The Horse Thief

by Téa Cooper

  For a moment she hesitated, his gesture overfamiliar. She studied his long fingers and broad palms then threw caution aside and placed her hands in his. His clasp tightened, and with it a jolt of something new and entirely different seized her. She slipped to the ground. ‘Thank you.’ A masculine mix of leather, sweat and saddle-soap enveloped her. Striving to fight off her confusion, she withdrew her hands, smoothed her skirt and batted away the flush staining her cheeks.

  Lifting her hem above the tops of her short boots she trudged through the grass that was still damp from the welcome shower overnight.

  The quiver of a smile flickering on his face unsettled her.

  ‘What’s so amusing?’ It was almost as though the man was toying with her. Testing her.

  ‘Nothing really. How long have you been away?’

  ‘My sister and I spent several years in Sydney and Melbourne completing our education. According to Papa it was essential. He wanted to broaden our horizons. He’d lost interest in the place and thought we needed a change. Violet blossomed. She loves being in town and loathes the indignity of coming home to the Hunter. I was glad to return. I don’t think I’m destined to live anywhere but here.’

  His gaze roamed her face then sank lower.

  ‘You look like a city person.’

  India stopped. ‘I beg your pardon?’ His comment implied she wasn’t capable.

  ‘Don’t take it as an insult. It’s a compliment. The way you’re dressed. You look very … very … metropolitan. Those boots …’

  She stared down and wriggled her toes. The dew from the grass had seeped into the pointed toes and dampened her feet. The soft leather would stain beyond repair. ‘That is hardly your concern.’ Why hadn’t she thought to put on her riding boots when she’d dressed that morning? A serviceable skirt and pintucked blouse were hardly metropolitan compared to Violet’s frills and ruffles.

  ‘I intend to employ you, Mr Mawgan, to assist me on the property, not as my couturier. I’d appreciate it if you would keep your opinions to yourself.’ The fact he’d managed to get under her skin was worse than his apt comment and she changed the subject. ‘I’ll take you to the back paddock and we’ll look at the mares.’ She stomped off across the long grass ignoring the dripping hem of her skirt flapping against her legs.

  Jim followed her, chuckling under his breath as he curbed his amusement. Despite her clothes and her pretentious attitude he could still see the little girl he remembered. He’d always thought of her as a firecracker, like the ones Mr Kilhampton brought home and let off to celebrate the birth of his son. They were the good days, before Kilhampton turned and bundled them off the place with such high-handed disdain.

  When he’d answered the newspaper advertisement he wondered if he would have to admit to his family’s history. Except for his small slip-up about his father’s experience it seemed no-one remembered the Cobb family. Using his mother’s name helped and, of course, the fact Kilhampton wasn’t on the property. There was no-one who remembered the little boy who’d spent his time hanging around the stables dreaming of a future. No-one who knew or cared about the family who had given their all and lost it on the whim of an irrational and disappointed man. How he wished he could remember more. His parents tempered their stories with so much regret and misery. No matter. He’d set the record straight and right the past wrongs. Kilhampton would live to rue the day he’d tossed his stud master off the property without a second thought.

  Pulling his hands out of his pockets he picked up his pace and caught up with Miss Kilhampton. ‘How should I address you?’

  She stopped and frowned at him. ‘By my name. How else?’

  ‘Miss Kilhampton?’

  ‘Yes … well … no … that’s not really necessary under the circumstances.’

  ‘Miss India?’

  ‘Goodness. No! It makes me sound like an old maid.’

  Anything less like an old maid he’d yet to see. ‘I don’t think I’d classify you as that.’ With her hair hanging down her back in a delightful tumble she resembled a somewhat dishevelled princess.

  ‘India will do just fine.’ A smile played at the corners of her lips. ‘After all, we’ll be working together.’ She rested her arms along the top rail of the fence. ‘The mares are in here.’

  At the sound of her voice the group of grazing horses lifted their heads and ambled over. He cast a practised eye over the animals he’d glimpsed on his arrival last night. Although the stables and outbuildings were decrepit there was nothing run-down about the horseflesh.

