Shadows in the Valley

by Elizabeth Haran

  “Well, he does have a problem. You can’t deny that. He’d drink with a dead donkey for company if that was all that were available.” Sybil turned to Abbey. “Come and sit down and have some lunch, dear. Clementine and I started without you and Jack because we were so hungry.”

  Abbey wasn’t sure. “I don’t want to intrudeI can have something in the kitchen.”

  “Nonsense, Abbey,” Jack said. “Of course, you’ll join us for lunch. It will give you and Clementine a chance to get to know each other.” He pulled out a chair for her beside his mother.

  Abbey felt she had no choice, so she sat down. She sensed Clementine watching her closely, and it made her a little nervous. She was dreading answering a hundred questions about herself, but as it turned out, she needn’t have worried. Once Jack was seated, Clementine turned her full attention to him.

  “I was just telling your mother that my father is coming up from Adelaide for a month, Jack, so he’s going to help out in the shop. That will give me some free time, which means I’ll be able to come out here more often and spend time with you.” She smiled at him sweetly while laying a possessive hand on his arm.

  Again, Abbey had the sense that none of Clementine’s actions were genuine.

  “That’s a lovely thought, Clementine,” Jack said carefully, “but it’s a busy time of year here on the station, and we’re very short-handed. Apart from the lambing, we’ll be digging bores on Tom and William’s places.”

  “I was about to tell Clementine about that,” Sybil said.

  Clementine was frowning now and dropped her hand. “As far as I can tell, Jack, any time is a busy time at Bungaree. Surely you must have some free time.”

  “It’s truethere is always something going on. If we’re not crutching, shearing, mustering, helping with the lambing, or taking wool to market, then we’re busy mending fences, organising stock for sale, looking at new breeding techniques, drenching sheep for worms, or something else. But that’s just the way it is on a farm, and with so many labourers gone up to the gold rush in Queensland, I’m flat out all the time. Working a farm is very different from running a shop, where you can shut the door and go home.”

  Clementine sulked.

  “How do you know where to dig bores on your brothers’ properties?” Abbey asked. She was genuinely interested, but also hoped to ease the growing tension in the room.

  “We called a water diviner in, and he’s pointed out several likely sites, Abbey,” Jack said, evidently pleased to discuss his plans. “Apparently, the water table is lower on my brothers’ properties than it is here. We’ll have to dig deeper, but hopefully we’ll have some luck. It will make watering the stock on Anama and Parrallana much easier for William and Tom. As things stand now, we have to keep moving stock from one property to another so that the land can rest, and the vegetation can regrow. They also use our drinking water. Putting bores down is going to be a big undertaking.”

  “You’ll be able to spare some time for me, won’t you, Jack?” Clementine whined. She was clearly not going to give up easily.

  “Yes, of course,” Jack said patiently, putting his hand over hers. “I try to have a few hours off on Sundays.”

  Clementine didn’t look pleased to have him only a few hours once a week. She had hoped to advance their courting.

  Abbey had the feeling that Jack was slightly annoyed that Clementine didn’t understand the importance of his work.

  “Are your brothers’ properties as big as Bungaree?” Abbey asked as she began eating her chicken salad.

  Jack looked across the table at her, obviously delighted that she was taking an interest. “No, Parrallana, William’s property, is two hundred acres smaller, and Anama is the smallest of the three,” he replied. “I’ll take you on a tour of their properties, if you like.”

  “I would like to see them. I’d also like to see all of Bungaree one day, too.”

  “Then we’ll go exploring them soon,” Jack said enthusiastically. “Do you ride, Abbey?”

  “Yes, quite well,” she replied.

  Jack looked delighted. “Good, because it’s easier to see the farms by horseback. Clementine doesn’t ride,” he added in a tone that turned Clementine’s expression stony, even as he smiled at her in a kindly fashion.

  “I get around quite well with my buggy, thank you,” Clementine said indignantly. She hadn’t failed to notice that Jack had no trouble freeing up time to tour the farms with Abbey.

