The Currency Lass

by Téa Cooper

‘I can’t.’

  ‘No arguments. There’s enough here to get you out of trouble. Take off your jacket.’

  She slipped her arms out of her riding jacket and handed it to him. He reached for his pocketknife and then slid his hand inside and split the seam. ‘Just give me a minute.’

  He disappeared into the tack room and came back a moment later with a needle and thread. ‘We’ll sew this back up and no one will be any the wiser.’

  ‘Let me do it.’ She reached for the needle but he pushed her away. ‘If I can sew up a tear in a horse’s hide I can sew a few stitches in a jacket.’ He pulled the needle through the material until a neat row of stitches secured the seam once more.

  ‘You’re a man of many talents, Archie Blackton.’

  He muttered something under his breath and knotted the thread, then clamped his teeth around it and bit through. With a flourish he held out the jacket for her to slip her arms into the sleeves.

  When she turned he was fiddling unnecessarily with the straps on her saddlebags, a tear twinkling in the corner of his eye. He batted it away. ‘Got no fears for you about the journey or the riding, I taught you well.’ He puffed up a little and reached up, resting his gnarled hands on her shoulders. ‘Tell that lad he’d better look after you or he’ll have me to answer to.’

  ‘Archie.’ Her voice caught and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. ‘I’ve got to do this. For all of us. I’m not handing Cottington Hill over to anyone. It’s not what Pa truly wanted.’

  ‘I know that as well as you do. You’ll take your rightful place and continue your Pa’s work. You’ll make a fine landowner, one I’ll be happy to call boss.’

  For the first time in her life she dropped a kiss onto the wizened cheek of the man who’d been a second father to her.

  Archie’s face flushed red. ‘Let’s be off. I’ll be expecting you back by your birthday, not a day earlier nor a day later.’

  He linked his hands as he’d done more times than she could remember and she sprang into the saddle.

  ‘One more thing. While you’re on the trail keep your eyes open. I’ve been using that route for more years than I can remember. There’s symbols carved on trees and rocks. A circle with a line through marks a good track. Three rippled lines for good water. The track’s well used and the small communities will welcome you. Just tell them Archie sent you.’ Giving her no opportunity to respond he raised his hand and brought it down on Bessie’s rump and she catapulted out under the arches into the pre-dawn light.

  With her heart thundering louder than Bessie’s hooves, Catherine took one last look up at the cedar tree then turned her face to the future.

  The frosted grass crackled as she cleared the fences and raced up the hill, exhilaration twisting and unfurling in the pit of her stomach. Freedom. At last she was free of Bartholomew and his clammy hands and strutting self-importance. When she returned Cottington would be hers and in the meantime De Silva and Archie would keep everyone safe.

  At the hilltop above the river, she gazed down. The blossoming white canvas that she’d come to recognise as part of the landscape had vanished and in its place was a string of five wagons and three drays all tidily bundled and packed. The crack of Rudi’s whip and the low grumble of his voice wafted up to her as he circled the group in his buggy.

  At the head of the caravan she saw Sergey and Tsar, the animal’s coat gleaming. She dug in her heels and galloped down to meet him.

  ‘About bloody time.’ Rudi pulled up the buggy across her path and Bessie pranced aside, forced to grind to a sudden halt. ‘I spend my life waiting for women. You’re as bad as Valentina.’ He pushed his hat back on his head and rubbed his gloved hands together. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

  Pulling the buggy in a tight circle he took his place at the head of the caravan. ‘Singleton tonight. No hanging around.’ Little puffs of steam punctuated his words as they cut the air. ‘Sergey, you’re the last man off the lot. Check there’s no one and nothing left behind.’

  Rudi cracked his whip and the buggy rolled forward with the wagons and drays following in a neat line heading for the road.

  Sergey made one last lap of the area where the tents had stood and pulled up alongside her, his broad, welcoming smile sending shimmers of pure joy to her heart. ‘I thought for a moment you might have had second thoughts.’

  ‘Not a chance. I haven’t been more excited about something since …’ She turned her face to his. ‘Since I can’t remember when.’

  ‘Let’s make a start then and ride ahead.’

