Matilda's Freedom

by Téa Cooper

  Matilda caught the conspiratorial wink her uncle aimed at his wife.

  ‘Until tomorrow, then.’ Kit rose from his chair and stood looking down at Matilda, a pleased smile on his handsome face. ‘I will call for you at seven in the evening. The steamer we’ll be taking leaves at nine o’clock.’ His gaze remained firmly on her face as he spoke, and when she smiled, he nodded. ‘Excellent. Goodnight, Richard, and thank you Emily for a delightful evening.’

  Then Kit bowed, taking Matilda’s hand and touching his lips to it. Her skin ached as a rush of warm anticipation circled in her stomach. ‘Goodnight, Kit.’

  Not only were Matilda’s immediate problems solved, but she rather thought she might enjoy spending more time with the delightful Mr Matcham.

  Chapter Three

  Foul black smoke billowed from the contraption’s chimneystack. As Matilda covered her ears in a vain attempt to blot out the crashing of the engines, a ferocious gust of wind whipped across the foreshore and threatened to steal her bonnet away. With her coat over one arm, she snatched at the bonnet’s ribbons and only managed to hold on to it by clasping it close to her chest. The ragamuffin holding her bag hopped from foot-to-foot and appeared as overcome by all the commotion as she was.

  Matilda turned slowly and gazed across the quay. Warehouses loomed like sentinels on the other side of the busy, dusty road running parallel to the waterfront. Turning her back on them, she gazed in awe—high, impressive buildings overlooked smaller dwellings that were nestled higgledy-piggledy across the rocky cliff face.

  The last time Matilda had seen Kit he had been conversing with a gnarled, old man. He’d told her to stay right where she was until he returned. She had no intention of going anywhere but the thought of skipping the steamer and travelling the Great North Road on horseback appealed. Still, they were apparently in a great hurry, and this steam contraption—Fenella, the nameplate proclaimed—promised to cut at least three days off the usual trip.

  The combination of sails, a chimneystack, and the two, huge paddle wheels clamped on either side of her made the steamboat wallowing before her look ungainly, like an overfed turkey. The square-riggers, with their perfectly furled sails and sparkling brass work, danced like debutantes in the harbour around her. Yet Fenella was apparently so fast they would be in Newcastle in six hours and up the river to Morpeth in only two more. Matilda found that hard to believe.

  The sea-smell of the harbour and the odour of dead fish had caught in her throat, making her eyes water. She longed for the fresh scent of the bush and of home. The ports were noisy and busy—sailors and passengers were disembarking and embarking, cargo was being loaded or carted away, and there were even policeman stationed here and there. They idly watched the hustle and the bustle around them as the locals went about their business.

  Last night, she had been excited about the prospect of her new position, but now it was becoming a reality, she felt less sure. The intimacy of the candlelight and her almost visceral response to Mr Matcham had lulled her into a false sense of security. Now she wondered if she had done the right thing.

  Matilda flinched, grasping her belongings tighter as a hand touched the small of her back. Warm breath tickled her ear. She shivered.

  ‘Good news and bad, I’m afraid.’‘Kit leaned in close and spoke above the din. ‘There aren’t any private cabins, but there is a small forecabin for ladies. Personally, I’d rather be above decks in the air. It’s very warm down there, and there’s a vile smell of oil and smoke from the engine. Which would you prefer?’ he asked.

  ‘I have no idea. This is a new experience for me. It all seems so very noisy and busy, so I think I’d rather be in the fresh air as long as it’s not too cold.’

  Kit nodded and turned away. There was a loose elegance about him, and he looked comfortable amongst the hustle and bustle of the quayside. For a man who was used to mixing with all manner of people—from princes to dancing girls—the excitement of the quay must have appeared commonplace. Today, Matilda felt every inch the country cousin, and she ruefully supposed that she was. This was only her second visit to Sydney, and she wasn’t keen to return.

  ‘Let’s go aboard. It’s getting late.’

  Slipping a coin into the boy’s grubby hand, Kit smiled kindly down at him and took up her bags. The kid doffed his cap and ran off into the seething mass of humanity lining the foreshore. Since speech was virtually impossible, he nodded in the direction of the gangplank and, with Matilda at his side, made his way through the throng to the quayside.

