The Horse Thief

by Téa Cooper

  ‘I need you to stay here, with Mama.’

  ‘Mama has Anya, and Peggy, she doesn’t need me.’

  India ignored her sister’s comment. If she rode to Morpeth alone it would be quicker. Violet would have baggage and demand the buggy, all manner of fripperies. Alone she could pick up the morning steamer and be in Sydney by noon.

  ‘What about Jim?’

  ‘What about Jim?’ India countered.

  ‘Aren’t you going to get rid of him now you know who he is?’

  ‘No. I’m not leaving you all here with only Fred.’

  ‘You were quite happy for us to be here with only Fred before Jim came.’

  ‘That’s different. I was here.’

  Violet made a sound that was somewhere between an expletive and a sneeze. ‘I’m not staying. I’m coming to Sydney.’

  ‘Please. Just for once do what I ask. I need you to stay here. With Jim here you’ll be fine. I want to talk to Papa, and see what he suggests.’

  ‘I know exactly what he’ll tell you—get that man’s son off the place. He ought to leave the property. What will happen if he goes while you’re away?’

  ‘Violet, calm down. If he leaves you’ll manage. If there’s a problem you can’t cope with, you can call on Tom Bludge or any number of the men from the village. Peggy knows where to find them.’

  Eighteen

  Like cold porridge, the stew Peggy had sent over stuck to the roof of his mouth. Three times he’d attempted to speak to India and on each occasion Peggy had put him off. When he’d sneaked around the verandah like some prowling pickpocket she was deep in conversation with Violet in the library. What he wanted to say wasn’t for her sister’s ears.

  He threw the remnants of his meal to the chickens and took the tray into the scullery. If India wanted him to leave then he would, but he wouldn’t take Violet’s words at face value. India might very well intend to marry the Sydney bloke, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips. There was also his need to explain why he’d come to Helligen in the first place. He owed her that.

  By now she might be on her own and he could take his chances. If he walked away without Jefferson’s papers then so be it, but the mystery surrounding Goodfellow still intrigued him. Both India and her mother would want to know the truth. Added to that, India deserved to know why he’d refused to let her use Jefferson over her mares—interbreeding at its worst.

  Lost in his thoughts he found himself beneath the fig trees. The sun had set and in the pale twilight the rock the Kilhamptons believed marked Goodfellow’s resting place glinted. He squatted and ran his hands over the granite boulder and studied the flat patch of undisturbed grass upon which it rested. The cold, hard surface told him nothing and he sat with his back against the stone, staring out over the lagoon.

  The moon rose and the wind dropped so an eerie stillness settled over the house. What secrets it held!

  ‘He’s not there.’

  He jumped to his feet and spun around. Laila Kilhampton stood gazing down at the rock, the pale moonlight giving her skin an ethereal glow. He shivered, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him. Her cool hand reached out to him, confirming her existence.

  ‘Mrs Kilhampton.’

  ‘Come sit with me. It is not a place to be alone.’

  He followed her to the stone bench between the trees and sat down next to her.

  ‘He’s not here and I can’t find him. I’ve looked. I look every day.’

  Jim’s mind spun. What did you say to a woman who had not accepted the death of her child? If he mentioned the boy by name she may become agitated again. Right now she appeared calm and benign; he might be able to coax her back to her room.

  ‘I hoped you’d found him,’ she said.

  ‘I’d found him?’

  ‘When you came here. I thought you’d brought him home.’

  Jim cast his mind back to the day he’d arrived. She’d said nothing before to indicate she thought he’d found her child.

  ‘Your secret is safe with me, Thomas Cobb. It always has been. Remember, we had an understanding.’ Her cool hand rested on his arm sending his mind spiralling out of control.

  ‘Alexander isn’t aware. I understand. No-one, least of all you, could have put a gun to his head.’ She twirled the chain she wore around her neck.

  Put a gun to his head? She imagined his father had killed her child? No wonder they were bundled off the property so fast. Why in God’s name had Kilhampton done nothing about it?

  ‘He’s a magnificent animal.’

