by Téa Cooper
The man I made love to.
‘And I won’t be his mistress,’ she continued. ‘I will not wait until he has time for me. He asked me to stay for two weeks. I agreed, as I feel I owe it to the girls. They have become my friends, but friendship alone cannot sustain me after his outrageous suggestion.’
That was the difficulty. There were now too many friendships and too many ties, but at what point had the easy relationship she had with Kit turned from friendship to this? She knew the answer—from the moment she had accepted his advances, the blame had lain with her.
There were reasons that society had rules. She had broken them and now she must pay. ‘I want more, and if I cannot have it, then I want none of it.’
Bonnie nodded her head wisely, as if the garbled words and tangled emotions plaguing her all made perfect sense. Matilda wished they did.
‘Sometimes you have to admit to love. Only then can you see your way clear.’
Admit to love?
Hadn’t she already done that? She knew she was in love with Kit. ‘I have, Bonnie. I have. And it has come to this.’
‘But has Mr Christopher? Men are different. They plan their path and follow it blindly, not realising that sometimes there is a better way to reach home.’
Matilda shook her head. She knew Bonnie was trying to offer her solace, but she simply didn’t understand.
‘Just remember that Will and I are here if you need anything. There is always a bed for you here, and Will can arrange transport for you back to Windsor or Sydney, should you decide to go.’
‘Not should, Bonnie—when. And thank you. You have been so kind.’
‘And now I think you should return to The Gate. The rain is getting heavier, and you need to get back to where it is dry and safe.
Chapter Seventeen
The rain lashed at Matilda’s face as she approached the creek. The clear, babbling brook was no more. In its place, a churning torrent of brown water surged, almost breaching the banks.
She dismounted, encouraging her horse across the timber bridge and remounting soon after. Then she slowly rode up the driveway to the house.
The continuous downpour had taken its toll; rivulets of water cascaded across the track and crisscrossed the now rutted driveway. Why Kit had decided to leave in this torrential downpour was beyond her. Was he that determined to get to Sydney and his bride-to-be? Or perhaps he wanted to escape the unpleasant situation she had forced them into? His ride would be far less pleasant than the last time he had travelled the road, yet in a warped kind of a way, thoughts of him suffering gave her pleasure.
Matilda took her horse into the stables and called for Jimmy.
‘I’m here, Miss. Glad to see you back. The horses will be pleased to be out of the rain. You must be, too.’
‘I really am pleased to be out of the rain, Jimmy.’
He took the reins from her hands and looked past her down the driveway.
‘Will the girls will be along soon?’
‘The girls? No, they are not with me. They are up at the house. Only Mr Christopher is out, and on his way to Morpeth.’
‘Oh, no, Miss. The girls left just after you. They said they would catch up with you at Bonnie’s and ride back with you.’
A cold, hard lump settled in Matilda’s stomach. ‘Are you sure they are not here?’
‘Yes, Miss, I’m sure. Mrs Barclay’s expecting you all back for dinner—except Mr Christopher, that is. Bonnie prepared something cold before she went home. Will is up at Wordsworth doing some work for Mr Roscomon so, with all this rain, she wanted to make sure everything was all right at her place.’
‘I know Bonnie’s at home. I was just there.’ Matilda tossed her damp hair off her face and turned on her heel. What was she doing wasting time here? She needed to go and find the girls. Jimmy was wrong—they must have left the horses outside the house because of the rain.
As she ran along the path to the house, mud splattered her breeches and cold water dripped from her hat down the back of her neck. When she reached the veranda, she heard Mrs Barclay’s voice calling to her through the rain.
‘Thank goodness you are all home safely. The girls insisted on following you despite the ridiculous weather. I’m not sure whether I should be pleased or angry about this streak of independence you’ve instilled in them.’
Matilda stared at her. For the first time, she saw a flash of the woman Kit’s mother might have become, not the disappointed, dispirited old woman she was. It was a pity that Matilda was about to shatter her once again, but there was no alternative. ‘Mrs Barclay, the girls aren’t with me. I went alone to see if Bonnie needed any help preparing for the flood.’
