The Cartographer's Secret

by Téa Cooper

Lettie found Olivia in the study sitting statue still with Oxley slumped at her feet, staring out at the willows congregated on the bank of the brook. She hadn’t expected to see her in the room crowded with more memories of Leichhardt than anyone else. ‘Good morning, Aunt Olivia.’

  Oxley eyed her with a judgemental stare, then dropped his head and rested it on Olivia’s foot. A flicker of understanding shot through her. The dog had an uncanny knack of knowing who deserved his loyalty.

  Oliva ignored her and continued to stare outside, her fingers drumming on the arm of the chair.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ Lettie clamped her lips closed. What a ridiculous thing to say. The poor woman must be devastated. Only the day before Lettie had shattered Olivia’s belief Evie might one day return. On top of that she’d received confirmation that the man she loved had also perished.

  And Lettie was to blame. ‘I’m sorry. I should never have come. I should have left on that first morning. Never dug up the past.’

  ‘If I’d wanted you to leave I would have told you. You stayed at my invitation and I bless the day Miriam sent you.’

  ‘She didn’t really send me. I rather jumped at the opportunity to leave.’

  ‘Understandable.’

  ‘And perhaps if I had relayed her message everything would be sorted out by now and I wouldn’t have caused you such misery.’

  Olivia raised her head and her expression softened. ‘I shall be eternally grateful to you. You have answered so many questions.’

  But not all. There was still no proof Evie and Bailey had perished in a wildfire, and there probably never would be. Just supposition. No different to Leichhardt—there was a strange irony in that.

  Olivia turned a piece of paper lying on her lap. ‘Where did you find this?’

  Lettie took the painting from Olivia’s hand. ‘I haven’t seen it before.’ She tilted it to the light, Evie’s talent evident. A woman, a Madonna, long hair cascading over a dark Prussian blue cloak, the collar edged in fur, stood staring up at Yellow Rock, the aura of melancholy and anguish surrounding her almost palpable. Whatever had made Lettie think that she could draw? Her sketches, her cartoons nothing more than childish scribbles compared to the artistry apparent in this piece alone.

  ‘Do you know who it is?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Is it Evie? It reminds me of some of the pictures on the map I found the other day.’ She looked again at Evie’s map, spread on top of the desk. ‘Come and see. The whole scene is wonderful. I especially like it because it reminds me of the day the drovers came when I first arrived. The night you taught me to dance, the night Nathaniel told me the story of Yellow Rock.’ The wistful tone in her voice made her cheeks burn. Would they ever dance in the moonlight to the strains of the fiddle again?

  ‘I didn’t know Evie had drawn the drovers on the map.’ Olivia pushed out of the chair.

  Pleased to have broken the tense atmosphere Lettie smoothed the map and pointed to the bonfire and the circle of drays. A man playing the fiddle and another an accordion, and the flying skirts and bright faces of the dancers. ‘Look, I think this is you. See the way you’re holding your skirt.’

  Olivia peered over Lettie’s shoulder and emitted a short gasp. ‘That’s Bailey. I’m dancing with Bailey.’

  Oh, no! It seemed everything Lettie did or said caused another painful memory to surface. No wonder Olivia had left the study closed for all these years. Once she’d given Olivia a moment or two to compose herself Lettie said, ‘Can you recognise anyone else? Is Denman there? Nathaniel?’

  ‘Before Nathaniel was born. Denman might be. He hadn’t started his blacksmith business then.’ She bent her head close to the map and squinted.

  ‘There’s a magnifying glass.’ Lettie handed the glass to Olivia. ‘I was using it the other day. That’s when I found the people behind the stables.’ She pointed to the couple entwined in a romantic embrace. ‘He looks like one of the drovers. Perhaps it’s just the red shirt and the angle of his hat. And I wondered if the girl was Evie.’

  The magnifying glass clattered as it hit the desk. Oliva stood up straight, turfed Oxley out of the soft chair and resumed her seat.

  What had she done this time? ‘Have you had any breakfast?’ Anything, just anything to change the subject. Was there nothing she could do or say that didn’t stir up a flurry of emotions?

  ‘Peg’s bringing cheese scones, she’s on her way now.’ Olivia cocked her head towards the view of Peg striding along the path, tray in hand.