  “Of course, you do,” Sybil said. “I’ve never ridden a horse, either.”

  Jack looked back at Abbey. “Originally, the three properties were all one,” he said, choosing to ignore Clementine’s petulant frame of mind.

  “Jack’s father divided them,” Sybil added. “He wanted each of his sons to have his own holding so that they could develop their individual ideas for farming.”

  “Anama is actually quite hilly in places,” Jack said, “but it’s a very pretty spot. Parrallana is flatter country, so it’s more suitable for cattle.”

  “Are your brothers married?” Abbey asked.

  “William is, but not Tom. He’s the youngest and claims not to have any time for courting.”

  “Much like his brother,” Clementine muttered. She hadn’t eaten very much, despite Sybil’s claims that they’d been too hungry to wait for Jack.

  Jack smiled stiffly, and a tense few moments followed.

  “How is Martha?” Clementine asked. She was determined to be included in the discussion. “I haven’t seen her in town for quite some time.”

  “Martha is William’s wife,” Jack explained to Abbey. “And she’s well, Clementine. Actually …”

  Sybil interrupted. “The poor woman is also best described as homely,” she said to Abbey.

  “Mother!” Jack exclaimed. “Don’t be unkind.”

  Sybil tried momentarily to look contrite, but failed miserably. “Well, she is,” she said defensively. “She appears to be a good wife, though. I can’t deny that. She keeps a clean house, and the meals she produces are adequate. I always have the urge to put some rouge on her, though, just to add some color.”

  Noticing the puzzled look Abbey gave her, she added, “She has the type of pallour that makes her look like she’s been locked in the Tower of London for ten years without once seeing daylight.”

  Abbey blinked in surprise. Given the climate, and how hard it was to avoid the sun, such a description was difficult to believe.

  “I’m not exaggerating,” Sybil said. “She has always looked decidedly unhealthy. Isn’t that right, Clementine?”

  Their guest glanced at Jack, obviously mentally searching for a diplomatic answer. “She does have an unusual skin tone, but I think her very dark hair just accentuates it,” she said to Sybil.

  “My daughter-in-law insists on wearing drab-colored clothes, which doesn’t help,” Sybil said. “I know it’s a cruel thing to say about my son’s wife, but I honestly can’t bear to be around her for very long. Even her personality is drab.”

  “That is a harsh thing to say, Mother,” Jack said. “Martha is quiet, but she’s a lovely girl.” He turned to Clementine. “Martha is expecting their first child,” he said. “She’s several months along now and has been quite ill, which is probably why you haven’t seen her in town.”

  “Oh,” Clementine said.

  “Let’s pray the poor child takes after William,” Sybil said, ignoring Jack’s reproachful glance.

  “Do they ever come to visit?” Abbey asked. Her interest was piqued after hearing about them. She was curious to meet them.

  “Rarely,” Sybil said. “Martha is a bit of a homebody, and that won’t change once the baby arrives. If anything, she’ll stick closer to home.”

  “I go over there quite a bit to discuss farming with William,” Jack said. “But you’ll meet William and Tom soon, I imagine. The
y’re here at Bungaree quite often. If you’d like to meet Martha, you can come with me next time I go to William’s farm.”

  “I’d love to,” Abbey said, not noticing how displeased Clementine looked with the idea. “Perhaps we could take some afternoon tea,” she added, looking at Sybil. Jack had said that his mother moped around the house. Abbey thought tea with another son and his wife might be a good way to get her out and socialising.

  “I suppose we could go one day,” Sybil said, mulling over the idea. “I would like to see William.”

  “Are you excited at the prospect of having a grandchild?” Abbey asked.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Sybil admitted. She hadn’t given the idea much thought. She’d been quite bored and depressed with farm life.

  Abbey glanced at Clementine, who appeared to be disinterested in the conversation. It was already clear to Abbey that the woman liked to be the centre of attention.

  Clementine put down her knife and fork. “May we go for a stroll in the garden, Jack?” she asked, confirming Abbey’s thoughts.

