The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

  ‘Today’s the day.’ The old man straightened up. ‘Nothing wrong with Rogue. You shouldn’t have a problem.’ He ran his hand down the horse’s shiny black fetlock. ‘Saddle him up and be on your way. You’ve got a fair few miles to cover.’

  Nathaniel’s stomach churned. He’d waited for this forever. Stashed away every penny, done every job he could pick up since they’d discovered Rossgole had finally come up for sale, the property he’d had his eyes on since before he could remember. ‘Everything will be fine.’ He tried for a reassuring smile but nerves still twisted his gut.

  ‘Cup of tea before you go?’

  ‘I want to get on the road. I’m going to call in and have one more look at the place. Make sure Parker has come good and cleared out. And if he hasn’t it’s only fair to warn him that the place will be ours by the end of the week.’

  ‘He’ll have gone. Nothing he can do about it unless he’s robbed a bank. Got those drafts somewhere safe?’

  Nathaniel patted the money belt he’d strapped beneath his shirt. ‘I’ll stop in Muswellbrook for the night. See how I go.’

  ‘Be a darn sight quicker to go down the stock route.’

  ‘Nah.’ He was determined to check the place one more time and he’d spotted a shifty look in Parker’s eyes last time they’d spoken. ‘I’ve got the rest of the afternoon.’ He swung up onto Rogue’s back, held him tight while he pranced and carried on as he always did. ‘Take care of yourself, old man. I’ll see you in a week with the deeds in my hands.’

  Clicking his tongue, Nathaniel kicked Rogue into a gallop, his heartbeat picking up, making his blood race. An hour, maybe a bit more and he’d be at Rossgole, plenty of time before the sun fell behind the mountain and the shadows lengthened. The track wound its way along the creek bed, the recent rain had turned the grass to a verdant green, good feed, just the way it was on Rossgole. The vision of neatly fenced paddocks and a string of breeding mares made his heart sing. He’d got plans, big plans. Ever since he’d listened to the blokes down at Randwick talking about the newly formed Light Horse Regiment he’d known what he wanted to do. Much the same as the Maynards and Ludgroves had done in the early days but his horses wouldn’t be going to India. Not a chance. He’d breed the finest Walers and they’d carry Australians, and if ever there was another war they’d have the horses and the men. The Boer War had taught everyone a lesson; it was one he was going to act upon.

  When he reached the Dartbrook track he slowed, cast a look up to the old house on the hill. Back in the day Hall had owned all the land, built a fine stone house and bred the best dogs. Hall’s Heelers they called them, border collies crossed with dingos, but the place had gone to wrack and ruin when he’d died and the property had been split up.

  About a mile further on he turned off the main track and crossed the creek down onto the flats. The long grass swayed in the breeze covering the tumbledown fence line. That’d be the first job, get the fencing sorted then he’d talk to Olivia. He wanted to buy his first stock from her, a couple of mares, and while he waited for them to foal he’d make a start on the stables. The house would have to wait. Couldn’t leave it too long though, Denman was getting on. Couldn’t expect him to sleep rough much as he’d say otherwise. It was time the old man got a rest. Time to pay Denman back for all he’d done.

  The gate lolled from its hinges. He dismounted and heaved it back against the fence line then walked Rogue down the overgrown path to the old shack Parker used, his ears straining for any sound. The trigger-happy old fool had to be handled with kid gloves and he didn’t want to get into a brawl.

  He stuck his hand into the trough outside the shack, took off his hat and filled it giving it a good sniff before offering it to Rogue. The horse nudged him aside and stuck his head in.

  Rapping his knuckles against the splintered lintel he peered around the door. A camp bed, one corner collapsed and covered with a filthy blanket ran along one wall and on the other side a stone chimney and the remains of a rat-infested cupboard. All suffocating under the pile of rusting iron and rotting shingles that had once been the corner of the roof. No sign of Parker. No sign that he’d been there anytime recently. Perhaps at last he’d taken him at his word and cleared out.

