The Horse Thief

by Téa Cooper

‘I will consider Jim’s plight. Leave him in gaol to ponder his actions for a few days, kick his heels. It’ll do the boy good. The magistrate won’t be around for another two weeks.’

  Papa’s comment echoed her own sentiments, as long as Jim wasn’t to hang. ‘Will you withdraw your charges?’ Pushing the issue wouldn’t help but she had to know.

  ‘Against my better judgement, since both of you wish it so.’

  Her heart soared. Papa liked to make deals, make arrangements and once made he stuck by them. That was part of the reason she was confident her year at Helligen would run its course. She still had time to rectify her earlier mistakes and with Jim off her conscience she’d be better able to do that.

  ‘However, I’m putting a condition on it.’

  ‘Condition,’ India squeaked. What did he mean, condition? The ground beneath her feet wavered and she eased back into the chair.

  ‘I will withdraw the charges against James Cobb on the condition he gets the hell off my property and out of my life. None of the Cobb family will ever set foot on Helligen again.’

  India swallowed. It was to be expected.

  ‘And Goodfellow?’ Her mother asked the question in the forefront of India’s mind.

  ‘Goodfellow stays here where he belongs.’

  ‘But you will allow Jim to take his own horse, Jefferson?’

  ‘Again, against my better judgement. It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain who sired that animal but there are no records to prove that. The animal goes with him.’

  Her breath escaped in a shivering sigh and when Mama’s hand came and rested on her shoulder the tears welled in her eyes. Whether from the unaccustomed gesture of understanding from a woman so long locked in her own world, or relief, she wasn’t sure. Jim would be gone, it was for the best, and her life would resume the pattern she had so foolishly disrupted by her ill-advised advertisement. Helligen would live again; with her mother’s help they could breathe life into it and maybe, just maybe her dreams would not die.

  Papa walked to the fireplace and stared up at the portrait of Goodfellow and turned back. ‘I have one more condition.’

  One more? What else could he possibly want from her, from her mother?

  ‘This nonsense is over. I will find someone to manage the property until I can find a buyer.’

  ‘But—’

  He raised his hand, stopping her words.

  ‘I made enquiries before we left Sydney.’ He raised his bushy eyebrows and glared down at her, emphasising her inability. ‘India, you and Violet will travel tomorrow to Morpeth. Fred will take you in the buggy. Cecil has agreed to meet you there. He’ll escort you back to Sydney.’

  Her mother’s fingers clenched against her shoulder. ‘What about Mama?’

  ‘Your mother and I will remain here until a new manager is installed and then return to Sydney where she’ll be assessed by the doctors.’

  ‘Mama?’ Her mother’s face was blank as she stared out the window, out beyond the manicured lawns to Oliver’s gravestone.

  ‘It’s a matter for us to discuss. In the meantime I suggest you go and break the news to your sister. I have no doubt she will be thrilled.’

  Violet would indeed be thrilled. The prospect of Sydney, the interminable drawing rooms, Cecil’s cloying attention and worse, if it was possible—his mother. A fitting punishment for her foolishness? Papa’s words in Sydney reverberated in her head. A choice between James Cobb and your family. There was nothing she could do but make that choice and live with it. She had brought this down on her own head. She was responsible, a greater responsibility than anyone imagined.

  Twenty-Eight

  Violet twirled through the house like a dust storm, clattering and banging as she added to the oversized pile of trunks and hatboxes collected at the bottom of the stairs. India sidestepped them and placed her single carpetbag alongside.

  ‘Is that all you’re taking?’

  India sighed and shook her head. ‘I have clothes in Sydney.’ She couldn’t pierce the cloud that hung over her. She should be pleased Papa had at least agreed to withdraw the charges against Jim, even if he wasn’t to know of it for another week or so. And the transformation in her mother should surely have given her some pleasure. How long had she wanted Mama to take an interest in life, be a part of the family? Now all she felt was a vague sense of annoyance. As though there were still obstacles cluttering her path.

  ‘I cannot wait to get back to Sydney.’ Violet rammed her purple hat onto her head and adjusted the peacock feather in front of the mirror in the hallway. ‘I would rather stay at Potts Point than reopen our house. The Bryces’ mansion is absolutely magnificent and the gardens a dream.’