  The animals ranged from black to bay and at the back of the group two beautiful buckskin mares frolicked. Their pale coats shimmered in the sun contrasting with their dark manes. As they drew nearer they gave an arrogant flick of their tails and his breath caught as the memory of the woman yesterday surfaced. ‘Buckskins.’

  ‘Yes, they’re glorious, aren’t they? We used to have quite a reputation for them. They were always in high demand in Sydney as carriage horses and elite riding mounts. We only have these two left now. They were my mother’s favourites.’

  Beautiful animals. In the early days buckskin stockhorses had been a hallmark of the Hunter, but it was difficult to maintain the colour when breeding back to thoroughbreds for elegance. Breed two together and you were likely to end up with a bay or even a black. His breath caught. ‘So you sold them to the neighbours, then?’

  ‘No. I don’t believe any of them stayed this end of the Hunter. Why do you ask?’

  The buckskins hadn’t stolen his breath. It was the thudding certainty the two women were connected. ‘Because I saw someone riding a buckskin yesterday, on my way here. I mentioned it to your housekeeper. She said it was a woman from a neighbouring property. I was worried. The woman seemed panicked, disturbed …’

  ‘It’s time we went back to the stables. I have a list of things that need doing and I’d like to make a start.’ India pushed back from the fence rail and a muscle flickered under the skin of her cheek. She turned on her heel and set off for the house.

  Jim took one last look at the mares and followed. He couldn’t get the woman from last night out of his mind. This was the second time someone had brushed aside his concerns. He ran a couple of steps and caught up.

  ‘Does your mother ride?’

  India’s face darkened. ‘No. I told you. She doesn’t. She’s an invalid who rarely leaves her room. Anya cares for her. Not that it’s any of your business. The horses are your business. Not my family.’

  The horses were his business. Keeping that in mind Jim trudged after India, watching the rise and fall of her hair against the back of her shirt. Never a fanciful person he wondered if he’d seen an apparition yesterday. Some ghostly being haunting the fringes of the once-famed Helligen Park. Despite the warmth of the day a shiver traced his spine. The air of dejection about the place was getting to him.

  ‘If I may make a suggestion,’ he said, ‘I would like to go over the stables. It’s the hub of any breeding enterprise and without wishing to put too fine a point on it, there’s work to be done there.’

  She shot him a look down her pert nose. The woman was so damn prickly. The sooner he got into the stables, the sooner he could start looking for the stud records. That was his first priority. Find what he’d come for. After that he could worry about whether he wanted to fulfil the ludicrous commitment he’d made to her in a moment of foolishness.

  India’s lips curved into a smile. Like the sun coming from behind a cloud her aggravation of a moment ago dissipated. ‘That’s an excellent idea. And Fred could do with a few pointers. He tries his best. Unfortunately I don’t think anyone has ever shown him what he should be doing. I remember as a child the stables were always as neat as a pin. The original stud master had his office in there.’ She took off almost at a gallop and headed back to the courtyard.

  Jim curbed a smile. That’s where he’d find the information he needed to register Jefferson and take their first step to the winning post.
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  ‘Fred, where are you?’ India stood in the middle of the courtyard shading her eyes. The lad appeared from the barn. ‘I’m here, miss.’ He dragged his feet while humping a bundle of straw wider than his scrawny shoulders.

  ‘Mr Jim. Good morning, sir.’

  India’s eyebrows rose and Jim smothered a laugh. Kilhampton might have bundled his family off the place, but the mere fact he was a male commanded a degree of respect around here. ‘Good morning, Fred. I told you, no need to call me sir. Jim is fine. How’s my boy this morning?’

  ‘Just about to go and fix up his stable—that’s what this is for.’ He tossed the straw onto the ground.

  At the sound of Jim’s voice the stallion’s head appeared over the half-door, his ears pricked.

  ‘India, come and meet Jefferson. He’s the apple of my eye.’

  ‘Your horse?’

  ‘Yes, a Munmurra animal.’ He unlatched the barred gate to release Jefferson then slipped a rope around his neck and led him out into the courtyard.

