‘I bet you’ll find it hasn’t changed much,’ he said. ‘Nothing does down here.’
She nodded and scuffed her boots on the cobbles. ‘Could we walk for a while?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Only there are some things I’d like to mull over with you.’
He whistled, and the dogs came bounding out of the barn where they’d been hunting rats. They galloped ahead as he and Lulu strolled out of the yard and across the paddocks. He had no idea what she wanted to discuss, but he was wary. His mother had got a bee in her bonnet about Lulu’s father, but had refused to enlighten him until she could prove who he was. How the hell she would do that was anyone’s guess, but it was a topic he certainly didn’t want to go over with Lulu.
He walked beside her, shortening his stride to match hers, enjoying the faint flowery perfume that drifted from her and the occasional brush of her arm against his. The only sound between them was the swish of grass against their boots and the steady beat of his heart.
‘We never did talk about Mr Carmichael,’ she said, breaking the companionable silence after they had been walking for some minutes. ‘Have you come to any conclusions?’
They had reached the far paddock fence, and he leant against it and squinted into the low sun, watching the dogs haring about down by the river. ‘He’s a mystery man,’ he replied. ‘Does all his business by mail, two-way radio or telephone, and never leaves a contact number or address.’
‘That’s an unusual way to do business, don’t you think?’
‘I agree, and it seems he’s set on helping me revive the yard – though why is yet another mystery.’ He saw her frown, so went on to explain. ‘No one seems to have heard of him before he sent Ocean Child here, but once that was done, he advised Eliza’s dad to bring his horses, and three others have come indirectly through him as well.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Having said that, I know as much about him now as I did before – which is precisely nothing.’
He saw her bite her lip, a delightful little frown creasing her brow as she digested this. ‘Ocean Child came from an auction. Did you try to find out who sold him initially?’
Joe gazed out across the darkening valley, where the dogs were giving chase to a rabbit. ‘When you first denied ownership, I did some digging. The Child was one of a mob of brumbies sent to the sales by a cooperative of squatters in Queensland.’
‘What are brumbies?’
He was surprised she didn’t know, considering her background, but then she’d been a long time in England. ‘They’re wild horses,’ he explained. He settled his back more comfortably against the railings. ‘With so many men away during the war, a lot of horses escaped from the outback properties and mixed with the wild ones. There were thoroughbreds, hacks, ponies and stock horses all running free, causing havoc with crops and pastures. When the outlanders came back, they decided to round them up, keep the best for themselves and sell the rest. I reckon a few thoroughbreds were mixed in with that particular mob, because the Child is definitely from good stock.’
‘Then I’m surprised no one noticed and kept him.’
Joe shrugged. ‘Stockmen want tough little ponies, not thoroughbred colts that could prove headstrong and difficult to break.’
‘Mr Carmichael obviously saw his potential,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Yeah, whoever he is, he knows his horses,’ Joe agreed.
‘It’s a shame we don’t have a list of those squatters,’ she said. ‘One of them might give us a clue as to Carmichael’s identity.’
‘The list is in my office, but the names meant nothing to me, so I doubt they’ll be much help.’
‘I’m probably clutching at straws, but Carmichael didn’t surface until he bought Ocean Child – and the Child is linked to the squatters. It’s coincidental, but it is a link of sorts and might provide a clue.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You could be right. Come on, let’s find the list and see what we can make of it.’ He whistled up the dogs, who raced towards them, tongues lolling, tails like flags.
‘Watch out, you’re about to get another soaking,’ he warned. But it was too late. The dogs shook themselves vigorously, showering both of them with muddy water.
‘It looks like this shirt is fated,’ laughed Lulu. ‘Never mind, the dogs have clearly had a wonderful time, and the shirt will wash.’
Joe’s heart melted at the sound of her laughter and the way she didn’t seem to mind getting splattered by two filthy dogs. She was a rare woman, for most would have been furious.