  Accessible to the quay by a steeply sloped plank, Fenella ducked and bobbed with every wave that passed. Rope handles, which were looped and attached at intervals to uprights on the gangplank, waved in the wind. Her breath caught as she realised she would be expected to walk up the narrow space to go aboard.

  She slipped her coat over her shoulders and tucked her reticule firmly under her arm so her hands would be free. The wind buffeted against them, whipping her hair across her face. Grasping the ribbons of her bonnet tightly in her fingers, Matilda stepped on to the gangplank. The walkway bounced and swayed, and then dipped as Kit followed her, but after a few steps she found it no more difficult than crossing the fallen tree that spanned the creek at home. As she reached the top, she jumped down easily onto the deck.

  It was crowded, but Kit managed to find them somewhere to sit and then disappeared below to stow their luggage. Matilda gazed around at the seething mass of activity.

  With twilight quickly descending, the strange outlines of the huge paddle wheels cast an almost cage-like shadow across the deck and filled her mind with her father’s stories of his tortuous trip to Australia. No, she would stay up here; nothing this side of hell would get her below decks. She shuddered, rubbing her wrists as she imagined the cold pull of manacles against her tender skin.

  ‘Are you certain you wouldn’t rather be below decks? You might be able to get some sleep.’ Kit appeared beside her, looking so in control, so tall. His black hair provided a contrast to the pale skin of his face. From his time in Europe, she presumed.

  ‘No, I’m certain, but thank you, Kit. I’m sure it’s very crowded. I’ll be quite happy up here.’ Smiling, she accepted the blanket he had shaken out and placed on her knees.

  ‘This might help a little when it gets darker.’

  ‘Again, thank you.’ Matilda glanced over the deck. ‘I’ve never seen a ship like this before.’

  ‘She’s an iron paddle steamer. Sticking to a timetable is easier when you have the option of steam or sail, so they’re used quite a bit now for travel up and down the coast and on the inland rivers. She was built in Liverpool about ten years ago and has only just started doing this run. Before that she did a number of voyages from Melbourne to Hobart but she wasn’t really suited for that distance. This is much more her mark.’

  ‘I suppose it is important for a ship to have reliability and speed, but this steamer seems nowhere near as romantic as the schooners I’ve seen or those tea traders flying across the ocean, skimming and swooping like a bird.’

  ‘But you have to be impressed with the power of her engines. Two cylinders, one hundred and ten horsepower—not as good as some of the machines we saw in Paris but exciting nonetheless.’ Kit’s words brought a sparkle to his eye, and she couldn’t help but share his enthusiasm.

  ‘Had you not mentioned that you’d brought back some machinery from Paris for your farm?’

  ‘Yes, I did, and I’m thrilled with it. It’s an ingenious device—an American mowing machine. It has cutting blades that move from left to right in a rapid motion and can cut grass or lucerne, or any other crop.’ With his long fingers splayed out in front of him, he imitated the action of the blades. ‘I can’t wait to get it home. The device will be a huge saving of labour and will help in the preparation of the area in which I intend to plant to my vines. I’m planning to eventually extend the vineyards out to twenty-five acres and will take continual cuttings until I can build them up.�
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  ‘Your mother must be thrilled with your plans for the property.’ A rather long pause followed. Matilda watched the gulls shrieking and circling overhead and wondered if perhaps he had lost interest in their conversation. Then Kit turned to her, frowning.

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘Yes.’ Why did he sound so surprised? Surely his mother had an interest in the development of the property.

  ‘My mother has never been overly interested in that part of our family affairs. The development of the property was the one particular interest my stepfather Barclay and I shared. To the best of my knowledge and from the communications I have received, my mother has taken my stepfather’s death quite heavily. She has been confined to her sick bed ever since. Our housekeeper, Bonnie, has stepped in and has been staying at The Gate to look after Mother and the girls, so the agricultural management of the property has been left in abeyance. At least we have our Aboriginal stockman keeping an eye on the cattle.’