  The expression on India’s face changed from appraisal to appreciation as she examined his horse. She reached and touched the warm velvet of his muzzle. Jefferson pushed his big head into her hair, snuffling and snorting as she ran her fingers through his mane.

  Concerned she’d object Jim pulled back on the lead rope and brought Jefferson around.

  ‘I was enjoying it.’ Pushing up from the tips of her absurd boots she stretched out her hand and rubbed the horse behind the ears. A quiver of delight rippled Jefferson’s glossy hide from the top of his neck to the tip of his black tail.

  Unable to drag his gaze away, Jim stared, a vicarious thrill shooting down his spine. In the next life he might come back as a horse and ask to be stabled here, particularly if one India Kilhampton ran the show. Chance would be a fine thing. He didn’t belong in a place like this, definitely not if they twigged to his dubious lineage. Jefferson—now that was another matter.

  ‘Would you like to put him in the mating yard?’ India gestured to a small well-grassed paddock next to the stables. ‘All the horses love being in there. Lots of treats on the other side of the fence in Peggy’s vegetable garden.’

  She led Jefferson away and Jim waited to see what would come next. Hoping for a conducted tour of the entire stable block he walked to the first door and gave it a gentle push. It swung free, dangling crookedly on one hinge. All the doors could do with a fresh coat of paint. A distinct odour of poorly mucked-out stalls permeated the air. Not wanting to get young Fred in trouble by mentioning it he took a closer look.

  Once inside the smell intensified and Jim peered over the barrier to see Fred spreading fresh straw on top of the old. He leant over the half-door. ‘Hey, Fred.’

  The boy dropped the remaining straw and gave it a quick kick before looking up. ‘Yep?’

  ‘Fancy a ride on Jefferson this afternoon?’

  The boy’s eyes grew round and his face flushed. ‘Do I ever!’

  ‘I think we can arrange that. Let me know when all the stables and yards are spic and span and I’ll see what I can organise.’

  Fred took off as though the bunyip from hell was after him, grabbed a rake and started removing the urine-soaked straw.

  Jim winked at India when she appeared beside him. Her lips pursed and she stepped closer to him. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ she whispered.

  A cloud of something far more enticing than the soaked straw wafted in the breeze. It reminded him of newly slashed grass and spring flowers. ‘Probably because I know what lies closest to a boy’s heart, especially a boy who thinks he’s cut out to be a jockey.’

  ‘He might make a jockey one day. He has the build for it.’ She turned, her hair flaring behind her and catching the light. ‘We have eight stalls here. Four and four.’ She nodded her head into the shadowy interior.

  Jim swallowed, his throat dry as he controlled the impulse to reach out. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair as she’d done to Jefferson’s mane.

  ‘And down there is the tack room and the old office.’

  The word ‘office’ brought him crashing back to his purpose. Old office. Of course, how could he have forgotten? He willed his memory into sharper focus. Running through the darkness. Throwing the door open. Seeing his father sitting, pencil tucked behind his ear, poring over the large leather-bound book. The studbook.

  Clenching his fists against the thrill of anticipation coursing through him he quickened his pace. She led him around the corner and into a cool shadowed passageway running the length of the stable block.

  ‘There’s nothing to see really, just a lot of old tack and …’

  The door sported a small enamelled plate that read ‘Stud Master’. He flung the door open and his heart sank. An assortment of trunks and old furniture filled the room. A broken mirror leant against one wall reflecting an old cedar table, home to a series of wicker baskets, all stuffed full of discarded knick-knacks. A large wooden bucket, a broken lampshade, a bedhead, some faded cushions and folded curtains lay in a pile against one wall.

  India mistook his sigh for disapproval. ‘I know it’s a bit of a mess. We just use it for storage now.’ Her voice carried a hint of apology.

  ‘You don’t have an office anymore?’

  From the pinched expression on her face she’d taken his words as criticism. ‘Yes, of course. When Papa took over management of the stud he moved everything to the library, in the house.’