  When she finally turned in the saddle the caravan was a thin winding line behind her, marked only by the clouds of dust visible now the frost had lost its grip on the grass, just as she’d freed herself of Bartholomew’s grip.

  She still couldn’t believe how easily Mrs Duffen had accepted her decision to return to Sydney.

  By mid-afternoon Rudi had sent her ahead again with Sergey to find a suitable campsite for the night, and she cantered up the hill pleased to be free of the slow moving drays.

  Sergey greeted her with a smile. ‘You know the area, don’t you?’

  ‘Pretty well. We’re approaching Neotsfield. It’s one of the first houses built in the Hunter, Cottington was the next. It belongs to the Dangar family.’

  ‘Dangar the surveyor.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then perhaps we should call in to thank him. He’s probably responsible for a good half of Rudi’s map.’

  ‘It’s not such a bad idea, but we might forget about the map. I doubt it’s legal. Dangar’s land fronts the Hunter River, why don’t you call in and ask if we can camp down there tonight? He’s sure to agree.’

  ‘Come with me, a familiar face might help.’

  She was about to agree when she realised the foolishness of the idea. Gossip travelled like wildfire in the Hunter and she didn’t want anyone to say Catherine Cottingham was with the circus.

  ‘You go ahead alone. I’ll ride back and tell Rudi where we’re spending the night.’

  The days on the road began long before dawn, when Timmy and Zac rose to feed the horses. Catherine made a point of getting up at the same time because Zac’s job was a bucket of cold water for anyone who hadn’t managed to tumble out of bed. She helped here and there, wherever she could be useful, but the well-established routine ran like clockwork, leaving her time to snatch a few moments practice with Bessie. Minnie and May and the other women prepared breakfast and once everyone was fed the caravan pulled out, the wagons at intervals of a hundred yards to avoid the churning dust.

  ‘Merton next. We’ll be spending the night there,’ Rudi said, ‘on the banks of the Hunter River. It meets the Goulburn River about a mile southeast of the town. The track’s marked on the map. We’ve got a good thirty miles to cover today. Not a problem for the horses but the wagons and drays will have a hard day.’

  Her mind ducked back to the kangaroo-skin map. The lines and swirls drawn on it had seemed so unimportant when she’d first looked at them. Little did she know then that they would provide her with her path to the future. When this was all over she might call in and see Mr Dangar and thank him for all his hard work.

  ‘It’s cold. Let’s ride ahead and warm up then we can wait for the wagons,’ Sergey said. ‘Steer well clear of Rudi because when he’s leading the caravan he becomes something of his old self, arrogant and demanding. The buggy gives him the freedom he’s missed since his accident.’

  She could well imagine that. Pa favoured a buggy. With a competent driver and a good horse it could handle the irregular tracks almost as well as a horse. ‘Rudi’d get on well with Archie.’

  Sergey let out a loud bark of laughter. ‘That he would. Horses are in their blood.’

  They crested the hill and pulled up to view the panorama of wide grasslands cut through with meandering creeks.

  Sergey pointed to a hill dominating the landscape. ‘We’ll ride up there. Should get a decent view and pick out
the next part of the route. Then we’ll make our way back to the track and wait for the wagons. See if Rudi’s map’s as good as he makes it out to be. That’s Jerry’s Plains according to the map.’ He pointed out a few roofs nestled next to the track.

  ‘The local black fellas call it Pullumunbra but the surveyors couldn’t get their tongue around that. They called the local chief King Jerry so Jerry’s Plains it became.

  ‘We’ll make camp over there.’ He pointed into the distance. ‘Merton. It’s also marked on the map. Owned by the Ogilvies.’

  ‘Yes, yes I know. Merton is much like Cottington. The villagers produce all their own food like we do. There are spinners and weavers and tanners and bootmakers. They even have eight members of the constabulary stationed there. Something we’ve never needed.’

  ‘So you’ve been here before?’

  Catherine shook her head. ‘No, I’ve never travelled this far inland. You’ve seen so much.’

  ‘The circus has taken us from Van Diemen’s Land to Port Phillip, up the coast to Sydney and then to Maitland, perhaps the best place of all.’

