by Téa Cooper
‘Mr Bartholomew ain’t going to like that, his wife-to-be gadding all about the countryside with the help. You’ll have to start behavin’ like a lady. He’s an important man, you know.’
She doubted he’d even notice she was gone. ‘Pass me my breeches, please.’ She stepped out of the dress and dumped it unceremoniously onto the bed and clambered into her breeches, sighing with relief as the thick, rough cotton settled against her skin.
‘You’re going to have to sweet talk Archie if you’re planning on riding. He ain’t to happy about you leaving Bessie with them circus folk.’
‘I’ve made arrangements for Bessie. She’ll be back before long.’ In the meantime she’d have to make do with one of the other horses in the stables. Catherine pulled on her boots. ‘I’ll only be gone a couple of hours, we’ll take Pa’s buggy.’
She clattered down the stairs.
Pa’s study door stood open and she peered inside, breathing a sigh of relief at Bartholomew’s absence. For a moment the house almost felt like home again. How she hoped he’d decide to live in Sydney and she could remain at Cottington Hill, a wife in name only.
‘We’re here.’ Becky and Jacky skidded to a halt behind her.
‘Walk. Don’t run.’ Tilly grabbed them both by the hand and held them at her side. ‘I’m sorry. They’re just so excited all the time.’
‘Where’s Pete?’
‘Mrs Duffen’s looking after him. She said it would do us good to get some fresh air.’
Catherine led the way to the stables. ‘Come on. We’re going for a ride in a buggy.’
‘A buggy! Like Rudi’s buggy?’
Was she going to be reminded of the circus at every turn? ‘It used to belong to my Pa. It’s got red wheels.’
‘Red wheels! Come on Becky, race you.’
Tilly fell into step beside her. ‘I’ve never seen them like this before. So much energy, and I swear Jacky’s grown in the last few days.’
‘Probably Mrs Duffen’s cooking.’
‘I can’t thank you enough, Catherine.’
‘Don’t. You’ve already thanked me.’
Strangely Pa’s buggy wasn’t inside the first bay and all the loose-boxes were empty except for one. There was no sign of Archie either. Perhaps that was a good thing. She couldn’t face the look of disappointment she knew she’d see on his face. Not just because she hadn’t brought Bessie home but because she’d failed him and Cottington.
She led out the old mare and harnessed her to the wagon instead.
‘That’s not a buggy.’
‘And it ain’t got red wheels.’
‘No, it’s not. I’m not sure where the buggy is. This’ll do.’
In a matter of moments they were clopping down the driveway and up over the hill towards the Davis’s place. They skirted the high side of the fence and Jacky and Becky jumped down to open the gate.
A gate she’d never had to open before. How she missed Bessie, almost as much as she missed Sergey. This old carthorse could no more rear on its hind legs than fly to the moon. Just as well really, because the Currency Lass was long gone.
Maybe one day Timmy would be true to his word and bring Bessie back. Would it be worth it? Would she ever be able to ride her again without remembering those golden days before Valentina had returned, before Rudi sent them away from the circus like a bunch of vagabonds?
Now there was nothing except the future, a dark abyss of marriage to Bartholomew. She couldn’t trust him and she’d never know if Cottington was safe. It would be a day-to-day existence, day after day of placating that nasty strutting cocksure little man in the hope that he wouldn’t change his mind and dispossess them all. He’d won, hands down.
At the rise she brought the wagon to a halt.
‘Can we swim in the river?’
‘Not at the moment, it would be far too cold. Maybe in the summer.’ As a child she’d spent hours down on the riverbank, fishing, swimming and digging in the shallows while Ma sat beneath a tree, a book on her lap and a gentle smile on her face. This was where she belonged, she should never have left. The outcome would have been the same as it was now.
The thought brought her up with a jerk. Then there’d have been no Sergey, none of those delicious days on the road. No brief but tantalising glimpse of the possibility of love. And no currency lass. That glorious sense of freedom and power when Bessie reared above the crowd and her heart sang.
She couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about Sergey and what might have been. She had to deal with today and the security of Cottington, the only way she could. Lifting her head she gazed towards the river, then rubbed her eyes and squinted into the sun.
In the distance a horse moved between the trees, circling, stopping then moving again. The rider dismounted and tethered the horse behind a copse then, hugging the shadows, crept closer to the river.
Jacky’s young eyes must have been much stronger than hers. ‘It’s Archie. Let’s go and see him.’
His bowlegs were unmistakable. Clicking her tongue Catherine guided the wagon down the hill. Since she’d arrived home Archie had barely spoken two words to her. She needed to pin him down and tell him about Tilly’s promissory notes. Then she’d return the money he’d lent her. Perhaps that’s what had got his goat. De Silva must have enough to repay Archie, surely. There’d be no more loan repayments to worry about once she married Bartholomew.
‘Archie!’ She waved her hands above her head and then put two fingers in her mouth and let out the ear-piercing whistle he’d taught her as a child. His head came up and he almost jumped out of his skin. His hands went to his hips and then he flapped his arms, shooing her away. He didn’t want to talk to her. Well, she’d make him.
‘Where’s our house?’
‘We have to follow this track a little further, Becky. It won’t be long.’
Catherine nudged the old horse into a walk, searching the area along the riverbank. No sign now of Archie or his horse; he must have ducked behind a stand of trees. Ignoring the track she guided the wagon down the hill towards the bend in the river. The sooner she spoke to Archie and cleared the air, the better they’d all be. She’d do it while Tilly and the children looked at the house.
Other than the circle of rocks still marking the arena nothing remained to show that the circus had once camped on this grassy stretch. She skirted the makeshift ring and began the slow climb to the Davis’s cottage. As she rounded the hill Pa’s buggy came flying over the crest and down towards them, the sun glinting on the bright red wheels. For a moment her heart almost stopped. It might have been Pa.
‘Cor blimey.’
Jacky received a smart slap across the knees from Tilly. ‘Mind your mouth.’
The buggy veered off the track and headed to the river before grinding to a halt. Bartholomew jumped from it and with his head down he started to walk along the riverbank, his hands waving around then diving into his pockets and waving some more.
‘What’s he doin’?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bartholomew was the last person she wanted to see. Archie would have to wait. She flicked the whip across the belligerent old horse and, throwing her an evil look, the animal ambled on towards the cottage.
Catherine lay back on her bed gazing up at the scudding clouds through the window. The time had flown by and now the day was upon her. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t put Sergey out of her mind. The look of loathing in his eyes when he’d grilled her about Noakes and the promissory notes. Rudi had sent them away so quickly she’d had no opportunity even to think. She still didn’t understand what had happened. She’d returned from Bathurst to a man she didn’t recognise. Cold, distant and dismissive.
A large tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away, annoyed with herself, annoyed with the situation. She was trapped in a vice, each edge moving inextricably closer until she was squashed flat. No room for emotion, no room for her heart to beat or her blood to flow.
‘Catherin
e.’ Tilly’s smiling face appeared around the door. ‘I’ve brought you some tea.’
She sniffed and buried her face in the pillow.
‘Oh, please don’t cry, everything will work out for the best. Mr Bartholomew, he’s a fine man, you’ll grow to love him. That’s what happens in a marriage.’
‘I hate him.’ She rolled over, tempted to drum her heels and thrash around like a two-year-old. She’d held it all in for so long and in a few hours it would be too late. Thank goodness it was Tilly and not Mrs Duffen. She wanted to allow herself this one last tantrum. ‘I don’t want to marry him. I want Sergey.’ Where had that come from?
‘Sergey?’
‘Forget I said that.’ She waved her hand in front of her face, trying to bat the thought away. Forget she’d even dreamt it. ‘He doesn’t care for me. He sent me away. I still don’t understand why.’
‘Then don’t.’
She sat up and pushed her hair from her face, a red haze of anger swirling around her. ‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t marry him.’
