Shadows in the Valley

by Elizabeth Haran

  Some years earlier, Ebenezer Mason had selected a location for a small chapel and family cemetery on the Martindale estate. Ironically, he’d only recently approved the chapel plans, and work had been due to commence in the next few months. He’d wanted a family plot for himself, his future wife, and their children. He had hoped to have another son, another chance for the Mason dynasty to live on. That he’d marry again and have more children had never been something he had doubted.

  After Meredith’s death and the subsequent deterioration of his relationship with Heath, Ebenezer had feared that his son would, out of spite, have him buried amongst the paupers in the cemetery in town, overlooking the mine. Heath would have done exactly that, too. Hence, Ebenezer had created a stipulation in his will that he be buried on his own land. The cemetery overlooking the mine was where Ebenezer had buried Heath’s mother. She’d still been alive when Ebenezer had bought the land that Martindale Hall was built on. At the time, it was just open countryside. Heath hadn’t forgotten that his father had refused to have her moved to the Martindale estate once it was established, ten years later.

  As Ebenezer’s second wife, and the first mistress of Martindale Hall, Meredith should have been buried on the estate. But after her untimely, tragic death, Meredith’s father had insisted she be entombed in the cemetery beside the church in Saddleworth, where he was the minister. The church was high on a hill, overlooking the town, and Meredith’s mother was buried there. As Meredith hadn’t borne him any children, and their marriage had been relatively brief, Ebenezer did not object.

  Ebenezer Mason’s funeral service was to be conducted by Reverend Hicks, and very few had been invited to attend. The butler, Winston; the housekeeper, Mrs. Hendy; the maid, Louise; and two cooks were present, as were Alfie Holbrook, two stable boys, and several gardeners. Also in attendance were Edward Martin and Dr. Mead. Frank Bond and those at the mine were told it would be a private affair, so they sent a wreath. There were many others employed on the estate and in other businesses where Ebenezer Mason had a stake, but they were not invited.

  After Reverend Hicks had conducted the formal part of the service, he asked Heath if he’d like to say a few words. After a moment’s hesitation, where Heath thought about venting his anger at his father, he declined. Winston and Mrs. Hendy were not pleased, and neither was Edward Martin, but he had assumed Heath would refuse to give a eulogy and thus had prepared one himself.

  “If I may, I’d like to say something,” Edward said to the small gathering.

  Heath dropped his head and pressed his lips into a thin line.

  Edward cleared his throat.

  “Ebenezer Mason was my client, but he was also my friend,” he said. “No one could deny that he was a complex man, demanding to work for, and a formidable character. These qualities made him a difficult man to get close to, and over the course of his life he formed few real relationships. Whatever his failings as a friend, father, or employer, he is still to be admired for his many achievements. He came to Australia a poor man with a vision, and he achieved his goals through determination and hard work. We are standing here today as witnesses to his success. Building a magnificent country estate had been his most ambitious vision, and Martindale Hall is certainly one of, if not the finest, country homes in South Australia.”

  As Edward went on, outlining his friend’s many achievements, Heath inwardly fumed. He wanted to blurt out that his father hadn’t loved him enough to leave him his fine country home, but he held back. At this moment, only he and Edward Martin knew of the contents of his father’s will.

  ***

  Abbey was anxious as she passed through the gate to Martindale Hall, and memories of her escape washed over her. She’d been expecting to feel that way, but she’d had a sleepless night, worrying about Heath. First thing that morning, she’d asked Jack if she could borrow a horse and buggy to go to Martindale, to see if he was all right. Jack agreed, but had a stipulation. Father Quinlan was to accompany her. Abbey knew that he was needed to help dig the water channels and had argued the point, but Jack kindly insisted, and she was secretly glad of the priest’s company. She figured if she lost her nerve when she got to Martindale, she could ask Father Quinlan to go to the door and make enquiries after Heath so that she didn’t have to face the butler or housekeeper. Even though she’d been proven innocent, she was sure they would still somehow blame her for their master’s death.

