The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

  ‘A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost.’ Or so Thorne had said. ‘A British car. Six-cylinder, three-speed transmission.’

  Olivia waved her hand in dismissal. ‘You understand.’

  Why had Miriam never told her the stories of her family? More to the point if marriage and business entwined the Ludgroves and the Maynards what had caused the long standing rift between them?

  ‘Come on, we’ll go this way and fill in some of the gaps.’ Olivia swung open a small gate into a clearing enclosed by a low wrought-iron fence. ‘The family plot.’ She gestured to an array of headstones in a patch of long grass picked through with waving fronds of wildflowers. ‘Easier to explain if you’ve got the names in front of you.’

  Lettie stood in the centre surrounded by the very plain, lichen-covered headstones, her heart beating a ridiculous tattoo.

  ‘This here’s my Ma and Pa, your great-grandparents on the Maynard side, Mary and Alexander, and their sons Alexander and John.’ Two tiny headstones bearing nothing but a name and a single date sat between the two larger ones.

  ‘And here’s my sister Alice, your grandmother on the Maynard side,’ Olivia ran her hand along the top of a stone, ‘and her sons John, James and Joshua.’ She let out a heartfelt sigh. ‘As a family we were never good with boys.’

  Despite the sun Lettie shivered. Standing amid the simple stones made her think of Thorne lying alone beneath the marble angel. Another son taken too early. For some reason, she believed he’d be happier here, not buried in the busy bustling Sydney cemetery.

  ‘Then this here’s William, your grandfather, and his parents Margaret and John Ludgrove.’

  ‘Grandfather?’ Lettie hadn’t thought to wonder if he was buried at Waverley. ‘He died in Sydney. Mother said he suffered an apoplexy.’

  ‘An apoplexy? That’s what Miriam might call it. It wasn’t. He died of a broken heart. Couldn’t live with his guilt. Guilt and grief killed him plain and simple.’ Olivia’s eyes brimmed and she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Miriam ought to know that.’

  A breeze shifted through the trees making the casuarinas sing. ‘And Evie? Where’s Evie?’

  ‘Well, that’s the rub, and that’s why I wanted to bring you here. Let you see for yourself that all is not quite as you’ve been led to believe.’

  Lettie ran a quick search of the headstones. Surely her own mother wouldn’t lie to her about her sister’s death. ‘Where’s Evie buried?’

  ‘It’s a long story and the heat’s building. We’ll walk back up to the farm and treat ourselves to some of Peg’s lemonade and then I’ll take you over to the main house. We keep it closed these days. That’s where the answers lie.’

  And that had to suffice. Olivia closed the rusty iron gate, cast one more look around the small patch and ushered her along the path.

  When Olivia and Lettie broke clear of the treed area the peacefulness of their walk shattered. An apocalypse of horses, cattle, men and dogs, swirling dust and noise enveloped them.

  A smile lit Olivia’s face. ‘Ah! They’re a day early.’

  ‘Who are they? What’s going on?’ Lettie squinted, protecting her eyes and covered her ears.

  ‘Drovers are in. Cattle muster, on their way to the Liverpool Plains. They always break for a day or two here. Plenty of water. Good camp site. We’re on the stock route, have been since the beginning. Take yourself inside, I’ve got work to do.’ Olivia rammed the dilapidated hat further down onto her head and strode off towards the seething inferno.

  Lettie had no intention of taking herself inside. She galloped after Olivia into the large paddock just in time to see her clapping an old man on the back. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Thought you’d had your last drove.’

  ‘Could ask you the same question, you miserable old jenny.’

  Rather than take offence Olivia let out a hoot of laughter then reached for Lettie’s hand and dragged her close. ‘This is my great-niece, Letitia Rawlings. You make sure that bloody team of yours keeps their filthy hands off her.’

  ‘Pleased to meet—’ Lettie’s words were cut short when the old man clasped her in a rough hug enveloping her in a cloud of sweat, stale tobacco and something rather unpleasant that she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Evie, as I live and breathe.’

  Lettie wrenched herself out of his embrace and rammed her hat a little lower on her head.

  ‘So, you’re Miriam’s daughter. Always guessed you’d turn out a stunner. Where’s that brother of yours?’

