The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

  ‘The very man. Soon to be your brother-in-law.’

  Edward Rawlings must have been courting Miriam while she was in Sydney and she’d said nothing of it. ‘Closed-mouthed bag of bones,’ Evie muttered under her breath. ‘When did Miriam meet Edward Rawlings?’

  ‘She’s known him for some time.’ Pa’s face flushed. ‘The Rawlings are neighbours in Macquarie Street. He and his mother, Charlotte, also live in Horbury Terrace. They are acquainted with Mrs Burdekin.’ He turned and smoothed the cedar box which housed his compass, sextant and chain.

  Now it made a little more sense. Pa had known the Burdekins for many years, and was full of admiration for the way Mrs Burdekin had taken over her husband’s business interests when he passed, but more importantly she shared Pa’s passion for the mystery of Leichhardt.

  Pa cleared his throat. ‘I’m leaving my chest here, in your safekeeping. Use it for your map. The coordinates must be accurate. I shan’t need it until I return from Sydney.’

  His surveyor’s box, his most treasured possession and a constant reminder of his frailty. He’d spent many hours teaching her the workings of the instruments, always with that distant look of disappointment in his eyes. All the horizons he’d intended to chart, all the miles he’d hoped to travel with Leichhardt. If he was leaving it behind he couldn’t plan to be in Sydney for too long.

  Evie’s chest swelled with pride. ‘So Edward and Miriam will be married from here?’

  ‘That’s what I anticipate. Charlotte has everything in hand. I’ll let you and Olivia know as plans progress.’

  ‘The church at Broke is so very pretty.’ Truth be told she was relieved she wouldn’t be expected to go to Sydney. She had no desire to leave Yellow Rock. Her grandparents, on Pa’s side, Margaret and John Ludgrove, and Mama and Olivia’s parents, Mary and Alexander Maynard, were among the first settlers in the area. They’d travelled from England in search of a new life, made their home here, and once they’d found their slice of heaven embraced it.

  The Ludgrove-Maynard properties were everything she’d ever known, everything she wanted or needed. The cry of the koels, the squawk of the black cockatoos as they fought over the nuts high in the casuarina trees and the ragged peaks of the Broken-back Range held her safe beneath the timeless wonder of Yellow Rock.

  Yellow Rock was where she belonged and she had no intention of leaving.

  Seven

  Yellow Rock, 1911

  Lettie slept fitfully in the simple iron bed while the thunderclouds rolled and the rain beat down on the iron roof. Towards dawn the rain eased and she slipped into a deeper sleep only to be abruptly woken by a strange wurrow-wurrow, keek-keek bird call. She dozed for a little longer and it was well past sunrise when she pushed open the kitchen door and found the room deserted. A boiling kettle sat on the hob and the teapot stood ready. She poured the water and while she waited for the tea to brew threw open the outside door.

  The steep rock face glittered in the morning sunshine. Taking a few steps away she shaded her eyes and craned her neck up to the summit. Stunted trees clung to the rock while in other places bare slopes caught the beams of sunlight turning them to gold. ‘Yellow Rock,’ she murmured. It seemed apt.

  A woman appeared from behind one of the outhouses, a shotgun dangling from one hand and a brace of rabbits from the other, accompanied by a large shaggy-coated hound who loped along beside her, its nose glued to the rabbits. The dog lifted its head, caught sight of her, and bounded over. Two large paws landed on her shoulders and the smell of warm, wet dog enveloped her.

  ‘Stand down!’ the woman brandishing the shotgun shouted. ‘He won’t hurt. Just over-familiar.’

  With a mournful look, eyes pleading, the hound dropped his paws and collapsed in front of her like a discarded foot rug.

  ‘Let’s start again. Good morning!’

  ‘Good morning!’ A thrill of curiosity and pleasure warmed Lettie. Great-Aunt Olivia. She looked nothing like the picture she’d painted in her mind, dressed in rough trousers hitched around her waist with the sort of necktie Thorne preferred and Miriam abhorred, and a ragged homespun jumper with frayed cuffs. ‘I’m Letitia. Letitia Rawlings.’

  ‘Well, well. Fancy that. Let’s see if we can find a cup of tea.’ She marched—there was no other word for her purposeful strides—through the kitchen door, dumped the rabbits in the sink and wiped her hands on her thighs. ‘Bloody nuisance these rabbits but they make an excellent pie. Where’s Olly? Does she know we’ve got a visitor?’