‘No!’ Mrs Barclay staggered a few steps back and sank onto the hallway chair, her mourning silk rustling. ‘They are not here. They followed about half an hour after you left.’
Matilda bit down on her lip, trying frantically to control the urge to walk away and leave the woman to her own devices. And yet, the possibility that the girls could be out in the pouring rain and lost or injured was more than she could bear. ‘Don’t worry yourself. I will go and find them. I am sure they are back at the stables by now and that we just missed each other.’
Quite how she managed to sound so calm, she didn’t know, but there was little point in making matters even worse. ‘I’ll go back over to the stables and see if they’re home. If by any chance they are not, I’ll get Jimmy to come with me, and we will go and look for them. Maybe one of the horses has thrown a shoe and they have had to walk back.’
Expecting to see Mrs Barclay collapse into a fit of hysterics, Matilda made good her escape. A surprisingly rational voice called after her, ‘Make sure you take a cape and a hat. And don’t take Jimmy—leave him here. Tell Jem to go with you. I saw him come up a while back, and he’s far more capable and knows the local area just as well as Barclay did. If there is a problem, send him back to the house, and we will deal with it from here.’
Mrs Barclay stood upright, determination lighting her eyes. Matilda nodded, trying not to dwell on the apparent change in the woman. A crisis obviously suited her. ‘I will prepare warm blankets and tea for when you return. Now go. There’s not a moment to lose. And thank goodness you have taught them how to handle a horse.’
Mouth hanging open—either from surprise or exertion, or both—Matilda ran from the house back to the stables. Jimmy had wasted no time. He had a fresh horse saddled, and Jem was already mounted. He nodded curtly at her, and she felt a curious comfort in the taciturn Aborigine’s presence.
Without a word, she mounted and followed the man back out. In the few minutes she had been at the house, the rate of rain had increased and was now cascading in torrents. She was instantly drenched despite the heavy cape and felt hat.
They picked their way carefully down the driveway. She felt her frustration at the speed of their pace mounting, but she knew better than to question the stockman’s knowledge of the area. As they reached the bridge, her stomach sank. In the space of half an hour, it had disappeared, washed away by the rising water that now swirled and tossed dead branches and debris against the breaking banks.
‘Can’t cross here, Miss. Follow me.’
Jem’s words were difficult to decipher above the noise of the torrential rain, but his meaning was clear enough, and she trailed behind him along the flats above the creek. Even she could tell that in a few moments the whole area would become a lake. Once the banks were breached there would be nothing to halt the flow of the water.
The cold rain stung her cheeks, clung to her lashes and settled across her horse’s coat like gleaming crystal droplets. Matilda kept her eyes firmly on Jem’s broad back.
After what seemed an eternity, they reached a large dam. Jem pushed his horse slowly into the calm water and stopped. She pulled up alongside him.
‘Stay right behind me. There’s a path through the billabong where the water’s shallow, but it’s real narrow.’
With that, he
set off again. Matilda could do nothing but follow in his wake, the splashes from each of the horses’ steps sending out ripples across the apparently calm water. She tightened her grip on the reins and prayed that neither she nor the horses would fall. The fact that she could swim held little consolation, the black snake responsible for Barclay’s untimely death sitting foremost in her mind.
Jem’s head continually moved from side-to-side as he scanned the water. She had no idea how he could tell which way to go, but the water rose no higher than the bottom of her stirrups.
After a time, he pulled up again. ‘We’re across the creek now,’ he said, his voice gruff. The ground was still wet but it was at least visible, despite the huge muddy puddles that threatened to join and create another smaller lake.
They travelled on, and Matilda realised with horror she had lost all sense of direction. She had no idea whether they were heading towards the town or back along the way to Morpeth, but it made little difference.
He suddenly pulled off the road and started to take a path up into the hills.