  And that was the crux of her distress—the Bryces, Cecil, and her failure to resurrect Helligen. She’d wasted her opportunity and the possibility of ever presenting Papa with the Melbourne trophy. The closest she’d get would be to bet on someone else’s horse, and with the way her luck was going she wouldn’t manage to pick a winner. The peacock feather was the culprit. Hadn’t Peggy said it was bad luck to have them in the house? For goodness sake, what was the matter with her? ‘Take the peacock feather outside. Peggy will be livid.’

  ‘No, she won’t. She’s far too excited for me. She says it’s the best possible thing that could have happened and I deserve to be in Sydney.’

  Despite her malaise India’s lip twitched. Peggy didn’t mean her comment in quite the way Violet had interpreted it. No doubt, Violet was the winner in the situation. Who would have thought a foolish advertisement in a newspaper would have provided her with her longed-for release?

  ‘I am absolutely convinced I will strike up some friendships in Sydney in a matter of days. I’m sure not all of the girls from my time at Miss Wetherington’s can have snaffled themselves husbands. I do believe there are some new plays at the Prince of Wales theatre and in another month or so, the first of the balls. Oh, my gosh! Do you think I might be presented to the governor? Would Papa permit it?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I was.’ Not that it was an experience she would ever want to repeat. All the gewgaws, baubles and inane tittle-tattle.

  ‘Of course, I will need an entirely new wardrobe. These old rags—’ she kicked the pile of trunks, ‘—will just have to do for the time being. Where is Fred? We’ll be late into Morpeth and Cecil will be wondering where we are.’

  Violet’s prattle swirled and dipped around her. Thank goodness she was riding. Perched between Fred and Violet in the buggy all the way to Morpeth would be more than she could bear.

  ‘There you are, Fred. Hurry up and get this loaded, it’s time we were leaving.’ With a wave of her gloved hand Violet turned on her heel and drifted off in the direction of the buggy, leaving Fred to wrestle the accumulated baggage out of the house.

  ‘Violet, I think we should go and say goodbye to Mama and Papa.’

  ‘I’ve already done it. Do hurry.’

  India walked down the hallway. Once she’d made her farewells there would be no going back. Her feet dragged. If only there was another way. It was as though Papa had forced her to trade her freedom for Jim’s. An eye for an eye … She knocked on the library door.

  ‘Enter.’ As ever the terse command made her stomach flinch as she pushed open the door. The sight that greeted her wasn’t what she’d imagined. Her mother sat in the winged chair, her legs crossed at the ankles and resting on a small footstool. Papa had dragged his leather chair around, loosened his cravat and removed his jacket, and his feet were resting on his desk. Shrouding her look of surprise she walked in and dropped a kiss on her mother’s head.

  ‘Violet and I are leaving now for Morpeth.’

  ‘Goodbye, my darling. Have a wonderful time in Sydney. I’m sure Cecil will look after you both admirably.’ She couldn’t be certain, but she thought Mama met her gaze with a gleam of sympathy in her eyes, as if aware of her reluctance to leave.

  ‘Your father and I have a lot of catching up to do. He
’ll be down in Sydney soon and, who knows, I may even accompany him.’

  Papa nodded in agreement. ‘I’ve received word from Cecil that he’ll be in Morpeth this evening to meet you. Go directly to the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle. He has already set in motion the matters with our Sydney house. You’ll be pleased to know you won’t have to stay too long at Potts Point.’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ she replied in a dutiful voice. It would appear Violet had already been appraised of all the arrangements—maybe Papa no longer deemed her the more capable sister. However, the news that she’d be subjected to Mrs Bryce only briefly was a small bonus.

  Papa stood and escorted her to the door. ‘Take care, and I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Goodbye, Papa.’ For a split second she had the urge to drop a curtsy, as she would have done as a young child. Bringing her hand to her lips she blew a kiss to Mama and closed the door behind her.

  The bags had disappeared from the hallway so she made her way to the kitchen. Saying goodbye to Peggy would be harder than farewelling her parents. As happy as she was to see her mother so much more … alive, Peggy had been the centre of her life for too long and she’d miss her more than she dared imagine.