  For now, Abbey intended to ignore what Clementine had said about Heath. Jack had also alluded to Heath’s dalliances, so it was obviously true, but Abbey, puzzled by his strange behaviour and sudden departure the day before, still needed to know that he had not become seriously ill.

  Father Quinlan sensed that Abbey felt uneasy and reassuringly patted her hand, comforting her as they made their way up the road. Although he was pleased to be accompanying her and not digging under the hot sun, he also felt guilty for not helping with the water channels.

  Abbey’s attention was drawn to a small gathering some distance away on a gentle rise in the landscape. “What do you think is going on over there?” she asked Father Quinlan, pointing in the direction of the gathering and shielding her eyes from the sun.

  Squinting, the priest looked to where she pointed. “I think I can see a hearse. Do you suppose it could be Ebenezer Mason’s funeral?”

  “Oh dear,” Abbey said, dismayed. She hadn’t thought about him being buried on the estate. “We’d better stop and turn around. I certainly don’t want to be here if it is his funeral.”

  Father Quinlan agreed that it was poor timing. He pulled on the reins, bringing their buggy to a standstill.

  Looking for a distraction, Heath caught sight of Abbey on the road and wondered who was with her. Much to the shock of those around him, he began walking down the incline towards her buggy. He didn’t want to hear Edward Martin sing his father’s praises, anyway, so he was glad for an excuse to escape.

  Seeing Abbey made Heath’s emotions churn. While she appeared to be a lovely, genuine girl, he was well aware that sometimes appearances were deceiving. The situation reminded him of Meredith Barton, although she’d been openly manipulative and cunning, and they’d had blazing rows. He’d thought when she fell to her death from the roof of Martindale Hall that his future inheritance was secure. How wrong he’d been.

  “Wait,” Abbey said to the priest. “We can’t go now. Heath is coming this way.” She felt terrible that she had disrupted his father’s funeral and was sure he was going to ask her to leave.

  “Abbey,” Heath said when he reached them. “What are you doing here?” He was struck by how vivid her eyes looked on this dreary day and for the briefest moment was distracted.

  “I was worried about you, so I came to see if you were all right.”

  Thinking of his father’s previous wife had resurrected Heath’s suspicious nature, and he wondered if she was up to something. “That’s very kind of you,” he said, studying her intently. “Did you know about my father’s funeral?” He wondered if she had come in the hope of being at the reading of his father’s will?

  “No,” Abbey said. “If I had, I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Then why were you worried about me?” he asked, bewildered.

  “You felt ill yesterday, remember?”

  “Oh … yes.” He’d honestly forgotten that he’d feigned illness to cover his anger. “It passed quickly, and I’m fine.” Heath relaxed. It appeared that Abbey had been genuinely concerned enough to travel all the way from Bungaree Station. Fortunately, her empathetic and gullible nature would make her easier to outwit.

  “This is Father John Quinlan,” Abbey said, introducing the priest.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Heath said, shaking his hand and wondering why he had accompanied Abbey

  “I’m sorry we’ve come at a bad time,” Abbey said. “I’d no idea that your father was to be buried on the estate toda
y. We were just about to leave.”

  Heath could see she was genuinely mortified. “There’s no need.” He glanced towards the funeral gathering. They were beginning to disperse.

  Abbey couldn’t fail to notice how preoccupied he was and felt awful that her timing had been so terrible. “We’ll go, Heath. I only came to see for myself that you were fine.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you,” Heath said. “The service is over, so please go on up to the house. I’ll have Mrs. Hendy prepare some tea.”

  “I don’t want to bother you or Mrs. Hendy” She dreaded seeing the housekeeper again. The memory of how hostile she’d been towards her was still vivid in Abbey’s mind.

  “It’ll be no trouble. I have to speak to my father’s doctor and solicitor, but please go on to the house and wait. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Abbey was still hesitant.