  “Isn’t it a bit too warm for you outside, Clementine?” he asked.

  “There are some shady spots under the trees,” she insisted, imagining a romantic place to hide away.

  Abbey glanced at Jack’s plate. He hadn’t had time to finish his food, but Clementine either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

  “Fine, let’s go,” he said, too polite to tell her he was still hungry.

  “You two go on and enjoy yourselves,” Sybil said. “I feel like taking a nap, myself. What about you, Abbey?”

  “I’m not tired,” Abbey said. “So, I might read something from the library.”

  Jack stood up and pulled Clementine’s chair out for her. Over her head, he looked across the table at Abbey. His expression puzzled her, and she considered the idea that he didn’t have anything in common with Clementine. That was rather sad, and she felt sorry for him.

  CHAPTER 12

  “What time is it, Winston?” Heath rasped as the butler pulled back the heavy drapes in his upstairs bedroom. The sun was now behind the house, so the light pouring in wasn’t blinding, but Heath still squinted.

  “It’s early afternoon, sir,” Winston replied, turning to face the large bed where Heath lay spread-eagled. He and Mrs. Hendy had struggled upstairs with him hours ago. “I’m sorry to wake you, sir, but another note was delivered from the mine. Mr. Bond is very eager to speak to the master.”

  Heath struggled to sit up. “Oh, hell! I should have gone to the mine this morning, Winston. I” He groaned, putting his hand to his head, which throbbed with pain. “I certainly shouldn’t have started drinking whisky.”

  “No, sir,” Winston said sagely. He couldn’t have agreed more, and Mrs. Hendy was still angry about the vomit she’d had to clean up. “I know you must be grieving your father, sir, but I don’t understand why you were so angry.” Winston was terribly confused. He’d been thinking about the young man’s behaviour for hours and had even discussed it with Mrs. Hendy, but neither of them could make sense of it.

  “I had thought Abigail Scottsdale was responsible for my father’s death. I was convinced of it. Frankly, it was a bit of a shock to find out that wasn’t the case.”

  Winston thought it should have been a relief, not a shock, but he decided not to comment further. After all, he was just the butler. Besides, he’d always thought Ebenezer Mason’s son a bit strange, and he had the feeling he was never going to understand him.

  Heath didn’t want the butler to know that Miss Scottsdale would inherit Martindale Hall and the rest of his father’s estate. Not yet, anyway. “Ask Mrs. Hendy to make me a large pot of sweet black tea, Winston. I’ll be down shortly. Also, have Mr. Holbrook get my carriage ready for a trip to Burra.”

  “Yes, sir,” Winston said, relieved that Heath was finally going to deal with the situation at the mine.

  “What did you tell the messenger from the mine?” Heath asked through the fog in his brain.

  “Just that the master wasn’t here. I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “You did the right thing, Winston. I will take care of it today.”

  Relieved, Winston walked to the door. “As you wish, sir,” he said and left the room.

  ***

  An hour and a half later, and feeling much more like his old self, despite a few bruises, cuts, and a lingering headache, Heath arrived at the mine. He called a meeting with the manager, Frank Bond. Bill Hickey, the foreman, also attended, and Mrs. Sneebickler was asked to sit in, as well. Heath explained that his father had passed away in his sleep. The staff was understandably shocked.

  “I will inform the workers,” Frank said. “Please accept our condolences, Mr. Mason.”

  “Thank you,” Heath said.

  Frank felt his condolences were inadequate, but given the truth that Ebenezer Mason had often been absent as the head of the company, anything more would have sounded insincere and hollow. Ebenezer had signed legal documents when it had been necessary and had made financial decisions, but other than that, he had very little to do with the day-to-day running of the mine, preferring instead to concentrate solely on increasing the profit margins that had financed his opulent lifestyle. As far as the mineworkers were concerned, he’d been a cold and distant man, and nobody was going to miss him.

  Frank had heard the rumors that Ebenezer and his son were estranged, so he wondered if the son would grieve his father. He sensed an underlying discomfort in Heath Mason, but not sadness, so he doubted it. He noted the cuts on the young man’s cheek and was curious, but it wasn’t his place to ask questions.