  Jim muttered a curse under his breath. So close and such a disappointment. He’d imagined walking into his father’s office and finding all his paperwork filed away with the neatness and precision he’d always demanded. The disappointment made his shoulders slump.

  ‘I have to admit I have been a little less than diligent with the paperwork since I returned home. It’s one of the jobs I intend to deal with now you’re here. I will have more time if I don’t have to chase up Fred and worry about the horses.’

  Given the perfect opportunity Jim took it. ‘In that case I think it’s time I got to work. Why don’t you go back up to the house and attend to your paperwork? I have plenty to keep me occupied here. I’ll keep an eye on Fred and make sure he’s not slacking. Fix those doors for you and get myself acquainted with the place.’

  India held out her hand. ‘Then I take it you would like the job.’

  ‘Indeed I would.’ He took her hand and shook it, trying not to contemplate her firm grip and the way her tiny hand sat so comfortably in his.

  Six

  ‘Makes a nice change to see you with a grin on your face.’

  India sank onto the kitchen chair and heaped sugar into the cup of tea Peggy dumped in front of her. ‘I’m thrilled and exhausted.’ She pulled off her hat and dropped it to the floor, wiping her damp forehead with the back of her hand. The decision to hire Jim was right.

  ‘And you’ve got the dirtiest face I’ve seen in a long time.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She fingered the three-corner rip in her skirt where it had snagged on the broken hinge. ‘Do you think Jilly could fix this?’ She’d caught it as she climbed up to peer over the stall to see what Jim was up to. Her escapade hadn’t revealed much other than the fact he could use a hammer. She’d ended up in a heap in the pile of hay Fred had raked out of the stables.

  Peggy peered down at her skirt and wrinkled her nose. ‘And wash it as well.’

  Tomorrow she’d make sure she wore something more appropriate. ‘Have you had a look outside? Jim is a marvel. He’s fixed the doors, the water barrels are replaced, the stables mucked out properly for the first time in weeks. Fred has worked like a Trojan and all because Jim offered him a ride on his stallion. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  Peggy sniffed. ‘You can’t be expected to think of everything and besides, Jim has experience.’

  It appeared he did have experience and right now she couldn’t believe her luck. ‘Which is why I offered him the job. Do you still think it was a mistake?’

 
‘I never said it was a mistake. Just so long as your plan to restart the stud doesn’t open old wounds.’

  The room resounded with the tick of the clock and memories better forgotten. Peering through the window she half expected to see Mama vault onto her handsome buckskin. Instead, Fred led Jefferson into the pristine stables.

  Ignoring Peggy’s disapproving glance India slurped down the last drops of her tea. ‘I’m going to get cleaned up before dinner and I’ll check on Mama.’ She stood, unable to control the sigh that always seemed to accompany thoughts of her mother.

  ‘You’ve got about half an hour. Is that long enough or do you want me to stall dinner?’

  ‘No, it’s plenty. I could eat a horse.’

  ‘Probably not such a good idea, eating the profits. You’ll have to settle for corned beef.’

  ‘Wonderful. It smells delicious and I don’t suppose there’s …’

  ‘Jam roll and custard? Yes.’

  Smacking her lips India left, hurried along the covered walkway and through the back door to the main house. At the bottom of the stairs she paused and ran her hand over the smooth cedar banister. She inhaled the lingering scent of beeswax and lavender then trudged upwards, the pleasure of the day leaching away with every creak of the steps. Each afternoon she made the trip to her mother’s room hoping for a change, yet she always left disappointed.

  Knowing better than to enter the suite of rooms without permission she knocked and waited. The door opened a crack and Anya’s dark face peered around the corner.

  ‘Good afternoon, Anya. I’ve come to see Mama and tell her about my day.’ India repeated the words like an incantation. The same words she’d spoken every day she’d been at home since that fateful evening fifteen years ago when everyone’s life changed.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss India. Please come in.’

  The door swung open and India stepped over the threshold into the darkened room. The familiar fragrance of roses and dust greeted her. Such an old smell, and Mama wasn’t old; just trapped in the misery of the past, unable to move on.