Saddled with Death

by Irene Sauman

  ***

  After lunch, Madame Fournier sat at the kitchen table and read, while Sachi drew pictures of Hux and sorted through the treasures she had collected on their walk. Gum nuts, leaves and seed pods littered part of the table, making it more difficult for Bea and the girls, who were baking. Mrs. Appleton chose to sit in the drawing room with some embroidery work and Emma, to be hospitable, and because the kitchen was getting crowded, sat with her, occupying her hands, if not her mind, with some practical needlework of her own.

  The room was quiet, Dora Appleton rarely speaking, seeming to be occupied with the work she had in hand and her own thoughts. She was sitting in front of the window that looked onto the garden, to have the better light. Over Mrs. Appleton’s shoulder, Emma saw Sachi wander into the garden with Hux and seat herself on a bench. She was feeding a biscuit to Hux when she looked up. Vernon Appleton came into view and stood looking down at the child.

  It was impossible to tell what he was saying to her, but whatever it was Sachi didn’t appear interested. She continued to break off pieces of biscuit and feed them to Hux, not looking up again, and responding once with a shake of the head. Mr. Appleton must have tired of the one-sided conversation because after a few minutes he left. His perseverance in his quest of the widow was to be admired, but clearly, he wasn’t going to get any help from the daughter.

  Was Madame Fournier seriously considering Vernon Appleton? He was not a romantic figure, unlike Mr. Devereaux. She couldn’t see anything at all attractive about the man, neither his appearance nor his personality. But then how well does one ever know someone else’s thoughts and motivations? If Madame Fournier was looking for a secure future for herself and her child, Mr. Appleton might be just what she needed.

  It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. Emma was listening out for the return of the horse riders, when Mrs. Appleton looked up, needle poised.

  “What was that?”

  “The steamer whistle?” Emma asked, having recently heard one. “They sound their whistles at every bend, as a warning for anything coming the other way.”

  Mrs. Appleton gave her a look. Of course, the woman already knew that, having travelled the river.

  “I thought I heard shouting.”

  Emma listened. There was silence for moment and then, yes, there was something, faintly. She went to the front window overlooking the river and pulled back the lace curtain. Vernon Appleton and George Macdonald stood just inside the garden, gesticulating, the sound of their voices wafting up but not the words. Curious, Emma went into the hall and out onto the verandah.

  “Spite,” Mr. Macdonald was saying. “You keep bringing that up. Whatever did I have to be spiteful about?”

  “My father didn’t pay you any attention, did he.” Vernon Appleton’s red face poked toward his brother like a turtle popping his head from his shell. “He preferred me. You resented that.”

  “Oh, not that tired old story again. He was your father, not mine. Of course, he favoured you. Would have been unnatural of him not to. But he was a good man. He’d be upset to hear you going on in this way. So would our mother.”

  Vernon Appleton shook his finger under George Macdonald’s nose. “Don’t you tell me what my father would or wouldn’t do. He knew it was your fault, despite your story. Your fault I’m crippled. You—” Mr. Macdonald pushed his brother’s hand away, turning and taking a step up toward the homestead. “Don’t you turn your back on me, you miserable cur…” His words were cut off as Mr. Macdonald whirled back, shaking his fist under his brother’s nose.

  “One more word and you’ll find yourself swimming for your life, bad leg or not,” he shouted. “You hear me? I’ll have you down that slope and into the water faster than you’ve moved in years.”

  “Well, that would save you paying me what you owe, wouldn’t it?”

  The two men glared at one another, until Vernon muttered something Emma didn’t catch and then turned away and limped up past the side of the homestead. George Macdonald continued to stand, poised for a moment, before striding away toward the farm buildings. Neither man seemed to have noticed Emma standing on the verandah.

  “Well, well,” Mrs. Appleton’s voice came from behind her. “That’s been festering for a long time. I couldn’t understand why Vernon suddenly decided to pay this visit.”

  “It was a spur of the moment idea, then?”

  “Oh yes. He announced it after we left Cape Town and sent off the telegraph as soon as we berthed at Fremantle. Mr. Devereaux was interested in the horses and Vernon suggested we should all pay a visit to Nettifield.”

  The visit certainly didn’t appear to have been about renewing his acquaintance with his brother, unless he wanted to torment him. Had Mr. Appleton jumped at the opportunity of extending his time with Madame Fournier? A bell was ringing. Bea came hurrying from the kitchen and up the hallway to her mother’s bedroom as Emma came in from the verandah.

