The Horse Thief

by Téa Cooper

  The housekeeper’s eyes widened then she shook her head. ‘Nah. Take no notice. She’s from over the way. Rides at sunset most days. Dressed in white, was she?’

  Jim nodded.

  Peggy dusted her hands again, tut-tutting and wrinkling her nose at the mess she’d made of the table. ‘Grub in an hour. Don’t be late.’

  ‘Right. Won’t be long.’ With his bags slung over his shoulder he followed the path to the cottage door, his footsteps dragging and the bitter taste of the past coating his tongue.

  He counted his steps. Not one hundred and fifty-four anymore, less than half that. The date etched above the door loomed large. He lifted a heavy hand and ran his fingers over the worn sandstone. He no longer needed to jump to reach the initials he’d carved beneath the lintel.

  The key slipped into the lock with ease and he opened the door and ducked inside. Two overstuffed armchairs, both a touch moth-eaten and faded, greeted him. He blinked away the vision of his father sitting in front of the fire. He’d buried him little more than two months ago.

  The cottage was smaller than he remembered, the ceiling lower, the walls closer together. The skeletal coat rack by the door stood empty. He wandered down the hallway and peered into the first bedroom. The patchwork quilt his mother used to bundle him up in covered the simple iron bedstead. Next door the spartan room he’d shared with his brother still housed two narrow single beds. He chucked his saddlebags down and made his way out the back, looking for signs of the diamond python that once lived in the roof trusses. The cottage looked and smelled as though it had stood empty for a long time.

  Outside the old pump hunched against the wall. With a practised kick and a jiggle of the lever he coaxed it into action. It grunted and groaned and spat a damp, rusty cloud over the dirt before a thin stream of tea-coloured water trickled out—ground water, brackish and bitter, not the best. They needed rain, same as the rest of the country. In the old days they pumped up from the lagoon in a dry spell. Regardless he stripped down and sluiced his head and body, then dried off before pacing back into the house and donning a clean shirt. Once he’d fastened the buttons he pulled the door closed behind him and heeded the clanging of Peggy’s bell.

  Three

  ‘Morning, Peggy.’ India wandered into the kitchen and poured a cup of tea from the teapot standing next to the range.

  ‘Mornin’, my sweet. And how are you this fine morning?’

  ‘Well, but I have a list as long as my arm of things to do. I’ll have to chase up Fred. The stables are a mess. I want everything spic and span. I suspect Jim Mawgan will arrive today and I don’t want him thinking we don’t run a decent show.’

  ‘You might just have left it a bit late.’ Peggy’s face broke into a knowing grin and she winked. ‘He arrived last night.’

  ‘Last night! Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It was getting late and you and Violet were going hell for leather in the dining room. I didn’t want to interrupt.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ India sighed. Despite her best attempts to be congenial and agreeable, nothing went according to plan. Last night Violet’s behaviour had almost driven her to distraction. Her sister couldn’t get it through her pretty head that living alone and unchaperoned in Sydney wasn’t feasible. They could hope for a suitable marriage offer but as Violet pointed out, stuck in the Hunter it was an outside chance. Helligen wasn’t the back of beyond yet it was a good ride to Morpeth and then six hours on the steamer to Sydney. Newcastle was closer, but the company Violet sought wouldn’t dwell in the coal mining port.

  Some days the responsibility was all too much and Violet’s tantrums only added to her difficulties. ‘I wish you’d told me last night.’

  ‘Well.’ Peggy stuck her hands on her hips, her chin jutting. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ India curled her arm around Peggy’s shoulder. ‘You’re right. It’s far better if I meet him this morning. The last thing we want is for him to become embroiled in family problems. He’s here to manage the horses. I need to be businesslike. And anyway, it’s probably better to give the poor man a chance to settle in before I bombard him with my plans.’

  Her new-found independence was both a blessing and a curse. There were days when she could do with a hand in running the place and a different viewpoint would be a godsend. Maybe Mr Jim Mawgan would provide that—not that she intended to hand over her hard-won right to make decisions, just as a second opinion.