  ‘I don’t expect it has been easy for any of them.’

  ‘No, I’m sure it hasn’t, and the girls will no doubt have missed their relationship with their mother. She attends to their education, and the house is very much her domain.’

  As they passed through the harbour, Matilda gazed around. She tried to imagine the way her parents must have felt about arriving in a land so different from England after their many months at sea. Her mother had always lamented the lack of rolling green hills. As they passed orange-brown sandstone cliffs with scrubby trees that clung to them above the dusty coves and bays, Matilda could easily understand her parents’ fear of the unknown.

  Looking windswept and self-assured, Kit stared down at her and said, ‘We’re leaving the Heads now and passing out into the ocean. You may find it a little rough. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go below decks?’ His deep voice sent tingles down her spine.

  She drew in a short breath. ‘The weather is really quite balmy, and the thought of being below decks doesn’t appeal to me.’ Matilda found she rather liked being with Kit in the moonlight as it afforded a strange intimacy that reminded her of nights around the campfire at home.

  Fenella dipped and swayed as the ocean current took hold. ‘We’ll pass Broken Bay soon, which is the estuary of the mighty Hawkesbury River—or Deerubbin, as the Aborigines call it.’

  Soon after, sandstone cliffs and a huge island dominated the view on the port side. ‘And, over there, Mount Elliot Island guards the entrance. I always thought it looked like a sphinx, but Governor Phillip says it resembled Gibraltar where his friend Elliot defeated the French and Spanish fleets. So he named it for him.’

  Kit’s breadth of knowledge fascinated Matilda. He appeared so at ease, and that gave her a sense of comfort and also excitement—such conflicting emotions, but stirring sensations and feelings she had never experienced before seemed to be his skill.

  Feeling safe with Kit by her side, the steady beat of the engines had lulled Matilda into a gentle doze. When daylight broke, there was such a sudden flurry of activity from the sailors as they went about their work that she woke with a start.

  ‘We’re coming into Newcastle now,’ Kit said, answering her unspoken question. ‘We’re about seventy miles north of Sydney.’

  A huge stone breakwater led them into the harbour. Matilda stared in fascination at the odd assortment of buildings grouped around the shoreline, managing to make out a couple of timber churches. There were some other more robust houses but nothing as sophisticated as the buildings she had seen in Sydney.

  ‘This is the mouth of the Hunter River. From here, we’ve got about another thirty-five miles to go before we reach Morpeth. Are you hungry? The crew usually serve breakfast once we are in calmer waters.’

  ‘Famished,’ Matilda replied, her stomach rumbling in anticipation.

  ‘I’ll go below and see what they are offering. Usually they have tea and some bread, and either mutton, or whiting caught from the river. What do you fancy?’

  ‘Anything, but the fish sounds especially delicious.’

  As Kit left to go below, Matilda stood and walked over to the timber railing. She leaned against it and gazed across the river, thankful that the wind was carrying the smell of the engines away. The rising sun had turned the water a dull orange-gold; birds shrieked and wheeled around the boat, eager for a share of breakfast. A pair of pelicans circled them and—spreading their huge feet—landed on the river. Their cavernous beaks clacked in excitement.

  Kit reappeared with both hands full of bread and fish, and Matilda tucked in. She thought it was the best breakfast she had ever tasted. ‘It’s very different from the Hawkesbury River,’ she said. ‘The land around The Hunter is more pastoral and a much flatter landscape. No towering sandstone cliffs.’ She hurriedly swallowed down a large crust of bread.

  ‘That’s an unusual thing for a woman to notice,’ Kit said with a broad grin.

  His strong, straight nose highlighted his chiselled mouth and the almost severe planes of his face. His thick dark hair was shorter than was fashionable, and she longed to run her fingers through it. A delicious quiver of excitement and nervous anticipation skittered across her skin.

  Chapter Four

  ‘How long is it since you were home?’ Matilda asked, as she watched a group of black cockatoos swoop and land in the branches of a Casuarina tree on the riverbank.

  ‘Three years.’

  ‘So Hannah and Beth are how old now?’

