The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

  ‘Who is this Classen person? I thought Leichhardt was the one everyone was looking for.’ Olivia pushed Denman away and knuckled the tears from her eyes. ‘None of this is answering any questions about Evie.’

  ‘Classen’s the man Andrew Hume said he’d found in the desert. A member of Leichhardt’s party, his brother-in-law, I think.’ She angled the screwed-up paper to the light. ‘There’s a name. It might say Classen, the two-letter “s” is strange, more like a capital “B”. Evie found his papers, it’s in her notebook, but what become of them?’ Lettie’s gaze roamed Denman and Olivia’s faces and came to rest on Nathaniel.

  He cleared his throat, two spots of colour high on his cheeks. ‘I think I can answer that question.’

  Her breath caught. Had he taken them from the saddlebag? Had he lied to her when she’d asked him before?

  ‘Parker, Fred Parker. When I got to his place he was burning some stuff. He had the saddlebag next to the fire. I didn’t see the Ludgrove-Maynard brand, not at first. I was trying to get him to talk. I helped him. Threw some old papers on the fire. He said he couldn’t make head nor tail of them. Hadn’t known where they came from.’

  ‘You burnt them!’ Lettie’s shriek echoed in the kitchen, brought Oxley to his feet, the hair on his back standing to attention.

  Nathaniel stood, his head bowed.

  ‘How could you burn them?’ She clutched the two remaining pieces of paper to her breast. ‘They were everything Pa wanted.’

  Olivia’s head came up with a snap. ‘Give them to me!’ She snatched them from Lettie’s hand, opened the range and threw them inside.

  ‘No!’ A strange roaring filled Lettie’s ears and her vision wavered. ‘It’s for Pa’s book.’ She grabbed at the burning papers, stuck her hand inside the firebox. The flames licked her skin, the paper crumbled to ash beneath her fingers.

  ‘What did you say?’ Olivia’s voice, barely more than a croak, came from a million miles away.

  ‘The papers, they’re for Pa. Proof of Leichhardt’s fate. We can claim the reward.’

  ‘No, Lettie. Not for your pa, for William, your grandfather. Evie’s pa. This has to stop and it will stop now.’ Olivia prodded the poker down into the fire. ‘They’re gone. And that’s the end of it. There will be no more. Leichhardt has caused this family enough heartache.’

  The torrent of cold water sent a spasm of pain slicing up her arm. Nathaniel held her tight against his chest, forcing her hand under the tap. She slumped against him, the agony cutting through the clouds of confusion.

  ‘How long has this been going on, Lettie? How long?’ Olivia dark gaze drilled her from across the room.

  The roaring sound in Lettie’s head receded, she swayed and Nathaniel eased her to a chair, wrapped a sopping tea towel around her throbbing hand.

  Olivia glared at her. ‘What did you say?’

  Lettie shrugged her shoulders. Olivia had thrown the paper with Classen’s name in the fire. The proof! A choked sound found its way out of her mouth, she’d tried to rescue them.

  ‘You said, “It’s for Pa’s book. The papers, they’re for Pa. Proof of Leichhardt’s fate.”’ Olivia’s voice broke into her confusion.

  Shaking away her cobwebby thoughts, she licked her lips. ‘No, not Pa. Pater wouldn’t want them. For Grandfather, for Evie, for their book.’

  ‘Here, drink this.’ Olivia held a cup to her lips.

  The steam drifted to her nostrils and she inhaled then bent her head to sip. Had she said Pa? Why would she say that? She’d never called Pater Pa. Olivia must have misheard her. Nathaniel’s reassuring arms anchored her. ‘I can take the cup. I’m not an invalid.’ The tea slopped over the rim as she raised it to her lips.

  Beyond the window the sky had turned crimson, the rising moon painting Yellow Rock a palette of crimson, magenta and scarlet. The warmth of Nathaniel’s body against her back and his arms around her holding her firm. Down the mountain, heat scorching her cheeks, tears streaming from her eyes, breath rasping as she leant low. Headlong down towards the valley, an obscene glow illuminating the treetops, heart pounding in time with the thundering hooves. The deepening roar of the fire reverberated, turning her blood to ice and in a flash of blinding clarity she accepted her fate.