They hurried back to the office, and as Joe stepped inside, he saw it with fresh eyes and realised it really was a tip. He shut the dogs outside, went straight to the shelf where he’d left the list, and sifted through the collection of letters and receipts. Unable to find it, he frowned and went through everything more slowly. ‘It was definitely here,’ he muttered.
‘It could be anywhere,’ she replied, her glance taking in the general clutter.
‘No,’ he murmured, returning the pile of papers to the shelf. ‘It might look a mess, but I know where everything is, and I made a point of putting that list close to hand.’ He avoided her gaze as he made another fruitless trawl through the paperwork on his desk. She must think him completely incompetent.
‘Could someone have moved it?’
He was about to shake his head when he remembered seeing his mother come into the office as he’d left for the evening ride-out. ‘Ma’s probably been tidying up again,’ he muttered. ‘I do wish she wouldn’t.’
Lulu grinned as she took in the mess. ‘If this is tidy, I hate to think what it was like before,’ she teased.
He felt the heat rise into his neck and face. ‘I reckon you could be right,’ he admitted. ‘It is a bit of a dog’s breakfast.’ He was saved from further searching by the clatter of the dinner bell. ‘Tea’s up,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll come back after and give this whole place a once-over. The list is bound to turn up sooner or later.’
*
The talk around the table was all about horses and the coming race meeting in Hobart. Bob and the other stable hands were eager to return to their game of two-up and so quickly shovelled down the food and clattered back outside. Lulu and Dolly had gone to their room straight after the meal, and Joe could hear the occasional ripple of laughter floating down the stairs.
Pleasantly sated with roast chook, veggies and his mother’s special onion gravy, he stirred sugar into his tea. He would go back to the office soon, but for now he was content to sit in the warmth of the kitchen and flick through the latest farming catalogue as Molly cleared the dishes. There were some useful-looking trucks for sale as well as a couple of horse floats, and he was trying to work out what he could afford when Molly interrupted his calculations.
‘You’ll have to get one of the boys to cut more firewood,’ she said, as she plumped down into the chair beside him and poured a second cup of tea. ‘Dolly’s baths use up all the hot water and, with so many women in the house, that boiler will be working overtime once Eliza arrives.’
‘I’ll get Bob to do it first thing,’ he muttered, giving up on the catalogue. ‘Did Eliza contact you?’
‘She got through on the two-way this afternoon. She’s making her own way here, so you won’t have to go all the way to Launceston tomorrow to pick her up. She’s got a surprise for you, evidently, but I dread to think what it is.’ Molly smiled and sipped her tea. ‘Lord knows how I’ll cope with her and Dolly.’
He noted the liveliness in her expression. ‘You’ll cope, Ma. In fact I think you’re looking forward to it.’
She put down her cup and rested her chin in her hand. ‘Reckon I am too,’ she admitted. ‘It’s good to have a house full of young people again.’
‘So you don’t regret having them here?’
She shook her head. ‘They’re good company, and Lulu’s a nice girl. Quiet and well-mannered, charming and likeable – she’s a credit to Lady Pearson.’
Joe spluttered on his tea. ‘Her aunt’s
titled?’
‘Yeah. Her husband was a diplomat or something in Sydney. He was knighted only just before he died.’ She cocked her head as she studied him. ‘I sense you’ve come to like Lulu too.’
He could feel himself redden. ‘She’s all right,’ he replied, his gaze fixed to the cover of the catalogue.
Molly laughed. ‘I reckon you think she’s more than just all right.’ She put a hand on his arm, her expression suddenly more serious. ‘Be careful, Joe. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and a girl like that will only break your heart.’
He looked down at her careworn hand on his tanned arm and sadly acknowledged she was right. The fact that she’d been raised by a titled lady and had no doubt had the best of everything put her even further out of his league.
He cleared his throat and changed the subject. ‘Did you tidy up my office this evening?’
‘I tried,’ she said flatly, ‘but it’s beyond me.’