  “What is going on? What’s happening?” she heard Mrs. Macdonald ask as Bea closed the bedroom door behind her. A moment later she was back out as Emma and Mrs. Appleton were just settling themselves again in the drawing room.

  “Emma, what is Ma going on about, do you know? She said Dad and Uncle had a fight.”

  “They had an argument out front.”

  “Did you hear? Can you come and talk to Ma about it? She’s very upset.”

  “Yes, of course. Excuse us,” she said to Mrs. Appleton.

  Mrs. Macdonald was propped up on pillows as usual, giving her a view out the front window. She was twisting a handkerchief in her hands. For a woman who had always been active and involved it must have been difficult to lie there now, shut off from everything. Emma went to the bedside and took up one of her hands, stilling them.

  “Did you hear what was being said, Emma?” Mrs. Macdonald asked, her eyes anxious on Emma’s face. Emma hesitated. “Was it about his leg? It was, wasn’t it?”

  Emma nodded. “I gathered Mr. Appleton blames Mr. Macdonald for the fact he has a bad leg.”

  “As if George doesn’t feel bad enough. Why has he come here, raking up old wounds, causing trouble? Why?”

  “He might just be following Madame Fournier.” Emma suggested. “He is paying attention to her every chance he gets.”

  “So why can’t he leave George alone, then? I’m afraid…” Her voice faltered and she coughed. Bea helped to a sip of water from the glass on the bedside table.

  “What are you afraid of Ma?” Bea asked gently.

  “Your father will only take so much. If Vernon pushes him too far—oh, I wish they had never come here. When are they leaving? It can’t be too soon.”

  “In another day or two, so Matty said. The Sapphire is to collect them on the way upriver.”

  “Bea, tell your father to come in and see me,” Mrs. Macdonald’s voice took on a surer note. “Go fetch him, right away.”

  “Ma, I’m sure there’s no need—”

  “Now, Beatrice.”

  Bea looked across the bed to Emma, and back to her mother. “Alright, Ma. Don’t upset yourself.”

  “Bea doesn’t understand men, not really,” Mrs. Macdonald confided when her daughter had left. “You’d think she would with three brothers, wouldn’t you, but it’s not her nature. She trusts too much to their good feelings.”

  “That’s not such a bad thing, is it? She is still young.”

  “So are you, but you are far wiser. Her father wouldn’t insist on her going to that school you went to. It was a mistake. It would have widened her view of the world.”

  “Perhaps.” It was more likely Bea’s trusting view would have been confirmed under Miss Eunice Marshall’s genteel finishing. “Tell me, what was the cause of Mr. Appleton’s bad leg?”

  “Oh, he fell out of a tree as a young lad. Smashed his knee badly. He wears a leather brace on it even now. But he’s always claimed George pushed him. There’s a lot of resentment there.”

  Emma nodded. “He said something abo
ut spite and that Mr. Macdonald resented his father favouring him.”

  “Oh dear, did he?” Mrs. Macdonald agitation increased. “That riles George more than anything he can say about the accident. Oh, dear.”

  She’d said too much. “You mustn’t upset yourself. Nothing bad has happened.”

  Emma helped her drink a little more water. She would send Tillie along later with some soothing chamomile tea.

  “Where are they now?” Mrs. Macdonald asked.

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hall.

  “That’s George.” She looked relieved.

  Mr. Macdonald entered the room breezily. He wasn’t a man to show his feelings in front of others but Emma was pretty certain that bravado would evaporate once he was alone with his wife. His face had a ruddy glow now. He’d likely been by the fire in the smithy, banging out his anger on a piece of iron. It wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly a healthier outlet than throwing his brother in the river.

  “What’s up, old girl?” he greeted his wife. She held out her free hand to him.

  Emma gave the hand she was holding a squeeze and moved toward the door, where Bea was standing. They went out, closing the door quietly behind them.

  “You don’t really think there will be trouble, do you?” Bea whispered, stopping a little further along the hall.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps your Ma can do something.”

  “Perhaps. She’s the only one Dad seems to listen to—most of the time, anyway. Oh, I was so looking forward to seeing them, Em. They’re family after all. One should be able to get along with family, shouldn’t they? But Madame Fournier seems to be the nicest of the lot and she’s a perfect stranger.”

  “Families have long histories, woven from many years together,” Emma said. “Their relationships are bound to be more complicated.”

