“This year is different. I don’t have the lad to worry about. I don’t have to watch him running my place to a standstill.”
She shook her head. “My son is the most competent man I know. So you imagine he’s here in Adelaide, do you?”
“I know exactly where he is. Sam and I passed him along the way. And I can tell you that he’ll be back at the station with his tail between his legs quicker than you can say ‘pardon me.’”
“Oh?” Irene’s lovely face showed not a single crease. “And where did you see him?”
“I didn’t see him. I saw the dog. Girl’s never more than a couple feet away from him and so he was there, on a station just short of Noarlunga, a run-down sort of place. My guess is that he’s been hired to ready the property for sale. He’ll be wanting to use all his fangly-dangly new ideas, and he won’t give in until those ideas utterly confound him. Then he’ll come home knowing where he’s best off.”
“I doubt he would leave to be the manager of a station. He was already one, wasn’t he?”
“Who knows why he left? He certainly didn’t confide in me, but if he left thinking to put in place that wool auction idea of his, he would soon have changed his mind when he saw the lie of the land, so to speak. Without more than a moderate amount of cash or an extraordinary amount of goodwill from growers, enough for them to deliver their bales to whatever destination Charlton designated...and then wait month on month hoping he could convince agents to travel from Victoria to Adelaide, he would know he didn’t stand a chance, which I told him months ago.” He laughed. “You can’t put an old head on young shoulders. Upon my oath, without using my name he wouldn’t get even one agent to travel from Victoria.”
“Then again,”—Irene rested a forefinger on her cheek—“I’m a comparatively influential woman with more than a moderate amount of cash. I wouldn’t be averse to advancing him something to start his own business.”
“You wouldn’t,” Edward said, aghast. “It’d be like Henry all over again. You wouldn’t put your only son in that sort of danger!”
“I happen to think that with my blood running in his veins, too, he would be more resistant to temptation than his father.” Irene raised her eyebrows, staring a challenge at him.
Edward sat in silence, breathing his outrage into the hot still air. Irene was a rich woman because of his generosity. When Henry had died, Irene wanted the lad with her in the city. Edward wanted the lad in the country where he would come to no harm, but his schooling had been so important to Irene that she had mothered him during the term—no boarding school for the young Lynton—and she had sent him to Edward for the holidays.
To obtain control of the situation, Edward had convinced Irene to take advantage of the town house. He allowed her an income befitting her status as the mother of his heir. As she had inherited a house, a parcel of land, and an almost defunct business from Henry, she had a little money of her own but not, Edward thought, enough to make her independently wealthy. “You invested wisely, did you?”
“Very wisely. I’m not a spender.”
“Not of your own money, no.” He slid his gaze over her gown, a rose silk with more folderols added to the skirt than he had seen on his grandmother. “Is that a new painting over the console?”
“Relatively. The console is new, though. Do you like it?”
“Is it mine or yours?”
“Yours.”
He sighed. No one could accuse her of less than good taste. Although she’d recently refurnished the town house in the new Italian style, the gilding didn’t appear to be overdone, and the mahogany nicely set up the old walnut. The walls in the sitting room had recently been painted yolk yellow, the silk curtains being of a similar hue, a nice contrast to the marble pillars and the white moldings around the doors and windows. A couple of mellow Persian rugs protected the polished jarrah floors. In all, he admired the room and her taste. His son’s smartest move had been to marry her.
“Well, since you are not in Adelaide searching for my son, I hope you will enjoy the social season with me.”
“Social season? In January?” he said with a curl of his lips.
“The social season resumes whenever I decide to hold a ball,” she answered with gentle rebuke. “And I will be hosting one in February. I had hoped Charlton would be present. I have found another young lady I would like him to meet.”
“Perhaps that’s why he disappeared. He’s never been interested in any of your young ladies.”
“True. I simply haven’t found the right one. But this one is very respectable, related in some way to Mildred Cameron. Do you remember her?”
“Vaguely. An ambitious little widow.”
Irene smiled. “A charming woman, very charitable. She has a niece, or goddaughter, who is astonishingly beautiful and not too forward. I think she might be to Charlton’s taste. He dislikes those who gush over him, not only because it’s bad form, but also because they might be more interested in his inheritance than in him. However, the young lady under discussion has repaired to the country to recuperate, Mildred says, and is not expected back until February, hence the reason for the ball.”
“Interesting.” Edward rose to his feet. He couldn’t imagine any conversation he would rather not have than one about prospective brides for Charlton. “I’ll change out of these clothes and pay a visit to my club.”
He washed, made a change of clothes, and left knowing that a bite to eat at his club and a glass or two of sherry would relax him almost as much as had his sight of Girl two days ago. Although he was full of bluster, until he saw the dog his mind hadn’t been eased about Charlton’s safety. The heir to some hundreds of thousands could have been taken for ransom. The dog’s presence reassured Edward. No one would take her but Charlton, and if she lived, he lived.
Nevertheless, he didn’t definitely know that his grandson, possibly the only person in his life he truly cared for, intended to stay on the Beaufort Station. Before Charlton had left, he’d been adamant about beginning wool auctions in the colony. Edward could testify, even if only using recent events, that Charlton, once on a trail, rarely deviated.
Chapter 9
The sun sat high in the cloudless blue sky, and nary a breeze stirred the hot air. Tight with tension, Cal rode ahead of Ella, following the thieves’ tracks to the river. Without a doubt, the obstinate creature should have stayed home with her sisters. Tracking the thieves alone would have been a welcome reprieve from this now untenable situation of temptation dogging his tracks. Not only that, Ella would hold him up. She had already wasted almost an hour.
