The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

  ‘Oh! I’ve got it now. Hall’s place. Where they bred the blue heelers, cattle dogs. The boy that went bush. Then got himself into a heap of trouble. Came up before the court. Stealing a horse, brandishing a gun. Probably threw away the key.’

  And that proved she was on the right track. There couldn’t be two Andrew Humes who’d been arrested for bushranging. ‘Why don’t you want to go to Dartbrook?’

  He shrugged, ‘Like I said, bad blood.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing you need worry your head about.’

  Nathaniel cantered through Broke, his mind swirling. Denman’s idea about the milk train had been a good one. It had got him to Singleton in a fraction of the time it would have taken on horseback and he’d pulled in a few favours and borrowed a halfway decent horse. Shame he couldn’t have taken the train all the way to Sydney, but like Denman said, Olivia couldn’t be left wondering.

  He’d got no time to hang around, just long enough to let Olivia know Lettie hadn’t come to harm. Well not much. More dented pride than anything else, he’d guess. Quite why she wanted to go to Dartbrook he’d no idea. Still he’d leave that to Denman to sort out when, or if, they got the motor out. He’d been too blindsided by the feel of her in his arms; dancing was enough, a ride down the mountain in the moonlight would turn any man’s senses.

  When he pulled into Yellow Rock he found Olivia pacing the driveway like a marauding goose. She flapped her arms at him and he slammed to a halt.

  ‘Thank God you’re here. I need help. I’ve lost Lettie.’ Her face crumpled and for an awful moment he thought she was going to burst into tears. He wasn’t good with women, never mind a crying woman.

  He swung down from his horse. ‘She’s fine. Had a bit of an accident, that’s all.’

  ‘What kind of an accident? How badly hurt is she? My horse is saddled and I’ve got supplies packed. What are you waiting for?’ She spun on her heel.

  ‘Olivia, wait up.’

  ‘If you’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear you can keep it to yourself.’ She threw the words over her shoulder and bolted towards the stables.

  Women! What was it about them? No doubting Olivia and Lettie’s relationship because they sure as shit wouldn’t take no for an answer. ‘Olivia!’ There must have been something in his tone of voice because she came to a halt and turned slowly, almost flinching, bracing herself for the worst. He sucked in a fortifying breath. ‘Lettie is perfectly fine, suffering nothing more than a sore bum last time I saw her.’

  ‘You better not have been looking too closely at her bum or you’ll have me to answer to.’

  ‘Are you going to listen to what I’ve got to say or shall I leave? I’ve got to get to Sydney. It’s the Rossgole auction tomorrow afternoon and I’ve got no intention of missing it. Waited too long.’ There, it was said. ‘Lettie was driving up to Dartbrook, the Halls’ old place …’

  ‘What … She was going to Maitland.’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I don’t know. She took the back road from Muswellbrook, setting sun blinded her, one of the culverts was under water and she ran off the road. I was on my way down to Sydney and found her. Took her back to Denman’s. He’s going to give her a hand to tow the motor out. If she can get it going she’ll be back with you tomorrow night earliest.’ There, he’d managed to get it out.

  ‘Denman’ll see her right.’ The beginning of a smile tilted her lips and then a frown crossed her forehead. ‘He will, won’t he?’

  ‘Course he will. And I’ll be back through at the end of the week. If there’s any problems we can sort them out then. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Stay and have something, a cup of tea?’

  ‘I haven’t got time. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.’

  ‘You’re a good lad, Nathaniel.’ She reached up and patted his thigh. ‘Let’s get you a change of horse. That one looks as though it’s due for the knacker’s yard. You can take Raven. He’s ready and waiting, I was about to leave when you arrived.’

  Blimey. He must have done something right. Olivia didn’t part with her horse for anyone. ‘Thanks. That would be great. I got the milk train down from Aberdeen and borrowed this nag from the bloke at the Caledonian.’

  ‘I’ll get someone to take it back. There’s a stallion to pick up at Randwick and see if you can get a message to Rawlings, let him know Lettie’s still here and she’s all right. It’ll keep Miriam off my back.’ Her face flushed. ‘Lettie will be back here by the time you get there, won’t she?’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’ He turned to unsaddle the Singleton horse.