  “That sounds like something your grandmother would say,” Bea grumbled.

  Emma laughed. “You know me so well. Now don’t worry. I have an idea. Your father and uncle were alone together today, weren’t they? All we need to do is make sure that doesn’t happen again. If someone is always with one or the other of them it will prevent any real trouble. We’ll tell Matty and Jim about it when they get back and get them to help.”

  Bea brightened at the idea. “That would work, wouldn’t it?”

  “Between us and the boys and your Ma what could possibly go wrong. It’s only for another day or two.” Perhaps they could engage Madame Fournier as well to keep Mr. Appleton occupied.

  4

  Trouble Realised

  It was just on dark when the boys and Mr. Devereaux arrived back. By the time the horses had been taken care of and they had cleaned up, it was time for dinner. There had been no opportunity to talk to Matty or Jim alone about shadowing their father and uncle.

  The girls were dishing out and Emma was putting a tray of food together for Mrs. Macdonald. Sachi had left some flowers she had gathered on her walk, and Emma was adding them to the tray to tempt the invalid’s appetite.

  “Dad’s not joining us for dinner tonight,” Bea said, coming into the kitchen. “He’s going to eat with Ma. What will our guests think?”

  “They will think he is being very considerate of his ill wife,” Emma responded, reaching for another tray. “They will understand that he wants to spend as much time with her as possible.”

  “Will they? I do hope so. Ma probably just wants to keep him away from uncle.”

  Emma agreed. Not that anything physical was likely to flare up during dinner, with others present.

  “Get Matty to sit at the head of the table,” Emma suggested. “As if it’s a normal occurrence.”

  She hoped this arrangement would prevent the guests feeling ill-used. Her seating arrangement the previous night hadn’t been such a good choice. Tonight, she was attempting to reconcile it. With Matty at the head, several on that side of the table were moved up a seat, Mrs. Appleton swapped seats with Bea. It left an empty seat at the end next to Anthony Appleton, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Claude Devereaux seemed to enjoy the new arrangement, claiming he was a thorn between two roses with Emma and Bea on either side of him. The atmosphere was more relaxed as everyone knew one another a little better and there was no threat of an argument hanging over them. The visitors regaled the table with stories about their journey from England and the other passengers on the ocean-going steamer.

  “One had to make one’s own entertainment,” Madame Fournier said at one point. “You remember the fancy-dress? Of course, none of us have costumes so we beg and borrow, and make masks from whatever.”

  “You were a most frightening Madame Defarge,” Vernon Appleton said. “Mr. Dickens would have been proud of you.”

  “Thank you kindly.” Madame Fournier tapped a finger on the back of his hand. “But your Captain Ahab was –how you say—l’inspiration.”

  Mr. Appleton gave a small bow of his head. Dora Appleton stabbed at her meat.

  Toward the end of the meal, when Tillie had just cleared the plates after the main course and they were waiting for dessert to be served, Mr. Appleton announced he wanted to leave the next day.

  “You’ve seen the horses, haven’t you Devereaux? And I have seen my brother. There’s no reason to delay our journey any longer. I am most keen to get on home to Hillcrest. No matter how much you trust your manager there is nothing like having your own hands on the reins.”

  “How are we to travel?” Mr. Devereaux asked. “We are waiting on the Sapphire.”

  “That is the question, of course. My knowledge of the river steamers is limited but I should imagine any one of them would welcome some paying passengers. I saw several pass by going upriver today.”

  “Do we stand on the river bank and hail one as it comes by, as you would a hansom cab?” Mr. Devereaux joked, raising his hand.

  Mr. Appleton looked to Matty. “We hang out a white cloth to indicate if we want a steamer to call in,” Matty explained. “But they mayn’t have cabins for everyone.”

  “Are you all intending to leave tomorrow?” Emma asked, looking at the faces round the table.

  Claude Devereaux turned to his sister, who nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It has been a most pleasant interlude but we have no claim on your hospitality. We are here at the invitation of Mr. Appleton. It has been gracious of you to accommodate us.”

  “You’ve been most welcome,” Bea said. “If you are unable to get a berth tomorrow you are welcome to stay until the Sapphire arrives, you know. All or any of you.”

  “Thank you. We will see.”

  Mr. Appleton nodded. “It will depend on the accommodation available of course. I should hate to break up our party on this final leg of our journey. We have come so far together.”

  Mrs. Appleton did not appear to agree with those sentiments, if her expression was any indication.

