The Woman In the Green Dress

by Téa Cooper

  The kettle sent out a billow of steam in appreciation. It was the perfect solution. She could be in Sydney before she knew it.

  ‘I would very much appreciate your corroboration when I speak to the Governor. He must be made aware of these appalling attacks.’

  And she had to find out how Cordelia was involved. She couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be something Gus and Dobbin had dreamt up. Truth be told she’d delight in seeing them get their just deserts.

  ‘There is of course one small problem …’

  There was? Not one she could think of. ‘And that is?’

  ‘I don’t have a suitable saddle for you. For any lady.’

  Warmth rose to her cheeks again and she swallowed the desire to giggle. Something she couldn’t remember doing for a long time. ‘Firstly, Captain von Richter, I hardly think I classify as a lady. I was four years old when I arrived in Australia. And, when my father secured this land grant he insisted that I should learn to manage a horse.’

  Twenty

  Hawkesbury, NSW, 1853

  The last time Della had travelled this road she could think of nothing and no one other than poor Ma and Pa. The furtiveness of the journey had weighed heavily, as though they’d been running. They had in a way, running from the memories. When Cordelia had insisted she and Charity should leave Sydney she hadn’t had the strength to argue. She’d believed Cordelia was acting in her best interests, as Pa would have wished. She was his sister, for heaven’s sake.

  The thought of Cordelia and Pa’s shop, his life’s work, being somehow involved in the ghastly attacks had firmed her resolve. She had to help Jarro and his family. They may move on but they would return because the pathways led to their special places.

  She’d locked up the house and the workshop as best she could and Charity couldn’t leave the place fast enough. She’d insisted she was quite capable of getting herself to St Albans in the cart.

  Della led the way, showing the Captain the Darkinjung pathway along the ridge to the Simpson Pass. It made her feel a little less of a nuisance and saved hours of backtracking.

  The road spread out before her, the ground a blaze of colour after the rain, sheer pleasure under the brilliant blue sky. For the first time since Ma and Pa’s death she had a sense of freedom and the ability to breath. The Captain insisted she ride Bert’s horse and he had quite happily taken the pack animal. Their mounts managed the terrain with the greatest of ease. Strong and wide-boned, gentlemen’s horses, nothing like the rattle-boned heaps of misery they kept at Mogo.

  Clustered everywhere were low-growing bushes covered in dazzling pink flowers and above them the yellow of the wattle.

  ‘Boronia ledifolia.’

  How personable and attentive he was, with his ruffled hair, and a half-smile of amusement hovering on his lips. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The pink bushes, and above us Acacia, and those big red flowers over there.’

  She turned and gazed at the densely packed red flowers bright as Indian rubies against the bush.

  ‘Waratah Telopea.’

  Was there anything this man didn’t know? ‘You know so much.’

  ‘Not really. I can read.’ He leant across in the saddle; his scent clean, woodsy and masculine. Soap with a hint of perspiration and musk. He produced a well-worn leather-bound notebook then reined in the horses and thumbed through the pages. ‘This is what I was looking for.’ He held the page open and showed her a rough-drawn map. ‘We have to make a turn west before long.’

  ‘I’ve only been this way once before.’ Her tears had mingled with the rain as she’d clutched a blanket tight around her shoulders, unable to see anything but the piles of dirt they’d shovelled over Ma and Pa in the cemetery. ‘I’m sure we stay on the road.’

  ‘It says here that the road runs along the ridge and opens up at Simpson Pass.’

  ‘So you have been this way before?’

  ‘It’s the Baron, ’e has. Baron von Hügel.’ Bert bowed low over his horse’s neck and performed some sort of clicking action with his heels against the flanks. ‘The Captain’s writin’ up his notes so they can make them into a book.’

  Della looked sharply at the Captain’s chiselled features as he scanned the pages. He’d mentioned being the Baron’s aide-de-camp but she hadn’t paid an awful lot of attention to what he’d said, her mind fixed on Cordelia and the raids. ‘Who is this Baron?’

  ‘My mentor, my saviour, my surrogate father.’