  Jim dropped his head into his hands and let out a long shuddering breath. It wasn’t her son she was talking about. It was Goodfellow. The implication took a moment to sink in. She’d mistaken Jefferson for Goodfellow. If he could convince her Goodfellow wasn’t dead she’d understand that he sired Jefferson. The proof he needed. The papers. How to delve deeper without upsetting her? He took a gamble.

  ‘He is a magnificent animal,’ he agreed, forcing a calm tone into his voice.

  ‘I’m so pleased you have brought him home, Thomas. Home where he belongs.’

  ‘I am not Thomas Cobb, Mrs Kilhampton. I am Jim, James Cobb, his son.’ There, he’d said it. Holding his breath, he waited for her response.

  She tipped her head to one side and raised a hand to his cheek. ‘Of course you are. Thomas would be much older now. We’re all much older now.’ Her hand fell back into her lap and she studied the granite boulder. ‘Then Goodfellow is much older. It wasn’t Goodfellow I rode?’

  He shook his head and smiled. She appeared to understand his words, but still the fear he might upset her held him back. ‘You rode Jefferson, my horse. Goodfellow is his sire.’

  ‘Oh!’ Her hand covered her mouth. ‘I did it again. I took your horse. I should never have taken Goodfellow. Is your horse injured?’

  ‘No, Jefferson is fine. Remember, India and I found you and brought you home.’

  She nodded, then a pensive look crossed her face. ‘I wish India was here, now. She would understand.’

  ‘Shall I fetch her?’ He’d like to see her, too.

  ‘She’s left.’

  ‘She’s left?’ Jim leapt to his feet, searching the darkened windows. No light shone from the library or from her bedroom. Mrs Kilhampton’s startled cry made his mistake obvious. He’d moved too fast, upset her. A wave of panic surged through him. What if she ran away, or worse, took one of the horses again. He looked around. Where were Anya and Peggy? Did they know Mrs Kilhampton had left her room? Even Violet would be a help.

  Her hands covered her face and her shoulders shook as he sank beside her once more. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. The scent of dusty rose petals enveloped him, so unlike India. Where had she gone?

  She dropped her head onto his shoulder and let out a trembling breath. ‘She’s gone to Sydney to see her father. To tell him we must sell Helligen. I don’t want to leave. Oliver is here.’ She lifted her head. ‘See. We buried him there. My poor, poor baby. Alexander said Goodfellow was with him. He’s not. I know he’s not. Thomas couldn’t shoot that horse. He loved him. He didn’t tell Alexander. He was too angry, too upset. Alexander blames your father and Goodfellow for my accident.’

  The keening sound reminiscent of that first day ricocheted through his ears and he held her firm. He rocked her and bit by bit her cries ceased. For a long time they sat entwined, almost like lovers, as the moon rose and bathed them in its alabaster light. After a long silence he made up his mind. ‘I know where Goodfellow is.’

  She lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, and pushed back her hair. ‘I’ve been looking for so long. Where is he?’

  ‘At Munmurra. My father took him there when we left. He’s an old horse but he’s well. He sired Jefferson a few years ago. That’s why you mistook Jefferson for Goodfellow. They are so alike.’

  A frail smile hovered around her lips at his words. ‘Just like you and Thomas. You comfort me as he did. Strong and
calm. Can you bring him home?’

  ‘I can do that,’ he said.

  ‘What about Thomas? Will he come home?’

  Oh God! This was the final straw. To have to tell her his father was dead. Not another death. Just when the woman was regaining her senses.

  ‘Come, let me take you inside.’ He rose and held out his hand, hoping she’d forget about his father.

  She didn’t. ‘Thomas is dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ What else could he say? Please God don’t let her ask for details. Don’t expect him to tell her how he died a broken man, unable to forgive himself for the sin he’d committed.

  ‘And that’s why you came. Why you came back. To put it right. He would want that.’

  How well she knew his father. ‘Yes, he wanted that. He said he’d done something he wasn’t proud of and I should right past wrongs …’ The quaver in his voice built and the tears scuffed behind his eyes. ‘I had hoped to find the deed of sale for Goodfellow so I could register Jefferson to race.’

  She must have heard because she took his hand. ‘Come and meet Oliver.’