  “What do you think of Uncle Appleton’s announcement?” Bea asked, when she and Emma were back in the kitchen. “I mean, he seems as keen to get away from Dad as Dad is to avoid him.”

  “Indeed. Nor does he want to lose sight of Madame Fournier,” Emma said, switching out a chipped cup from the tea tray. “I wonder how that will play out. She seemed more disposed toward him tonight.” The plate with the warm biscuits had a chip as well. She twitched the linen napkin to cover it. Bea would have to start threatening to dock Tillie’s wage if this kept up.

  “Take this into the drawing room Tillie, while I make tea for Ma and Dad,” Bea told the maid.

  Janey came back from the dining room with a pile of dessert dishes, which she dumped into the trough. “Madame’s just gone to put Sachi to bed,” she said, as she began to wash up. “She seems in good spirits.”

  “Sachi or Madame?” Emma asked absently.

  “Madame of course. You moonin’ about that Mr. Devro? Missin’ him already?”

  “I knew I should have kept you in the kitchen.”

  “Huh
. Tillie tells me everythin’ anyways.” And probably exaggerated things in the telling.

  “I wouldn’t be too bold if I were you, miss. I saw you at the clothes line flirting with that young station hand this morning. Wait until I tell your mother about that.”

  “I weren’t flirtin’. He was askin’ about the visitors.”

  “Hmm-mmh.”

  Emma went to join their guests in the drawing room while Bea took the tea tray in to her parents. Madame Fournier still hadn’t returned. Alex and Anthony, who appeared inseparable, were playing dominoes in the corner and Matty and Jim were talking horses with Claude Devereaux. The Appletons were both quietly drinking their tea.

  Rather than try and make conversation Emma sat herself at the piano and played a little Mozart. She half expected Mr. Devereaux to come over and stand by the piano but he seemed more interested in his conversation and remained seated. It piqued her slightly. Bea came in followed shortly by Madame Fournier, but she didn’t stay longer than to have some tea and then she retired.

  “This country air is making me sleepy,” she explained.

  Gradually, everyone else followed her example. Bea and Emma returned to the kitchen to plan the meals for the next day, as well as they could, given they had no idea if any of the visitors would be at lunch or dinner.

  “A big pot of mutton stew would be the thing,” Bea decided. “Enough to feed everyone twice over. It won’t go to waste if they leave early.”

  “Good idea.” Emma yawned. “I seem to have been sitting half the day and I’m more tired than ever.”

  She and Bea left Tillie and Janey at the table, enjoying a late supper, all their tasks finished for the day, and went off to Bea’s bedroom, which Emma was sharing. The house settled down for the night. Emma thought she had only been asleep for a few minutes when someone was shaking her awake again.

  “Who is that?” She blinked as the light from a candle in front of her face left everything else in shadow.

  “There’s something wrong at the stables,” Janey’s voice came from the shadow.

  Bea stirred. “Emma?”

  “What do you mean, something wrong.” Emma sat up and looked at the timepiece on her bedside table. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, Janey.” She could see more clearly now. The girl was still fully dressed. “What are you doing still up? No, on second thoughts, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

  “I aint done nothin’ I shouldn’t,” Janey said, arcing up, her English fracturing in the process.

  “What is wrong at the stables?” Bea asked.

  “Abe says it sounds like horses loose, and they shouldn’t be.”

  “Abe?” Emma said. “Okay, okay,” as Janey opened her mouth again.

  “I’ll tell Matty,” Bea said.

  She threw a blanket round her shoulders and went out into the hall. Janey was still looking mutinous.

  “You did the right thing to wake us, Janey,” Emma said, trying to be conciliatory.

  “You like kaanyi hit with stick,” the girl said, and disappeared before Emma could think of a suitable response to being told she behaved like an angry snake.

  Perhaps she should send the girl home and bring her sister Sal over to help, though Janey was usually the easier one to deal with. Clearly, she felt she could behave more freely here than back home at Wirramilla, where Emma’s mother kept a firm hand.

  Well, she wasn’t going to get back to sleep now until the problem, whatever it was, was dealt with. She pulled her coat on over her nightdress and slipped her feet into her house shoes. Emma hoped everyone wasn’t being woken for a false alarm. Though on second thoughts, it would be better if it was.

  She joined Bea on the verandah between the back door of the homestead and the kitchen building, where they could see across to the stables. The kerosene lamp hanging by the back door cast its light over them, but offered no warmth. Emma shivered despite her coat and wrapped her arms across her chest, hands tucked in. There would be another frost tonight. The men had already left footprints as they crossed the lawn.