  ‘And he’s visited Australia?’

  ‘Almost twenty years ago, in the early 1830s. I owe my life to him in more ways than one. He dragged me out of the gutter, saved me from a life on the streets.’

  ‘He wot?’ Bert’s jaw went loose, causing his mouth to fall open. ‘You weren’t always a toff then?’

  ‘You see Bert, people aren’t always what you expect them to be. Just because I wear a uniform doesn’t tell you the man I am underneath, the boy I was.’

  ‘Well, tell us then.’

  The Captain turned to her and raised an eyebrow in question, asking her permission.

  ‘I’d love to hear your story. I know so little of anything beyond my sheltered life.’ She smiled into his eyes. The irises were the most unexpected colour; the blue of the freckles on a kookaburra’s wing feathers, with flecks of green radiating from the dark pupil. The corner of his mouth quirked, as he caught her studying him, sending her heart into the most unusual rhythm.

  ‘I didn’t know my father. My mother died and I was left to fend for myself on the streets of Vienna. Winter can be very cold, snow and ice and biting winds.’

  ‘Bloody freezing in Sydney, too.’

  ‘Bert! There is a lady present.’

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Miss.’

  She threw Bert a wink, not wanting to slow the Captain’s story. She’d never seen snow, only in a storybook. A magical castle with turrets and tiny windows, the flickering light reflecting on the pristine pure white carpet. Ma and Pa used to talk of English winters and roasted chestnuts but somehow she suspected he was remembering something far less enticing.

  ‘Colder than Sydney, I’d imagine. Several feet of snow and icicles longer than a man’s arm hanging from every window.’

  ‘And the Baron found you huddled in a doorway and took you home?’

  ‘Not quite. I tried to pick his pocket.’

  ‘You wot?’

  ‘I tried to steal from him. He grasped my wrist. I remember his hand, big like a cuff, fingers cutting into my skin. I thought he’d cart me off to the authorities. He didn’t, he took me back to his gardens. Had me fed and scrubbed within an inch of my life and then asked me what I was going to do to atone for my sins.’

  Bert’s eyes shone bigger than pennies. ‘A-tone? What’s a-tone?’

  ‘Make up for. I said I’d do anything he wanted. So, I stayed, did all sorts of odd jobs around the gardens until one day he called me into his study. He said he wanted to teach me a game.’ Stefan paused.

  ‘Go on. Don’t stop now.’ The words fell out of Bert’s mouth, saving Della from uttering the very same. ‘What’s the game?’

  ‘Chess.’

  ‘I seen that. Those little knights and castles. They got one in one of the inns in the Rocks.’

  ‘In Vienna they play it in the squares. Great big sets.’

  ‘And you’d played before so you won.’ Della clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted.’

  ‘But you should. You see, you’re right.’

  ‘And so he thought you were real smart and he got you them chewters and then you joined the army.’

  ‘That’s about it, Bert.’

  ‘Go on. Then what happened.’

  He tightened the reins and nudged his horse forwards. ‘Another time. I don’t want to fall behind.’ He pointed to the Baron’s notebook. ‘A few more miles and then we should crest the ridge.’

  Impressive stands of flowers, bigger than anything she had ever seen, l
ined the track. Red as blood and clustered around a stem taller than even the Captain astride his fine horse. ‘What are they?’

  ‘The flame lily. Doryanthes excelsa. It derives from two Greek words—“dory”, meaning spear, and “anthos”, meaning flower.’ He pored over the notebook again. ‘A truly iconic plant, indigenous to the Sydney area. The botanic name, Doryanthes, refers to the beacon-like flower heads that stand out in the bush.’

  Della stared at the massive clumps of shoots as thick as a man’s arm and twice the height.

  ‘And these were here when the Baron came this way.’

  ‘I presume so. He mentions them.’

  ‘They must survive with barely any water or soil. It’s so dry up here.’

  ‘And so am I. We’ll stop for some refreshments shortly.’

  They continued for several more miles along the ridge line then crossed two small bridges and dropped down onto a well-constructed road.