  And then she was flying, the breath wrenched from her lungs, and Pa’s voice as a rogue star slashed the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth …

  ‘Lettie!’ Nathaniel’s strong arms lifted her, pulled her against his chest, held her tight.

  He wiped the perspiration from her face, the tea towel rough against her skin, the throbbing in her hand bringing her back. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’ Her head ached, all she wanted was to lie down, pull the blankets over her head and sleep. ‘I need to go to bed.’ She disentangled herself from Nathaniel’s grasp and made for the door, staggered, her feet refusing to cooperate.

  ‘Come along, my girl.’ Olivia’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and she led her through to the tiny bedroom at the front of the house. The cotton of her nightdress cooled her skin and the welcome weight of the eiderdown anchored her.

  Olivia’s hand soothing her hair back from her face. ‘Go to sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ Nathaniel stretched out his legs in front of the stove. The colour had come back to Denman’s face, either the tea or the knowledge that Olivia seemed once more to be in control.

  ‘Not real sure.’ Denman scratched at his hair. ‘Those words she said about things in heaven and earth—’

  ‘—than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Shakespeare. William Shakespeare. From a play called Hamlet.’

  ‘Wouldn’t know. She’s said them before.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Night we stopped at Rossgole. She was dreaming, nightmare more like. Scared the living bejesus out of me. Had to wake her up. Sitting up she was, looked like she was trying to outride the devil, fingers wrapped tight and the sweat pouring down her face. Then she collapsed and mumbled that heaven and earth business.’

  ‘Reckon she’s wrung out, poor girl. Been trying to work it all out. I felt guilty as all hell about those papers I watched Parker burn.’

  ‘Nah! You weren’t to know what they were. I’d say you did the right thing. More luck than judgement. Why else would Olivia chuck the others in the fire?’

  Nathaniel didn’t have a chance to answer.

  Olivia marched in and planted herself front and centre, hands on hips. ‘I threw them in the fire because the time has come to put an end to this nonsense. It goes back more years than I’d care to count. And Leichhardt’s to blame. If it wasn’t for him William wouldn’t have lost his leg, wouldn’t have spent the family fortune financing useless expeditions, wouldn’t have drawn Evie into his obsession and we wouldn’t have lost her.’

  ‘Or Bailey,’ added Denman.

  Put like that it all made a whole lot of sense but it didn’t explain Lettie’s peculiar behaviour, and he cared as much about Lettie as he cared for Denman.

  ‘Time you two got yourselves off to the stables. Happy to sleep there?’ Olivia’s voice still held a quaver as she collected up Evie’s notebook, smoothed it and slipped it into the pocket of her apron.

  Nathaniel pushed the saddlebag towards her then stopped. ‘Why don’t you give me the saddlebag? I’d like to clean it up.’ It would come up well with a bit of elbow grease, the least he could do.

  Her hand hovered for a moment, as though she couldn’t let it go, then gave a curt nod. ‘Thank you, Nathaniel. I’d like that.’

  ‘I’ll be saying goodnight then.’

  Neither Denman nor Olivia acknowledged him. He slipped out through the door into the dark.

  It was too early to sleep, too much going on in his head. The moon had lost its bloody glow and sat full and bright above Yellow Rock. He wandered off down the path, the path Lettie had run down to greet him before all hell broke loose. She’d brought the past thundering back like an
out of control carthorse, stamping everything in its path. He hadn’t known that Olivia carried a candle for Bailey, though Denman obviously did. Stood to reason. Bailey would have confided in his brother. Denman reckoned he and Bailey were close, real close. He would have known it wouldn’t, couldn’t, come to anything. A drover, even a boss drover, didn’t marry a Maynard no matter how much they might want to, or a Ludgrove for that matter. Old money, big landowners, one of the first Hunter families.

  He reached out his hand towards the moon, closed his fingers then opened his palm. Nothing. Be as impossible as catching moonbeams. Which was a shame, a real shame because the memory of Lettie would wax and wane in his thoughts for a long time, maybe forever.

  And they said history didn’t repeat itself.