  ‘They were nine and twelve when I left so …’

  ‘Twelve and fifteen now. Still quite the young ladies.’

  ‘Yes. They’ve been without a father since Barclay died nearly six months ago. Snakebite. His horse reared and he fell, and when the stockman found him he was long dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry. How dreadful for you all. Was it a black snake? They are common around the Bathurst area. My father used to say they were only good for one thing—bumping into the sharp end of his shovel.’

  My God, but this girl is strange—clinically practical, in fact.

  Kit found her manner refreshing and could easily imagine himself being friends with her. In truth, he could imagine quite a lot about her, but it was best not dwell on that in public. Most women he had come across in the past would throw their hands up in horror and scream at the mere mention of a snake.

  ‘Can you ride?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Emily said she was certain you could. Are you sure we shouldn’t find a carriage when we get to Morpeth? It’s a good thirty miles to Wollombi.’

  ‘No, we don’t need a carriage. It would be a ridiculous waste of time and expense. I could ride almost before I could walk.’

  ‘Astride?’

  ‘Of course.’ He smothered a chuckle at her indignant snort.

  A mixture of feisty tomboy and shy debutante, all wrapped up in one delightful package.

  He had heard there were women who rode astride, but he’d never come across one.

  ‘Do you have a riding habit?’

  ‘No!’ She rolled her eyes this time. ‘I ride in breeches and boots exactly as you do.’

  Kit looked her up and down, searching for evidence of breeches or boots. In her travelling costume, she appeared practical but not unusual.

  ‘No!’ She chuckled and turned her smiling face up to him. Matilda’s cornflower eyes sparkled at him in the sunshine. ‘My riding clothes are in my bag. I’m not wearing breeches under my skirt.’ The slight flush of her cheeks seemed to be from something other than the wind, but it was soon carried away by a peal of laughter.

  ‘I’m thrilled you thought to bring them with you.’

  Blonde hair blowing in the strong breeze, her complexion shone. Her eyes met his with a mixture of good humour and defiance. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go inside? We won’t reach Morpeth for another couple of hours.’

  ‘No, I’m quite happy out here. I like watching the water and the landscape.’

  ‘Once we ar
rive, we’ll take rooms at the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle. It’s the inn on Robert’s Wharf named after the first three steamers that travelled on this route. That will give you an opportunity to change and freshen up, and we might even have another breakfast if you think you can manage it.’

  She nodded her agreement and then asked, ‘And after we’ll leave for Wollombi?’

  No matter how hard he tried, his eyes were drawn like a magnet back to her. Her unusual looks against the backdrop of the morning sky and tree-lined banks showed her as a part of the land, and so Australian. She seemed a new breed of woman, and one he liked very much.

  ‘It’s really up to you. If you are not too tired after your night above deck, then I’d like to make a start today. It is going to be a long ride and we need to leave as soon as possible. I’m hoping we’ll be able to cover the distance to home in one day, but if you find it too tiring we’ll spend the night at one of the inns. It’s a well-travelled route, so they’re spread all along the Great North Road.

  ‘I’m sure I’m up for the challenge,’ Matilda said with a defiant flick of her windblown hair.

  Kit stood outside the stables, drumming his heel impatiently and examining the two horses he had hired to carry them to Wollombi. He was probably asking rather a lot for her to be ready so quickly, but they had a lot of miles to cover.

  This was the final leg of a long, long journey. Halfway around the world, in fact, although travelling though America and Canada would have to wait until next time. Strangely enough, he wasn’t disappointed.

  He tightened the girth on the bay mare and adjusted the saddlebags. At the sound of footsteps, he turned and blinked—twice.

  Her long legs flashing and the heels of her knee-high leather boots ringing on the sandstone pavers, Matilda crossed the courtyard. She was dressed in a pair of men’s breeches. As unconventional as she looked, he’d never seen anything quite so alluring, and she put the French chahut dancers to shame. The dark jacket she carried over one arm contrasted sharply with her white, loose cotton shirt. The material billowed in the morning breeze, outlining her breasts for a tantalising second before floating down to hug the curves of her luscious body.