  ‘Such an amazing feat of engineering. Look at the culverts and the carefully laid stonework. The Baron maintained that he could employ every one of the convicts who built this road and make free men of them. I think this would be the perfect place to stop.’

  ‘Should we light a fire? It’s very dry.’

  ‘We’ll make a fireplace. There are plenty of rocks.’ He reached up his hands and swept her from the saddle and drew her close before easing her gently to the ground. ‘Come and sit down and rest.’

  Rest? It was highly unlikely she’d ever be able to rest in this man’s company. The very nearness of him set her heart racing.

  The warm pressure of his hand on the small of her back guided her to a seat on one of the rocks overlooking the distant folds of hills and valleys that merged into the blue haze of the mountains. She had expected the journey to Sydney would be tedious. How wrong she had been. She wanted it to last forever.

  ‘I have something to ask of you.’

  She tilted her head up, searching for the flecks of green in his eyes. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I would like to use your name, the name you were born with. Della. It is a beautiful name. I believe it means noble. William the Conqueror named one of his daughters Della.’

  Her stomach swooped and her mouth dried. She’d never asked why she’d been named Della, or where it had come from. Just taken it for granted. Noble!

  ‘And, Della, I would like you to call me Stefan.’

  She lowered her head and stared at her interlaced fingers not knowing how she should respond. No one had ever asked permission to use her name before.

  ‘Ask me a question, Della. Allow me the pleasure of hearing my name on your lips.’

  Her mind went blank. Every thought, every piece of information wiped clean like her tools after a day’s work. She gazed around trying to force something, anything into the vacant space where her brain once lodged.

  ‘Why are you here?’ No, that wasn’t right. ‘What made you come to the Hawkesbury, Stefan?

  He beamed down at her. ‘There, that wasn’t too difficult, was it, Della? I had some business to conduct in the area and I intended to traverse the same route that the Baron took in the 1830s. And thanks to your knowledge of the area we have succeeded. You’ve saved us numerous wrong turns and at least half a day.’

  Before long Bert presented her with a mug of tea and a lump of damper and treacle which she suspected Charity had provided as a token of thanks for her room at the Settlers Arms. Della rested back against a tree trunk and savoured the sweet smell of the bush and the quiet company of the man sprawled beside her.

  Once he’d finished his tea Stefan pulled his compass from his pocket and studied it. ‘Bert and I were provided with first-class accommodation at Wiseman’s on our journey to the Hawkesbury. We will avail ourselves once more. Until then I’m afraid tea and damper will have to suffice. Once we crest the next ridge we will see the Hawkesbury River and the Wiseman properties. Old man Wiseman died not long after the Baron visited him. His family continue to manage the property.’

  As Stefan promised, they crested the ridge and below them lay the river, like some majestic inland sea, cradled between tall mountains, turned to a dark mirror by the afternoon shadows. They dropped down into the valley cradling farms that made Mogo look as ragged and moth-eaten as her early attempts at taxidermy. Sleeks brown cows grazed on the river flats, full-fleeced sheep ambled in neatly fenced paddocks and everywhere there were women tending the flourishing crops.

  ‘Down there.’

  Della tracked the path of his hand to the opposite bank where extensive fields and gardens spread.

  ‘We’ll go down and take the ferry.’ He raised his hands to his mouth, let out a long coo-ee. After a minute, the two men on the other side raised their heads and clambered aboard a strange-looking craft.

  ‘Do you know the story of Old Wiseman?’ Stefan opened the Baron’s notebook. ‘He sounds like a fascinating character.’

  Della shook her head. So strange to have this man, from another land, another life, telling her about the country she called her own.

  ‘He was sentenced to transportation back in the early days for dealing in contraband. He had an extensive knowledge of the sea and earned his pardon by rescuing the crew of a wrecked ship and was granted one hundred acres. This is what he selected. The Baron believed it was one of the most beautiful spots in the colony.’

  As they waited for the ferry to take them across the wide river Della had no reason to disbelieve the Captain’s Baron.

