Gramps said the Boer War showed them all what we could do. The Light Horse, they call ’em. I’ll be doing that soon as they’ll take me. Armstrong reckons you’ll be staying. Learn all you can from Olivia and take over.’
Even the local blacksmith thought she’d be staying. ‘I’m not much good around horses. I can barely ride, never mind run the place.’
‘You could get people to help you. Mr Nathaniel, me even.’
‘You just told me Nathaniel wanted his own place.’ And from what Sam had just said he had much bigger plans than she’d realised. He might have missed out on Rossgole but there’d be other places. He wasn’t the kind of man to let go of a dream.