  A great sigh whistled up from somewhere deep inside him. He’d never had a woman in his life, no one he cared for but Lettie had got under his skin, right from that first moment when she’d walked into the forge bug-eyed and beautiful. Been too busy trying to pull the money together for the bid on Rossgole. And that hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. Nothing wrong with his lot, though he still hankered after a decent piece of land. Somewhere he could call his own, breed some horseflesh. Let Denman live out his life in peace and quiet. He’d meant Rossgole to provide that. There’d be other places. He had to wait for the right moment.

  Thirty

  Nathaniel rose before sparrow’s, unable to stand Denman’s snores a moment longer. He hadn’t heard him come in but he’d made his presence known during the night. Grabbing Evie’s bag, a chunk of saddle soap, a tin of Dubbin and some soft cloths from the tack room, he headed outside and found a spot of sun.

  Mindful of his blunder with the papers, he pulled each one of the paintbrushes and pencils out of the pockets and laid them out in order, then the paint box and tin of coloured pencils, the bottle of ink and the nib pen. He ran his fingers across the two scooped edges, the embossed border and the row of brass studs. At least he reckoned they were brass. He spat on his thumb and rubbed at the green patina. A faint glimmer appeared. Brass without a doubt. It would clean up, no worries.

  The two buckles came away easily and the one remaining strap, and after giving them a bit of a rub he lined them up alongside the brushes and turned his attention to the leather. The fine layer of blackened dust, almost soot, cleaned up with a damp cloth. After a go with some saddle soap and a dry, he’d be able to see what was what. Shame about the strap that was missing. It looked as though some animal had bitten it off. When it was all done perhaps he’d be able to make a replacement. He’d like to give the bag back to Olivia looking its best. Something to remember Evie by.

  With the sun warm against his back he sat half asleep, the rhythmic movement of the cloth against the leather a balm after the madness of the last few days.

  ‘What are you doing to Evie’s saddlebag?’ Lettie dropped down beside him.

  He flinched and jumped to the defensive. ‘Nothing that’ll do any harm. Just cleaning it up for Olivia. I offered last night.’ He put the cloth down and turned, regretting his reaction. ‘How’re you feeling this morning? How’s the hand?’

  Lettie flexed her fingers, stretching the red skin. ‘It’s not too bad. Your quick thinking saved me from a nasty burn. I can’t imagine what possessed me.’

  ‘Just at odds because of everything that’s happened. It’s a shock for all of us.’

  ‘Olivia especially.’

  ‘Denman’ll take care of her. They go back a long way.’

  ‘Did you know Olivia and Bailey …’ Her words petered out and a flush came to her cheeks highlighting the eucalyptus tint in her eyes.

  He had no memory of Bailey, only knew the stories Denman had told, painted the man as some kind of hero. His earth-shaking belief Bailey wouldn’t have stolen anything was as much of a legend as some of the old fellas’ stories. ‘Before my time. Guess it explains why Olivia never married.’

  ‘It’s sad. She’s lived alone for too long.’

  ‘Not really alone. She’s got Peg, the drovers, I come by as often as I can to give her a hand with the horses, and now you’re here.’

  ‘There’s no reason for me to stay any longer.’

  Her words made him start. Not what he’d envisaged. Seen her here with Olivia for good, the pair of them running the place and he’d call in now and again, maybe buy some of their stock, swap the odd service when he finally got his stud up and running. ‘You wouldn’t go back to Sydney, would you? Not now.’

  She turned her gaze to the rock, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘I don’t know what to do. After my brother died I lost all sense of myself, I couldn’t do anything. I pushed everything and everyone away. I ran and now …’

  ‘You belong here at Yellow Rock.’

  ‘I have to go back to Sydney, make something of my life. Pater and Miriam expect me to marry; I have to prove to them that I am capable of living an independent life.’

  ‘An independent life? Your mother sees Ludgrove as a bargaining chip. All those gentleman callers she’s arranged are well known around Randwick. The first thing they’ll do is sell any property you bring to a marriage.’