  “I’d be pleased if you would, Abbey.” Heath looked at her imploringly.

  Abbey could see that he needed the distraction. Just the thought of entering the Hall made her anxious, but she nodded reluctantly.

  Heath walked away, and Father Quinlan looked at Abbey. “Are you sure you want to go up to the Hall?” he asked. “You don’t have to.” Clearly, she wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

  “I’d rather not, but it seems as if Heath would appreciate someone to talk to,” Abbey said.

  The priest nodded. “You’re a sweet girl,” he said, pulling a small flask from under his shirt. “Take a swig of this. It’ll give you strength.”

  Abbey was almost tempted. “No, thank you, Father Quinlan. I can’t rely on whisky every time I feel anxious. I’d end up a drunk.” She blushed, realising she may have insulted the priest, but he merely shrugged and took a swig himself.

  “Sometimes a little fortifying does no harm,” he said obliviously and shook the reins.

  It occurred to Abbey that something might have happened in the priest’s life that caused him to drink so much.

  ***

  Samuel McDougal’s assistant was refilling the grave he’d dug the previous day. As he shovelled dirt onto Ebenezer Mason’s coffin, the servants headed back to the Hall. Edward Martin waited for Heath with Dr. Mead. As Heath approached them, he thought the doctor looked unwell.

  “Aren’t you feeling well, Dr. Mead?” he asked.

  Vernon was far from feeling well. He took a ragged breath. “I’m fine,” he lied, mopping perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. “If there’s anything I can do”

  “No,” Heath said quickly. “I had hoped you’d find an incriminating reason for my father’s death, but as you haven’t been able”

  “Heath!” Edward interrupted. “You must accept the truth. Your father had a bad heart, and it gave way.”

  Heath mumbled something inaudible.

  Vernon felt faint. “I’ll be on my way,” he muttered almost incoherently and walked away.

  “He’s taking your father’s death very hard,” Edward observed as he watched the doctor ambling towards his buggy. Vernon Mead was hunched over, and he seemed to have aged twenty years in the past few days.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Heath said, distracted.

  Edward wasn’t surprised. “I suppose that as your father’s physician, he feels some responsibility.”

  This was an understatement. Vernon was riddled with guilt over Ebenezer Mason’s death. He was almost afraid to open his mouth in Heath’s presence, for fear he’d blurt out the truth. He’d been terribly distracted for days, barely able to look after the patients who relied upon him. He’d been going over and over the ingredients he’d used to make the preparation he’d given Ebenezer before his death and had so far been unable to come up with anything that would have caused such harm.

  “It didn’t look rightyou walking away from your father’s funeral service,” Edward said, unable to hold his tongue. “It was terribly disrespectful.”

  “I could hardly bear to listen to you praising him as a wonderful man,” Heath said honestly. “We both know he was a horrid man, a poor friend, and an even poorer father. As for Martindale, his wonderful vision and the finest house in South Australia—he’d rather leave it to a woman he barely knows than his own flesh and blood.”

  Even though Edward disapproved of Heath’s public display of irreverence, he understood the young man’s ire. He’d also understood Ebenezer’s anger with Heath when Heath had constantly interfered in his father’s marriage to Meredith Barton. They were two stubborn men with volatile tempers, and Edward thought it was sad that they had never worked through their differences. “Who was that woman you were speaking to?” Edward asked, changing the subject.

  “That was Abigail Scottsdale,” Heath admitted, drawing the solicitor away from Samuel McDougal’s assistant, so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

  “What is she doing here?” Edward asked. He was shocked that she’d show up at the funeral.

  “I had a picnic with her yesterday at Bungaree, and I left rather abruptly after telling her I felt ill. She came here to see if I was well.”

  Edward was confused. What was Heath doing picnicking with Ebenezer’s widow, and why would she care if he were ill? “That was rather considerate of her,” he said, hoping Heath would enlighten him.

  “I’d put some theoretical questions to her about what she’d do if she inherited a great deal of money from someone she disliked.”

