The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

  ‘There’s others. They’ll need people that can breed good strong horses, that’s what the Hunter’s good at.’

  But not what she was good at. She could make money out of her cartoons, maybe at a pinch write an article or do some drawings, but not run a property like Yellow Rock. Most importantly she needed to talk to Olivia, she had to find out what Olivia envisaged for the future. Why she’d wanted to talk to Thorne—why Thorne wanted to visit Yellow Rock.

  Twenty-Seven

  If Nathaniel counted the number of times he’d travelled this road in the past weeks he’d never leave again. But then it didn’t look as though they’d ever call Rossgole home. Maybe in a couple of years something else would come up.

  The miles clocked by. He and Denman spent the night at one of the drovers’ camps along the road, scabbed a meal, slept under the stars and climbed back in the saddle before the sun breached the horizon. Nothing new, nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times before; if he’d been alone he might have ridden through the night but there was Denman to consider. The old fella wasn’t getting any younger and the news about Bailey had hit him hard.

  ‘Hope Olivia’s got something on the stove, haven’t had decent tucker for days.’ Denman threw him a lopsided grin. ‘Looking forward to seeing the old girl, it’s been a long time.’

  They turned into the driveway at Yellow Rock as the sun slipped behind the Wollombi ranges. Oxley raced out to meet them yapping like a mad thing, running around their horses in tight circles, letting the whole world know they’d arrived. Nathaniel took the horses and sent Denman across to the farmhouse. It was as much as the old fella could do to put one foot in front of the other. Denman’s riding days were well and truly numbered.

  He stood and waited until Denman had made it to the house then turned to gaze up to Yellow Rock. The sight brought him stock-still. On the top of the rock, arms spread as though at any moment she might step out and join the two circling eagles, stood Lettie. Her bright red Crimean shirt pinpointing her for all the world to see.

  Before he had a chance to let rip a cooee, she spotted him, waved her hands, and he’d swear their eyes locked. He gave the horses a quick rub down and set them loose in one of the mating paddocks then took off. By the time he’d reached the path up the cliff face she was skittering down in leaps and bounds as though she’d been doing it all her life. Next she jumped astride the old grey mare and galloped down to meet him. Her riding skills had improved.

  ‘Nathaniel!’ Lettie skidded to a halt, her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes the best welcome he’d ever received. ‘What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you. Does Olivia know?’

  ‘She will before long. I brought Denman.’ He held out his hands and she slipped down from the horse, none of the reticence he remembered from before. Almost as though she’d shed her city skin and embraced a new life. ‘Let’s get this animal in the paddock. Got something to show the two of you.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

  ‘Nope, not until we get to the house.’ Now he was here at Yellow Rock, he wasn’t too sure about their plan. He and Denman had discussed it on and off during the ride down but the old fella’s interest seemed to be firmly entrenched in Bailey’s bit and the possibility that he’d been caught in the wildfire. Trouble was, the saddlebag might well put Evie in the vicinity too. How would Olivia take that? The search had centred on Yellow Rock but what if she had been with Bailey? His breath shuddered out on a sigh.

  Lettie cocked her head and looked right into his eyes. ‘Is it something bad?’

  Not game to begin, he took her hand and led her along the path to the farmhouse.

  Olivia had Denman parked in a chair on the verandah, hands wrapped around a mug masquerading as tea but the aroma in the air told a different story. She sat opposite him, her brimming eyes riveted on his face, the silence between them palpable. In her hand she cradled Bailey’s bit.

  Denman had broken the news.

  Nathaniel held out a chair for Lettie then slipped the saddlebag from his shoulder and hung it on the rail. And then what? He had no idea. Had Denman already said something to Olivia about Evie? Should he broach the subject?

  Olivia looked up. ‘Come on, son, spit it out. Denman said I had to wait for you.’

  He swung around to pick up the bag. ‘Get your nose out of there, Oxley.’

  The dog took off like a startled rabbit down the verandah steps.

  Nathaniel placed the bag, brand up, on Olivia’s lap. Her face paled. Denman reached for her hand, squeezed it and nodded. ‘What is it?’ Lettie hissed.