  Her words brought Lettie to a standstill.

  ‘Cup of tea?’

  Lettie managed to nod her head, her mind racing in circles. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.’

  ‘Margaret Brown, call me Peg.’ She dumped fine bone china cups, without saucers, down on the table and stuck her head around the door. ‘Olly! We’ve got a visitor!’

  When she received no reply, she turned back to the tea. ‘Milk? Sugar? She’ll be along in a moment. I’ve just got back from Broke. Spent the night with the grandchildren.’

  Lettie sank down into the chair and pulled the cup towards her trying to make sense of the woman’s words. Perhaps Great-Aunt Olivia was ill, not quite in possession of her wits and Peg was the one charged with her care. Before she had the chance to think any further the kitchen door opened and the woman she’d met last night appeared in the doorway.

  Gone was the faded cotton frock, heavy apron and boots; instead she wore a plain navy skirt and simple striped poplin blouse, more suited to a meeting at the Women’s Club than a farmhouse. She managed a half-hearted smile but her face blanched. ‘Ah, Peg, you’re back.’ A look passed between them and she offered a wry smile. ‘I owe you an apology, Letitia. I intended to—’

  Lettie’s body tensed and she shot to her feet, the rush of anger catching her by surprise. ‘Why didn’t you say who you were last night?’ There could only be one answer. For some reason she didn’t want to admit to who she was. But why? And more to the point why ask her to stay the night? Why not simply send her on her way if she didn’t want to see her?

  A satisfactory hint of colour stole across Olivia’s cheeks. ‘It’s a long story which I will certainly recount but for the time being suffice to say I presumed you’d be bringing me a message from your mother.’

  ‘I am. I told you last evening.’

  ‘Life can go awry when we dwell on preconceived ideas and beliefs. I thought it better we got to know each other without the implications of the past.’

  And what was that supposed to mean? The message she had to deliver was simple, had nothing to do with the past or preconceived ideas. Simply facts: Thorne had died and therefore could no longer inherit the Ludgrove-Maynard properties. Lettie opened her mouth to speak but before she could frame the words Peg pulled one of the chairs from the table.

  ‘Why don’t we all sit down.’ She glared at Olivia. ‘Olly?’

  With a sigh, not far different to that of the huge, shaggy dog, Olivia collapsed onto the chair at the end of the table and pulled a cup of tea towards her. ‘Where’s the sugar?’ she asked, her voice petulant.

  ‘It’s coming, it’s coming.’ Peg moved towards the pantry, running a soothing hand over Olivia’s shoulder as she passed, as though reassuring her.

  The atmosphere prickled and Lettie couldn’t see a way out, a way of breaking the news gently. Her eyes flashed to Olivia’s hands resting on the table, the tension evident in the clenched fists and tight muscles of her wrists. She wore no rings, no adornment of any sort, unlike Miriam whose heavily bejewelled fingers threatened to weigh her down.

  If Olivia had named Thorne her heir, perhaps she saw him as some sort of surrogate son despite her estrangement from the family, and she’d been fearful when Lettie had turned up.

  ‘What is this message Miriam wants delivered? Couldn’t she come herself?’

  Lettie took a sip of her tea, more to compose herself than anything else. ‘My mother asked me to come. I’m afraid i
t’s bad news.’

  The dog rose, stretched and came to stand beside Olivia. Peg moved closer too, making Lettie aware of the breadth of her shoulders and her height. ‘Spit it out, girl. Spit it out.’

  She sucked in a huge breath. ‘Thorne died in a boating accident.’ Tears scratched behind her eyes. She let her lashes fall and exhaled slowly.

  A gnarled silence fell. Nothing except the sound of the dog’s claws on the stone floor as he moved to rest his head in her lap.

  ‘Your brother?’ Olivia’s question brought her up sharp. Surely Olivia would know. She’d introduced herself as Letitia Rawlings.

  ‘Thorne’s my only brother. We were very close. Did you receive Mother’s letters?’

  Olivia frowned, threw a look at Peg who shrugged her shoulders.

  Lettie pushed back the chair and stood up. ‘She wrote immediately after Thorne’s accident, and again after the funeral. Six months ago.’