  ‘Leave that for me. I’m not totally useless. Take care, and good luck. You deserve that property. It’s got your name written all over it.’

  He swung back up into the saddle. ‘I hope so.’ Lifting his hand in a wave he thundered down the drive relishing the feel of a decent horse beneath him.

  While Denman’s horses made good work of the final miles, Lettie scanned the road ahead for any sign of the car. She recognised little of the track from the night before, most likely because she’d had her eyes tightly closed and had spent the time praying she’d live to tell the tale.

  Finally they rolled down the hill and there, tucked askew over the edge of the culvert, lay poor Lizzie.

  ‘Did a good job of that, didn’t you?’ Denman slowed the wagon and she jumped down before he’d come to a standstill. In the harsh sunlight the mess she’d got herself into became obvious. What had she been thinking? The road she’d careered down pitched at an alarming angle and the water across the culvert almost reached her knees. Oxley studied the car then looked at her and whined. ‘I made a right mess of that, didn’t I?’ She picked her way over the boulders. One of the wheels looked horribly bent and the tyre on another mangled. The one remaining lamp drooped at a precarious angle and the other lay forlorn on the back seat. There was a three-cornered tear in the canvas roof and several of the struts dangled, throwing it out of alignment.

  She edged closer, eyeing the collection of crumpled metal she’d fished from the creek and thrown into the back. Nathaniel’s saddle was squashed behind the front seats, the water lapping the sides. The blanket she’d wrapped herself in hung forlornly on the branch of the tree above the hollow where she’d imagined she’d spend the night. She let out a relieved breath. Thank goodness Nathaniel had stumbled across her. Though he hadn’t done much stumbling. She was the guilty one. And she’d hardly thanked him. Instead bitten his head off and complained vociferously.

  Denman stood, head tipped to one side, surveying the disaster. ‘Shouldn’t be too much of a problem getting her out. Don’t know about those wheels though. I’ll unhitch the wagon and we’ll run the ropes around the back of the motor. I reckon the horses can pull it out in no time.’

  ‘I can manage the wheels, as long as the axle isn’t broken. If you’ve got a saw, we can take the broken spindle out. It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve got a spare, a tyre pump and another inner tube.’

  ‘And what would that be.’

  ‘It’s the—’

  He waved his hands at her. ‘Explain later. Let’s get her back on the track first.’

  It took an eternity before they recovered Lizzie, somewhat forlorn but on all four wheels. Denman had unhitched the horses from the wagon, anchored and buckled all kinds of leather straps and as gently as if they were dealing with a wounded animal, the two carthorses eased poor Lizzie from the creek with less bumping and grinding than Lettie had caused when she’d run off the culvert.

  Lettie paced around the car checking the damage. The wheels were the only major problem and the possibility motor spirit might have leaked but there was very little smell and the two full cans remained strapped to the back. There’d be the question of the carburettor and the spark plugs but they were easy enough to dry and clean. Thorne kept a neat little steel brush for that job, one she’d done many times.

  Under Denman’s watchful eyes sh
e unpacked the tool kit from under the back seat and set everything out in neat lines as Thorne had always insisted.

  ‘Looks like you might have an idea of what you’re doing. Good job someone had faith in you. Nathaniel would have had you tucked up back with Olivia by now and this poor old girl would be rusting away.’ He leant over and lifted Nathaniel’s saddle from behind the seats, dusted it down and placed it in the wagon along with her knapsack, then wandered back and pulled out the lamp from the back seat. ‘Nothing that can’t be fixed. Do this when we get back. Now what about all these other bits and pieces you found.’

  Lettie allowed his voice to wash over her while she jacked up the car and removed the tyre. All the while Denman puttered around in the creek swishing his hands in the water. ‘Looking for gold?’ she asked, lifting her head from fitting the new inner tube.

