by Téa Cooper
The hair rose on the skin of Fleur’s arms. ‘Haunted?’
‘Well, not so much haunted, just full of bad luck. Seems nothing works. Last lot who rented it contracted some sort of family illness. Whole lot of them got sick. Stomach problems. When the old man died the wife and kids packed up and left Sydney.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘No idea.’
‘Have you ever been inside?’
‘Me? No bloody fear.’
It was as though her questions were just going around and around in circles. None of this was getting her any closer to finding an answer and besides, it can’t have been anything to do with Hugh’s family otherwise Mrs Lyttleton would know. ‘Did it ever belong to people by the name of Richards?’
The woman shrugged her shoulders and ambled across to the washing line to check her sheets. She started to pull them down. ‘Nope. Not that I know of.’
‘Thanks for your help, Mrs …’
‘Glad, just call me Glad. You all right now?’
‘Much better.’ Fleur got to her feet and tested her leg. Stinging, but no harm done. She’d go back to the hotel and change her stockings and have a bit of a think. ‘Thanks for your help.’
Glad bundled the sheets against her ample bosom and nodded her head. ‘Got to get these inside before the boys get home and start kicking that ball of theirs around and making them all mucky.’
Taking one last look at the back of the building, Fleur made her way along the lane back into Hunter Street. Her heart as good as jumped into her mouth when she spotted Kip pacing up and down the street outside the Curio Shop, hands rammed deep into his pockets. He executed a very neat turn and their eyes met and all thoughts of avoiding him flew away.
‘Mr Sladdin thought I might find you here. Vera wants a word.’
‘It’s very kind of you to come and find me. I don’t want to be a nuisance.’
‘No trouble.’ His forehead creased into a frown and he stared down at her leg. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’
‘It’s nothing.’
Seemingly satisfied with her answer he took off at a fast pace, looking neither left nor right.
When they arrived he took her straight into the front room where Mrs Lyttleton was sitting at the desk. ‘I hope I haven’t interrupted your morning but I have managed to get hold of some more details. Do sit down.’ Two spots of colour highlighted her cheeks and she seemed positively excited.
Fleur sank into the chair drawn up on the other side of the desk.
‘I have to admit I had some difficulty tracking down the paperwork. When I received the telegram from Mr Waterstone telling me of your imminent arrival I was caught short. It seems his earlier letter went astray. I have some suggestions to make.’
Suggestions? Perhaps that was what she needed, someone to take her in hand. Right now she felt rather like a piece of flotsam bumping along the Thames with the tide. No sense of purpose. ‘Mrs Lyttleton …’
‘Vera, please.’
‘Vera, I have to make myself clear. Hugh and I were married so quickly we hardly knew each other. We had only five days together. I didn’t even know he had an inheritance.’ Heaven forbid the woman thought she was some kind of gold digger.
‘But he expected that you would come to Australia after the war.’
‘Well yes. We talked about it.’ Dreamt about it, made foolish plans about large families and country living.
I’ll teach you to ride. We’ll camp under the stars and bathe in crystal-clear streams. We’ll look at the Milky Way and make promises on shooting stars.
Promises. She didn’t want promises, she wanted Hugh.
‘I think it is very important that we make a plan and see if we can unravel the whole situation. Since Mr Lyttleton isn’t here and hasn’t responded to my telegrams we must do the best we can.’ Vera tucked one of the many flyaway strands of hair behind her ears and looked down at a single piece of paper on the desk.
‘Now. There is the property a few doors down, the old Curio Shop. Kip tells me he took you past on your way to the hotel. It’s been boarded up, untenanted for as long as I can remember. I suggest we start there once I locate the key.’
Fleur wrapped one leg around the other attempting to hide the gash on her leg—the last thing she wanted to do was explain that she’d already taken matters into her own hands, and been caught snooping.