  Twenty-One

  St Albans, NSW, 1919

  Fleur pushed open the door to the Settlers Arms and ducked her head under the lintel. Although it was still light outside the lamps were lit. Pete sat propping up the bar, deep in conversation with the Skipper. Both men raised their eyebrows when they saw her, questions written all over their faces.

  ‘Come and sit down, love. Looks like you’ve had a long day.’ Pete handed her a glass of lemonade.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll take it into the dining room.’

  ‘Nah! Stay here in the bar. No one around to complain. It’s early yet.’

  She stretched up onto the rickety stool and with a sigh sipped the cool lemonade. She had very little memory of the walk, her mind fixed on Hugh and the old man and his strange insistence about Hugh’s personal belongings. She couldn’t remember, in the brief time they’d spent together, Hugh having any special possession, and the old man had said a family heirloom.

  What did people have as heirlooms? Silver teapots, jewellery, photographs? The Browns, who’d lived next door before the zeppelin had taken out their houses, had a family bible. It weighed a ton, and every time another baby came along the name and dates got written down. She couldn’t imagine Hugh carting something like that around France.

  ‘Find what you were looking for?’ The Skipper’s face crinkled in a concerned smile and she had a sudden yearning for Marianne, in her cosy house full of sunshine and the homely scent of freshly made scones.

  ‘I found the property. What’s the name of the man that lives there?’

  ‘No one lives there. Been empty for years. Empty when I was a boy. Never been farmed. Some of the paddocks along the creek have been leased over the years. Good grazing land. Atterton’s had the first grant, then the boy used to come up here when he was on holiday from that fancy school in Sydney.’

  ‘I thought the old man might live there. The fire was alight and he made me a cup of tea.’

  She didn’t miss the glance the Skipper and Pete exchanged, raised eyebrows and a bit of a frown, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She’d been trespassing as much as he had. Maybe Vera would have some idea about him.

  ‘Will you be wanting your room for another night?’

  She hadn’t given a thought to what she intended to do next, and she was tired, very tired. ‘I … I don’t honestly know. I suppose so. Yes. I have to get back to Sydney.’ Even if it meant camping on the Lyttleton’s doorstep she intended to find some answers. The old man at
Mogo had told her to come back when she had more information and Lyttleton’s was the only place she was going to get it.

  ‘Why don’t you come back with me? Marianne would love the company and then you could pick up the steamer at Spencer tomorrow morning. You’d be back in Sydney by afternoon tea tomorrow.’

  That sounded like a dream come true. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  ‘Not at all. I wasn’t expecting to be here today otherwise I would have offered yesterday but things got in the way.’

  ‘A hand of cards got in the way, you mean. How’re you going to explain that one to Marianne?’

  ‘That’s my business. Now Miss Fleur, what would you like to do?’

  ‘If you’re sure it would be no trouble, I’d very much like to do that. I need to get back to Sydney as quickly as I can.’

  ‘Given the hour I suggest we get a move on. I’ll meet you down at the boat.’

  Dredging up the last skerrick of energy from deep within, Fleur took off up the stairs to pack up her few belongings and pay her bill.

  Despite the sunshine, a stiff breeze buffeted the small boat as the Skipper pushed off from the little beach below the bridge. She turned up the collar of her gabardine coat, thankful it was sufficiently waterproof to deal with the spray, thrust her hands deep in her pockets and propped her feet on the seat.

  ‘You look comfortable there.’

  ‘I am, thank you. I really didn’t want to spend another night at St Albans, I don’t feel as though I achieved anything.’ She shrugged deeper into her coat. ‘I don’t understand why no one knows the old man. I can’t believe I was foolish enough not to ask his name.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Sounds to me as though your hands are tied until this solicitor gets matters sorted.’

  ‘He knew Hugh. He asked me if I’d got anything for him. I thought at first he was some sort of tramp and he wanted money. I think I offended him. He said I’d know when I got Hugh’s belongings.’

  ‘You haven’t got those yet?’

  ‘No. It’s all so complicated, everyone seems far too busy sorting out the living to worry about someone they believe dead. I’m beginning to think that I should have stayed in London and waited.’