  In the warm, cosy kitchen a tantalising waft of apple pie hung in the air. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’ She threw her arms around Peggy’s ample waist and received a floury hug in return.

  ‘You take care now and don’t you worry. It will all turn out for the best. That boy won’t be languishing in that gaol for much longer, I promise you that.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. Jim doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned, even if it’s only for a short time as Papa says.’ As much as Jim’s deception irked her she couldn’t see a man imprisoned for a crime he hadn’t committed. No-one should have to pay for another man’s sins. Thomas Cobb had stolen Goodfellow. Jim had simply inherited the horse.

  Peggy fixed her with a steely stare. ‘I guess Jim would feel a lot happier if he knew his stay was only temporary.’

  ‘If only there was some way of telling him.’ Peggy was right. Jim’s stay would be far more tolerable if he knew it was only for a few days.

  ‘So Fred’s taking you to Morpeth, is he?’ Peggy rubbed her hands together, her head tipped to one side in a habit she must have picked up from the curious willie wagtails that inhabited her vegetable garden.

  ‘I’m riding. He and Violet are travelling in the buggy.’

  ‘So they’ll be taking the turnpike road. No cutting across country like you did when you went last time?’

  India narrowed her eyes. ‘I presume so.’ Since when had Peggy developed an interest in the roads? On the rare occasions she left Helligen it was to take a simple walk to the village.

  ‘The road goes through Maitland, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does.’ Perhaps Peggy was planning a trip; once Mama and Papa went to Sydney her workload would be cut in half.

  ‘Peggy, we’re going. I’ve come to say goodbye.’ Violet hovered at the door. ‘But I can’t come in and kiss because I have arranged my hat, besides, I don’t want to greet Cecil smelling of apple pies and kitchens. I’ll just wave from here. Hurry up, India. We’re ready.’

  Peggy lifted her hand and Violet disappeared. With a sigh India turned to follow.

  ‘You’ll be travelling right past Maitland Gaol, won’t you?’ Peggy asked.

  India stopped in her tracks and turned back to Peggy. ‘Yes, yes we will.’

  And then Peggy’s strange behaviour became clear, making her heart leap. She gave a quick wave and offered an enormous smile. ‘And thank you, Peggy, thank you for everything. I hope to see you before too long.’

  Her heels rang as she crossed the flagstones. Should she or shouldn’t she? Fred held her horse and she stepped onto the mounting block, eyeing the saddle with displeasure. It was the perfect symbol—side-saddle. Perched on the horse with little control, cramped in an unnatural position giving no pleasure to rider or mount. That’s what Sydney would be like. A prison. Jim wasn’t the only one incarcerated. Neither of them had any hope, or could see the end of their sentence. The least she could do for Jim was give him hope. Let him know his sentence would be lifted when her father saw fit. He’d be free to take Jefferson and resume his life. His father’s debt to the Kilhamptons paid.

  Everyone deserved hope. She would leave Fred and Violet to continue on their way and stop in Maitland. The gaol would surely give her a moment or two with Jim, or at least pass a message to him. It would take the buggy far longer to reach Morpeth than it would take her on horseback, even riding side-saddle. She’d catch up with Fred and Violet long before they reached the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle, long before Cecil docked and no-one would be any the wiser.

  Anticipation fizzled and bounced with every prance of her horse. Her skin stretched tight, as though at any moment her excitement would burst free and sprinkle like raindrops over her head. When Peggy had reminded her of the route they would take it all became clear in her mind. As though the final pieces of the puzzle had fallen picture-side-up, ready to slot into place.

  Papa might think it fitting punishment for Jim to languish behind bars for a week or two, but he didn’t deserve that. And besides, she had a moral obligation to ensure the man she’d employed was safe before she set off for Sydney.

  ‘Fred! Whoa up! I need to talk to you.’ The dust thrown by the buggy billowed around her. Why Violet would prefer to travel perched like a bird in a gilded cage was beyond her. She sneezed as Fred pulled back on the reins and brought the buggy to a grinding halt. From the flushed look on his face it was obvious the pleasure of driving Miss Violet was almost as high on his list of priorities as being a jockey. She smothered a grin.