Vera’s chair scraped on the floor as she stood up and walked around the desk. Her warm, reassuring hand squeezed her shoulder. ‘We’ll sort this out. I applaud your courage in coming all the way to Australia. I’m not sure I would have had the strength.’ Vera glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I have half an hour. Tea first I think, and then we’ll plan. Kip! You don’t mind if I involve Kip, do you? As you can see I’m still at sixes and sevens with this move. He may seem a little taciturn but his heart is in the right place.’
‘No, not at all.’
Kip’s head appeared around the door and he stood hovering, adjusting his braces, tucking in his shirt.
‘Could you make a pot of tea and bring it in here, with three cups if you would and some biscuits. We need your help.’
His face broke into a tentative grin. She couldn’t help but smile in return, and pray that he wouldn’t say he’d found her outside the Curio Shop that morning.
‘Now let’s start at the beginning. The file I have here contains very little. Hugh’s original will made after he signed up, and the letter telling Mr Lyttleton of your marriage and naming you as his next of kin. Sadly, Hugh’s two older brothers were killed in France.’
‘Yes. He told me. It was one of the things we had in common. My parents were killed in the first Zeppelin raid in London at the beginning of the war.’
Just the two of us against the world.
‘Then you understand. As the only surviving brother Hugh inherited the family fortune. And on his death it passes to his next of kin. And that, my dear, is you.’
‘But why didn’t he tell me?’
‘Perhaps there wasn’t time.’
Perhaps he wasn’t dead.
‘Maybe he wanted you to love him for who he was and not what he had.’
Kip reappeared with a tray bearing a pot of tea, and cups, and plonked it down on the table with a clatter. Mrs Black would’ve had his guts for garters.
‘The only other thing I found in the file was a reference to an eighty-acre property in the Hawkesbury region just outside St Albans, dated well before his brothers’ deaths, which was to pass solely to Hugh.’
St Albans didn’t sound very promising. It made her think of Roman soldiers and England, almost as disused as the old shop down the road. ‘Where is St Albans?’
Mrs Lyttleton rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my dear, you sound as though you think I’m leading you on a wild goose chase. The Hawkesbury region is in New South Wales. I see no reason for you to go trailing out there. Since the war many of the properties have been abandoned.’
‘Hugh told me his father and brothers were miners, he didn’t say very much more.’ He’d spoken about his dreams, he wanted to be a farmer. Perhaps that’s where the key lay. ‘I think I’d like to go to the Hawkesbury and have a look.’ Whatever had made her say that?
‘Let’s take one step at a time. I’ll send another telegram to Mr Lyttleton in the hope we can track down the keys to the Curio Shop and Hugh’s personal possessions. I’m afraid I can’t guarantee an instantaneous response. At least a week I would imagine.’
A week! What was she supposed to do for a week?
‘How far is it to St Albans?’
‘Please don’t even consider it, Fleur. It’s over sixty miles. The journey is a nightmare. First the train. Then an overnight stay and the choice between a river trip or a road which could well be in disrepair. I believe it’s some way out of town, a place called Mogo Creek.’
Nothing will stop us. Nothing once this war is over. Mogo is the place of our dreams, where our life together will begin
.
‘Mogo Creek?’
‘Yes, that’s what it says here. Hardly suitable for a young girl in a new country to go traipsing into the middle of nowhere.’
But she had to start somewhere, didn’t she? And Hugh had mentioned Mogo. If he was anywhere that’s where he’d be. Why else would he have told her about his dreams for the future? And besides, what was sixty miles when she’d travelled thousands?
Vera pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’m afraid Kip and I have to go now. Why don’t you spend the next few days getting to know Sydney and, in the meantime, I will try and track down the keys to the Curio Shop. That seems as good a place as any to start.’
‘I really would …’ Fleur’s words dried on her lips as Vera held the door open.
‘We’ll speak in a couple of days. Let Kip know if there’s anything you need. He’s usually on the premises. He has rooms at the back.’