  Above the low rosemary hedge that edged the garden, another lamp showed the silhouettes of two men, walking in a moving pool of light across the hundred or so feet that separated the homestead from the stable, at that moment a darker black in the overall blackness. Emma could see that the man holding the lamp was Matty, his hastily donned shirt showing a faint lighter shape at his back where it hung beneath his jacket.

  They reached the stable and stopped. Listening perhaps. There was a small door to the side of the large stable doors and it was this one that the men cautiously opened, holding the lamp high to get a good view of the interior. For a moment, everything was still, then Matty stepped inside and the door shut behind him, his companion swallowed up in the shadows. Footsteps sounded, getting closer, and the young man Emma had seen talking to Janey earlier in the day entered the area of lamplight where they were waiting.

  “You need to get the boss, miss,” he said to Bea, his hand on the verandah post.

  “What is it?”

  “Someone’s there, down on the floor.” Tillie, who had appeared on the verandah, let out a little scream. Bea told her to go stoke the kitchen fire and put the kettle on, and went to fetch her father.

  “Who is it?” Janey asked the young man, presumably Abe.

  “It’s a man, is all I could tell. And there’s some horses out of the stalls.”

  Emma hoped the man wasn’t one of the Macdonalds. A station hand perhaps. And then felt badly for wishing an accident on anyone.

  The faintest glow was visible from Matty’s lamp along the bottom of the stable door. She stepped off the verandah, the chill hitting her as she left the protection of the buildings, and headed toward the stable without even thinking. Her first reaction was to help if someone was injured or ill. She wasn’t her grandmother’s apprentice for nothing.

  “You need to be careful, miss,” Abe said, catching her up. “The horses are spooked.”

  “Did you see any blood?” The smell of it could upset horses.

  “Too dark to know.”

  They reached the small door. Emma turned with her hand on the latch. “Don’t you do that girl any harm now,” she said in her most commanding voice.

  “I—I don’t mean any,” he said, his tone surprised and indignant.

  “You’d best not,” she replied and entered the stable, shutting him out. What she meant by harm probably didn’t match his idea anyway.

  The first thing she saw was the body, lit in a pool of light from Matty’s lamp. It lay near to the row of stalls, face down, head toward the stalls. The face was turned away from her but it was obvious that it was Vernon Appleton. He was not lying in a comfortable position, the way his good leg was bent and the other stiff and straight, lifting his hips slightly off the floor. One didn’t choose to lie like that.

  There were three horses out of their stalls, huddled at the far end of the stable. A young piebald stamped its foot at her entrance and another shook its head and snorted. They were clearly unsettled.

  Matty looked up, startled, as she came closer.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice was harsh.

  “I thought perhaps I could help.”

  “It’s a little late for that.”

  There was a pool of blood on the brick floor by Mr. Appleton’s head. She was standing on the opposite side of the body to Matty. She bent down to touch a hand, lying flaccid. There was no warmth. The side of his face that she could see was without blemish.

  “Was it an accident?”

  “Well, of course it was. What else could it be?” She looked at him sharply, his defensive tone surprising her. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” he said, indicating the horses at the end of the stable. “He must have let them out of their stalls, for some reason, and was knocked down.”

  It was a reasonable assumption, given Vernon Appleton’s compromised mobility, but it was still only an assumption.
r />   “But why would he be letting the horses out of their stalls?”

  “How would I know? He’s been arguing with Dad ever since he got here. Perhaps he did it out of spite.”

  It was possible, especially in light of the argument she had witnessed earlier. Did he think his father may have had a hand in Vernon’s death? She couldn’t discount that fear.

  “We should turn him over, see what injuries there are,” she said.

  “There’s no need for you to be involved, Em. We’ll deal with it.”

  If she had been a cat her fur would have stood on end. She was all but betrothed to him, almost a part of his family. Of course, she needed to be involved, especially if there was the chance the Macdonalds might treat this death as an accident when it was something else. Emma sought for words to say that Matty would not find offensive as they stared at one another across the body.

  “Matty…”

  The door opened and Mr. Macdonald entered the stable.

  He stopped just inside the door. Emma could see Bea and Jim behind him in the shadows. He swept his gaze around the space. He seemed to be having difficulty taking in the scene. He wiped a hand across his eyes as if what he saw would change when he looked again.