  ‘I’m going to ride ahead. I have a couple of messages to deliver for Papa in East Maitland.’ That wasn’t exactly an untruth. Telling Jim he would not be prosecuted was a message from Papa, just not one he’d asked her to deliver. More of a half-truth really. Not a lie. ‘You go ahead and I’ll catch up with you before you even reach Morpeth. If not, I’ll see you at the inn.’

  ‘Miss India, that’s not a good idea. I promised Mr Kilhampton I would escort you both to Morpeth. You’re under my care. I’m responsible. Mr Kil—’

  ‘Fred. I’m not asking. I’m telling. I’ve ridden to Morpeth many times on my own and survived. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. I’ll see you at the inn.’ The boy was getting ideas above his station. Ever since Jim bribed him with a ride on Jefferson he’d cast himself in a role way beyond stable boy. ‘I’ll see you soon, Violet.’ She dug in her heels, giving her sister no opportunity to express any opinion, then veered off the road to follow the rough track that skirted the town.

  The gaol dominated the landscape, leaving no doubt as to the direction she should take. Massive sandstone walls held it firm, perched on top of the hill; a solid building made from Hunter sandstone. The slate roof glinted in the afternoon light. Large and oddly handsome, vertical iron-barred windows sat at equal intervals along the walls. Jim languished somewhere behind those bars. She couldn’t wait to see him and tell him the news. The peculiar golden flecks in his eyes would flash and his grin would spark the dimple in his cheek.

  The gates appeared ahead of her, an imposing entrance for such a hellhole. She dismounted and tethered her horse to the convenient rail. Within moments a small door opened in the studded wooden gates and a man’s head popped out. ‘What?’

  She swallowed, ignoring his terse greeting. ‘I’d like to speak to someone in authority. I have a message for one of the prisoners.’

  ‘No admittance today except on official business.’

  What was the fool talking about?

  ‘Gaol’s closed.’

  How could the gaol be closed? What rubbish! ‘This is official business. I have a message concerning one of the inmates with regard to his sentence.’

  ‘Nope. Not today.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She pulled herself up to her full height and peered down he
r nose. If she could imitate Papa’s quelling glare the man might take more notice. ‘I am India Kilhampton of Helligen. I have a message from my father regarding the prisoner Jim Mawgan.’ She paused as a frown crossed the man’s face. He disappeared from the small door and she peered through. Inside the small gatehouse he stood scratching his head, studying a piece of paper pinned to the wall.

  ‘Well?’

  He unlatched the main door and swung it wide and without a second thought she stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Oi! You can’t come in here.’

  ‘I’m here now. Jim, Jim Maw … James Cobb.’ She’d blundered. ‘His real name is James Cobb.’

  The man’s head shot up and he turned and looked her up and down with a rather ratty squint. ‘James Cobb, you say.’ He sniffed. ‘You better come with me.’

  With a tight smile she stepped to one side to allow the man to lead the way. This was more like it. How foolish of her to forget that Jim Mawgan was nothing but a fantasy. It was James, James Cobb. The name had a solid ring.

  The ratty man slammed the main gate and slid the large bolt across, locking out the real world. ‘This way.’

  From inside the compound the substantial buildings gave the impression of vast strength. The huge sandstone blocks dovetailed into each other forming an impassable barrier. Escape would be impossible. The walls were as high as the roofs of the buildings inside the compound, and thicker than she’d ever seen before. The hairs on her arms stood to attention as they walked past a caged but thankfully empty exercise yard. They skirted sheds, storehouses and rejected sandstone blocks. To her right she picked out a timber structure that had to be gallows. She averted her eyes, pushing aside the picture of Jim swinging in the breeze. It might be time to revise her opinion of the restraints Sydney would impose on her—they were nothing compared to incarceration behind these walls. A door swung open across the yard bringing with it the sound of wailing voices and crying children. ‘Are there women and children imprisoned here?’

  The turnkey looked her up and down as if assessing her rationality, then raised a bedraggled eyebrow. ‘Women commit crimes too.’