Standing on the doorstep Fleur gazed up and down the street. It was almost as though she’d been dismissed and if she was perfectly honest, she felt a little peeved. She’d travelled all this way and now she was here nothing was happening. It was beyond ridiculous.
If Hugh was alive the farm would be the place he would go.
Mogo is my safe haven. My place, my home.
Eleven
Hawkesbury, NSW, 1853
‘Careful with those boxes. That’s important stuff you know.’ Bert scowled at the young stablehand who rushed out to greet them when they arrived at the Settlers Arms.
‘It’s all right.’ Stefan still couldn’t believe his good fortune. The lad was a godsend. His botanising box was far less fragile than Bert imagined but he’d been fascinated from the outset by the compartments for the plants, flowers and seeds and had adopted it as his own special responsibility.
Magnificent specimens had lined the track all the way to St Albans and the trip had taken far longer than he anticipated because of Bert’s continual demands to stop and investigate some treasure beneath the wildly romantic canopy of bobbing yellow acacias and gum blossoms.
On entering the inn they were greeted by an old man with a long whiskery beard and bright eyes. He heaved himself to his feet and wandered around to the front of the desk. ‘I’ll have to ask you to sign the register, sir. New rules and regulations, they’re trying to keep up with all the coming and going. Just here, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Just me or do you want my man as well?’
‘Both would be good.’
Stefan wrote his name and underneath Albert Peregrine Burless. That’d give the authorities something to think about. With a smile, he tucked the pen back in the inkwell and pushed the ledger across the table.
‘Will you be wanting something to eat?’
‘We would indeed.’
‘I’ll let the missus know. Usually wait till after sundown just in case there’s anyone else coming through. That suit?’
‘Perfect. I’ll take a walk. Stretch out the legs. We’ve been travelling all day. Bert, are you coming with me?’
‘Nah! I’ve got the rest of the stuff to lug up to the rooms and those horses deserve a decent feed.’
‘Good lad.’
‘Will Mr Burless be joining you for dinner?’
Bert’s face turned a hilarious shade of puce and his mouth flapped like a fish.
‘Most certainly.’
‘But I … we … Mr Burless?’
‘You go and see to those horses and we’ll chat later.’
‘I ain’t never eaten in no dining room.’ Bert hissed the words, his eyes wide with fear.
‘You’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a while.’ He leant forward. ‘And don’t forget to scrub your face and hands first. I’ll take the compass and telescope.’
‘Yes, Capt’n.’ With a flurry of arms and legs Bert disappeared.
Stefan wandered outside and stretched. Time in the saddle still caused him some discomfort, however a gentle stroll would loosen his muscles. The sun was sinking towards the hills and strips of colour highlighted the gathering clouds where an eagle hovered searching for prey. A creek meandered through a trail of casuarinas, their long-fingered leaves rustling in the light breeze. A cockatoo screeched, another answered, starting an orchestra of frogs.
The track wound its way alongside the creek. Finding a series of stepping stones Stefan crossed to the other side and followed a narrow trail up over a small hill, picking his way through the thick undergrowth.
The trees thinned revealing an open expanse of grass echoing with the strange haunting twilight cries of the birds. Good enough for a decent herd of cattle although there was no sign of any livestock. He breathed in the pristine air letting it fill his lungs.
A movement caught his attention. A flash of white, a dash of colour, dusty red against the grey-green of the leaves. Dragon lizards skittered into hiding behind the rocks as he stepped out of the trees into the clearing.
A girl, hair dangling down her back in disarray, homespun skirt hitched up underneath a heavy leather apron, her brown feet bare, crouched beside a pool, hand outstretched to a pure white animal with large powerful hind legs and a long muscular tail.
He’d read about these strange quadrupeds in the Baron’s notes. Kangaroos, the New Hollanders called them, and they were plentiful, reds and browns and greys, but white? And the girl like some Valkyrie. Hair the colour of warm chestnut settling around her sculptured face.
The sound of a gun cocking shattered his reverie. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. ‘Stand clear!’