  With a spring in his step he led Rogue under the tree and let him crop the grass in the makeshift paddock. The home paddock, that’s what it would be, and up on the rise beyond the dead gum he’d build a house, use the rocks littering the lower slopes for a good solid chimney. The wide stretches of free-draining soil rising to uplands would develop strong bones and muscles in the foals he’d breed then he’d stand some stallions, have visiting mares, reap the rewards of agistment and set himself up with quality bloodlines.

  Leaving Rogue happily grazing he strode off up the hill in search of a site for the homestead. Somewhere elevated where he and Denman could sit on the verandah of an evening and keep an eye on the paddocks.

  He came to a halt and turned. The perfect spot. The sun close to slipping behind the hills, a rosy twilight falling but he could still see Rogue working his way through the lush grass. Just perfect. He bent down and scooped up a handful of dark soil, brought it to his nose, inhaled the sweet smell of possession then stuck it in his pocket. The next time he came this way the place would be his.

  Time to go. He’d spent longer than he’d intended. He flew down the hillside in leaps and bounds, the swell of happiness almost crushing his chest. He let out a yell. Saw Rogue lift his head.

  In moments they were back on the road, the miles ticking away. Next stop Muswellbrook for the night, back on the road bright and early and Sydney in a couple of days, in time for the auction.

  Nineteen

  Lettie bowled past the neatly tended workers’ cottages of Branxton and Greta then clambered the steep hill out of Singleton marvelling at the view of the plains below.

  She’d covered a good fifty miles before she reached Muswellbrook and turned at the spot Bertha had pointed out on the map, crossing a solidly constructed timber bridge where the wide, well-used track snaked its way between dark-soiled paddocks encompassed by thinly treed hills. Finding a farm gate she pulled off the road. ‘Time for some food, Oxley.’

  They made short work of the packet of sandwiches Olivia had supplied and finished the flask of water, still cool secured in its neatly wrapped tea towel. ‘That’s your lot, Oxley. We’ve got a way to go yet, back in the car. We’re saving the rest for later.’

  With a sigh, he settled himself on the passenger seat and they set off once more. Ahead of her the ribbon of road wound into the distance and with a whoop of excitement she opened the throttle. Oxley pricked up his ears and sat tall, searching for any sign of movement among the encroaching trees.

  The speed carried her up an unexpected incline with barely a pause and as she crested the hill shafts of light from the sinking sun glittered, sending rainbow prisms dancing in front of her eyes. Grasping the wheel tightly she held Lizzie steady and raced towards a dip in the road.

  The sound of running water broke through the call of the bell-birds and she swung her head left where a small but gloriously pretty waterfall splashed over mossy boulders before disappearing beneath a timber culvert.

  A wave of water hit the windscreen.

  She slammed her feet onto the brake and reverse pedals.

  Oxley let out a strangled bark and leapt out.

  She turned her head. ‘Oxley!’

  The back of the car skewed.

  With a screech the wheels locked and skidded.

  As if in a dream Lettie sat rigid anticipating the crunch, her hands gripping the useless steering wheel.

  With a screech and a shudder Lizzie ground to a halt, groaned and settled.

  Not a sound broke the stillness. Heart thundering ten to the dozen Lettie cut the engine. ‘Imbecile! Stupid, stupid imbecile!’ Front wheels firmly hooked between two boulders, water seeping onto the front floor.

  Easing from behind the wheel she clambered onto the
seat. The car wavered, then settled again. In a single bound she sprang out and landed beyond the boulders, knee-deep in the cold water, shivering in the shade thrown by a stand of ancient casuarinas.

  Oxley paddled out towards her. ‘Out!’ She pointed beyond the tree line. The impossible dog took no notice and waded towards her. His tail held high above the water, a wavering distress flag. ‘Go back, Oxley!’

  Inch by inch he made his way towards her until his wet nose buffeted the palm of her hand. ‘The map! I’ve forgotten Evie’s map.’ She scrambled back onto the running board, reached into the car and pulled the cylindrical package from the seat then dragged herself upright.

  Lizzie lurched again and settled deeper into the spilling water. Holding Evie’s map high above her head Lettie leapt off the running board.

  Oxley nudged against her and she slipped her fingers beneath the tattered leather of his collar and together they edged their way to the bank. With another shuddering groan and a grind of metal Lizzie sank into the deepest pool of water.