  ‘Peg, there’s some scones in the oven. I haven’t had breakfast, and I suspect Letitia could do with something before she leaves.’

  Why did the wretched woman avoid answering her questions? Well, she’d delivered the news. Olivia didn’t seem upset in any way nor had any mention been made of Thorne’s inheritance and she could hardly blurt that out. A flush of heat hit her cheeks. Nothing had gone the way she’d imagined when she’d arrived last night. She’d thought perhaps she’d be invited to spend a few days. That the matter of Thorne’s inheritance might come up naturally and she’d explain their plans to visit, introduce themselves and heal the family rift.

  And she still wasn’t quite sure if Olivia was who she said she was, or if for some strange reason Peg was Olivia. Why ever hadn’t Miriam shown her a picture or at least given her a physical description of her great-aunt? The stench of duplicity drifted through the homely kitchen tainting the smell of baking scones.

  She raised her head to find Olivia’s dark eyes studying her. ‘You have the Rawlings colouring. What about your brother?’

  Lettie’s long legs and whippet-thin body were a stark contrast to Thorne’s stockier frame although they both shared Miriam’s dark hair. Something they’d laughed about as children. ‘Everyone says I take after Pater’s side of the family. Thorne took after Mother.’

  She ran her hands through the dog’s rough coat and his back rippled. The intricacies of home were not something she felt comfortable discussing, especially given her dubious reception. Dubious? There was nothing dubious about the matter. Why was she making excuses? Olivia had lied, blatantly lied. Pretended to be someone she wasn’t. For the first time in living memory Miriam’s character assessment had proved accurate. ‘I must leave. It’s a long drive.’

  Without waiting for a response, she made her way from the kitchen into the house, intent on collecting her bag from the room where she’d slept last night. The front door stood open and Yellow Rock reared majestically towards the bright blue sky. A faint breeze blew a wisp of hair across her forehead, bringing with it the scent of eucalyptus, and the tantalising promise of a perfect day. Not a soul in sight, about as far removed from Sydney as she could imagine.

  How long she sat there on the doorstep, lost in the calm she had no idea but when a cool damp nose buffeted her cheek she jumped.

  The dog wagged his moth-eaten tail and settled down next to her, the perfect companion. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  He pressed his wet nose against her cheek.

  ‘I’ve delivered the message but I have no idea how to bring up Thorne’s inheritance.’

  Settling onto his haunches, he sighed and rested his heavy head against her shoulder.

  ‘Get out, Oxley.’ Olivia’s gruff tones broke her reverie. ‘I thought you might like a look at this.’

  Lettie nudged the dog aside and struggled to her feet.

  Olivia offered a sketchpad opened at a picture of a girl sitting in a field of wildflowers, her face turned towards Yellow Rock as the sun breached the highest point. An uncontrolled mane of thick dark hair, a pair of huge liquid eyes framed by thick lashes dominating a heart-shaped face, a hint of innocence belying the full lips and the faint blush on her delicate cheekbones.

  A shiver traced her skin. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Your mother’s sister, Evie.’

  Who’d died in childhood if her memory served her well. Studying the face of the vivacious girl well on her way to womanhood she knew with absolute certainty that Miriam and Olivia’s beliefs were at odds. ‘I thought she died as a child,’ she murmured, incapable of further explanation.

  Olivia cradled the picture against her chest. ‘Are you in any hurry to get back to Sydney? I’d like you to stay a little longer.’

  Curiosity, and something more akin to a fleeting touch, traced her skin. Lettie shrugged; not long ago she’d intended to storm out, leave without any further ado but that was before she’d seen the picture of Evie. A girl who, but for the light in her eyes, reminded her very much of herself.

  ‘Stay a little longer.’ Olivia reached out and laid her hand on her shoulder, butting Oxley aside. ‘I expect Miriam has told you about the property. I’m sure you’d like to see it.’

  ‘She’s told me very little.’ And certainly, nothing she’d said remotely resembled the woman standing before her clutching a picture of someone who could have been her twin sister.

  ‘I hoped one day you and your brother would come and visit me. He wrote to me last summer and suggested it.’