  Who was this man?

  ‘Leave her be. Give her time.’ Olivia gestured to the swirling mass of cattle, saving Lettie from answering the man’s question. ‘Bloody good-looking mob you’ve got there. How’s the route holding up? No problems crossing the Hawkesbury?’ Olivia’s voice, full of confidence, contained a bubble of laughter. She thumped her hands onto her hips and marched across the paddock leaving Lettie with one hand on Oxley’s collar and her mind whirring. This vibrant woman with the flashing eyes and ribald tongue bore no resemblance to the picture Miriam had painted of an aged, possibly demented aunt.

  Ten

  Yellow Rock, 1880

  The rhythm of the days continued and Evie’s map expanded, a sketch here, another there, more coordinates and carefully measured distances.

  Mrs Hewitt’s niece, Peg, took over the baking and the garden tasks and their life returned to the easy pattern of the past. Bailey and the drovers came and went, taking the cattle and their dogs with them and the foals brought with them a touch of hope as they frolicked in the sunshine. More than anything else the simple routines lent a soothing simplicity to life which Evie relished as she spent more and more time in Pa’s study collating his papers and making notes.

  And on the seventh day they rested. Olivia and Evie would ride up the winding track to Yellow Rock, make the steep climb and bask in the warm reflection of the sandstone as they sat surveying the countryside all the way to the coast. Neither of them had time for the God who’d done so little for Alice and her boys so they stayed away from the small church at Broke, giving instead their reverence to the panorama Mother Nature provided.

  Evie’s map grew more and more complex. From Yellow Rock the stock routes were clearly visible and when the sun was high the glint of waterholes, the winding pearls of the brook lined with the bright green of the paddocks set her fingers flying. She took great pleasure in sketching in tiny details to lift the sombre outline of the winding road. During the rest of the week she collated Pa’s papers and tried to make sense of the vast amount of information. She made her way through the various unrelated piles and tried to create some order. If Pa had any organisational system, it was lost on her. Invoices, lists of supplies, names of the people in the area who had sponsored Leichhardt, even the Ladies’ Expedition and Mrs Burdekin, her name right at the top alongside the Ludgrove name. The amount of money raised made her scalp itch.

  As a form of respite, she’d turn to some of the earlier entries in Pa’s journal that she’d skimmed, little anecdotes of his time with Leichhardt that all deserved to be documented.

  Monday, 23rd January 1843

  Mirannie Creek: Lat -32.4727 Long 151.3772

  Went to Mirannie, ten miles from Glendon, to see the caves. We passed some very rough places thickly strewn with sandstone. When we returned to our horses we suddenly came upon a bull. He dropped his head threateningly. I stopped but Doctor Leichhardt walked towards him fearing nothing, swinging his hammer to chase him away. To my great horror the bull was not scared off, but charged. Doctor Leichhardt hid behind a large tree, but the bull followed and repeated his attack three times. On the fourth attempt, he delivered a blow to the animal’s head and retreated once more to the trees. The bull stared at us from this distance almost indifferently. Finally, we returned to the stream bed and made a long detour to our horses and back to the road and to Glendon. We had come to no harm and retold the story that evening to much hilarity.

  She giggled as she comp
leted the illustration. Doctor Leichhardt hiding behind the tree, the bull pawing the ground, puffs of steam escaping from his nostrils and Pa fleeing as the bull charged, coat-tails flapping and his hat forsaken in a muddy puddle. Oh, how she missed Pa. Surely sufficient time had passed for the details of Miriam’s wedding to be arranged and they would return soon. In the meantime, his journals would have to suffice. She washed her brush and turned to the next entry.

  Tuesday, 24th January 1843

  Mt Carrow (Pieries Peak): Lat -32.2110 Long 151.3034

  Mt Royal: Lat -32.1752 Long 151.3252

  Today we commenced our journey to Mt Royal. Doctor Leichhardt has looked longingly from several spots at this magnificent mountain. We tramped up and down hills, and passed through forests of spotted gum and ironbark, box and stringy bark until we arrived at Fallbrook. Leichhardt was much impressed by the large numbers of Ornithorhynchus we spotted on the deep banks of the waterholes. The creatures are the cause of much fascination in Europe apparently.

