by Téa Cooper
What was the point in arguing? There was nothing more she could do. And in all honesty, the whole idea was preposterously far-fetched. She’d be believing the old stories next. She ought to be back at Yellow Rock right now instead of sitting in a godforsaken paddock in the middle of nowhere. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and curled up with her face to the fire and Oxley’s warm body pressed against her back. Through the flames the silhouette of the old man hunkered opposite wavered and trembled in the glow as he sat rubbing a handful of ashes into his palm as though his life depended on it.
Above him the blood red moon rose higher and her eyes grew heavier.
The light from the fire flickered and the flames grew, the heat fanning her cheeks, breath warm and rasping against her neck as she leant forward into the horse’s mane. Helter-skelter down the hill, tree branches slashing at her face, the obscene glow illuminating the skyline, her heart pounding in time with the hooves. Thundering down the track as though her life depended on it, her fingers clawed tight around the reins.
And then she was flying, flying through the air. Flashes of yellow and crimson arcing across the sky then a thump as she landed, knocking the breath from her lungs. Above her a streaking star sliced the night sky before oblivion claimed her. There are more things in heaven and earth …
‘Strewth! Wake up!’
Lettie shot up. Sweat pouring down her face, her breath snatching in ragged gasps. Her whole body shaking.
Smoke and the stench of burning clogged her nostrils. A wet tongue rasped her cheek. Oxley gave a plaintive whine and pressed closer.
‘You’re dreaming, having a nightmare.’ Denman’s face, creased with concern, swam into focus.
Lettie gulped in a huge breath, let it whistle out between her dry lips, and her shoulders sank.
A dream.
No wonder after the past few days. The shock of crashing Lizzie, the harrowing ride down the mountain with Nathaniel, the surreal evening scratching around in a paddock littered with ancient stones, picking rabbit meat from bones like a wild animal. And now this.
‘Be light in an hour or so.’ Denman eyed her with a frown. ‘I’ll get the billy on then we’ll get you on the road to Dartbrook.’
Oxley wagged his tail in approval. And suddenly she had a longing to be back … at Yellow Rock. She’d been on the point of saying home, thinking of Yellow Rock as home.
Denman’s tea drove away the last whispers of her dream and with Oxley lolloping along beside her she climbed the small rise, sketchpad in hand, and squatted under the tree. Her pencil moved swiftly across the page capturing the essence of the place and once satisfied she returned. Denman sat by the fire, the piece of metal he’d picked out from her car polished to a bright sheen.
‘It came up well.’
‘Needed to make sure me eyes weren’t deceivin’ me. See here?’ He held the two hinged pieces of metal towards her. ‘That’s my mark.’
‘You made it?’
‘That I did. Made a lot in my time only this one’s different. It’s a snaffle bit, made of sweet iron, from the tines of an old plough I came across. See these bits here? Copper inlay. And these, that’s my trademark.’
The rings at either end of the bit twisted like fine filigree. ‘Do you know who it belongs to?’
‘I do.’
She waited as he swirled the now gleaming piece between his fingers. ‘Made it before I opened me smithy. Made it for me brother, Bailey.’
‘Why would he throw it away?’
‘I don’t think he did. Know he wouldn’t.’ His stooped shoulders trembled and he bent his head.
Not knowing how to offer comfort she edged close, studying the piece of metal.
Denman’s voice wavered. ‘Last time I knew he was collecting some horses then heading off to catch up with the mob of cattle the drovers were bringing up the main route. He was meant to drop the horses off outside Scone then meet up with them in Murrurundi. Olivia’d given him the wages.’ He heaved to his feet. ‘Time to get a move on. I might come with you, to Dartbrook. Leave the horses here and take that motor of yours for a spin. Then you can get on your way to Yellow Rock.’
‘What about the horses?’
‘Fencing’s not the best but they’ll be happy enough with the pickings in the paddock. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.’ He raked out the coals on the fire and looked up with a frown. ‘You get the motor moving and I’ll throw these odds and ends into the wagon. Be with you in a moment.’