  Death was as common as life, but it always came as a shock none the less. He walked over and stared down at his brother for a moment. Emma stepped away. He bent down on one knee and shook his brother by the shoulder.

  “You idiot,” he muttered. “Why couldn’t you have left it alone?”

  “Is he dead, Emma? Is Uncle dead?” Bea asked coming up to her.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, dear.”

  “Was it the horses?” Jim had come up to them. “How did they get out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Matty asked. Mr. Macdonald continued to stare around him. “Dad?”

  “Why couldn’t he have left it alone?” Mr. Macdonald repeated, as if to himself.

  “Dad? Do you want Jim and me to take care of this?” Matty said eventually, when it seemed their father wasn’t going to take charge of the situation. Mr. Macdonald didn’t answer but wandered over to the door and cast another look around. He shook his head and left.

  “He’s just upset,” Bea said uneasily. “It’s his brother after all. You would be too if that were Jim or Alex lying there.”

  “Probably,” Matty admitted, but Emma could see he was worried.

  5

  What Happened Next

  Matty picked up a halter hanging from a nail beside one of the empty stalls.

  “We’d best get these horses back in their stalls.”

  The horses shied and shuffled as he and Jim approached them. Matty made crooning noises and got the halter onto one, soothing it before putting it into an empty stall close at the far end. The only other available stalls were near to where the body was lying.

  “I don’t think we’re going to get them in there until we move him,” Jim said to his brother.

  “Let’s see.”

  Jim shrugged. “Okay.”

  While the boys were occupied with the second horse, Emma knelt beside the body and looked more closely at the face and head. The skin was washed out, but her initial assessment stood. There were no marks. She stood and bent down, placing both hands under the body and bracing her feet.

  “Emma. Leave it,” Matty called.

  She ignored him and heaved, putting all her effort into it. The lifeless body lifted and hung. She leaned into it and the body rolled, falling with a flat thump on its back, the arm flailing out. Bea gasped and she heard Matty curse as the horse they were dealing with reared back. Emma’s stomach lurched at the damage to the side of Vernon Appleton’s head that was now open to view. Matted blood caked his cheek, his forehead and hair.

  As well as the patch of bloodied floor where his head had been, another area of blood was revealed at chest level. Emma stepped back and stared at it. This wasn’t connected to the blood that had come from his head wounds. She needed to clean the blood off his face, see what the damage there could tell her. Would they see evidence of a hoof print?

  She heard someone gagging behind her, and realised it was Bea. She had turned to help her friend when Matty appeared between them.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “I told you, this isn’t your concern.”

  He didn’t get angry often, but it was evident now in his eyes and the set of his face.

  “Matt,” Jim shouted. “Get over here.”

  Jim was holding one horse that was balking at moving forward, while the piebald had backed itself into the far corner. Matty was torn between the two, but eventually went to aid his brother. Emma drew in a deep breath and let it out again quietly.

  “Are you all right?” she asked Bea.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What is Matty upset with you for?”

  “He’s afraid your father had something to do with this.”

  Bea’s eyes widened as she realised the import of Emma’s words. “It’s because of that argument, isn’t it?”

  “I suspect so.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. Dad wouldn’t knock someone down and then leave them lying there. He wouldn’t.”

  Bea may have been trying to convince herself, but it certainly sounded more like the Mr. Macdonald she knew. Could years of anger and frustration have warped his normal behaviour?

  “Help me clean up his face, so we can see the injuries. We need water and some cloth.”

  “There’s some cleaning cloths in the tack room.”

  Bea headed for the small room at the near end of the stable while Emma grabbed one of the several buckets of water that stood just inside the door. Jim and Matty had managed to get the second horse into its stall and were securing the piebald to a support post where it wouldn’t injure itself.

  Emma and Bea met back at the body. Emma soaked a cloth and tried to wash the blood from the face wound. It wasn’t very successful. The water was icy cold and the blood had partly dried. Her fingers quickly became numbed.

  Jim came across to see what they were doing.

  “Whoa. Something’s made a nice mess of him,” Jim said, hunkering down. “There’s blood all down the front of him as well. Did all that come from his head? What was he doing here? Did he let the horses out and get knocked down?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Emma said, laying the wet cloth over the injuries to soak and soften the blood. “We have to clean him up first. See what his injuries can tell us.”

  It would help if she could get Jim on side, but Matty, who had followed his brother, had other ideas.