‘You don’t understand. I haven’t any choice.’
‘Every one of us has a choice.’
‘Everyone except me. Cottington Hill must be my life, my love and my husband.’
Grief rose to the surface and stuck in her throat, threatening to choke her.
A fraught silence filled the room.
‘I think you better tell me all about it.’
‘I have to marry Bartholomew. I thought I could escape marriage by running away but I have no option. I have to hand over the property to Bartholomew. He says if I marry him he won’t sell Cottington.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Pa borrowed money, Bartholomew has bought the mortgage and says he will call it in, force us to sell if I don’t marry him.’
‘Mortgage? What kind of a thing is this mortgage?’
‘Just a piece of paper.’ A piece of paper representing money, not so different from Tilly’s promissory notes. ‘If I don’t marry him, I throw everyone’s life away for a miserable piece of paper.’
Twenty-one
Sergey eased himself up then scrabbled to his feet, every muscle in his body aching, his bones too. No doubt Tsar and Bessie felt the same way. Seventy miles in seventeen hours was more than anyone should ask of horse or man. Only the sweet taste of vengeance had spurred him on. He’d vowed the day Nikolas swung that he’d see justice done. Soon he’d rest easy, and so would Batya.
He snapped some small twigs and collected a handful of leaves from below the tree that had provided him with shelter overnight, then kicked over the traces of the fire to find the remaining coals.
The fire caught and he replaced the half-burnt logs, then ambled down to the river to fill the billy. Tsar raised his head, snorted at Bessie and then threw Sergey a baleful look before the two horses returned to cropping the grass on the riverbank, the Hunter, the same river that flowed through Cottington Hill.
As he bent to fill the billy he stopped. Not much point. He’d left his tea with the old black fella. Jerry’s Plain lay behind him and with luck he’d be in Maitland before midday. If Waverley was there … he slammed his fist into his palm. Today would be the day.
He pulled out the pistol from his belt. God knows where Waverley had picked it up, probably landed in his pawnshop and he’d taken a fancy to it. When the Under Sherriff handed over Nikolas’s belongings Sergey had been surprised to find it tucked inside his coat pocket. Even thought to give it back. Not much more than four inches long, a lady’s pistol more than like. Certainly not Nikolas’s, yet it had sealed his fate.
He wanted the bastard dead. Just one shot. That’s all he’d need, all Waverley had needed to kill Toombes at point blank range. He’d use the same weapon. He liked the symmetry of it. That was justice, not the rubbish the court dealt out. The law was an ass. He’d not wait for a magistrate.
The promise of revenge warmed his shrivelled soul. He’d have him this time. Should have done it five years ago. He would have, if the slippery bastard hadn’t shot through.
With his swag and the billy stowed he put out the fire and hoisted himself onto Tsar’s back, urging him into a walk. Too fast too soon and they’d be buggered before they passed Singleton.
‘Last day, I promise you. Archie’s care and a nice comfortable stable waiting for you both.’ Bessie snorted and kicked up her heels, pulling ahead of Tsar almost as though she could smell home.
By the time the sun had fully risen he’d picked up the Maitland road. He skirted Dangar’s property, toying with the idea of calling in and telling the surveyor he’d missed a quicker route over the mountains. Perhaps not, otherwise the track the old black fella had shown him would be clogged with fortune hunters. It had knocked hours off his trip, brought him closer to his quarry than ever before.
He kicked Tsar into a gallop, his heartbeat picking up, warming him, making his blood flow.
Not far now, an hour or so would see his journey over. He slowed to a walk and clattered through Maitland High Street. An unusual silence hovered over the town, a sign on the door of De Silva’s offices proclaiming them closed, much as many of the other businesses.
The road wound its way across the river towards Cottington Hill and then cut down to the track. Nothing remained on the site where they’d camped except for the circle of stones Zac and Timmy had dragged from the river’s edge to make the arena.