  “Will you be taking over the mine?” Frank asked. They were all fearful of losing their jobs, and hoped that Heath understood. They needed an involved employer who knew how a mine should be operated, or, at the very least, someone who was prepared to learn. They weren’t sure he was up to the task, but there was no one else.

  “For the time being,” Heath said. He had no intention of informing them that the mine now legally belonged to a young woman whose father had been killed in the recent mine accident.

  “I’d like to know if you are thinking of selling the mine,” Frank Bond said. He was a man who did not mince his words, even at the risk of offending others. Knowing where he stood was important to him. When it came to the safety of the miners, he’d clashed with Ebenezer Mason more than once—not that it did him any good. His employer would never budge. It was only Frank Bond’s diplomacy and mediation skills that had dissuaded the mine owner from firing him to save even more money. Frank wasn’t married, but he was thinking of Bill Hickey’s wife and six kids who depended on his wage.

  “No,” Heath said. “I’m not thinking of selling.” This was the truth. “Things will stay as they are, for the time being.” He had plans, but what would come of them, he couldn’t be sure.

  On the way to the mine, Heath had used the time to do some serious thinking. While drunk, he had exhausted his anger, and he was now able to think clearly for the first time in days. He had to accept the fact that his father had married Abigail Scottsdale on the day he died. There was no doubt about that. Call it good fortune, or good planning on her behalf, but that was a fact. He had to handle this problem in an unconventional manner if the outcome were to be to his satisfaction. Fortunately, he was adept at being unconventional when the circumstances called for it.

  ***

  Abbey was still on the balcony when Clementine Feeble left Bungaree in her carriage. Abbey had been reclining in a comfortable chair in the shade, enjoying the view while watching Jack and Clementine as they strolled through the gardens. She hadn’t been able to overhear their conversation, but she had found their body language intriguing. Clementine sashayed and beguiled, was coy and even flirtatious. Jack seemed to enjoy the attention, of course, and had been courteous, taking her hand when going up or down the
garden steps, but he hadn’t been overly romantic towards her. Abbey found this rather fascinating. The woman was attractive, but Abbey had the distinct feeling that she was fonder of Jack than he was of her. He liked her, obviously, or he wouldn’t have been courting her. But something was holding him back.

  After Clementine’s departure, Jack went back to work, and Sybil was still napping, so Abbey remained on the balcony, relaxing and thinking about her situation. She was still there when she heard another carriage rolling up the drive. Her heart almost stopped when she realised the visitor was Heath Mason. Taking a deep breath, she tried to be brave. She got up and stood at the railing, watching as he stepped down from the carriage. Her heart was pounding.

  “Mr. Mason,” Abbey called from the balcony as Heath walked up the front path.

  He looked up in surprise, for a brief moment startled by how beautiful she looked in a proper dress with her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and her blue eyes almost glowing.

  “Good day,” Heath said, removing his hat. He’d been to Samuel McDougal’s funeral home after leaving the mine, and had made arrangements for his father to be buried the following Monday morning. It was to be a very private funeral, held on the Martindale Estate.

  Abbey noticed that his tone lacked the hostility it had held during their last encounter. This gave her hope that things could go better between them this time. “I presume you are here to speak to me?” she said as calmly as she could, despite her heart racing like a captured bird’s.

  “Yes,” Heath said. “Could we perhaps take a walk in the gardens?” He didn’t want their conversation interrupted by an overprotective Jack Hawker this time.

  “I’ll come down,” Abbey said.

  Heath was waiting for her on the front veranda when she came through the front door. Up close, Abbey immediately noticed the cuts and bruises on his face. He noted how fetching she looked in the dress she was wearing and with the ribbon in her lustrous hair.

  “What happened to your face?” Abbey asked without thinking. It was none of her business, but given the circumstances, she wondered if his wounds were somehow related to the loss of his father. His injuries did not detract from his devastatingly handsome features, a fact that made her face grow warm.