Calling Oxley, Lettie made her way back to the car. In the early morning sunshine the wheel looked a lot better despite the missing spindle, and the tyre had held up. She piled the broken struts and bits and pieces into the blanket and bundled them to one side on the back seat. Oxley would have to give up his front row spot for Denman. She whistled again. The wretched dog was nowhere to be seen.
Once she’d emptied the spare can of spirit into the tank, the engine sprang to life with hardly a complaint and ticked over nicely. How she wished Thorne was with her. She could hear his crow of triumph and imagine the look of pleasure in his eyes. She ran her hand over the bonnet, ignoring the scratches and dents the trip into the gulley had caused. Easy enough fixed when she got back to Sydney.
Shading her eyes she called Oxley again. He came bolting across the paddock, covered in dirt and stinking to high heaven, and slithered to a halt in front of her. ‘Where’s Denman?’
Oxley turned his head towards the paddock and sure enough Denman appeared. He ambled over. ‘Right then. All ready to go?’
Before Lettie had time to answer, Oxley leapt onto the front seat.
‘Oh no you don’t. That’s for Denman. In the back.’ She patted the space next to the bundled blanket and yanked on his collar. For a moment or two he resisted, then with a curled lip he shrugged her off and slipped into the back.
It took almost as long for Denman to get settled and from the look on his face there was a distinct possibility he might be having second thoughts. With his hands clutched tightly in his lap and his shoulders rigid he sat staring through the windscreen as though his life was in danger.
Lettie eased in behind the wheel and let off the brake, allowing the downhill slope to edge the car forward before she opened the throttle. ‘Ready?’
Denman let out some sort of a groan and settled deeper in the seat. ‘Do your best.’ He fastened a neckerchief over his nose and mouth ending any opportunity for conversation.
Before they’d reached the gate a crack sounded.
Lettie slammed her foot on the brake, ducked below the windscreen.
A shot whistled above their heads.
Oxley let out a yelp and flew over the side of the car.
Denman suffered no such terrors, he simply sighed, clambered out of the car, ripped off his neckerchief and bellowed, ‘Cut it out, you stupid old fool.’
A shuffling figure appeared, shotgun dangling. ‘Get orf my property.’
‘Ain’t your property, Parker. Never has been, never will be. Nathaniel’ll see about that.’
The man tucked the gun under his arm and took several steps closer. ‘What’s that good-for-nothin’ lout got to do with it?’ He tipped his hat revealing a grimy, pockmarked face, sulphur-yellow teeth and a set of cold eyes.
Denman pinned him with a ferocious stare and stalked towards him, the dust from his boots rising in whirling clouds. Fighting an overwhelming urge to drag him back to the safety of the car, Lettie gritted her teeth and sat tight.
‘You’ve had your warning. Your time’s up. Rossgole’ll belong to Nathaniel before the day’s out. And you’ll be lookin’ for somewhere else to exercise your shotgun. Now get out of the way.’
Much to Lettie’s relief the man’s shoulders sagged, he tucked the shotgun under his arm and shuffled back towards the tumbledown shack.
She scanned the tree line for Oxley. No sign. The good-for-nothing hound had become a law unto himself. She whistled low and the man’s head came up. His unnerving
gaze followed her as she walked around the car until Denman held up his hand, palm up, in a gesture of restraint.
Parker shrugged. ‘Get out of here. Not your property yet. And if the horses are still here tomorrow they’ll be heading for the knacker’s yard.’ His words lingered on the breeze.
‘Let’s go.’ Denman heaved himself into the car.
‘Oxley’s vanished.’ She whistled again and set off in the direction of the shack.
‘Get back in the motor.’
‘I need to—’
‘Get back in the motor.’ Denman placed his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. ‘Let’s go.’
‘But Oxley’s—’
‘He’ll be here.’ True to Denman’s word Oxley came lolloping back from the direction of the shack and in one bound settled himself in the back of the car.
Lettie reached back to pat him. ‘Argh! What have you been doing?’ She dusted her hands setting loose a flurry of black dirt. ‘Digging by the looks of it. You disgusting dog. And what’s this?’ She pulled a chewed piece of hide from the corner of his mouth and tossed it on the floor.