  ‘Lovely. I’ll go and open the door.’ Lettie scuttled from the room, leaving the heavy weight of the past and Olivia’s devastated face. She had no idea how to behave. This was different to Thorne’s passing. That had been a dreadful time but there had been so much to do in those first days, the inquest, the funeral, the trappings of mourning which at the time she had detested but perhaps they had served some purpose. What did Olivia have—nothing but memories and uncertainties.

  Peg shouldered open the door before Lettie reached it. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Lettie took the tray. ‘You do know what happened last night, don’t you?’ She couldn’t bear the thought of having to retell the whole series of events.

  ‘Olly told me this morning. Suspect it’s only the bare bones but I’ve got the gist of it.’

  ‘Here’s some refreshments.’ Lettie placed the tray on the desktop, cringing at the false brightness in her tone.

  ‘In a moment.’ Olivia waved the portrait in Peg’s direction. ‘Who do you reckon this is?’

  Peg barely glanced at it. ‘Miriam.’ The clipped word held all the assurance in the world.

  ‘I thought it might be Alice, it’s her cloak.’ Olivia frowned.

  ‘No. It’s Miriam. You remember. Alice’s hair was straight as a die. See the curls.’ Peg’s finger traced the tiny picture. ‘She’s wearing Alice’s cloak though. The one she wore when she left for Sydney, after Alice passed, before she married. I remember that day clear as yesterday. Mrs Hewitt had asked me to come up, thought you’d need a hand. You hadn’t given the final say-so. I was hanging about, waiting for them to leave. Thirty or more years ago.’

  Curiosity piqued, Lettie took the picture again. Miriam? Her mother? Surely she should recognise her. ‘Mother’s hair is always smooth, tied up, never hanging down her back like that. And I’ve never seen her wearing that cloak.’

  ‘That was then, you’re talking about now. Before she took on all the airs and graces.’ Peg gave a disparaging sniff. ‘Besides look at the way she’s standing. That’s proof if ever I saw it.’

  Lettie squinted at the picture again. ‘Proof, proof of what?’

  ‘If you can’t see it I certainly can. Haven’t had four children and ten grandchildren not to recognise that stance. Dead giveaway, that age-old gesture. Hand on the belly protecting her unborn child. Probably didn’t even know she was doing it.’

  Peg’s words took a while to penetrate the fug in Lettie’s brain, and then the truth of her words thundered through her mind like a steam train. ‘You’re saying that’s Mother when she was anticipating?’ How could that be? Miriam had told her that the only time she’d been to Yellow Rock since her marriage was after Grandfather died. Lettie could remember it well. The dreadful drive, the thunderous silence and Thorne’s scratched knees bleeding into his socks from his fall from the angophora tree.

  A look flashed between Olivia and Peg. Lettie jumped in before either of them had a chance to speak. ‘When do you think this was drawn? Peg, you said you remembered the day as if it was yesterday.’

  Olivia answered. ‘Twenty-fourth November, 1880.’

  Three weeks before Miriam and Pater married. Their wedding date was indelibly imprinted on Lettie’s mind. Miriam always insisting Pater recognised their wedding anniversary by providing her with a piece of jewellery from Messrs Fairfax & Roberts. She would go and pick something out and pretend, when Pater presented to her, that he had chosen the p
erfect piece. ‘Before Mother and Pater were married?’ And then heat rushed to her cheeks as the implication settled. Mother and Pater must have … She shook the thought away at the sound of Olivia’s voice, broken, disappointed and frail.

  ‘I am such a foolish old woman, eaten up with jealousy. I wanted Miriam away. I believed she’d stolen the man I loved.’

  Lettie lifted her head. Was Olivia suggesting that she and Pater … no that couldn’t be right, she’d heard Olivia quite clearly say that Bailey was the only man she loved. In that case … was Pater not Thorne’s father? How could that be? There had never been a time when … Her breath came in short gasps and she sank into the chair, too dizzy to stand, trying in some way to still the banging inside her head. The realisation spread icily across her skin. It was the obvious conclusion but that meant …

  Thorne was her brother. She couldn’t entertain otherwise. ‘What are you suggesting?’ Lettie snapped. Peg was mistaken. ‘Where did you find the picture?’