  ‘Here.’ Peggy pushed the round breadboard across the table. ‘You’d better have something to eat. Can’t work on an empty stomach. The loaf’s just out of the oven and there’s some of that strawberry jam you like.’

  India hacked off the crust. More than anything else in the world she wanted Helligen to flourish. Make it the vibrant family home it had once been. Bring it back to the time when any horse carrying the HK brand commanded the highest of prices.

  When she’d stood at the rail at Flemington with four thousand others and watched Archer thunder down the two-mile track she’d made up her mind. Her heart skipped every time she relived the excitement, the clamour, and the thundering hooves. She would breed Helligen’s first champion racehorse and win the coveted prize. To present Papa with the winner’s purse would compensate for all their suffering, and prove she was capable. When Archer won for the second year running she’d nearly died of jealousy. The prize belonged to Helligen but for the string of misfortunes over the past years.

  That single fact had firmed her resolve and after months of cajoling and pleading Papa had agreed—to give her a year once she turned twenty-one. One year to prove her capabilities. Before long the first Thursday of November would be a day in the history of the Kilhamptons, not just Flemington.

  ‘People say when Archer won the Melbourne Cup they walked him all the way from New South Wales to Melbourne. And he went on to win by eight lengths. That’s stamina, but our bloodlines are just as good.’

  ‘Are you still harbouring that little fantasy of yours?’

  ‘I might be. It takes time and hard work for dreams to become reality.’

  Before Mama’s accident the stables had been full of mares awaiting service and the property supported an energetic and vibrant community. Papa had tried but he’d sunk into such despair he retreated to his shipping business in Sydney. When he decided to drag her and her sister off to a school for young ladies in Sydney, Helligen and their mother had withered and become mere shadows.

  In the time they’d been away so much had changed. Mama’s health had declined further and Papa, out of his depth and unable to cope, rarely set foot on the property.

  ‘This is just the beginning.’

  To achieve her dreams she needed help, and a stud master would provide it. Jim Mawgan’s arrival marked the first step on the long journey to Flemington and the prize she coveted more than any jewel. Today was an auspicious day on more than one count. Employing a stud master marked her first independent act in restoring the Kilhampton family fortunes.

  The bread, dry as the sawdust spread on the stable floors, churned in her mouth. She chewed fast. Peggy wouldn’t let her out of the kitchen until she swallowed it and there was so much to do. The stable doors dangled and the water barrels were a disgrace. They leaked liked Peggy’s kitchen sieves and smelt almost as bad as the boiled cabbage she crushed in them. India tossed back the last drop of scalding tea, swallowed, picked up her hat and made for the door.

  ‘Oh, before you go—just a word of warning.’ Peggy’s tone stopped her in her tracks. ‘Jim, Mr Mawgan, said he saw a woman on a horse over by the lagoon last evening when he arrived.’

  A bruised silence descended on the warm kitchen. India replaced her hat on the dresser and sighed. ‘Have you spoken to Anya?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her this morning. I’ll have a word when she comes down to get the trays. Your mother must have got back safe last night otherwise Anya would have raised the alarm.’

  India’s puff of e
xasperation echoed. ‘I really don’t want to deal with it right now. I want to get everything started in a businesslike fashion—no echoes of the past.’

  ‘If you didn’t want “echoes of the past”, why try and get the horse breeding back on track?’

  ‘Because we’re the best in the business and …’ At the light rap on the half-closed door she clamped her lips together and crossed the floor. ‘Mr Mawgan.’

  Four

  Jim made an effort to close his mouth then blinked twice at the vision before him.

  ‘Mr Mawgan?’ she repeated.

  Clearing his throat he held out his hand, quite why he didn’t know. It wasn’t customary or proper. ‘Yes.’ His chest tightened and the hairs on his forearms rose.

  ‘I’m India Kilhampton.’ Her hand was warm, not cool like the pale hands of yesterday.

  For a long moment he stared into her charcoal eyes: thunderclouds chasing across a stormy sky. She raised an eyebrow and tugged her hand back.