  He lifted his finger to his lips as Olivia reached out her shaking hand and smoothed the leather. ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘Parker’s squat on Rossgole. I think you should open it,’ Nathaniel said.

  The poor woman turned the colour of chalk. She took a slug of her tea, caught her breath; least it brought some colour back to her cheeks.

  ‘Shall I get you a glass of water?’ Lettie rested her hand on Olivia’s shoulder.

  ‘You open it, Lettie. I can’t.’

  Lettie’s eyes drilled into his and he nodded. A smattering of black dirt scattered as she lifted the flap and exposed the neat rows of paintbrushes.

  Olivia let out a moan and covered her face with her hands.

  Denman moved faster than he’d ever seen before, by Olivia’s side in an instant, arm tight around her heaving shoulders. He tipped his head towards the stables.

  Nathaniel didn’t need to be told twice. He grasped Lettie’s hand. She resisted for a moment then walked alongside, bristling with unasked questions.

  ‘Come and sit down.’

  ‘I don’t want to sit down. Olivia needs me.’

  ‘Nah. She doesn’t, not right now. Denman’ll see to her. They go back a long way. Got more than Evie in common.’

  She plopped down on the garden bench, eyes blazing. ‘It’s about time you told me what’s going on. This is ridiculous. Do you think that saddlebag belonged to Evie? Where did you find it? How long have you had it and how can you be certain?’

  How much of this was his story to tell? ‘Goes back to the day you crashed the motor.’

  ‘I didn’t crash it. I ran off the road.’

  He quirked a grin and raised his palm, hoping it would signal a truce.

  ‘I need to go back. Olivia’s—’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere. Denman’ll know when it’s time. Olivia’s got some mourning to do.’

  ‘Even if the saddlebag is Evie’s, it doesn’t prove she’s dead. She could have lost it, dropped it. Someone could have stolen it. Parker. Did you ask him?’

  ‘It’s not only Evie. It’s Bailey too.’

  ‘Bailey? Denman’s brother? I heard about him from the woman at Dartbrook. I know all about Bailey. Denman told me. He said he was innocent.’

  Lettie grabbed at her head. It felt as though it would explode.

  ‘Bailey was Denman’s brother. When you pulled the stuff out of the creek you picked up a piece of metal, a bit.’

  She knew that. ‘Denman said he’d made it.’

  ‘That’s right, made it for his brother. Bailey wouldn’t have let his horse go, not unless he had no other option. Parker has a memory of a pretty savage wildfire through there in the 1880s, early 1881 in fact. He remembers because his wife and boy upped and left after the fire.’

  Cold fingers tiptoed up her spine. ‘Are you saying Evie and Bailey were together?’

  ‘No proof. Olivia’ll have that. She’ll remember Bailey’s movements.’

  ‘But why has she never asked the question? If they both disappeared at the same time it would be logical.’ Her mind swung back to the picture on Evie’s map, the girl and the drover behind the stables.

  ‘Because there was no reason to believe Evie was with Bailey. The search concentrated around Yellow Rock and Glendon. Bailey’d gone to Maitland to pick up some thoroughbreds for Scone, then he was meeting the drovers at Murr
urundi.’

  ‘But Evie had Maitland, Hume, marked on her map, that’s why I … oh! And if she’d met up with Bailey, seen the Humes and … How far is Murrurundi from Dartbrook?’

  ‘About thirty miles, less if you cut across country.’

  ‘They could have been together, otherwise why would her saddlebag be found at Parker’s place? Are you sure it’s Evie’s saddlebag? Lots of people could have bags like that, with paintbrushes and drawing materials.’

  ‘It looks as though it’s been lying around for a while.’

  Of course it had been lying around for a while. What was the matter with the man? ‘Didn’t you ask Parker where he found it?’

  ‘He reckoned he’d forgotten about it. Then he admitted to finding it in a cave on Rossgole Mountain.’

  ‘How can you be sure it’s Evie’s?’

  ‘It carries the Ludgrove-Maynard brand and there’s not just paintbrushes in there. There’s a notebook, some papers, and a compass.’