  ‘Under the pile there.’ Olivia indicated the papers she’d found in Evie’s vasculum. Olivia must have brought them into the study this morning from the kitchen. ‘I’m trying to remember Evie drawing it. Her nose was out of joint because she wanted to keep Alice’s blue cloak and I’d told her to give it to Miriam. The green would have made Miriam look sallow. She’d been having a terrible time of it, dreadfully sick.’

  ‘You knew Miriam was …’ She couldn’t get the word out, instead sketched some sort of shape in front of her stomach.

  ‘Yes, I knew. William did too. That’s why the wedding was such a hurried job.’

  Who to believe? Miriam or Olivia? A mother wouldn’t lie to her children? It was the same as it had been when she first arrived. Olivia playing her off against Miriam, caught in some age-old battle between two women. Oh! How she wished Thorne was here. Not to hear these dreadful accusations but to make fun of them. To dissolve the horrible thick atmosphere, the seriousness of the implication.

  She wanted to tear the picture into a million pieces, burn the evidence before her. If, as Peg insisted, Miriam was pregnant before she married Pater, then who was Thorne’s father? The image of his dark eyes filled her vision. As children they had laughed about it. Two sides of a coin, his dark eyes nothing like her muddy green ones; his skin welcomed even the harshest sun whereas hers erupted in a rash of freckles at the slightest provocation, a throwback Miriam always attributed to Pater’s Scottish ancestry.

  Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘I thought Bailey was responsible. Now I don’t know what to believe.’ She pushed herself to her feet with a groan and returned to the map. ‘Evie didn’t lie. Leastways not until she got a bee in her bonnet about that Andrew Hume fellow. That’s Bailey and I dancing.’ She stabbed at the tiny pictures. ‘And that—’ the table shuddered with the force of her finger ‘—that’s Miriam.’

  There was no doubt in Lettie’s mind that Olivia was right, the waist-length curling hair no different to the larger portrait of Miriam in the blue cloak. But it wasn’t Pater on the map. This man was taller, stronger and dressed like one of the drovers, braces over his shirt. She’d never seen Pater without a jacket and cravat, and to the best of her knowledge Edward Rawlings had visited Yellow Rock only once, and both she and Thorne had accompanied him.

  Olivia rolled up the map, secured it with the blue ribbon, and tucked it under her arm. ‘Bring the magnifying glass. I need a second, maybe a third, opinion. Are you coming, Lettie? Peg?’

  Thirty-One

  They found Nathaniel and Denman in the stables, buckets in hand.

  ‘I owe you and Nathaniel.’ Olivia slapped Denman on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job. You didn’t have to, you know.’

  Lettie’s gaze swept the immaculate stable block, the polished tack hanging in neat rows, the stacked bales of hay and beyond the stables the repaired fence lines and sparkling water troughs.

  ‘Thought you had other things on your mind and could do with a hand.’ Denman tipped his hat back and sank down on a hay bale with a sigh. ‘Nathaniel’s got something for you. Go on, lad, go and get it.’

  Without a word, or even a glance in Lettie’s direction, Nathaniel disappeared into the stables.

  ‘I wanted to show you something. See if you can help me solve a puzzle.’ Olivia unrolled Evie’s map and spread it out. ‘This is Evie’s map. The one I was telling you about.’

  Denman peered over Olivia’s shoulder. ‘Talented girl, young Evie. Always had her sketchbook with her, used to do pictures of all the drovers, fast as lightning that pencil of hers would skid across the page. There’s many a woman has one of her sketches tacked to her wall.’

  ‘There’s a picture here of one of the drovers’ parties.’ Olivia indicated to the fire and the group dancing. ‘I’m dancing with Bailey.’

  Denman put his nose within two inches of the paper. ‘Nah. Eyes aren’t good enough. It’s too dark in here. Need to be outside.’

  A shiver of apprehension tiptoed across Lettie’s shoulders. ‘I’ve got a magnifying glass.’ She reached into her pocket.

  ‘Outside I said. Get a move on.’

  Olivia rolled up the map yet again and they all trooped out into the sunshine.

  ‘Put it down here.’ Denman smoothed the map, his nose as good as touching the paper.

  Lettie handed him the magnifying glass. ‘It’ll be clearer if you use this.’