The arena where Minnie and May had driven him crazy with their panicked performance and Catherine had proven she was as good a rider as Valentina. Archie’d taught her well. He’d like to see Rudi and Archie exchanging ideas, sit with them and get Archie to share his experience. Knowledge like that was worth more than gold, but his circus days were likely over, no use where he’d be going.
No time for remorse, no time for the future. This day belonged to the past, belonged to Nikolas. He’d waited too long. His fingers itched. What kind of a man let their innocent brother go to the gallows? He had no right to the future, didn’t deserve the brief yet tantalising glimpse of a life Nikolas would never lead.
He still couldn’t believe, didn’t want to believe that he’d been so wrong about Catherine. He’d never seen the slightest hint in her bright blue eyes that she was anything but truthful. Love could do that to a man. Blind him.
Love!
The word ricocheted inside his head and he swatted it away. There was no place for love in what was left of his life.
When he reached the top of the hill the house sat enveloped in silence. As still as the day they’d buried Catherine’s father. No movement, no one in the nearby fields. He dug in his heels and rode down, something heavy sitting in his chest; something he suspected might be despondency.
The black wreath had long since disappeared from the front door and a white one had taken its place, along with an overarching sense of melancholy.
Before he’d dismounted Archie was at his side, grabbing Bessie’s reins and running a hand over her legs, checking her out. ‘I’ve been wondering if you’d show up. Thought for a moment me judgement had gone down the drain.’
‘Judgement of what?’
‘Horseflesh, men. One and the same, pretty much. Brought her horse back, that’s something in your favour. Didn’t have you labelled as a horse thief.’
Not a horse thief. No. But he’d swing just the same if Waverley were inside. ‘What’s going on?’ Sergey flicked his hand at the wreath of flowers on the door.
‘You’re just in time. Big day.’
‘It is?’
‘Not every day we have a wedding.’
Despite the mid-morning sun and the frantic exercise of the last five hours his blood chilled. ‘Who’s getting married? Is Catherine marrying Bartholomew?’ No one got married twice.
‘That’s about the measure of it. Not quite sure why she’s changed her mind. She was dead set against it. Thought that was why she went with you. Biggest mistake of her life coming back here before her bir
thday. And that bloke hasn’t wasted a moment. Up to no good, if you ask me.’
God almighty. He’d done her an injustice. She hadn’t lied to him. She was marrying him today. He had to get to Waverley before the wedding. She couldn’t marry a murderer.
‘She reckons it’s her only choice.’
‘When?’ Sergey snapped.
‘Pretty soon, I’d say. I heard something about eleven o’clock being the right time for a wedding. Can’t see meself what difference it makes. Wedding’s a wedding no matter what time of day. Still Father Brown and De Silva think it’s the right thing.’
What made her change her mind? ‘It’s only a few weeks until her birthday.’
‘Five, in fact.’ Archie looped the reins over the gatepost then, shaking his head, he ambled up to the front door. ‘The man won’t wait that long.’
And neither would he.
‘Course Bartholomew’s holding her over a barrel,’ Archie said. ‘Otherwise the place will be lost.’
‘I thought Bartholomew owned the place.’ That’s what Noakes had said. Now gold’s been discovered on his property in the Hunter.
‘That’s a load of rubbish. That’s why he’s marrying her, so the place will be his, though I don’t know why he’s so keen. Means a lot to those of us who’ve worked it, and to Mr Cottingham—it was his life’s work. Bartholomew doesn’t need Cottington Hill. He’s got more money than he knows what to do with. What does he want with a working property like this? He’d be better off with one of those flash places outside Singleton.’
‘It’s the gold he’s after.’ Sergey said the words before he had time to think.
‘Only gold on this place is the stuff he’s been chucking around.’ Archie delved into his pocket and brought out a handful of small nuggets.
‘Where d’you get those?’
‘Down by the river. Couldn’t work out what the hell he was up to. Walking up and down throwing his arms around until I found this. There’s no gold on this property. I would’ve found it by now. I’ve been here since day one, nigh on thirty years. Not an inch of the place I don’t know like the back of me hand.’