  The anecdote made her smile; as a child she had become totally enamoured with the funny little water moles who made their home in the banks of the brook and would pester Pa to take her at dusk to watch their antics. Why did she feel Pa’s absence so keenly? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t spent time in Sydney before. With a sigh, she closed the journal and wandered out to the kitchen, a tad forlorn.

  The sun was sinking fast by the time Olivia returned from her evening trudge, bedding down the mares for the night and checking on the foals. Evie had set the kitchen table as they always did on a Sunday night and rummaged through the pantry. A side of ham, some cheese, yesterday’s bread and a bowl of last winter’s apples still cool from the cellar with a cup of tea and some tomato relish would make a fine supper. She’d just turned the pot when Olivia came in, sleeves rolled to her elbows and her hair windswept from her walk.

  Without acknowledging her culinary efforts, Olivia sank down at the table, her face marred by a worried frown, her concentration totally absorbed by the letter in her hands.

  ‘Is that from Pa? When will he be home? It’s been ages since we heard from him. I’m looking forward to seeing him. Have they made all the arrangements for Miriam’s wedding?’ Evie prattled on and only when she received no reply did she notice Olivia was no longer reading but staring out at the fiery glow as the sun sent its last burnished rays across the rock.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Evie poured the tea and set a cup down in front of Olivia. Still she didn’t turn from the window. ‘Olivia?’ She sank onto her knees and clasped Olivia’s cold hand. ‘What is it? What does Pa say?’

  After a moment, Olivia gave a shrug and offered a wan smile. She brushed at her cheeks and cleared her throat. ‘It’s not from William, it’s from Miriam.’

  Evie’s stomach sank and she clenched Olivia’s hand. ‘Is everything …’ The words caught in her throat.

  ‘Your father is well. Plans are proceeding apace.’

  ‘When are they coming home?’ How very, very exciting. Pa would love the additions to her map and as much as Miriam annoyed her she’d missed her sister, couldn’t wait to see her, and more especially meet her soon-to-be brother-in-law. ‘She must have liked her beau.’

  ‘Beggars can’t …’ The muttered remains of Olivia’s words slipped into the tea cup as she gave a series of thoughtful sips. ‘The wedding’s gone ahead.’

  The news sent Evie rocking back on her heels, her outstretched hand saving her at the last moment from an unceremonious collapse onto the flagged floor. ‘Why didn’t he tell us? I thought they’d be coming home for the wedding.’

  Olivia tapped her fingernail on the tabletop, an irritated tattoo which set Evie’s teeth on edge. ‘Let me read the letter.’ Evie reached out to take the single sheet of paper grasped loosely in Olivia’s hand but before she had a chance Olivia whisked it away and stuffed it into the pocket of her apron. ‘Why can’t I read it?’

  ‘We’ll eat first. These things are better tackled on a full stomach. Come and sit down.’ Olivia reached across and cut herself a thick slab of ham and dolloped some relish on the side of her plate and sliced a tomato. ‘Come along. You’ve been out in the fresh air all day. You can read it when I’ve finished with it.’

  ‘Letters don’t usually come on Sunday.’ Evie picked at a slice of bread, unable to bring it to her lips. Something was wrong, something she couldn’t fathom, something Olivia wouldn’t share.

  ‘Joe brought it in on his way back from church.’

  Then why hadn’t Olivia told her about it earlier? And why the missing invitation? She’d wanted to see Miriam married, imagined the little church in Broke decked out with wildflowers, Pa escorting Miriam down the narrow aisle, smiling faces mingling with the dusty smell of beeswax and cedar.

  Olivia thumped her plate away and stood up. ‘Let’s give ourselves a break from the chores tomorrow. What do you think? You can spend all day in William’s study on your map. I’ve got a mind to sort out the tack.’

  There was nothing she’d rather do except read Miriam’s letter.

  ‘Take yourself off to bed. I’ll clear up here. You can read it tomorrow when I’ve finished with it.’ The plates landed with a crash in the sink. ‘Bedtime! Go!’ The sight of Olivia’s crumpled red face, narrowed eyes and tight lips sent Evie scuttling from the room.