‘I can’t find the list of squatters who sold Ocean Child. You didn’t see it did you?’
‘I might have cleared it up with all the other rubbish,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘You really ought to get a proper filing system going, Joe. That place is a worse than a mare’s nest.’
Joe saw how she kept her gaze averted. ‘Did you see the list?’ he persisted.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t recall it.’ She pushed back the chair. ‘I’ll leave the washing-up for Dianne tomorrow,’ she said through a vast yawn. ‘Can’t do much without hot water.’ She dropped a kiss on his head. ‘G’night, Joe. Sleep well.’
Joe sat there long after she’d hurried from the room. His thoughts were whirling as he went over the events and conversations of the past two weeks. He finally came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t find that list, no matter how hard he looked. For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom – his mother had taken it.
*
Lulu and Dolly had come to enjoy the ride-outs each morning, and although Lulu was forced to take things easy and watch from the sidelines, Joe’s pleasant company was a bonus. There was a camaraderie among the jackaroos as they competed against Dolly, and a sense of contentment in seeing the pride and hope in Joe’s face as he watched. Lulu had never felt so at home, and as the days had gone on she’d become ever more deeply attached to Galway House and the quiet, shy man who lived there.
She and Dolly had washed and changed after the morning’s exercise and were now on their way to Lulu’s old school, where she was welcomed enthusiastically by those who remembered her and spent a happy hour touring the classrooms and having coffee with the headmistress. Then Lulu bought some flowers and went and placed them lovingly on her grandmother’s grave. The memory of her was hazy, but she knew the old lady had cared for and protected her, and she was pleased to see that the tiny cemetery was beautifully looked after.
Having left the cemetery, Lulu visited the three young women who had sat next to her in class, had been her closest childhood friends and were still living locally. It was clear from the offset that their lives had followed very different paths, and there was a touch of resentment in their eyes as they regarded her expensive clothes, but the awkwardness faded as they realised Lulu had not forgotten them, and hadn’t really changed. The years and the differences fell away as they exchanged memories of teachers and pranks, and they had left with promises to meet again soon.
The town itself had hardly changed, and as they strolled along the boardwalk they had been greeted by people who remembered Lulu as a little girl. The walk that should have taken only minutes took over an hour – prolonged further when Lulu spotted the doll-maker’s shop.
She had dragged Dolly inside to be greeted by the familiar heady scent of wood shavings, glue and tobacco, and the warm welcome of the old man who sat behind his work-bench lovingly mending a doll as he smoked his pipe. She had spent many hours as a child in here with Primmy, watching him, listening to his stories, following his gnarled hands as they lovingly smoothed and repaired broken toys. It was as if time had stood still, and Lulu had been entranced.
Now they were strolling along the beach. The sea was still too cold for paddling, so they kept to the powdery sand by the grass as they headed for the rocks. Gulls hovered above them riding the wind like children’s kites as plovers darted back and forth in the ripples, searching for food.
As they reached the end of the beach, Lulu came to a halt. The wind was at her back, whipping her hair into her face, and chilling the warmth of the welcome she’d received earlier. ‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she said, looking up the narrow road that led inland.
‘Then don’t,’ insisted Dolly. ‘Why put yourself through something that will ultimately be painful?’
Lulu silently acknowledged her friend’s wisdom, but knew she would ignore it. The memories were too strong, the draw of the past impossible to resist. ‘I must if I’m to put the ghosts to rest,’ she breathed.
Dolly took her hand. ‘Then let’s get it over with.’ She squeezed her fingers. ‘You’re not a little girl any more, Lulu. You don’t have to be afraid of shadows.’
Lulu’s smile was tentative as she took the first step on the road that led to the house in the bush. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry, and as they reached the turn-off she had to steal herself to look up the track.
It was much smaller than she remembered – like a doll’s house in the woods. Someone had recently painted the weatherboard white and the fly-screens blue. The chimney and roof had been replaced, and a lawn had been cut on either side of the cinder path that led to the front door.