  Her face darkened and her eyes blazed. He’d overdone it this time. Well overdone. What was the matter with him? Narked because she’d had a go at him for letting Parker burn the papers from the saddlebag? Or was he jealous because the thought of her with any other man made his blood run cold?

  Not surprisingly she leapt to her feet, hands on her hips.

  Lettie’s throat constricted, making her gasp for breath. Who did he think he was? ‘You’ve got no right to say that.’

  A sudden sense of foreboding swamped her and the words of Miriam’s letter to Olivia, the one she’d shown her up on Yellow Rock, loomed in front of her eyes. Both the Ludgrove and Maynard properties will now pass to my daughter, Letitia Miriam Rawlings, the family’s sole heir.

  ‘I presume you know that Rawlings’ Sydney business can’t keep pace with your mother’s aspirations for you.’

  ‘No. That’s not true.’ All Lettie wanted to do was turn tail and run. It was none of Nathaniel’s business. Pater wouldn’t force her into a marriage, he was the kindest most considerate man, always looking after the family, wanting the best for them.

  Both the Ludgrove and Maynard properties will now pass to my daughter, Letitia Miriam Rawlings, the family’s sole heir. The words rang again like a death knell. She’d pushed aside all thoughts of marriage since she’d arrived. The mystery of Evie’s disappearance had filled her every waking moment. Did Pater and Miriam truly intend the Ludgrove property to provide her with a handsome dowry? Would she have to choose between Olivia, Miriam and Pater, between Yellow Rock and Sydney? She couldn’t.

  Nathaniel dropped to his knees beside her.

  ‘Go away. It’s none of your business.’

  ‘You’re right there. It might be time you and Olivia had a bit of a chat.’ And with that he stood up, turned on his heel and disappeared.

  She shuffled back against the wall, pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Finding out what happened to Evie was meant to make things better, not worse.

  Oxley’s warm wet nose pressed against her cheek. ‘Go away!’ She shrugged him off. He took no notice, just sat down close, his long body leaning heavily against her. She draped her arm around his shoulders soaking up his silent comfort.

  Sometime later Oxley turned his head. A piece of something soggy and disgusting hung out of the corner of his mouth, the same repulsive thing he’d been carrying around for days, that she’d tried to take from him in the study. ‘Drop it, Oxley,’ she growled.

  He pinned her with a sideways stare then after a moment opened his jaws, let it fall into her lap then gave her a couple of nudges. Holding it between two fingers she turned it over. A strip of chewed leather with equally spaced holes.

  Crawling on her hands and knees she edged towards the saddlebag Nathaniel had left drying in
the sun and matched Oxley’s offering to the other strap. ‘Where did you get it? Why didn’t you give it to me before?’

  Oxley gave her a long-suffering look, stood, stretched and with his tail held high stalked across the path towards the farmhouse.

  There was no sign of Nathaniel or Denman so she left Oxley’s piece of chewed leather next to the saddlebag, unable to fathom when he could have bitten it off. Perhaps Peg might have some idea. She hadn’t seen either Peg or Olivia since she’d woken. In fact the farmhouse had an unusually quiet, empty feeling.

  Nathaniel’s words, as offensive as they were, carried a note of truthfulness. The dilapidated state of the Sydney house, Pater’s long absences. Miriam’s insistence that she should make a good marriage. She had to come to a decision. It was no longer her own existence that hung in the balance. A responsibility she didn’t want but would have to shoulder.

  Yellow Rock glared down at her, the sun glancing off the crystals embedded in the rock. She needed somewhere to think, somewhere peaceful. Without another thought she wandered down the path, through the wavering grass to the cemetery. The past had brought her to Yellow Rock—perhaps the answer lay there among her family, the family she hadn’t given a moment’s thought to until she’d climbed into Lizzie and set off in a half-hearted attempt to escape her meaningless existence.

  She pushed open the gate and stood looking at the tiny stones marking the resting place of all the boys who’d never grown to know and love Yellow Rock. And Thorne was just one more. What would he have done? She couldn’t see him as a farmer, not even a gentleman farmer, yet he’d obviously had every intention of coming to talk to Great-Aunt Olivia about his inheritance.

  And that’s what she must do. The responsibility laid well and truly in her lap.