  Breath heaving, Lettie collapsed, her clothes sodden and her mind in turmoil. ‘I made a mess of that, didn’t I?’

  Oxley gave a huge shake spraying water in a wide arc then slumped down next to her. A flick of his tongue against her cheek provided his agreement. She ran her fingers through his damp fur while he sat, body pressed against her, shivering in the fading light.

  Poor Lizzie. Back end tipped at an alarming angle against a mossy rock, water lapping over the driver’s door. One of the lights dangling, the other gone.

  ‘Damn, damn, damn it. What the bloody hell am I going to do?’ She stood up and eased her shoulders, tested her arms and balanced on her tiptoes. No injuries and Oxley seemed none the worse for his heroic rescue either.

  One back wheel propped on a rock, the other bent and twisted well below the water level. The front wheels buried in the soft sand edging the creek. The cascading water provided a picturesque but totally devastating backdrop.

  Marooned! Not a desert island in sight, but marooned nonetheless.

  Goose pimples covered her skin; the air carried a hint of winter chill and the wind sang in the overhanging trees, intensifying her sense of abandonment.

  Where was Thorne when she needed him? This would be an adventure. Alone she felt like crying. Shaking away her misery she waded back out to the car, and reached into the cold water to retrieve the remains of the second lamp and tossed it onto the back seat. Struts from the roof dangled and the back door swung on its hinges. She bent down, swishing her hands through the shallows, searching. If she ever managed to get the car out she’d need to get the lamps soldered. Her hands bumped against the sandy bottom of the creek and she pulled out a random collection of bits and pieces and tossed them onto the back seat, found another piece of metal snagged on the root of an old tree above the water level. No point in wondering where they belonged or how imperative they were because unless she could get some help to tow the car out they’d be unnecessary.

  Oxley’s blanket still sat, remarkably dry and neatly folded on the front seat; she pulled it out and wrapped it around her neck, and rummaged for her jacket and knapsack, before she picked her way back to the edge of the creek and the smell of wet dog and mossy undergrowth.

  Twilight had taken a firm hold and Lettie’s stomach gave a loud gurgle reminding her how long ago they’d stopped to eat. She rummaged in her knapsack for the remains of their lunch, found two hard-boiled eggs, obviously intended for Oxley instead of the sandwiches she’d shared with him, a slab of fruit cake and three apples. Never in her life had she appreciated anything as much. Dividing the spoils into two neat piles, one for now and one, God forbid, for the morning, she munched her way through, saving the second egg for Oxley’s breakfast.

  If only she’d waited until morning before she’d set out. Spent the night at a cosy little inn in Muswellbrook; she could be sitting in front of a fire enjoying a hearty supper before a good night’s sleep. Impatience. That was her problem. Too impatient. Jumping to conclusions, racing off with barely a thought of the consequences. With a sympathetic snuffle Oxley tucked himself at her feet.

  Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders she tugged him close, propped her back against a leaning tree and pulled her knees up to her chin prepared for a long cold night. Better than rain. Dear God, if it rained they might be swept away.

  She glanced up at the scudding clouds; if anything the water had risen and flowed more strongly. What would Thorne do?

  He’d light a fire. Boil some water. He’d have brought tea, a billy, a saucepan, even some sausages. And she’d taken off without a second thought like the ill-equipped city dweller she was. She hadn’t even any matches, and the sun was disappearing.

  Hunkering down she made a nest at the base of the large hollowed-out tree, its core burnt away in some long-forgotten fire.

  Nathaniel slowed Rogue, avoided a crumbling pothole and cursed. He’d spent too long at Rossgole. The twilight had turned to a dusty grey and although the moon was rising he couldn’t risk Rogue stumbling. Another couple of hours at least before he made Muswellbrook. Maybe he’d pull up somewhere along the creek, throw his swag under a tree and call it quits.

  The track crested a small rise then dipped where an outcrop of casuarinas lined the bank. It was as good a place as any to camp for the night and plenty of water for him and his horse. He dismounted and made his way to the bank and came to a shuddering halt.