  ‘I wrote. The job. I’m here about the job.’

  A smile hovered on the edge of her lips and she pulled back her sun-kissed hair against the nape of her neck. His skin prickled in response to the gesture, so like the woman yesterday. They could be one and the same but for the light of laughter in India’s eyes and her taut, flawless skin tanned from hours in the fresh air.

  ‘I am so happy to see you. Let me show you around and perhaps you can tell me a little about yourself.’

  They stepped out into the morning sun. Countless colours, threads of gold and red danced in her hair and snatched his breath away. The same streaked tresses, the same eyes, and the same skin. All painted in a brighter hue, not washed out by the frenzied agony he’d seen last night.

  ‘I’ll take you for a tour of the property, and we’ll discuss the job.’

  Jim raked back his hair and scratched at the scar on the back of his neck. He tried to concentrate on her words as he planted his hat back on his head. The likeness between the two women was remarkable and yet the difference—watercolours to oils.

  Miss Kilhampton didn’t appear to notice his pensive silence, simply strode out and expected him to follow. Her self-assurance was no doubt a reflection of the confidence that privilege and security brought. He was thankful as it gave him time to gather his thoughts. He’d mentioned the woman on the horse to Peggy and she’d dismissed it. The resemblance was uncanny. He followed, forcing the image of the troubled woman to the back of his mind. Instead he searched the stylish skirt and buttoned boots, looking for some inkling of the precocious child he remembered.

  ‘And so, in this area around the house we have two stable blocks, here and here.’ She raised her arm and indicated to the two buildings framing the courtyard. ‘The hayloft is above these stables, the stallion yard next to the vegetable garden. Over here is the new barn. I say new—we completed it about fourteen years ago.’

  Last night he was too caught up in his own memories and hadn’t noticed the aura of neglect about the place. In daylight it became tangible, a physical presence, forlorn and forgotten. Although nothing was falling down an air of decay and despondency pervaded every building. To see the once-thriving property standing idle made him want to turn back the clock. Helligen was his childhood home and his father’s life work. Once it was full of laughter and hope. Bloody Kilhampton and his high-handed notions.

  ‘Over there is the blacksmith’s shop, the dairy, old barn and slaughter house. We lease them out to local farmers.’ Miss Kilhampton’s hands waved, her gestures as fluid as a dancer against the hazy morning sky. He didn’t need the buildings pointed out; he remembered every one of them only too well.

  They completed a loop of the driveway and ended up in front of the big house, majestic in the sunlight. Two brick chimneys soared above a grey-blue slate roof. A wide verandah skirted the front and sides of the building and tall double-hung windows flanked the impressive front door.

  The more he saw of the place the more he remembered. His roots were here, his heritage. From humble beginnings, with hard work and determination his father had put his convict status behind him. He earned his reputation as the best stud master in the area. Once, Helligen was home to some of the most sought-after thoroughbred sires in the country, until Kilhampton destroyed all those years of work. And now she wanted to start over.

  ‘Can you tell me something of your experience?’ she asked.

  He’d been expecting the question. He paused for a moment, picking his words from his practised response. ‘My father was a stud master so I grew up around horses. He worked for some of the more reputable studs in New South Wales.’

  And some of the least.

  ‘Was?’

  ‘He died a few months ago.’ A broken man, his reputation ruined and his dreams shattered by a colonial upstart. Someone who thought money could buy his entry into a life he didn’t deserve.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  So she should be. So easy to say. The sins of the father. ‘I’ve been working in the Upper Hunter on a stud called Munmurra, you might have heard of it.’

  ‘Indeed I have. They have a fine reputation for breeding remounts for the Indian Army.’

  And other bloodlines, but that was another story and nothing he would ever share with a Kilhampton. For all her city manners and gentrified airs the woman seemed to know the business.

  ‘Please don’t think me impertinent but why are you looking for work if you have a job at Munmurra. It’s a thriving stud.’