  ‘Even though the circus didn’t do well because so many people were bitten by gold fever?’

  ‘There were other attractions.’

  The colour rushed to her cheeks as his words sank in. ‘I’ll race you back to the road.’ She flicked her heel against Bessie’s side and the mare flew down the slope.

  Catherine prayed for the wind to cool her burning cheeks and for the thumping of her heart to ease. No woman could find Sergey unimpressive. He cut a dashing figure astride his magnificent horse. She hadn’t considered he might find her attractive. She’d tried her best to treat him much as she did Archie, or Pa, Father Brown or De Silva, and keep her ridiculous infatuation under control. Besides, there was Valentina.

  She hadn’t thought for a moment Sergey would think her any more than a convenience, that her usefulness lay in her ability to fill in Valentina’s missing act, step in where Minnie and May had failed.

  How could he find her attractive? His swarthy good looks were as far removed from her pale hair and blue eyes as night and day. Valentina was the beauty. They made a dazzling couple.

  Perhaps she was his wife. The thought landed with a thud deep in her chest. Bessie stumbled and she pulled her up. Catherine had given no thought to the terrain and let Bessie pick her own path down the hill.

  ‘Take it easy, it’s pretty rough.’ Sergey caught up with her. ‘We’ll water the horses down there and wait for the others to catch up.’ He led the way through a small copse to the bank where the track followed the river. Then he dismounted and reached up, swinging her off her horse before she had time to jump down. He loosened the saddles and slipped them off, leaving the horses free to amble down to the water and drink.

  Pushing back her hair she dropped down into a patch of sunlight, resting her back against the gnarled bark of a big river gum.

  ‘Have a drink. We’ve had a hard ride,’ he said. ‘It’s not just the horses that need to be refreshed. Are you hungry?’

  She shook her head. No, not hungry. Somehow the atmosphere between them had changed and the air as good as prickled. It could only be her imagination. These thoughts had no place at the start of a journey that would see them spending days on end together. ‘Do you always ride ahead to check the route? Doesn’t Rudi’s map show the way?’

  ‘It’s the first time we’ve had a map. Usually we just follow the tracks, keeping as much as we can to the valley floors where the going’s easier. Generally those tracks are the best, easier on the wagons, and on Rudi. It can add hours to the journey if we try to tackle hills. The descents are worse than the climbs. Often we have to chain logs to the back of the wagons to slow them down. Better I scout ahead and pick the easiest route.’ He slid down next to her and stretched out his hand. ‘Have a drink.’

  She eyed the bottle. ‘I’ll have some water in a moment.’

  ‘This is water, I’m just using one of Rudi’s empty rum bottles. There’s plenty of those.’ He pulled his shirt from his waistband and wiped the bottle with it before handing it to her.

  When she lifted it to her mouth the vague aroma of rum still clung and when she placed her lips around the neck she was almost certain she could taste a hint of Sergey’s mouth.

  The water caught in her throat, making her cough.

  His large warm hand came down on her back, soothing her. ‘Gently. There’s plenty more.’

  And that was what she was afraid of. Her errant thoughts would see her in more trouble than she intended. ‘So tell me about Van Diemen’s Land and your family.’ She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and handed back the bottle. Not bothering to wipe it he tipped his head back and poured the water down his throat, the tanned skin of his neck rippling.

  ‘My father and Rudi arrived together from Russia, the first Russians to settle in Van Diemen’s Land. Not convicts. They stowed away aboard a ship bound for the Antipodes, fleeing the reprisals that led to the Decemberist uprisings, fighting for equality and an end to serfdom. When they docked in Hobart they jumped ship and stayed in hiding until the ship left. Rudi had a way with horses, like every Cossack. When Batya, my father, received a land grant he turned his hand to the fire—became a blacksmith, Rudi a horse breaker. The two businesses complemented each other and besides, they had their nationality in common. Batya treated Rudi as a younger brother, perhaps a son.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She was a convict, English. A governess transported for stealing a bible.’ He shook his head. ‘A bible she’d borrowed from the library. The justice system stinks. Batya chose her as his housekeeper, she was assigned to him but there was more to it than that. He always said they exchanged only one glance and the die was cast.’