  Teetering precariously on the tumble of boulders was a motor. Not any motor; in the first light of the rising moon the green paintwork glinted. His muscles tensed. There couldn’t be another green Model T, she’d said it was the only one in the country. Rogue’s bridle slipped from his fingers as he skidded down the embankment, over the slippery rocks to the tipped wreckage.

  A growl, followed by a welcoming yap and Oxley launched himself across the water then a blanket-encased wraith appeared beneath the trees.

  A rush of air and a mouthful of curses billowed. ‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’ His words sounded harsher than he intended, relief mostly. He’d imagined her slumped and bleeding, maybe dead in that bloody rattletrap.

  ‘Nathaniel!’ Her voice wobbled. ‘The sun was in my eyes and I ran off the culvert. If you could give me a hand I’m sure we could push Lizzie out.’ She disentangled herself from the blanket and stepped into the creek.

  ‘Stay where you are. Don’t move.’

  She took no notice. Picked her way across the boulders.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m on my way to Dartbrook.’

  ‘And why didn’t you use the stock route, up through Aberdeen? It’s metalled, designed for motors and drays. Any sensible person …’

  That brought her to a halt and her hands flew to her hips, eyes blazing in the moonlight. ‘Are you going to stand there with that patronising look on your face or are you going to help?’

  He ambled closer. Felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Nothing but her pride damaged by the look of her.

  Arms folded, he waded through the water to the motor. Gave a shove. Stuck solid, no chance. ‘Going to have to pull it out.’

  ‘Correct.’ She glared at him as though the whole mess was his fault.

  ‘Two of us won’t budge it.’

  ‘What about your horse?’

  ‘Need some decent ropes, probably a harness. We’re going to have to get help.’ He couldn’t leave her here; if he took her to Muswellbrook no one would do anything at this time of night, they’d have to come back in the morning. The possibility of making Sydney in time for the auction shrivelled to a far-fetched dream. Only one thing for it.

  The truth of Nathaniel’s words sank slowly into Lettie’s churning thoughts. He made her angry, or the situation made her angry, and worse, he appeared to be enjoying himself. This wasn’t the meeting she’d anticipated.

  ‘Better get a move on if we’re going to get home before midnight.’

 
‘Home? It’s too far to walk.’ She slammed her hand over her mouth. He’d think her completely insane.

  ‘Quite right. We’ll ride back. Be in Aberdeen in time for a late supper.’

  She didn’t want to go to Aberdeen. She wanted to go to Dartbrook.

  ‘Come on, let’s make a move.’

  ‘I can’t leave the car here overnight, someone might steal it.’

  ‘Highly unlikely. Think about it. Night. Dark. Back road. It’s not going anywhere.’ He turned and stalked away, back to his horse.

  Surely he wouldn’t leave.

  ‘Nathaniel?’ The plaintive wobble in her voice made her cringe.

  He lifted some flap on the side of the saddle and undid a wide belt then slipped it off and balanced it across his arms. ‘Even if someone comes across the motor the chances of them getting it out are even less than ours.’ He waded into the creek again, his heavy boots splashing through the shallows, and tossed the saddle onto the back seat of the car then meandered back to his horse. ‘Chances of them knowing how to handle a motor even smaller.’ He took hold of the reins.

  The huge beast pranced around kicking up its heels, as impatient as its master.

  Her stomach turned over and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. ‘We can’t both ride. I’ll walk.’ But before she did that she had to get Evie’s map. Nathaniel was right about Lizzie but she couldn’t leave Evie’s map. She paddled back to the bank, reached into her knapsack and tucked Evie’s map inside her jacket.

  ‘Come on. Hurry up!’ Nathaniel’s deep voice rumbled through the darkness bringing with it a sense of security and relief at his presence. ‘Up you get.’

  For goodness sake was he going to ignore every word she spoke? ‘I’ll walk.’ She buttoned her jacket trying to ignore the massive creature towering over her and the sinking sensation roiling in the pit of her stomach. The nice quiet animal Olivia had given her to ride up Yellow Rock was nothing like this cavorting monster. ‘Or else I’ll stay here. If you could send someone to help in the morning, I’d very much appreciate it.’