  With a grunt Denman brought the glass to his eye, angled his head and sighed. ‘Yep. That’s Bailey. Not a doubt about that.’

  ‘Do you know who this is?’ Olivia pointed to the couple behind the stables.

  Denman let out a hoot of laughter. ‘Caught in the act.’

  The thundering noise in Lettie’s ears almost drowned out his words. ‘Who is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘Miriam, who else? No one else had hair like that, always reckoned she needed a damn good shearing.’

  ‘And who is that with her?’ She stabbed at the picture of the man, his arms encircling her waist, his drovers’ shirt a bright blot.

  Denman quirked a grin. ‘Bit hard to tell. Got any ideas, Nathaniel?’

  Lettie jumped. She hadn’t noticed that Nathaniel had reappeared. He’d got Evie’s saddlebag hanging over his shoulder. Polished up, looking as good as new.

  Nathaniel took the magnifying glass, examined the picture and shrugged. ‘A drover? Could be anyone. Can’t see his face, hat’s pulled too low.’

  ‘Can tell a lot about a man by the way he wears his hat,’ Denman said.

  Lettie’s skin prickled. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Take a guess, it’s a bloke called Chapman. One of the drovers. Stuck around for a while then took off to …’ Denman scratched at his chin ‘… Liverpool Plains, maybe further north.’ He shrugged.

  A shiver ran down Nathaniel’s back, and his hat itched. He took it off, raked his fingers through his hair. The picture was ridiculously small. The man could be any one of the drovers that rode the stock route today, never mind thirty years ago.

  Olivia cleared her throat. ‘Lettie, I know this will come as a shock but it’s for the best. Get it out in the open once and for all. There’ve been too many secrets in this house for too long.’

  Secrets? What kind of secrets? Something Lettie obviously didn’t want to hear; her face had paled and every one of her freckles stood out like specks of gold dust across her nose.

  The tension in the air crackled. He stepped up behind her, slipped his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘I’d put money on it being Chapman.’ Denman spoke the words clearly. No way to misinterpret what he’d said.

  Lettie swayed, sucked in her breath, wrenched away from him and started to run, her feet tumbling and tripping through the long grass.

  He bolted after her. Caught her around the waist.

  ‘Let go of me.’ Her eyes blazed, her arms flailed as she tried to push him away.

  He reached for her shoulders, felt the tremor run through her body
, then the tears began.

  ‘Leave me alone.’ Her words came in a hiccupping sob. ‘You don’t understand. It’s Thorne…’ She pushed away from him.

  Without a second thought he swept her up into his arms, cradled her against his chest.

  ‘Put me down.’ She gave a feeble kick then her entire body heaved and the fight went out of her.

  What the hell was going on?

  ‘Take her up to the house, Nathaniel,’ Olivia said.

  He covered the distance in no time, Olivia leading the way. She held open the door of a small bedroom at the front of the house and he laid Lettie down on the narrow bed.

  ‘Go on. Off you go. She’ll be fine.’

  He closed the door behind him wishing he could stay, sit beside her, hold her hand until she was ready to tell him what was happening.

  He found Denman slumped at the kitchen table, the saddlebag in front of him, running his finger over the leather. ‘Olivia’ll look after Letitia. She’s got a lot to take in.’

  A picture of her mother as a young girl messing about with one of the drovers. Not the best but not the kind of news that would make a girl like Lettie swoon. ‘Am I missing something?’

  ‘Dunno. Are you?’ Denman leant over the map which had somehow made it to the kitchen table. ‘Let’s see here. Perhaps you don’t know everything. Miriam was more than a handful, best thing that could have happened, William taking her to Sydney to wed. She had a bit of a thing going for Chapman. A Ludgrove wasn’t ever going to marry a drover.’

  So he was right. The old story about a man not being good enough.

  ‘Used to hang around every time we came in, flutter her eyelashes, dance the night away, then it got a bit more serious. Didn’t realise quite how serious though.’ Denman cleared his throat, picked at his ragged fingernails. ‘Young Mr Ludgrove got wind of it and it was what you might call an arranged marriage.’

  Was he saying that Miriam got herself in a predicament, had to get married?

  ‘Rawlings was Mr Ludgrove’s manager in Sydney. It didn’t take much to talk him into it. A damn great dowry smoothed the ride and pushed their finances into the red.’