Her gaze travelled fearfully beyond the house to the outbuildings. The old stables were still there, as were the barn and sheds, and although some of the bush had been cleared to extend the paddocks, the trees cast long, menacing shadows that seemed to beckon.
Lulu shivered and became the child again – the recurring nightmare all too real.
Small, defenceless and barely five years old, she could now recognise the all-too familiar figure who had crept through that bedroom door clutching the smothering feather pillow – could hear her voice as she lied to Clarice about her intentions.
But there were other images – other sounds that carried long-buried terrors she’d tried so hard to forget. She could hear the creaking branches tap on the tin roof of the shed and the moan of the wind. She was alone. Locked in the dark with no understanding of why she was being punished. There was no point in screaming, for no one would come – no point in crying, for her tears would simply prolong the sentence.
She saw herself curled in a corner, face buried against her knees to stifle her sobs. Surrounded by the rustling skitter of spiders and insects, she listened to the flight of buzzing flies and tried to pierce the darkness in search of hibernating snakes. The terror was acid in her throat, cold in the drenching sweat. She curled tighter, trying desperately to become invisible.
And then – after what felt like a lifetime – came the most terrifying sound of all: the rasp of the bolt being shot back.
She cringed from the figure standing there and cowered into the corner – waiting for the strike, the tugging fingers in her hair, the kick of a boot. ‘Don’t hurt me, Mamma,’ she sobbed. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
Cruel fingers grasped her hair, making her cry out as she was yanked to her feet. ‘I told you never to call me that,’ snarled Gwen.
Her head rang from the vicious slap that made her struggling heart stutter. ‘I’m s-sorry,’ she whimpered. But the punishment was not over, and she froze with fear – unable to cry out, to sob or even think as Gwen grabbed her and carried her across the deserted yard to the barn.
‘Think you’re so sweet, don’t you? Grandma and Auntie’s favourite little girl, with her big blue eyes and yellow curls? Their little pet lambkin?’ Her grip was remorseless in her hair as she reached up to the hook on the barn wall and took down the shears. ‘Let’s see how this particular lambkin looks when she’s been shorn.’
‘Lulu!
Lulu, what is it? You’ve gone very pale.’
She emerged from those terrible memories, strengthened by the knowledge she could overcome them. ‘She cut off my hair,’ she said flatly. ‘She cut and cut and cut – and didn’t care when the shears caught my scalp and my ear.’
There were no tears in her eyes when she looked at her friend, for there had been too many spilt over the years, and they solved nothing. ‘I was only just nine, but I can remember the smell of those rusty shears, and the way they rasped and sliced over my head. I was so terrified she was going to kill me I could hardly breathe.’
Dolly wordlessly pulled her into a tight embrace and Lulu could feel her gentle fingers running through her hair and over her scalp, like a healing balm. She rested her head on the comforting shoulder. ‘Clarice had to cut my hair whilst I was asleep as a child. Silly, I know, but I simply can’t stand the sound of the snip, snip, snip.’
‘But why do such a thing to a child? It’s barbaric.’
Lulu felt chilled at the memory of the sly pinches and slaps, and the hurtful words that had shattered her fragile confidence during her childhood. They had made her life a misery, but the hacking off of her hair had almost destroyed her. ‘She was jealous.’
‘Of a defenceless child?’
Lulu felt no emotion as she turned her back on the house. ‘I didn’t understand it then, but the passing years have given me an insight into why Gwen acted as she did.’ She took a deep breath. ‘She didn’t want me, but because Grandma Eunice insisted upon keeping me, she was forced to face me every day. I was a reminder of her shame – proof that my father – whoever he was – didn’t care enough to marry her. And, of course, a barrier to any decent marriage she might have made. To make matters worse, she thought I’d usurped her place in her mother’s affections.’
‘What a gold-plated bitch!’ spat Dolly. She gave Lulu a hug. ‘I’m amazed Clarice and your grandmother let her get away with it.’
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