  “We’ll deal with this, now,” he said. “Why don’t you go back to the kitchen with Bea.”

  It wasn’t phrased as a question. Emma looked up at him. When had he started sounding like his father? She needed him to admit what he was afraid of.

  “Do you think it wasn’t a horse that did this?” she asked quietly.

  He coloured at her words and his hands clenched by his side. “You’re not at Wirramilla now, Em. It isn’t your place to be taking over.”

  “You’re afraid your father had something to do with this, aren’t you?”

  Matty’s hands opened and fisted again.

  “What are you talking about?” Jim wanted to know.

  “He’s afraid your dad had something to do with this,” Emma repeated. “Because of the argument earlier today. He doesn’t want me to find out that it wasn’t an accident with the horses.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. Dad wouldn’t have left him lying here like that. He’d of got help.”

  “That’s what I said,” Bea put in.

  “Your uncle’s death must be reported to the police, whether it’s an accident or—something else. You know what gossip there would be along the river if there were questions left unanswered. And you all need to know the truth, whatever it might be.”
r />   “Even if it was Dad did this?” Matty said harshly.

  “Oh, hush,” Bea told him, while Jim said at the same time, “What’s wrong with you? I don’t know how you can even think that.”

  “And if he didn’t, Matty? You would always wonder,” Emma said. “Secrets destroy people, destroy families. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  She lifted the cloth off Vernon Appleton’s face, but the injuries were still clouded with blood.

  “I’d like to know if it was one of the horses,” Jim said. “We can’t send off a horse that killed a man.”

  “Perhaps he had a heart attack and just fell down,” Bea offered hopefully.

  “I’m afraid there’s too much blood loss for that,” Emma explained.

  “Well, we can’t leave him here. Where are we going to put him?” Jim asked getting to his feet. “We can’t bury him in this condition, either. Ma would have got him ready but she’s not up to it now. Perhaps Aunt Appleton.”

  “Sure, we can leave it up to her,” Matty said, sounding relieved at the idea. “We can put him in the laundry for tonight.”

  “I can clean up his face there,” Emma said, determined not to let it go. “Some hot water would help.”

  “There’s a table in the tack room, we can use the top of it to carry him on,” Jim said, and went to get it.

  Matty opened his mouth to say something then seemed to think better of it. She couldn’t reassure him. She just knew they were doing the right thing. The thought occurred to her that he might know something she didn’t. He turned away and went to help Jim. They laid their uncle’s body on the table top, which was several boards nailed to a frame, and carried him up to the laundry at the back of the kitchen.

  The board was placed across the wash troughs. Mr. Macdonald was nowhere around. He clearly needed some time to digest what had happened, but whether that was from shock or guilt Emma had no idea. Bea went into the kitchen and came back with Janey and the kettle. Tillie had gone back to bed, not wanting anything to do with “no dead body.” Hot water was added to a half bucket of cold.

  “I’ll take what’s left in that,” Matty said, taking the kettle from Janey. “I’ll go get rid of those blood stains in the stable.”

  “Don’t you try dealing with that piebald by yourself,” Jim warned him. “I’ll come and give you a hand with him shortly.”

  Emma was thankful for the warm water as her hands were icy. She gently sponged the dried and coagulated blood from Vernon Appleton’s face. It didn’t take long to reveal the damage. The cheek bone was broken and there were abrasions to the forehead, which had bled freely. It hadn’t been a horse that knocked him down. Not unless their shoes made small, rounded indents, of which she could see at least three.

  “What caused that?” Jim asked.

  Emma didn’t know. “It doesn’t look bad enough to have killed him, though. Do you think he might have had a heart attack after all? But there’s all this blood on his vest, too. It doesn’t connect with the blood from his head wounds. That stops at his shoulder.”

  It was frustrating. They still didn’t have an answer, but it wasn’t her place, as an unmarried woman, to be undressing a male body searching for further injuries. Matty poked his head in at the laundry door, keeping his eyes averted from their activity.

  “Did anyone pick up Uncle’s cane? I looked for it just now back at the stable.”

  Emma and Jim looked at one another, and back at the injuries on Vernon Appleton’s face.

  “Look at this,” she said, stepping aside so Matty could see the injuries. He hesitated before stepping in.

  “It wasn’t a horse, Matt,” Jim said.

  “So I see. Satisfied, are you?” he said, looking pointedly at Emma, who ignored him.