  ‘A compass.’ The words dried on her lips. ‘William’s compass.’ Sadness wrapped around her like a damp, musty blanket. ‘I need to go to Olivia.’

  ‘Might be time. Here’s Denman.’

  The old man shuffled down the path towards them, his wrinkled face desolate. ‘Olivia’s asking for you.’

  Nathaniel pushed to his feet.

  ‘Not you, son. You can keep me company. Olivia wants to talk to Letitia.’

  Lettie plodded back to the house. A slight breeze had picked up bringing the scent of citrus and boronia.

  What had she done? Wouldn’t it have been better if she’d left things as they were, hadn’t interfered, hadn’t pushed and pushed, determined to find the truth? She hadn’t spared a thought for Olivia and what the truth might mean, that knowledge could be worse than ignorance.

  Olivia sat staring up at Yellow Rock, her face pale, tears evident in her eyes, and spread out on the old table in front of her lay the contents of the saddlebag.

  The compass sat to one side, the brass casing dulled to verdigris, a leather pouch, paintbrushes all neatly lined up in size order, blocks of watercolour paints in a timber frame, a notebook, open on the first page, Evie’s signature block print clearly visible, two or three sheets of hand-torn yellowed paper, covered in a faded scrawl, and something that looked like a newspaper clipping.

  Olivia offered her a wan smile. ‘Sit down. This is Evie’s saddlebag. William gave it to her before he took Miriam to be married. He had it made specially, pockets for all her pencils, brushes and her paints, and a new notebook. She told me she was going to record all her thoughts, everything relevant to the book they would write. I didn’t pay much heed. I hoped her passion for Leichhardt would pass. Least said soonest mended.’ She shook her head.

  Lettie took Olivia’s cold hand. ‘You weren’t to know.’

  ‘But you did. You understood. There’s the compass.’ She picked it up and turned it over to reveal the initials WJL. ‘I didn’t even know she’d taken it. Not until you discovered it missing. I locked the study, locked everything away.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  ‘Perhaps. I believed she’d gone to Yellow Rock. I didn’t imagine she’d follow Bailey. Perhaps if the search …’ Olivia huffed out a mournful sigh. ‘They didn’t leave together. Evie gave Bailey the wages, she left the next morning. She’d gone when I awoke.’

  ‘And you didn’t raise the alarm for three days.’

  Olivia nodded. ‘I had no reason to doubt her, she never lied to me. She said Yellow Rock and then on to Glendon for a night or two.’

  Lettie pointed to the leather pouch. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That’s the bag I gave Bailey with the wages, and that’s the IOU I wrote for the remainder.’

  ‘Then they must have been together.’

  ‘At some time, yes.’

  The small faded newspaper clipping caught Lettie’s eye. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘This?’ Olivia picked it up and grimaced. ‘I believe this is the reason she left, and why she didn’t tell me.’ She passed the piece of paper over to Lettie.

  Many of the words had faded, the print blurred but the intent clear. A thousand-pound reward for proof of where Leichhardt met his death … ‘Leichhardt died in the desert,’ Lettie said. ‘He sent his last letter from Roma, on the Darling Downs. Everyone knows that, besides it’s all in William’s notes. Evie went to Maitland, not Queensland.’

  ‘She must have thought she could find something that provided proof of the place where Leichhardt died. But here, here in the Hunter? I don’t understand either.’ Olivia wiped her hand across her face. ‘And she didn’t tell me because of the wretched advertisement—’ she stabbed at the fragile piece of paper ‘—She knew we were short of money. I told her to tell Bailey I’d get the remainder of the drovers’ wages to them next time, gave her that IOU. This—’ Olivia stabbed at the advertisement again ‘—is offering a thousand-pound reward, says it must be kept absolutely secret until it’s published by The Bulletin. That must have been why she didn’t confide in me.’

  ‘Would you have let her go?’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘Of course not. A young girl racing around the countryside on her own. She should have known better.’

  ‘She wasn’t on her own. She and Bailey—’

  ‘Bailey would have brought her home. He wouldn’t have gone traipsing off around the countryside with her. He’d have looked after her, brought her back to me. Nothing makes any sense.’