  ‘Nah! Interesting the stuff that washes down when we’ve had a bit of rain.’ He pulled out a worn piece of timber, the edges blackened. ‘Can’t remember a bushfire through here. Though that tree up there on the bank looks as though it’s been through a fire once upon a time.’ He smoothed the piece of wood then lobbed it back up the hill.

  It wasn’t until she’d refitted the wheels and she stood to brush the dirt from her knees that she noticed how quiet Denman had become. He stood, his thick, scarred fingers compulsively tracing an odd-shaped piece of metal.

  Something she’d failed to notice missing from the wheel or under the bonnet perhaps. ‘What’s that?’

  He jumped, as though she’d startled him, and looked up, his eyes rheumy. ‘Where d’you get this?’

  She took two steps forward. ‘What is it?’

  He dangled a strip of hinged metal from his fingers. ‘A bit.’

  ‘A bit of what?’

  ‘A bit. Mouthpiece from a bridle. Goes in the horse’s mouth to help you control it.’

  ‘I’ve got no idea.’ Nathaniel appeared to have complete control over his horse when they came down the mountain. And his saddle was all in one piece on the back of the wagon. ‘It must be something from the motor. I collected all the pieces that broke off.’ She held out her hand.

  Denman stared down at the piece of metal. ‘I don’t know much about these motors but I’m pretty sure you use a steering wheel.’

  ‘Of course you do. Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I ain’t being silly.’ He slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. ‘Right, let’s get a move on. Show me how we get this thing going. I’ve got no intention of spending the night here.’

  It took a good four cranks to get the first spark and just when she’d as good as given up Lizzie sprang to life. Lettie leapt in behind the wheel, determined to keep the engine running.

  ‘I’ll be right behind you. Take it easy. Too far back to Frog Hollow tonight, too late for Dartbrook too, and me stomach thinks me throat’s been cut. We’ll pull into Rossgole and camp there. You can call in to Frog Hollow on the way back from Dartbrook. I’ve got motor spirit that’ll see you back to Yellow Rock, and the road from there’s metalled.’

  She could see the wisdom in his words and had no intention of arriving at Dartbrook in the dark. She had no idea who or what she’d find. ‘Do you need any help with the horses?’

  He threw her a look which didn’t want translating and shuffled back to the wagon.

  Praying the wheel would hold she eased onto the track and called Oxley. He leapt in beside her and settled on the seat. The steering wasn’t the best and the wobble in the wheel with the missing spindle didn’t help.

  Once she crested the hill the track widened and she pulled to a halt, dug out her goggles from the back seat, cleaned them off while she waited for Denman and the wagon to appear before setting off again.

  She crawled along not far in front of Denman, the road pitted with potholes and the light fading, and after a few miles he waved at her to slow and pulled alongside. ‘Through that gate. I’ve a mind for baked rabbit. How does that sound?’

  Oxley’s ears pricked in response. What difference would one more day make? Olivia would know by now she’d come to no harm and once she’d called in to Dartbrook she’d have an easy run back down the stock route if Denman was to be believed. She had no reason to doubt him. After the past couple of days, she couldn’t think of anything better than an easy run on a metalled road.

  Twenty-One

  When Lettie reached the gate she eased to a halt and allowed Denman and his wagon to trundle past and turn down the track. She followed, past a tumbledown shack, nothing more than four walls, with a couple of holes to let the light in, a dangling door and a chimney. They’d be better off under the stars with a good fire burning, which was what Denman had in mind because by the time she pulled up he’d released the horses and collected an array of leaves and branches and lit them within a well-worn, rock-edged fire pit.

  ‘Who lives in the shack?’

  ‘Old Fred Parker uses it now and again. Squatted for years.’ Denman tucked his shotgun under one arm and grabbed the billy in the other. ‘Fill this up down there at the creek and collect some more wood. I’ll be back.’ And with that he disappeared into the dusk, Oxley glued to his heels.

  The fire didn’t seem big enough to cook a boiled egg but who was she to argue? She ambled down to the creek and filled the billy, collected a few sticks on the way back and fed the fire. It flickered and dulled then flared again as she settled the billy. They’d need a more substantial fire to bake the promised rabbit. Buttoning her dustcoat to keep out the encroaching chill she ambled across the paddock, wishing Oxley hadn’t taken off with Denman. She’d seen the glint in his eye the moment the word rabbit was mentioned. The dog had a vocabulary many would envy.