  Edward gasped. “It’s a wonder she didn’t guess the truth,” he said.

  “Believe me, she hasn’t any idea about the will. I know that now. Anyway, I was hoping she’d say she’d refuse to take the money due to her high principles, but she didn’t.”

  Edward wasn’t surprised, but he was curious. “What did she say?”

  “She’d buy herself a house and use the rest to help those less fortunate. In other words, if she gets her hands on what’s rightfully mine, she’ll squander it on the poor.”

  Edward shrugged. “That would be her prerogative.” He thought it was a rather admirable thing to do, but he didn’t dare voice his opinion out loud.

  Heath groaned. “How can you say that?”

  “If she inherits the estate, what she does with it will be her business,” Edward said. “You know I will have to contact her soon.” It was his duty, and he didn’t feel anything was being served by neglecting it. As far as he was concerned, nothing was going to change the outcome, no matter how long Heath put it off.

  “Martindale should be mine. You and I both know that.”

  “I understand how you feel, Heath,” Edward said. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

  “There might be something I can do,” Heath said seriously.

  “What do you have in mind?” Edward asked. “In the event of your father’s spouse inheriting the estate, you were to receive one hundred pounds. Ebenezer made that quite clear in his will. You can’t contest it. The court would rule that a bequest is a bequest.”

  “Spare me the legalities. I’ve been considering the idea of marrying Miss Scottsdale.”

  “What?!” Edward gasped, genuinely surprised.

  “As her husband, I’d be in charge of the estate and the Burra Mine. I hadn’t wanted to marry, but if that’s the only way, then I’ll do it. She’s an attractive girl, so it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship.”

  “The idea is preposterous, but even aside from that, you could never get her to marry you in less than a month. After a month, you’d have even less chance because she’d know exactly what you were up to.”

  “I know I haven’t got long to persuade her, but have you ever known a woman who could refuse my advances?”

  Edward had no reply. Heath’s reputation was well-known.

  “Just, please, postpone telling Miss Scottsdale that she’s a very wealthy woman. That’s all I ask,” Heath said.


  Edward sighed. “I won’t be breaking the law, so I’ll do as you wish. I can’t come up to the house now, however, because, legally, I should be out searching for Abigail Scottsdale. It wouldn’t do to run into her here. I just hope you know what you are doing, Heath.”

  “One way or another, I promise you, my father’s estate is going to be mine.” Heath walked away, and Edward watched his retreating figure. If he’d been any other man, Edward wouldn’t have thought it possible. But once Heath set his sights on a woman, she was usually his until he tired of her. Would Abigail Scottsdale be any different?

  ***

  Abbey insisted that she and Father Quinlan wait outside. Still seated in the buggy, she turned her back on the house and looked out over the undulating landscape before them. She didn’t see the servants enter the house via the backdoor, and they didn’t see her.

  “It’s a peaceful spot,” Father Quinlan said, getting out of the buggy to stretch his legs.

  “Yes, it is,” Abbey admitted, trying not to think about Ebenezer Mason. In the far distance, black and white jersey cattle and snowy white sheep were grazing in pastures dotted with eucalyptus trees and acacia wattles. In the foreground, separated by a fence, a small river meandered through the property. Green grass lined the banks and river gum trees, and imported Cyprus pines provided a home for brush-tailed possums. Kookaburras could be heard in the trees, and a hawk hovered over its prospective prey, a field mouse or snake.

  “I thought Bungaree was an amazing place, but this” Father Quinlan turned to look up at the house. “This is a truly remarkable estate. Ebenezer Mason must have been a very shrewd businessman.”

  “He was a ruthless, cold man,” Abbey said in a tone that did little to hide her hatred of him, “and he ruined a lot of lives.”

  The priest was slightly taken aback by her animosity.

  “There you are,” Heath called as he approached on foot. “Why didn’t you go inside?”

  “We preferred to wait out here,” Abbey said, trying to hide her anxiousness.