  Is that what had happened to her? They’d exchanged one glance at the circus in Sydney. Her cheeks still burnt at the thought of her reaction when Sergey had first appeared, lit by the flare, magnificent astride his white stallion. Had that moment set her on this path? Made her reject Bartholomew?

  ‘They married only weeks later. Then Valentina came along and a few years later I was born. We became a family.’

  ‘A family?’ Valentina was his sister! In a flash it all became obvious, of course she was. Not a couple but brother and sister. They shared the same dark good looks, curling hair and smouldering eyes, yet in Valentina there was an air of flippancy, flirtatiousness, whereas Sergey was all about control and a brooding self-assurance. ‘Valentina is your sister?’

  He turned his head and grinned broadly. ‘My big sister. Yes.’

  ‘I thought …’ Her body had a mind of its own. The wretched colour flooded her face again and a heat that had nothing to do with the frail winter sun washed through her.

  ‘You thought?’

  She swallowed, better to admit to her misapprehension. ‘I thought Valentina was your wife.’

  ‘Heaven forbid! I pity the poor man who is subjected to that role. I would lay my life down for her but she is not my wife. What made you think that?’

  It was a struggle not to get lost in his dark brown eyes. He lifted her wrist and brushed a kiss across the soft inner skin, making her shiver way down deep inside. The die was cast, well and truly.

  The miles disappeared as Sergey recounted stories of his childhood; opening Catherine’s eyes to the privileged and sheltered life she’d lived. Then the doubts crept in. Was she throwing everything away on a childish whim? But no matter which way she looked at Bartholomew’s behaviour she couldn’t believe he would keep Cottington. All his actions told her otherwise. Pa’s funeral, his demand for her to return to Sydney, setting the wedding date before she’d even accepted his proposal. As his wife she would have no say in the fate of Cottington. No. She hadn’t made a mistake. She knew she hadn’t.

  After hours of riding west the landscape changed from lush green of the Hunter to the scrub of the Great Dividing Range, dry paddocks with sheep huddling beneath scraggy
gums, heavy frosts every morning and air so sharp it scratched at her lungs.

  Sergey pulled up alongside Rudi. ‘There’s something wrong with this map of yours. Look at the sun, we’re meant to be travelling west.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the map. We’ve got no option. Got to take the road over Cox’s Gap, just add a couple more days.’

  ‘By that time we’ll be too late,’ Sergey said. ‘We’ve been on the road for days. I can’t stand this a moment longer. Whatever made me think this mad plan of yours had merit? Shouldn’t have taken any notice of those rumours.’ Sergey glared at Rudi and gave Tsar some imperceptible sign. The stallion reared and took off across the river, sending a shower of water so far it splattered Catherine’s face. She wiped the drops away and sighed.

  ‘Give your horse a break before we start the climb. Come and sit with me.’ Rudi patted the seat next to him in the buggy. ‘Timmy!’

  The young groom appeared as if by magic, running alongside Rudi’s buggy. ‘Take Miss Catherine’s horse. She’s riding with me.’

  ‘With you?’ Timmy grinned at Catherine. ‘That’s a turn up.’

  ‘Do what you’re paid to do and mind your own business.’ Rudi pulled the buggy to one side of the track and eased to a halt.

  He was such a changeable man. At first Catherine had blamed his constant bottle of rum, then had recognised the veil of pain that shadowed his eyes, so like Pa. Beneath his trademark leather boots she suspected his legs were little more than a bag of badly knitted bones. In his buggy he seemed different, just as Sergey had said, as though he once again was in command of his movements. She slid down from Bessie and handed the reins to Timmy.

  ‘Well, you’re special. He must’ve taken a shine to you. Never known anyone, ’cepting Valentina, to ride in the buggy.’

  ‘Thanks, Timmy.’ She took Rudi’s outstretched hand and clambered up beside him. Another bittersweet reminder of Pa, yet Rudi was nowhere near Pa’s age, younger than Bartholomew, too. She turned in the seat and studied his face as he flicked the whip above the horse’s back. The buggy lurched and picked up speed.