by Téa Cooper
‘Sit yourself down.’ The woman dumped her basket onto the table. ‘I expect you could do with something to drink.’ Disappearing into a small room off to one side she clattered and banged and then reappeared with two glasses and a bottle. ‘Lemonade?’
Lettie ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth dislodging some of the accumulated dirt and dust from the road. ‘That would be lovely.’
The woman pulled up a chair, sat down and poured two glasses then pushed one across the table towards her. The deliciously cool lemonade slipped down her throat and when she put the glass down she’d almost finished it. Not so the woman; she hadn’t touched hers. She had her chin rested in her interlocked fingers, studying Lettie intently.
Colour blossomed on her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was.’
Without asking the woman topped up her glass. ‘And who’s Miss Maynard to you?’
Lettie resisted the desire to down the second glass. ‘She’s my great-aunt.’
The ensuing silence made her feel ridiculously uncomfortable, like a child reprimanded for an unknown offence. Lettie pushed back from the table and stood. ‘I’m sorry to appear unannounced but I have a message for her … from my mother, Miriam Rawlings,’ she finished, rather hoping it would add some emphasis to her paltry tale. ‘She thought it would be better delivered personally.’
‘And that message is?’
‘I really would like to speak to Miss Maynard, it’s a personal matter.’
The woman’s eyes slid to the door then returned to Lettie’s face, resuming her intense observation.
Wriggling under her scrutiny Lettie scraped back her chair. Perhaps Great-Aunt Olivia had passed and this poor woman, with her stunned, ashen face and faded dress, was mourning her loss. Surely someone would have told Miriam if her aunt had passed.
‘She’s not available—at present.’
It didn’t sound as though she was too late, and the man in Wollombi hadn’t mentioned anything. ‘May I wait, or come back tomorrow? There’s a hotel in Wollombi. I’ll spend the night there and return in the morning.’
‘Sit yourself down. Finish your drink.’
That sounded a little friendlier, and when the corners of the woman’s mouth hitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile she noticed for the first time her dark eyes didn’t mirror the dour expression on her face; they held a gentle softness.
Lettie lowered herself back into the chair and picked up the glass, sipping slowly.
‘From Sydney, you said?’
‘Yes. I left early this morning.’
‘It used to take a good two or three days to make the trip. Brave girl though, driving all this way on your own.’
‘I enjoyed the drive.’ As she spoke Lettie realised just how true the words were. The fresh air, being alone, nothing to crowd her mind but the twisting, turning road and the passing scenery, something she hadn’t experienced for a long time.
‘Weren’t you worried about breaking down? Those motors can be unreliable. Not like a horse.’ Again her lips quirked and Lettie felt as though she was testing her.
‘The car belongs to my brother. He taught me to drive and I’m pretty familiar with the workings.’ Thanks to The Woman and the Car: A Chatty Little Handbook for All Women Who Motor or Who Want to Motor, the neat little book Thorne had presented her with when he’d first given her lessons.
‘And you’re delivering a message for your mother.’
Put like that it didn’t make her sound as though she was as independent as she liked to believe. Who was this woman? She looked as though she was some sort of hired hand with her thick grey hair caught in a messy knot at the nape of her neck and her stained calico apron. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name?’
‘Mrs Brown … Margaret,’ the woman added after a momentary pause.
Lettie lifted the glass and finished the lemonade. ‘I’ll call back tomorrow if I may. Perhaps Miss Maynard will be available then?’
‘And where will you be spending the night? We’re in for a storm.’
‘I’ll head back to town, to the hotel in Wollombi.’
‘Got lights on that motor of yours?’
‘Yes, I have. I’m quite used to driving in the dark.’ Had spent more time driving at night than during the day if the truth were known. Weaving through the streets of Sydney, collecting Thorne and spiriting him home before news of another of his escapades reached Miriam.
‘Plenty of room here, and I’ve got a pie ready for the oven. I can’t turn Miss Maynard’s niece away.’