  But it was beginning to make a little sense and it all came back to Andrew Hume, the connection between him, Maitland, Dartbrook, Bailey and Evie. ‘Why don’t you have a look at her notebook—perhaps there’s something there.’

  ‘Not yet. I can’t do it yet.’ Olivia slipped the reward notice between the pages of the notebook and handed it to Lettie. ‘You take it. You read it. And take William’s compass and put it back in his box.’ Olivia left, Evie’s saddlebag dangling from one hand and the other clutched to her broken heart.

  Twenty-Eight

  Lettie tucked the notebook under her arm and tilted the compass. The needle angled from Yellow Rock towards the Glendon track. Not long ago she’d stood on the top of the rock looking in the very same direction, unaware of what the future held. The view gave her such a sense of Evie, a unity and harmony. As though Evie stood beside her guiding her into her world. The same sense she’d had when she first discovered the map. She had to conjure a similar rapport through Evie’s notebook and pray it provided some answers. More than anything else she had to understand how Evie thought she could earn the reward.

  Oxley sat waiting on the doorstep. The moment she entered the house he shot into the study and flopped down under the desk. Once Lettie settled in the chair she opened the notebook. No scent of boronia wafted from the pages. Something else. Damp earth and wood smoke. Emotion thickened her throat, and she took a deep breath to still her quivering anticipation.

  17th November 1880

  Today Pa gave me the most beautiful present.

  The single sentence blazed above a detailed drawing of the saddlebag, the brand clearly drawn, one side open showing the row of brushes and pencils and the notebook tucked under a leather strap dissipating any remnant of doubt that the saddlebag belonged to Evie.

  Lettie turned to the next page: I will record everything I find that will lead to the publication of our book. And beneath it a sketch of an impressive leather-bound tome. And written across the flyleaf the words The Prince of Explorers by William Ludgrove and his daughter Evelyn. A story that was never written.

  A tight knot of determination twisted in her abdomen—when she solved this conundrum she would write the story, not of the Prince of Explorers but of her aunt, Evelyn Ludgrove, who set out to solve the mystery of Ludwig Leichhardt, and in so doing, lost herself.

  The next entry was dated several days later. Remembering the pile of notebooks, crammed with William’s looping cursive, Lettie could wel
l imagine that it had taken Evie a long time to read them all. She too had read some but his flowery prose spent more time on describing the attributes of Leichhardt than anything that would help in her search for Evie. She flicked through several more pages until she came to 2nd January 1881. The pressure of Evie’s pen was apparent, no drawings, the writing hurried as though she couldn’t get the words down fast enough.

  Today we received a letter from Miriam. I never imagined she would marry in Sydney, without us. I miss Pa so. There is only one way I can reclaim his affection. I must find some conclusive original evidence that will make our book shine—something so significant it will bring Pa home.

  Nothing but the ramblings of a disappointed young girl. And then as she turned the next few pages Lettie found what she was looking for.

  The Bulletin newspaper is offering a reward of one thousand pounds for conclusive evidence as to the place where Doctor Leichhardt met his fate. I think I may have found an answer in the notes, newspaper articles and reports from the Geographical Society relating to Andrew Hume.

  Lettie threw down the notebook and burrowed through the papers on the desk until she found Evie’s hastily written points about Hume. Nothing about reports from the Geographical Society or any other newspaper articles.

  She paced the room, bending now and again to rummage through the piles of paper she’d already sorted, peered under the desk, came nose to nose with Oxley. A slobbered, soaked piece of something repulsive hung from the corner of his mouth. She grabbed it and tugged. ‘You disgusting dog.’ The corner of his lip curled and he emitted a rumbling growl. She snatched back her hand. ‘Take it outside!’ She crawled out from under the desk and held the door wide. ‘Go on, shoo!’

  Ignoring his refusal she resumed her search. She had no memory of seeing anything other than Evie’s note which mentioned Andrew Hume. She would have remembered, and if Evie had taken them with her, they would be in the saddlebag unless …