‘Time to go.’ With no sign of his previous concern Denman leant forward, hands pushed deep in his pockets, nose almost pressed to the windscreen. Lettie took off narrowly avoiding a gaping pothole.
Once they were over the hill the road levelled out to a well-packed track and she cranked up the speed, happy to leave the oppressive atmosphere and the man with his ready shotgun.
The remainder of the trip to Dartbrook passed in total silence, not that Lettie wanted to risk opening her mouth. The continual whiff of something disgusting from Oxley turned her stomach. Not the ripe smell of rabbit from last night but a pungent, musky odour.
A few miles later Denman flapped his hand indicating that she should slow down, then pointed to a dusty cart track meandering through the trees. He pulled off his neckerchief. ‘Down there.’
She slowed to a stop outside a once-impressive sandstone house, the windows boarded, the roof sagging.
‘There you go. Dartbrook. Not what it used to be.’
Lettie stood for a moment surveying the house. Despite its dilapidated state a curl of smoke from a chimney at the back wound its way up into the clouds.
A smaller outbuilding stood at the end of a well-worn path behind the main house, smoke wafting and seeping out of the door. ‘Hello!’ She knocked, peered inside and stood waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.
‘What do you want?’
Heart thumping, Lettie whipped around to be greeted by a florid-faced woman, arms akimbo, sporting a matching expression. ‘Oh! You made me jump. I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for the Hume family or anyone who might remember them. Andrew Hume specifically.’
‘House has been closed for years. I’m the caretaker. Used to belong to the Halls but they’re long gone. Why would you think the Humes might be here?’
Which was a very good question. She’d started out with such high hopes but now she’d arrived she had no idea exactly what to say. ‘I was in Largs …’
The woman’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Where’s that?’
‘Just outside Maitland. Someone said Andrew Hume once lived here. I—’
‘Long way to come on the off-chance. Must have taken you a good couple of days.’
‘I have a motor. It didn’t take very long.’ Except for a small accident and a bit of a diversion with a man toting a shotgun.
‘A motor you say. Never seen one of those.’ She peered around the corner of the house and let out a splutter before ducking into the doorway.
‘I’d like to show you something. May I come in?’
‘Haven’t got long.’ She held the door ajar and Lettie stepped inside the small room furnished as a kitchen but with a stretcher tucked up against one wall.
She carefully unrolled Evie’s map and laid it on the table.
‘That’s real pretty.’ The woman reached out a grimy hand.
A fierce protective wave surged through Lettie. She didn’t want this unknown woman with her dirty hands touching Evie’s map. There was something disconcerting about her conniving gaze. Lettie pushed herself between the table and the woman and pointed to the word Hume on the map.
‘Right. Well that’s easy isn’t it. That’s the property the Humes bought in Maitland. Who drew the map?’
She did know the Humes. ‘My aunt.’
‘David Hume was the overseer here, donkey’s years back.’ She stabbed her dirty finger on Evie’s map. ‘For the Halls. Before they sold up.’
‘And you’ve never heard of anyone called Evie Ludgrove?’
To give the woman some credit she did look as though she was thinking about it as she stared through the open door then finally shook her head. ‘Nope. Is that the one who drew the map? Did something happen?’
‘She disappeared and I’m trying to find her.’
‘Disappeared you say. That’s no good.’
‘I wondered if you remembered her, if you’d ever met her.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I was born here. Lived here all me life. Place isn’t what it used to be.’
Lettie’s head came up with a snap. ‘Did you know Andrew, Andrew Hume?’
‘Met him once. Came to see old Ginny, she used to be his nursemaid, looked after him when he was a boy.’
And that confirmed what Bertha had told her. ‘Can you remember when that was?’
‘Years back. I was just a child.’ The woman’s gaze shifted and she moved towards the door. ‘Who’s that outside by that motor of yours?’
‘Mr Denman, the blacksmith.’
The woman scowled, making Lettie regret her words. ‘He shouldn’t be spreading no rumours. The Humes were good people. Good-for-nothing lazy layabout.’