‘Grand-niece,’ she corrected for some unknown reason. Perhaps because Miriam was Olivia’s niece and she didn’t want to wear the same label. It was only Thorne who’d managed to keep the peace between Lettie and Miriam. And now, well … The familiar tightening in her throat caught her unawares. All so foolish, so ridiculously foolish to die in a boating accident on a picture-perfect autumn day.
‘Can’t choose your family. No matter how much you might wish it.’
Lettie lifted her head with a jerk. For the second time, Mrs Brown had as good as read her thoughts. ‘Now why don’t you go out to that motor of yours, collect up your belongings. I can’t imagine you came unprepared for a night or two away. While you’re doing that, I’ll air one of the rooms and we’ll eat the pie I’ve got here and have a bit of a chat.’
‘Will Miss Maynard be back soon?’
‘I’m sure she will. Go out the back here.’ She gestured to the door. ‘Walk around the house to the front. Can’t get lost, follow the path. And by the time you come back I’ll have everything sorted.’
It sounded very much the best solution and she didn’t fancy all the bends in the dark or the fords over the creek that twisted and turned along the track. Another rumble of thunder made the decision easy. ‘Thank you.’
Darkness had fallen but hadn’t dispersed the heaviness of the air. A sudden squall of wind and a flurry of rain sent her running the last few yards. She pulled her bag from behind the front seat and then, with a nod to Thorne, protected his pride and joy by lifting the roof and latching it against the rain.
The slate roof of the house glinted grey-black in the twilight and a bird shrieked somewhere in the distance then a jagged shaft of lightning illuminated the rock followed by a heavy rumble of thunder. Drawing in a lungful of the sweet, moisture-laden air she ran back along the path.
When she pushed open the back door her stomach rumbled in appreciation, the wholesome smell reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Lettie tucked her bag out of harm’s way against the wall and moved a colander of green beans from the sink before rinsing her hands under the tap. In her absence, the table had been laid for two which meant Great-Aunt Olivia couldn’t be expected tonight. She shook the excess water from her hands then made some effort to tidy her hair by running her fingers through her damp curls and re-pinning them.
‘There you are. Everything’s ready. I’ll show you to your room after we’ve eaten. No one occupies the main house anymore.’
‘Have you always lived here?’
‘Born and bred.’
‘Then you must know my family. My grandfather, William Ludgrove, was born here. He married Alice Maynard. My mother, Miriam, is their eldest daughter.’
Mrs Brown gave a cursory sniff and dug the knife into the steaming pie. ‘Steak and kidney pie was William’s favourite, though he liked it cold, took it when he went out roaming.’
A sudden sweep of excitement raced through her. Thorne had been right. They did need to discover their roots, learn about their family. ‘Roaming?’
‘Great one for roaming was William in his younger days. Spent time with the Blaxland brothers, learnt all he knew from them.’
‘I’m sorry. No one’s ever mentioned anyone called Blaxland.’
‘Surveyors, explorers. Didn’t they teach you anything at that posh school of yours in Sydney?’
How did Mrs Brown k
now she’d attended school in Sydney? Lucky guess more than likely. ‘I … yes of course they did.’ History, she’d loved history. Could recite the dates of the kings and queens of England from memory—though mostly because the learning had been a punishment. ‘Are the Blaxlands your neighbours?’
‘Properties all over the place. Came from England originally, same as all our forebears. Made a name for themselves though. Taught your grandfather how to draw a map, use a compass.’
She had no recollection of Grandfather doing very much other than sitting in his big chair staring out at the trees in the Botanic Gardens. ‘Grandfather Ludgrove died when I was five. I didn’t know him very well.’
‘Obviously not. Eat up then.’
Feeling very much like that five-year-old, Lettie ate quietly and cleared her plate. ‘Thank you, that was delicious.’ She smothered a yawn.
‘You’re tired, take your bag and go to bed. Down the hallway, second door on the right. You should find everything you need.’
‘Let me help …’ She stood to collect the plates. While they’d been talking a heavy blanket of darkness had fallen and all but the area around the table was a grey blur. ‘It’s much darker here than in the city.’
‘Just the storm. It’ll pass. Leave the plates be.’ Mrs Brown held out a lantern. ‘Goodnight.’