  ‘This was a thriving property once. My father maintained it carried some of the best stock in the country.’ Jim turned from her, the colour burning his cheeks. He’d said too much. Let his mouth run away with him, allowed his prejudices to show.

  ‘I agree with you. It’s a huge waste and a terrible pity.’

  Like a kick in the guts her words snatched his breath away. She agreed with him!

  ‘That’s why I want to restore Helligen. It’s sitting here like some shipwreck thrown aground on the rocks and left to rot.’

  ‘And what does your father think of your ideas?’

  ‘Papa is involved with his other business interests.’

  ‘And the rest of your family?’

  ‘My mother lives here. It’s her home. She wouldn’t be happy anywhere else. My sister Violet also lives here, although she believes Sydney is where she belongs. Helligen deserves more.’ Her face paled and she quaked with undisguised passion.

  The spectacle of the heartbroken woman yesterday came to his mind. ‘Your mother lives here?’

  A shuttered look crossed her face and she folded her arms. ‘My mother is an invalid. She rarely leaves her rooms.’ She glared out over the empty paddocks, her brow as furrowed as a newly ploughed paddock.

  Scuffing his feet in the dirt, Jim followed her gaze. The paddocks were once full of mares and prancing foals. To squander such opportunity. Some people didn’t appreciate what they had and cared even less for the lives of others. He’d spoken more freely than he intended, and she had too, if the faraway look in her eye was anything to go by.

  She recovered faster than he did. ‘And so, that’s why I need your help. I want to rebuild Helligen’s reputation as a horse stud. Will you help me?’

  Despite his best intentions, Jim answered, ‘Yes.’

  Five

  With that one word India’s dreams became real. For the first time her ideas and plans weren’t scoffed at. Placing the advertisement was the right decision. Never mind Peggy’s throwaway remark about raking up the past, this was the path to the future. Quite what Papa would say when he discovered she’d taken his name in vain, she wasn’t sure. That problem could wait until another day. Tempted to crow with delight she reached her arms up to the sky, allowing the tension to leach away through her fingertips. She clambered onto the top rail of the fence, tucked her skirt under her knees and surveyed the property.

  As he swung up next to her she cast an appreciative glance at his strong shoulders. Having someo
ne on hand to manage the heavier jobs would be a godsend. Fred was a good kid and did his best in the stables but there was so much work. This man would be far more capable than a mere boy. Most of the work she left for the itinerant labourers they employed when there was a need. When Helligen was in its prime it was home to several families and everyone contributed to the smooth running of the place. Nowadays they lived in the village and were forced to find the bulk of their income elsewhere.

  ‘So where are you going to start?’ He chewed on a blade of grass and spun his hat on his finger. ‘What stock have you got here? And what are you planning on doing?’ His dark hair fell across his forehead, black and glossy as the cockatoos that heralded rain.

  ‘We still have about a dozen mares but none of them are in foal. Some animals were sold off to keep money coming in.’

  ‘What about sires? Are they unrelated?’

  ‘We have two working sires. A bay that carries the bloodlines of Theorem and Emigrant, and a black bred from Boiardo. He also sired The Banker who you’ll know won the Melbourne a couple of years ago. And there are two younger animals related to these stallions on the mare’s side.’

  ‘You’ll need some fresh blood from somewhere. Have you thought about that?’

  She’d thought about it but with what little money there was, the last thing she wanted was to spend it paying for service fees.

  ‘Have you got the stud records?’ A strange intensity lit his eyes, sparks of gold flaring in their hazel depths, as though he expected her to fall short in some way.

  ‘Yes. Of course I have.’ All the paperwork was in the library and everything had been recorded. Mind you, she hadn’t seen hide or hair of the studbooks since she returned from Sydney. That would be a job for this evening, after dinner.

  ‘There’s also the possibility of trading a service here and there if you want to broaden your scope.’

  ‘I’m uncertain, as yet.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ With a clean break, Mr Mawgan vaulted down from the fence and turned to face her. ‘Come on. Show me the worst.’ He held out his hands to help her down from the fence.