  “These marks could be from the knob of Uncle’s Malacca cane,” Jim said, “but I don’t reckon that silver knob would have enough weight to kill him.”

  “It might have been filled with something, but there could be another injury. All that blood on his vest has come from somewhere,” Emma said.

  “You’re not going to go investigating that, now, and that’s final,” Matty said roughly. “Aunt Appleton can look into it tomorrow.”

  “Of course, I wasn’t going to,” Emma replied, annoyed that he would think she would.

  “Why don’t Emma and I go back to the kitchen and you two see if you can find out where that blood has come from,” Bea suggested. Three heads turned to look at her in surprise. “Well, we want to know, don’t we? We don’t have to wait for tomorrow.”

  “I’m up for it,” Jim said. “This is getting serious. It’s obvious he’s been attacked by someone.”

  “All right,” Matty conceded. He didn’t have much choice.

  “Who could have done this?” Bea asked when she and Emma were back in the kitchen.

  Emma could think of only one person who had been angry enough with Mr. Appleton to have done him injury. Janey stoked the fire under the kettle but neither of them wanted tea. They sat at the table in silence. Bea put her head down on her arms. Emma tried not to think at all.

  She was relieved when Mr. Macdonald came into the kitchen twenty minutes later with the boys. He was looking more like himself again, but they were all looking grim. Jim sat down beside Bea as if he needed to be close to someone and Matty took a seat on the other side of her. Mr. Macdonald remained on his feet.

  Emma let Bea ask the question. She had achieved her end for the moment.

  “What is it? What did you find?” Bea asked.

  “There’s a wound in his chest, near his heart,” Jim said. “He’s been stabbed with something. Something thin, perhaps a pocket knife.” All the men carried a pocket knife on their belt.

  “No. Who could do such a thing?”

  “We’ll send a message to the police at Wentworth in the morning,” Mr. Macdonald announced. Emma was glad to hear that.

  He sat down opposite his children, his back to the fireplace. She had often seen them there, around the table, discussing something, but then Mrs. Macdonald had been with them. Mr. Mac seemed somehow diminished without her, but it could just be the circumstances that suggested that. Emma sent Janey off to bed and busied herself with the kettle. She handed around mugs of hot chocolate with dollops of cream on top. Comfort food. She took the chair beside the fireplace, giving her support while not intruding.

  They sat, hands wrapped around their steaming mugs, trying to get around the idea that someone had beaten and stabbed Vernon Appleton to death in their stable. Questions were voiced, suppositions proposed. Two weapons? Did that mean two assailants? What was he doing there late at night? Why was he attacked? By whom? Who let the horses out? Why? Bea went to a drawer and took out all the knives, laying them out on the dresser, bread knife, carving knives, vegetable knives. They were all accounted for.

  Emma let their voices wash over her and gave herself up to her own thoughts. Two assailants. One wielding the cane the other a knife. Who would have been there? Someone out to cause trouble? To steal? Had he surprised someone? She sat forward, her mouth opening in a silent ‘oh’.

  “What?” Matty picked up immediately on her sudden movement from across the table.

  “What if,” Emma began slowly, her mind working through the idea as she spoke, “what if Mr. Appleton went out for a stroll before bed and saw someone or heard something in the stable, and went to investigate and surprised someone stealing the horses.”

  “That would explain why the horses were out,” Matty said grabbing at the idea. “It could be something like that, couldn’t it?”

  “Makes sense,” Jim said.

  “What do you think, Dad? Uncle was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  Mr. Macdonald roused himself. “Could be the case.” He nodded. “Could be why there was more than one weapon used. Might have been more than one person, I suppose.”

  Jim tried a scenario. “Perhaps he was attacked by one person and tried to defend himsel
f with his cane, his cane is taken off him and he’s hit with it, someone else joins in and finishes him off by stabbing him.”

  “Wouldn’t they have shot him?” Bea asked.

  “Wouldn’t want to make any noise and wake us,” Matty said.

  “But they didn’t take the horses,” Jim said, frowning.

  “Frightened at killing someone and ran off?” Matty suggested.

  “Possible, I suppose,” his brother said. “Or might have decided the horses were too upset and flighty by then.”

  Heads nodded. There was evidence of that, certainly.

  “As soon as it’s light we’ll scout around and see if we can find any evidence of it,” Mr. Macdonald said. “They’ll have thrown his cane away somewhere.” He pushed his empty mug aside and stood. “It’s time we were all back in bed. Cock crow in a couple of hours.”