  Clutching Pa’s journal to her breast she settled on her bed and tried to push all thoughts of the letter and Olivia’s unusual reaction from her mind. Her breathing settled as she became absorbed in Pa’s account of the trip to Mount Royal.

  Thursday, 26th January 1843

  Mt Carrow/Piri (Pieries Peak): Lat -32.2110 Long 151.3034

  Our path led us uphill. We gained one terrace after the other, always sandstone covered by forest. Piri, an elongated mountain ridge, stretches from south to north and is joined with Mt Royal by a significantly higher embankment. Both mountains are a spur of the Liverpool Ranges, which run from south-west to north-east. We stopped at the foot of Piri and made our camp in a hollow burnt-out tree trunk. The end of a fallen tree fed our fire and the south-east wind blew the smoke over us, protecting us from mosquitoes. The night was cool, the sky magnificently starry.

  With an aching heart Evie turned the pages knowing there would be no further entries written in this carefree manner for it was on that return trip, in a blinding thunderstorm, Pa had fallen from his horse.

  Friday, 27th January 1843

  When we arose this morning, there was a fresh wind and Doctor Leichhardt proclaimed himself to be happy, rich and satisfied enjoying the magnificent view, a sea of hills and ridges, which vanish in the blue of the horizon. He said he wished to remain for some days. Unbeknownst to me Doctor Leichhardt had tied his horse with the bridle and overnight it broke its restraint and vanished. I have volunteered to go in search. I left him happily encamped in the burnt-out blackbutt with a supply of tea, bacon and damper. If I fail to locate his horse I will return to Captain Maynard’s for another mount and further supplies.

  She smoothed the faded leather of the journal. The picture of Pa on horseback riding down the mountain trail flickering against her eyelids.

  Evie woke with a start the next morning, the memory of the unread letter crowding her mind. Why hadn’t Pa written? Olivia must have been keeping something from her. Surely she would have told her if he’d sickened. Dear God—worse—died. She threw on her clothes and raced to the kitchen. No sign of Olivia and no sign of the letter on the table nor in the big drawer which housed all manner of bits and pieces, the place where such things usually landed.

  A half-finished cup of tea sat on the table which meant Olivia would already be outside moving the horses into their day paddock. With a quick glance out of the window she confirmed her suspicion and then slipped up the stairs and opened Olivia’s bedroom door, her heart thundering at her audacity. Olivia guarded her room, her only privacy, like a treasure chest. She found the letter almost immediately, poking out
of the book on the bedside table, The Vase, by the poet Eliza Dunlop; not something she would have imagined Olivia reading.

  She slipped the letter into her sleeve and closed the door, guilt chasing her down the stairs.

  The single sheet of paper crackled as she unfolded it. Miriam’s familiar scrawl lurched across the page. Dearest Aunt Olivia … Why wasn’t it addressed to her as well?

  You will be pleased to know my wedding went off without a hitch. Pa arranged to have the banns read and everything is as it should be. Edward’s widowed mother, Charlotte, has been most kind and I was married from her house where we will live. It is a delightful terrace, next to Pa’s and will suit Edward and I well.

  We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Pa for several days. He has been closeted with a Mr Du Faur, something to do with a man named Skuthorpe who claims to know the whereabouts of some missing Leichhardt relics, though why Pa would be interested in an old watch and other rusty instruments is beyond my understanding.

  Her breath whistled out between her lips in relief. Nothing the matter with Pa. Her gaze darted back to the page.

  I am to tell you that Pa will be forced to remain in Sydney for several months. For this I am thankful because I need his support at this difficult time.

  The corner of the paper crumpled as she tightened her fist, a livid pain in her chest and a burning sensation twisting her stomach. Why wouldn’t Pa write himself and tell her this news?

  Resisting the temptation to tear the letter into a thousand pieces she placed it on the bed, a swirling cloud of anger boiling and bubbling in her chest. She slammed her fist into her mouth trapping the emptiness inside. How she wished she could go and lay her head in Mama’s lap and seek her sympathy.

  Always Miriam. Miriam wanted to stay in Sydney. A house was provided. Miriam needed Pa’s support. He remained in Sydney.