‘Jem,’ she called. He stopped and turned, pushing his hat back a little on his head. His dark eyes scanned her face.
‘Mrs Barclay said the girls were following me to Wollombi. This is the wrong way.’
‘They went this way,’ he stated flatly. Then he turned and continued to allow his horse to pick its way up the narrow track. Water gushed to either side, cutting deep gutters in the trail.
As they wound their way further and further up into the hills, Matilda found herself at a loss as to why the girls would have chosen this path. In fact, she seriously doubted Jem had any idea where he was going. The possibility of leaving him and returning to the road crossed her mind, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. Alone, she would be of no use to anyone, and she knew better than to travel unaccompanied in the bush.
Matilda called to Jem again as he made a sharp turn off the track and to the right. Once more he stopped and stared at her, water dripping in a circle from the brim of his battered hat.
‘Know where we are yet?’
She glanced around, confused. The low, grey clouds distorted the light, and the terrain was unfamiliar.
Jem dismounted and nodded to her, indicating she should do the same. They led the horses up a narrow path through the low scrub and spindly trees, and looking down, she realised how high they had climbed. Above them and to her left, a rock face like a high fortress wall ran parallel to their path. Water streamed down it, giving it a flat, shiny coating, and bright green moss clung to its cracks and crevices like sponges. Turning another bend, she gasped in surprise.
Ahead of them, two horses were tethered to a tree, heads down and looking decidedly dejected. They were a lot drier than she was, though, due to the shelter of the rocky overhang.
Jem dropped his reins and brought the palms of both of his hands to his mouth. He let out a strange, mournful cry.
‘Cooee!’ It echoed in the silence, sending shivers down her spine. But then came a reply—the same lamenting cry but in a higher tone, a different pattern. ‘Cooee! Cooee!’
‘You can stop worrying now. They’re here. They’re safe. Just wet.’
Matilda’s gaze roamed the rock face and the darkened interior of the cave. If Hannah and Beth were safe, how did he know and where were they? She raised her hand and held her hat in place as she stared.
They continued to follow the path. There was no sign of life.
‘Come on,’ Jem said, passing her on the track. She turned to check on the horses—he had tethered them both under the overhang, and they were standing there patiently, so she followed him as he walked off.
This time the going was harder. They had to scramble over slippery boulders, and at one point the path almost passed under the rock, but after a while she began to smell a fire. A sudden waft of smoke stung her eyes.
‘Matilda!’ Beth’s voice broke the silence. ‘We’re up here. Come up—it’s nice and warm, and the fire will dry your clothes.’
She gazed at Jem’s inscrutable face, resisting the temptation to throw her arms around him in relief. He gave her a long, slow wink and then his face broke into a wide smile.
‘How did you know?’ Matilda asked. Jem said nothing in reply, but he must have known where they were all along. He had led the way, and she had followed blindly. She had no idea why she had trusted him, but her heart was light, and she was thankful she had followed her instincts.
She scrambled hurriedly up the rock and into the cave.
Chapter Eighteen
Kit pulled his collar up further and shook his head like a wet dog. The rain was making it virtually impossible to see more than two feet in front of his nose.
What in God’s name had possessed him to leave? He could think of no reason other than impatience and the desire to put some space between him and Matilda. He needed time to think, and he simply couldn’t when he was near her. The look in her eyes would be forever branded on his consciousness. And it had hurt.
Matters had gone from bad to worse. How foolish he had been to give in to his desires, and then worse, to suggest that she should be his mistress. Beyond foolish, it had been downright ridiculous, and degrading.
There was no point telling his mother that Eliza wasn’t the woman for him. Mrs Barclay was adamant that her son should have the same kind of marriage she did—a marriage to secure the future, a marriage of convenience. He owed it to her, and he owed it to his stepsisters.
A sliver of ice slipped down his spine as he remembered the stilted expressions and rigid expectations of Sydney society. Maybe he could take Eliza to the Bainbridge’s while he was in Sydney and let her see another side of life, in an environment where he was comfortable, and that was welcoming and enlightened, not stifled by irrational expectations and Victorian prejudice.