Lettie took the lantern, picked up her bag and left the kitchen, the sound of the rain deafening on the roof. Her hand slid along the smooth timber dado as she made her way down the hallway, uncannily aware she was following in the footsteps of her long-forgotten family.
Six
Yellow Rock, 1880
Evie stayed out of the way working on her map. The house, which for the past weeks had existed under the pall of mourning, became a hive of activity. Every item of clothing Miriam possessed was brought out, tried on, tutted over, cleaned and in some cases unpicked and restitched. It seemed fashions in Sydney changed faster than the weather and where once pleats and buttons were the order of the day now, according to Miriam and her Sydney papers, flounces, frills and frippery were essential.
After a particularly late night checking the coordinates on her map Olivia burst into Evie’s room and refused to be ignored. She emptied the contents of her wardrobe onto the bed and shook out several of her dresses. She held them up to the light, turned them this way and that, measured length and width and breadth, then threw her hands up in horror. ‘There’s nothing suitable. They’re all too small. Come with me. I need your help.’
Pulling a robe over her shift she followed Olivia down the hallway. When they came to a halt outside Mama’s room Evie’s stomach performed a series of ungainly somersaults. She hadn’t entered the room since Mama’s passing.
Olivia showed no hesitation. She threw open the door and marched inside.
Evie blinked into the darkness, her throat tightening, half expecting to see Mama’s form in the large bed surrounded by the fine net curtains. The room still smelt of her, of lily of the valley, vainly trying to mask an overwhelming odour of something riper, something she couldn’t, didn’t want to, dwell on.
‘Don’t be so childish. Life must go on.’ Olivia pushed back the curtains and let the morning light fill the morbid space. ‘You have to accept it and now is as good a time as any.’
Evie walked to the mirrored dressing table, the memory of the times she had stood awed by the responsibility of brushing Mama’s waist-length hair bittersweet. She picked up one of the silver-backed brushes and pulled several strands of hair from the soft bristles and wound them around her finger.
‘Evie!’ The bark in Olivia’s voice broke into her thoughts, although when she lifted her head she realised it wasn’t anger she’d heard in Olivia’s voice but grief. She stood, her hand on the cupboard door, gazing at the empty bed, jaw rigid. ‘You should have those brushes. Let me speak to your pa but right now we have a job to do.’ With her lips pursed Olivia opened the wardrobe releasing another pungent waft of lily of the valley.
A moment later the first armful of clothes landed unceremoniously on the bed. ‘Miriam needs several hats and somewhere there’s a cloak. More room in that.’
Evie and Miriam weren’t as close as sisters might have been. Mrs Hewitt liked to say the perfect example of chalk and cheese but Miriam was hardly overweight. Well-rounded perhaps and rarely satisfied, always wanting something more, railing against the fate that had seen her closeted at Yellow Rock since she’d finished school. ‘Will Miriam get married in Sydney or here?’
‘That’s up to your father to decide. No doubt he’ll let us know. Take these hatboxes, we’ll see if there’s anything that’ll suit.’ Olivia dumped a teetering pile of rounded boxes into Evie’s arms. ‘She’s going to need morning dresses, luncheon wear, afternoon tea dresses and—for goodness sake! Why anyone needs four different outfits in one day is beyond my comprehension. I suppose she’ll need her riding habit too. That requires attention.’
Evie shook out two velvet cloaks, one a rich viridian, the other a dark Prussian blue, the collar edged with rabbit fur. ‘These are lovely,’ she sighed, slipping the blue one over her shoulders. ‘Mama liked the blue one best.’
‘The green one will make Miriam look sallow. Give her the blue.’
Evie stripped off the cloak, wrinkling her nose and stifling a whine. The blue was much prettier with the soft fur framing the hood. Why would it suit Miriam better? She shrugged. She had no idea. Perhaps she should spend some time with Miriam before she left, find out about this new suitor. She’d imagined, now she was almost eighteen, they might have more in common but Miriam still saw her as nothing more than a hindrance, forever under her feet or spying on her, the little sister in need of minding.