Which was as far from the way Lettie would have described the old man as she could imagine. ‘Mr Denman is very kind. I had an accident on my way here. He helped me.’
Why was she explaining herself? It had nothing to do with this woman.
‘It ain’t my business to stick my nose in but you seem like a nice enough girl … You watch it. None of them can be trusted. Scoundrels the whole lot of ’em. Andrew got a pardon he did.’
A pardon! That was the problem. The bushranger story without a doubt.
‘Denman wants to watch himself. His brother were no better. And bloody Denman—’ she gave an irritated snort ‘—reckons he knows nothing about it. He was in with Bailey right from the start. Bloody thieves, the pair of them. They should never have trusted him.’
‘I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Said he’d deliver thoroughbreds to a property outside Scone. But what happened? Did a runner he did. Not only with the thoroughbreds, with the drovers’ wages too. There’s many a family around here who suffered. Everyone knew they were in it together. Bailey and Denman. How else would he have found the money to set up that blacksmith business or make a claim on the Rossgole land?’
Bailey? Hadn’t Denman said he’d made the bit for his brother Bailey? ‘I’m very sorry for any hardship you and your family may have suffered.’ Lettie rolled up the map and edged towards the door. If only she hadn’t mentioned Denman. It wasn’t her argument. She wanted to know about Andrew. ‘Is there nothing else you can tell me about Andrew Hume? About the last time he was here?’
‘I haven’t got time to sit around chatting.’ She tightened her apron, a flash of colour high on her cheeks, as though she’d said more than she intended. ‘Can’t have been much more than ten, maybe eleven years old. Told you he turned up, stayed a couple of days, saw old Ginny and took off. Never saw him again. Nor did poor Ginny. But for me she’d have died alone. Now …’ She cocked her head towards the door.
‘Thank you very much for your help.’
‘Nothing you couldn’t have found out for yourself in Maitland.’
That was about the strength of it. Except for the
fact that Andrew Hume had called in here to see his old nursemaid. And she had a wrecked motor into the bargain and a question for Denman.
The door slammed behind her and she scuttled back down the path, the woman’s story rolling around in her head. She was missing something.
Twenty-Two
When Lettie got back to the car she found Denman propped against the bonnet, enjoying his pipe. ‘Any luck?’ He tipped his hat back and beamed.
‘Maybe. I’m not sure. I made the mistake of mentioning your name …’
‘And you got a mouthful about me and me brother and the thundering pair of scoundrels we were.’ He let out a huge bark of laughter and slammed his hands against his thighs.
‘Yes.’ Unsure whether to join in, she settled for a smile. Truth be told, her curiosity was aroused.
‘Time we were getting a move on if you want to get back to Yellow Rock tonight.’ He straightened up. ‘You better hear my side of the story.’
‘But you don’t know what she said.’
‘Reckon I do. You can fill in the gaps if need be. Come along.’
Once they were bowling back down the road Denman turned to Lettie. ‘What did she tell you? Let me guess. Bailey took off with a pair of prized thoroughbreds and the drovers’ wages and I was in it with him—that’s why I’ve got me blacksmith business, and that’s how Nathaniel’s going to buy Rossgole.’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Mind you if that was the case I can’t understand why we waited that long to buy a property.’
He had a point. ‘What happened to Bailey?’
He thumped his fist on his thigh and scowled. ‘He was no horse thief and he wouldn’t have done a runner with the drovers’ wages. Wasn’t built like that. More honour in that man than in any of these big-nosed squatters and landowners. Ask Olivia. She never believed he did it. He wouldn’t have. Simple.’
‘What happened to him?’
Denman’s face fell and he lifted his shoulders in defeat. ‘Never delivered the horses, nor the wages. Never saw him again.’
For goodness sake. No wonder the woman at Dartbrook didn’t believe him. Lettie concentrated on the road ahead until they reached Rossgole. The property sat bathed in a pool of sunshine and there was no sign of the old man with the shotgun. She pulled up under a shady tree. Oxley gave a yelp of delight and disappeared over the edge of the car.