  The hairs on Jim’s arms prickled as she led him a few paces to the right of Goodfellow’s granite slab. A small Celtic cross sat facing out towards the lagoon.

  ‘This is where Oliver rests.’ She smoothed the stone with her hand. ‘He was our angel. We’d waited such a long time. He was too special to stay with us.’

  Lost for words Jim stood, head bowed while she kissed her hand and smoothed the stone once more. She’d always known where her baby lay.

  The blow almost bent him double. She hadn’t been looking for her son. India, Anya, and Peggy—they were all wrong. For all these years she had searched for Goodfellow. Goosebumps covered his skin. The time had come to bring the old horse home, back where he belonged.

  ‘I’ll fetch Goodfellow.’ The rightness of it sat well in his chest and the radiant smile she bestowed on him proved he still had the ability to make at least one person in the world happy. ‘Meanwhile, let me take you upstairs. Anya and Peggy will be worried.’

  ‘Oliver and I will sleep well tonight knowing Goodfellow is coming home.’

  Jim led Mrs Kilhampton through the silent house to the foot of the carved staircase.

  ‘Good night, and thank you.’ She rested her pale hand on the banister. ‘You are a good man, and I’d expect nothing less from Thomas’s son.’ With a nod she drifted up the stairs.

  Once her bedroom door clicked shut he left the house. A light shone under the kitchen door and he knocked. ‘Peggy?’

  Receiving no response he pushed the door open.

  Peggy sat at the kitchen table, a pot of tea in front of her and her legs stretched out towards the range. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To talk.’

  ‘It’s not me you owe an explanation to.’

  ‘I’m not going to explain anything to you. What I have to say is for India’s ears. Where is she?’

  Peggy wrinkled her nose. ‘Not much of your business really.’

  ‘It’s a lot of my business. How’s she getting to Sydney?’ Jim screwed up his eyes. Mrs Kilhampton was right. India had left. He’d feared as much. ‘When did she leave?’

  ‘A while back.’

  ‘And you and Anya have been discussing the matter ever since, which would account for the fact I found Mrs Kilhampton wandering around outside in the dark again.’

  Peggy dragged herself out of the chair. ‘Anya went back upstairs a good half hour ago.’ Her face flushed at his criticism. ‘Where is she this time?’

  ‘I saw Mrs Kilhampton back to her room. Now, where’s India, and how is she planning to get to Sydney?’

  Peggy looked him up and down and her eyes narrowed. ‘She’s ridden to Morpeth. Getting the morning steamer to Sydney.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Jim said as he spun on his heel and left Peggy to her pot of cold tea.

  Nineteen

  The ostler accepted the pound note India held out with gleaming eyes.

  ‘I expect to be back within the week and I will want some change, plenty of change. In the meantime, and in case I am longer than I intend, this should cover the expenses.’

  The man tugged his forelock. ‘First class accommodation. Don’t you worry. Your horse will be fine, Miss Kilhampton. Give my regards to your father.’

  With her small carpetbag grasped in her hand she made her way through the courtyard in search of a room. This time tomorrow she’d be in Sydney. The prospect didn’t fill her with any great sense of excitement or achievement, more resignation than anything else. Payment for her foolishness. Swept away by the charms of a man she didn’t even know. Taken for a fool. She deserved everything she got. If nothing else she had proved one thing. Her mother may have been capable of running Helligen but she was not.

  A young girl dressed in a mob-cap and pristine white apron greeted her as she entered the inn. ‘Ma’am.’ The girl bobbed a curtsy. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘I’d like a room for the night and I wish to purchase a ticket for the steamer to Sydney tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’ll just get Mrs Jones. Will your husband be along soon with your baggage?’ The girl cast a sideways glance at the small carpetbag in her hand.

  India gritted her teeth. ‘No. I’m travelling alone.’ Even the little maid thought she needed a husband. Like Violet she’d think her insane to reject a life in Sydney with the likes of Cecil Bryce in preference to a property, a herd of horses and a dream.

  It took an eternity for the older woman to appear.