  Thorne had written to her! He hadn’t told her. Suggested the trip but not that he’d already contacted Great-Aunt Olivia. A surge of bitterness swept over her. Thorne never kept secrets. Was it something Miriam had put him up to, something to secure his inheritance? ‘He did say we should make the trip but after his accident …’ Her voice wavered and Olivia’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

  ‘Why don’t I bring the scones out here and we can have a chat. It’s a lovely spot at this time of the morning.’ Without waiting for a response Olivia drifted back inside.

  Lettie scuffed her hand across her face and let out a long slow breath. She had no idea why she felt emotional, had never been one for affection but Olivia’s sympathetic air brought something out in her she didn’t fully comprehend.

  She cast a look along the verandah and spotted a small garden table and two chairs tucked in the shade at the corner. Once she’d set up the table and chairs in the patch of sunshine she sat down, head tilted back, stunned by a pair of huge wedge-tailed eagles sweeping the cobalt sky.

  Nothing broke the soothing silence until Olivia reappeared with a tray. ‘Peg’s strawberry jam took out a blue ribbon at the Maitland Show. It’s highly sought after.’ She lathered jam and cream onto a split scone and passed the plate to Lettie. ‘Tuck in.’

  They sat in companionable silence and ate their fill and drank their way through two cups of tea each before Olivia dusted off her hands. ‘Now, which version of your family history has Miriam seen fit to offer? Exactly how much do you know?’ she asked, cocking one eyebrow.

  The irony in Olivia’s voice made Lettie start. ‘Mother told me everything. All about the Maynards and the Ludgroves. Grandfather Ludgrove died when I was five. He had a wooden leg. Charlotte, Pater’s mother, was his second wife and they married not long after Mother and Pater. Grandfather moved to Sydney to be more involved with the business. Grandma Charlotte died a few years ago. Pater has run the business alone ever since.’

  Olivia let out some sort of a snort which brought Oxley to his feet.

  Lettie leapt to the defensive. ‘Pater spends a lot of time working.’

  ‘At Randwick.’

  ‘Yes. That’s right. At the racecourse.’

  Olivia leant back in the chair and emitted another derogatory harrumph. ‘And your mother’s sister, your aunt, Evie?’

  That was a difficulty because she couldn’t for the life of her remember Miriam ever mentioning anything very much about her sister. ‘She was sickly and died from a childhood ailme
nt.’

  ‘I see.’ Olivia nodded, her eyes clouded as if her thoughts were far away. ‘Poor Evie did have a difficult childhood. She was prone to moments of dislocation, the falling sickness they called it. She’d grown out of it by the time Miriam married. What about your grandfather? Did she tell you about his interests in exploration?’

  Exploration? ‘He was a surveyor as a young man but took over the family business when his father died then moved to Sydney.’

  ‘And his accident?’

  ‘I know he’d lost his leg in a riding accident as a young man.’

  ‘I think we should take a walk.’

  Lettie collected the plates and put them on the tray intending to return to the kitchen but Olivia stilled her hand. ‘Leave them there, Peg will sort out the tray. There are two hats just inside the door. Go and fetch them, the sun’s hot.’

  Two cabbage palm hats that had seen better days hung on the hatstand just inside the door. Lettie handed one to Olivia and rammed the other down on her head.

  ‘Fit all right?’

  ‘Just fine.’ She straightened it, yanked it down a bit further not wanting to admit that her thick hair always made it difficult to secure a hat without pins.

  ‘You’ll need to unfasten your hair, it’ll sit better. Don’t want it blowing off.’

  Miriam would have heart failure! With a grin, Lettie pulled out her hair pins, tucked them into her pocket and gave her head a shake, enjoying the sense of freedom, then rammed the hat down on her head where it sat nice and snug. ‘Ready.’ She turned to Olivia and caught a wistful expression drifting across her weathered face.

  Eight

  Yellow Rock, 1880

  Before the sun had breached the surrounding hills, Olivia and Evie stood on the doorstep, handkerchiefs waving until the carriage vanished from view and the last dust settled.

  ‘Well.’ Olivia smacked her hands together as though Pa and Miriam’s departure was a job well done. ‘A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss. What have you got there?’

  Evie snapped her sketchbook closed. ‘Just a drawing.’ An overwhelming and unnatural desire to hide the sketch swamped her. Something she’d never experienced before. ‘I thought I’d record Miriam’s departure.’ And the annoying fact that she looked like a Botticelli Madonna in the coveted blue cloak.