A colossal retort shattered the bucolic scene.
A musket ball whistled above his head and ricocheted off a tree trunk, splintering the timber not a foot from where the girl stood.
Della threw herself to the ground.
Gunshot. And two men!
She flattened her body against the rough grass and eased her head to one side. There was a gruff cry and the vibration of heavy steps reached her stomach.
A large man in a greatcoat erupted from the tree line. Before she could move his long strides brought him into the clearing, and she stiffened, not daring to draw breath.
After a moment she raised her head to search for Tidda. She knew the shot was meant for the kangaroo, known that one day this would happen.
Booted legs paused mere feet from her head. Red piping bright against the blue-clad legs. They paused for a moment and strode on.
She scuttled aside. If she could reach the creek she could make her way home without crossing his path …
An arm shot out from nowhere. Sent her sprawling on the damp earth. The shock of the physical contact made her body tremble. Whipping around, she sank her teeth into the hand grasping her shoulder.
‘Scheisse!’ He jerked his hand free and stood rooted to the spot glaring at her, even larger than she’d first imagined. His face was gaunt, high cheekbones accentuated by a sweep of pale hair falling across his brow. ‘What on earth do you think you are doing? You could have been shot.’ He lowered his gun.
She scrambled to her feet and planted her hands firmly on her hips. ‘What do you think you’re doing? You could’ve killed her.’ Her voice caught on the last word and for one dreadful moment tears sprang to her eyes. She sucked in a steadying breath. ‘Your behaviour is barbaric.’
With a bright sapphire flash his eyes pinned her and a smile crept to the corners of his mouth as he slipped the gun into the pocket of his greatcoat. No, not a gun. A brass telescope.
How foolish she sounded. He couldn’t kill anything with a brass telescope—deliver a nasty thump, not much else. ‘She was rejected by the mob.’ Unable to meet his eyes she shrugged her shoulders and threw down the handful of grass still clasped in her damp palm. ‘What business have you here?’ Her voice melded with the pounding of her pulse. ‘You are trespassing. This is private property.’
‘Protecting you.’ He hung over her, his eyes roaming her body, from the top of her dishevelled head to her bare, muddy feet.
; She stood motionless, nothing but their mingled breath and the blood pounding in her ears. ‘Me?’ She glanced down; her thin blouse was damp and plastered to her body. Cheeks flushing, she hugged her arms across her chest.
He took a step closer and she backed away, her sense of dread growing. Who was he? And what was he doing here?
‘The man had you in his sights. His gun was trained on you.’
‘I doubt it.’ She’d always suspected Gus had his eye on Tidda, knew her pelt would fetch a tidy sum. The unwanted picture of her cherished friend lying on the workshop bench, skin peeled back, flashed before her eyes. She pushed the image away.
What was she doing standing here? The sun had fallen behind the ridge and the light was fading fast. There was nothing she could do for Tidda except pray she hadn’t crossed Gus’s path when she fled.
‘Let me escort you home.’
Filled with horror at the prospect, she lifted her skirts high above her knees and bolted down the path.
‘Wait a moment! Come back.’
The girl refused to stop, didn’t even look back.
Stefan steadied himself then traced the path back towards the creek wondering if imagination had created the entire encounter. He hadn’t dreamt the look of fury on her face nor the harsh words she’d spoken, not allowing him the opportunity to explain.
The picture of her simple beauty, loose-limbed grace and blatant fury shimmered before him. So far removed from any other female he’d ever come across. The outrage rippling through her, so intense it radiated like heat from her body. Her eyes flashing, no sign of fear for herself. He hadn’t wanted her to flee. He wanted to know more.
He rubbed at his hand where her teeth had broken the skin. Everything inside him compelled him to follow her but she’d vanished, taken no apparent track and the light was fading rapidly.
With a sigh, he made his way back over the hill until the twinkling lights of the inn beckoned. Through the window he could see figures moving and the flicker of a fire. His stomach growled as he pushed open the door.