  She too bobbed a curtsy almost as ingratiating as the ostler’s forelock-tugging. ‘Ah, Miss Kilhampton.’ The maid received a heavy cuff across her broad backside. ‘This is Miss Kilhampton, Jane. She’ll be going to Sydney to meet her father and her lovely husband-to-be.’ She dropped her voice and with a conspiratorial wink asked, ‘How is Mr Bryce, and your father?’

  ‘Very well. Have you a room?’ she asked, unable to keep the shrewish note from her voice.

  ‘Of course, of course.’ The woman bustled behind the counter and produced a large key with intricate swirls and a pink ribbon. ‘Show Miss Kilhampton to the front room, Jane, and hurry up about it.’

  Walking up the stairs was a nightmare; her feet dragged, her head ached and she couldn’t summon an ounce of enthusiasm. What she wouldn’t give to be back at Helligen. Tossing the notion aside she lifted her chin. Confess her sins, sort out the blasted mess, and with any luck she’d be allowed to return home.

  After a disturbed night plagued by thoughts of Jim and the chaos she’d created, India struggled out of bed and peered across the dusty street to the wharf. The first streaks of dawn lit the hills beyond the town and the steamer sat puffing and smoking ready for the journey to Sydney. The accustomed sight of the busy wharf soothed her, boats coming and going, unloading their cargo and taking more on. She dressed and made her way through the inn to the wharf.

  Passengers lined up to present their tickets at the Waratah’s gangplank. The journey took close to six hours with a stop in Newcastle for breakfast before the trip down the coast. Familiar with the rancid smell below decks India opted to sit and wait until the majority of the passengers embarked, and then she’d travel up in the fresh air on deck, as far away as she could get from the sickening fug and the crush of people.

  Lost in her thoughts it took a loud yell from the man standing at the gangplank to rouse her attention. A red-faced official manhandled a fellow off the ship amid much whistle-blowing and huffing and puffing. Nothing like this had ever happened before and she’d made the trip so many times. She stood to get a better view. The offender hurtled onto the wharf and thumped against the wall before sliding to the ground and landing on his backside with a resounding thump. She peered down. ‘Jim!’

  He pushed his hair back from his face and threw her a wry grin. ‘If I’d known you hadn’t gone aboard I could have saved myself a lot of discomfort.’ He rubbed at the seat of his trousers as he stood
.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Was he going to plead his case, ask her not to tell her father? Perhaps, heaven forbid, he was going to use her foolish, foolish lapse against her. Threaten to tell the world of her wanton ways. Tell them how he’d duped her. How she’d fallen without a second thought for his winning ways and his flashing smile. The heat rose to her face as she remembered his hands on her body and how she’d begged for his attentions.

  ‘Your mother didn’t tell me you’d left until late last night.’

  ‘Mama?’ What had he told Mama? Why had he spoken with her?

  He nodded. ‘It’s a long story. I need to speak to you.’ His face was drawn with tiredness and dark circles underscored his eyes.

  She blinked slowly, resisting the temptation to fall straight into his arms and beg him to take her home. The very reaction that had her in this awful mess in the first place. The prospect of talking to Jim, even sitting next to him, terrified her and weakened her resolve. She sucked in a deep breath and sank onto the bench. ‘I have about ten minutes before I leave, though I’m not sure you can tell me anything I don’t know.’ She already knew how gullible she was, how she’d fallen for his lies. How he wasn’t who he said he was. That was all that mattered.

  When Jim sat down beside her the warmth of his body through his dusty moleskins seeped into her skin. She shuffled along the bench to keep a safe distance between them and concentrated on the mundane parade of people lining the wharf. There were a lot of people around them, saying goodbye, greeting friends, family, and lovers.

  He laid his arm along the back of the seat and turned to face her. ‘You’re angry.’ His low, intimate voice wheedled its way to her heart. ‘I don’t want you to marry Cecil Bryce. I don’t believe Violet when she says you’re in love with him.’

  ‘And I don’t believe you, Jim, or anything you say. You lied to me.’ She hadn’t lied to him. He had lied to her. She must keep that at the forefront of her mind.

  ‘I’m not Jim Mawgan. My name is James Cobb.’ He ran his hands over his eyes before scrubbing at his face.