Who am I trying to fool?
The Eliza he remembered had more in common with his mother than she ever would with him. Perhaps that was a good thing. His mother would have a companion, and he could dedicate his life to his vineyard. A wave of loneliness washed over him as he thought about his life over the last, few heavenly weeks, before he had made the mistake of making Matilda an offer that was second-best. How could he have done that? She deserved so much more. He shook a few more raindrops out of his eyes.
He had been offered the perfect opportunity to tell her of his true feelings, yet his mouth had clamped tight like a vice. The words were there—on the tip of his tongue—but he simply had not been able to get them past frozen lips. Why?
Kit gazed up at the heavens, thankful for the rain as it stung his face and lashed his eyes, as it dripped down his collar and dampened his back. It suited his disposition. He had no right to be comfortable; he deserved this torment. It was as if the heavens were answering as Matilda had not.
No. She had been cool, calm and collected. Two weeks, she had said. She would stay for only two weeks. What would happen if he didn’t get back to The Gate within that time? What if he returned with Eliza and Matilda had left? That possibility filled him with dread.
Wet, tired and dispirited, Kit nudged his horse onwards and took the track to the old inn at Horseshoe Creek. He had been disappointed with the lack of progress he had made, and his mood had grown fouler than the weather. It would take him the best part of tomorrow to get to Maitland, and then he must spend a whole day with the Portus family before he could even begin the tiresome journey to Sydney.
It was a far cry from the last time he had made this trip with Matilda. His memory of that day was bathed in sunshine and laughter, and the excitement of the miles disappearing beneath their horses’ hooves. Whenever Matilda was with him, life was sunshine and laughter—or was that moonlight and passion? His body leapt at the memory of her standing before him naked, like some ancient goddess.
Undoubtedly unlicensed, the slab building of the inn ahead leaned alarmingly against a massive gum tree, its bark roof sagging against the weight of the r
ain. Kit dismounted and led his horse around to the back of the building. A cluster of outhouses and what looked like a stable offered all the accommodation he would need.
The inn’s decrepit timber door creaked on its hinges as Kit pushed it open and strode inside. The smoky interior was virtually empty, with a moth-eaten dog that must have had dingo somewhere in its heritage raising its head and offering a low growl, yet making no effort to greet him. A motley assortment of chairs and tables littered the room, and the earthen floor was dirty and unswept. Every sane person would be tucked up in the comfort of his or her own home and out of this miserable weather.
Dripping water onto the rough floor, Kit took off his cape and hat. He caught the eye of a florid-faced woman behind the bar and crossed the room.
‘Have you got a room?’ He asked, long past any social niceties. Besides, she didn’t much look as though she’d have welcomed them.
‘One. Need to stable the horse as well?’
He nodded and followed her through the dingy corridor to a pokey room at the back of the building.
‘That do?’ She swung open the door to a windowless room with a rough bed and single chair.’
Kit grunted his approval, knowing he had no other option.
‘You’re too late for a hot meal. I can give you some cold mutton and bread, and a drink if you want it.’
The pervasive smell of burnt grease and sour milk turned his stomach. Despite not having eaten all day, he really didn’t want anything at all. His stomach gave a feeble churn.
‘That’s fine. Just some tea.’
‘Rum? Brandy? Wine? Ale?’
He shook his head.
‘Fine way for me to make a living,’ she grumbled as she shuffled back along the corridor. ‘It’ll be in the front room in about ten minutes. Take your horse round the back. There’s an empty stall there.’
Resisting the temptation to get back on his horse and leave, he dragged his sopping wet cape back over his shoulders, ducked under the lintel and strode back out into the rain. He found some damp hay stacked in a corner of the stables and a bucket of rainwater for his bedraggled horse. He removed its saddle, bridle and bags, and—after finding a dirty piece of sacking—gave the horse a cursory wipe down.