  A large dead tree, a widow maker Thorne would have called it, stood in majestic isolation in the middle of the paddock, the ground beneath littered with broken branches. She collected some smaller ones into a pile and then wandered around in search of something larger.

  The last rays of the sun made a splashy display illuminating a thick branch angled across a pile of oddly shaped boulders. Just the size she wanted. She picked her way up the small rise and tried to tug the branch free. The corner of her dustcoat snagged and she bent down to free it.

  Lichen covered the slanting stones, their weathered edges smoothed. She sank to her knees and ran her hand over the gnarled indentations; but for their haphazard placement they could have been a group of ancient gravestones.

  Ignoring the tremor tiptoeing across the nape of her neck she released the branch and tucked the smaller pieces of timber under her arm before following the odour of singed fur back to the fire where Oxley crouched, his blood-stained jaws crunching something she didn’t want to think about.

  Denman raised his head. ‘Wondered what happened to you.’ He raked the ashes over a mound at the base of the fire and grunted as he clambered to his feet. ‘Rabbits are in the coals.’

  Oxley lifted his head, licked his lips and grinned.

  ‘Dog’s had a feed and ours is baking.’ He snapped several lengths from the timber she’d brought and arranged it in the fire. ‘Billy’s boiled. Ready for a cuppa?’

  Lettie sank down holding her hands out to the flames. ‘Thanks.’ She wrapped her fingers around the tin mug and sipped the welcome brew.

  ‘Got some good wood there. The big job’ll keep us warm tonight.’

  She offered a wry grin. ‘I found it over there. Against the big old rocks. They look like crumbled gravestones.’

  ‘Doubt that. Apart from old Parker I don’t think anyone’s ever lived here. Your imagination’s running away with you.’ He prodded the fire, stood up and lifted his hat and scratched. ‘While the rabbits are baking you can show me these gravestones you think you’ve found. Where are they?’

  A red moon had risen above the hill and an eerie light illuminated the skeletal sentinel.

  ‘Just beyond the tree.’

  They trudged back up the hill.

  ‘There it is.’
/>   Denman crouched down and reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches and nursed the wavering flame.

  ‘It’s covered in some sort of lichen.’

  ‘Old man’s beard. Fix up a sore throat quick as a wink.’ He snapped his fingers under her nose, making her start, then ran his hand over the face of one of the stones. ‘Nah. They’re not gravestones. Paddocks around here are littered with random rocks. Back from the time water covered the entire area. Nathaniel will be pleased. He won’t have to buy me a headstone.’ He gave a throaty chuckle, making the hairs rise on the back of her neck again. ‘Come on, that rabbit’ll be ready.’

  Lettie licked the last remaining drips of rabbit juice from her fingers and wrapped her arms around her knees. The warmth of the fire and the slug of rum Denman insisted on slipping into the last cup of tea left her oddly relaxed. ‘What do you know about Evie? What happened to her?’ She hadn’t intended to say anything. The rum must have loosened her tongue.

  He glanced sideways at her, scratched at the grey stubble on his chin. ‘Everyone knows about young Evie. The rock took her. Told you that.’

  A streak of anger rushed through her. ‘That’s a load of rubbish and you know it. Olivia told me the drovers combed the area for weeks afterwards. They had the best trackers and a bloodhound. They found nothing except her dress pushed down behind the rocks at the freshwater pool.’

  ‘Maybe the rock swallowed her.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m serious. I intend to find out what happened to her. She’d planned her trip, taken her father’s compass, marked the name Hume on the map, near Maitland. A man named Andrew Hume lived at Dartbrook when he was a child. That’s why I want to go there. Supposing Evie went further afield than anyone expected?’

  ‘Up here? Nah! In those days the tracks weren’t like they are today. Young girl like that on her own. Need a bushman, a damn good bushman to cut across country from Maitland. Someone who knew the area like the back of his hand. Why would she come this way? Get yourself some sleep.’