‘She’s not a child anymore.’ Sometimes it was as though Olivia could read her mind. ‘Time to accept her responsibilities, settle down and get married.’
‘Who is this man who has offered for her?’
‘A friend of your father, a business partner.’
‘What is his name?’
Olivia frowned. ‘Rawlings. Edward Rawlings.’
Not a name Evie recognised but why would she? She’d never set foot in Sydney. Pa had deemed it better she should grow up at Yellow Rock, with Mama and Aunt Olivia, though over the years she’d spent more time with Olivia than anyone else. She scooped up the hatboxes and the midnight blue cloak and smoothed the fur wistfully. It would be nice to have something of Mama’s to wear. ‘I’ll take them in to Miriam, shall I?’
‘You keep the hairbrushes and the green cloak. Miriam can make do with the blue. Make sure you knock first. She might still be abed.’
Evie slipped through the door, hatboxes swinging against her legs, clothes piled in her arms up above her chin. She shunted the door with her shoulder and it swung wide. ‘Miriam! I’ve got some hats for you, and Mama’s beautiful blue cloak.’
A groan and a clatter greeted her words when she dumped everything on the bottom of the bed.
‘Go away.’ Miriam burrowed down beneath the quilt, but not before Evie noticed her blotched face and swollen eyes.
Evie’s heart went out to her. She ran her hand over her sister’s hair, remembering the cooling touch of Mama’s hand soothing her when she ailed. ‘Why are you crying? We’ve found a lovely cloak for you to wear to Sydney and some pretty hats.’
Miriam’s shoulders heaved and she jerked upright pushing Evie aside. The movement released a flurry of sour air making Evie’s stomach heave. ‘Oh! You’re truly unwell. Can I get you anything?’ The water carafe sat empty on the bedside table. ‘Some more water? A cup of tea and some dry toast?’
‘Go away!’ Miriam spat through clenched teeth.
‘Let me help, please. There must be something I can do.’
‘There’s nothing you can do. I shall be happy to be out of this place and in Sydney where I belong. Pa no longer cares for me.’
Evie flopped down on the corner of the bed. ‘Pa loves you very much. He sent you to the be
st school, he’s taking you to Sydney, wants you to represent him …’ Her words petered out.
‘Just leave me alone.’ Miriam disappeared beneath the bedclothes.
Evie darted through the door, her mind in a flat spin, straight into a moving mound of clothes reeking of lily of the valley.
‘I told you to knock,’ Olivia hissed.
‘The door was open—’
‘Go and get dressed.’
She didn’t need to be told twice. Both Miriam and Olivia berating her was more than she could tolerate.
The contents of her wardrobe still lay scattered across the bed. A pile of the white pin-tucked muslin dresses she wore throughout the warmer months, a winter dress she hated because it itched, her divided skirt for riding and the black taffeta dress she’d worn since Mama’s passing. For some unknown reason the prospect of another day in starched black seemed senseless. Mama hated black and Olivia had said life must go on. Pa obviously agreed otherwise why else would he be taking Miriam to Sydney to be married? She rummaged through the pile of clothing until she found a red blouse and pulled it on with her divided skirt. A day out in the fresh air, perhaps a trip up to Yellow Rock with her sketchbook, would clear her head. Miriam’s behaviour made no sense, no sense at all.
With that thought forefront in her mind she headed downstairs. Unusually Pa’s study door was ajar. ‘Morning, Pa.’ She hovered, her fingers itching to use her new saddlebag which sat in the corner of the room near the French doors.
Pa lifted his head. ‘I am in no doubt you and Olivia will manage perfectly well until I return.’
The outside supervision and the breeding programme had always fallen to Olivia and Bailey and the men Pa employed were more than capable of managing the cattle. When Pa was in Sydney he saw to the shipment of the horses. Nothing would change. ‘Yes. We will.’
‘Bailey will deliver the horses and organise the drovers. If there are any problems Rawlings and I will handle the Sydney end.’
Her head came up with a snap. She hadn’t made the connection before. ‘Your business manager?’