When he’d arrived back at the homestead with the two borrowed horses, she had kindly informed him she would allow him to accompany her, then she’d finished packing for the trip. After one look at the mountainous pile of heaven-knew-what, he gritted his teeth. “Let me go through this.” He grabbed her first bundle.
He hauled out a bag of tomatoes, a few potatoes, two onions, the end of a cooked leg of mutton, and Hessian-wrapped chunks of raw meat, which caused him to stare.
“For your dog.” She raised her chin.
He carefully set the fresh food onto the veranda.
“Don’t unwrap that,” she said in a squeak as he began to untie her second bundle. “It’s a change of clothes in case we have to stay out overnight.”
“Nothing’s surer than we’ll have to stay out overnight. What’s in this one?” He toed the next.
“A billy packed with flour, salt, sugar, and tea. A skillet, a sharp knife, a turning fork, knives and forks, plates and cups. A jar of mutton fat.”
“That’s good. We’ll keep that and the water bags. Pass me your bedroll.”
She gave him two soft woolen blankets, beautifully folded, and a feather pillow. He put the pillow on the back veranda, too, and shook out her blankets. Into her staples bundle, he tightly wrapped the cooking implements and dry goods. Then he compressed her change of clothes and strapped the whole
thing together. “You can’t take your pillow. This is more than we need. If you would consent to stay behind I could travel faster.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “If at any stage I see I’m holding you back, I’ll return. And so will you. I won’t allow you the responsibility of endangering yourself for my horses. And that’s that.”
Clenching his jaw, he snatched his belongings from the quarters and tossed the pack and the water bags over the saddle of the sturdiest horse and Ella’s bundle onto the other. He didn’t doubt her competence. He doubted that if the neighbors found out about her being alone with him overnight they would hold their tongues.
Rose, carrying a Springfield rifle, opened the kitchen door. While Cal stewed, she waited for Vianna, who brought over yet another package, this one wrapped in calico. “It’s a loaf of fresh bread and sandwiches for lunch.” Vianna smiled anxiously. The sheen of unshed tears glittered in her eyes. “You will find Miffy, won’t you?”
He took a deep breath. “I’ll find her and get her back for you.”
Rose made an ”ahem” sound. “And this is Papa’s gun.”
“So I see.” He strapped the unwanted food to his bedroll.
She passed the rifle to him.
He passed the weapon back. “If this is the only protection you have, keep it.” He gathered his reins. Since Rose had not offered paper cartridges or percussion caps he also doubted she knew which end of the rifle to point, but with the shearers a distance from the homestead and only an eleven year old for protection, she might see a firearm as a comfort. If not, he hoped she wouldn’t use the thing as a threat. In his view, anyone who carried a rifle had to be prepared to take a life, human or animal.
“Take care of Ella.” Rose stepped back.
He nodded curtly, having noted Rose’s raised chin and polite smile. Concern for her sister appeared to be lacking. Not for the first time, he wondered if she were totally self-centered or merely emotionless. “I intend to.”
If Ella meant to go, she would have to keep up. He set a cracking pace along the riverbank, hoping to make up time on the thieves. The undergrowth, reeds for the most part, and the overhead trees rustled as they passed. In places, the silt gave way to rocks. Needing to guide the horse through, he dismounted. Ella did, too. She didn’t complain, but her fair cheeks flushed with the effort.
His horse suddenly shied, snorting.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a lone native standing with a bundle of spears. He tightened his reins, controlling the nag and pulling his horse over to protect Ella, who cannoned into him.
“Jed.” Smiling at the stockman, apparently oblivious of his weapons, she said, “What are you doing here?”
“Help Missy find ’orses,” the stockman replied, his face grim.
“How on earth did you know we’d lost them?”
“Tracks.” He pointed to the ground ahead of them.
“Aren’t the tribe on walkabout?”
Jed scratched his chin. “Wait. Two days. No more.”
“Jed is an amazing tracker,” Ella said to Cal. “Do you think you can walk back? He’ll need your horse.”
Cal stiffened. “I certainly won’t let you go into the bush with Jed and not me.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“No ’orse.” Jed grinned at Cal. “Track.” Using his spears he pointed ahead. Without another word, he ran off at a quick lope along the river’s edge.
After a hesitant pause, Cal followed on horseback. The aborigine followed the same trail as Cal would have and the pace remained swift for a couple of miles. Ella trailed behind, mightily put out judging by her reluctance. Then Jed stopped. The sun’s rays glittered like etched gold on the river. Ella ranged beside Cal and together they watched Jed examine the flat bed near the water.
“What do you see?” Cal asked Jed, his voice careful.
“Fire ’ere.” Jed pointed to a smooth area of silt covered with dry leaves. Stirring beneath with his bare toe he found blackened ashes. He stood, searching the surrounding shards of rock, and found a scattering of burned twigs. His teeth flashed white in his black face.
“Last night?” Ella slid off her horse, glancing at the thick bushland hiding the hills. “If they started from here at first light, we’d be eight hours behind them. We can’t catch them before dark.” Her posture slumped.
“They’ll be more weary than we are. I suspect they took the horses no earlier than midnight and no later than two or three. It’s three hours to here from the homestead. They can’t have had more than a few hours of sleep. Therefore, we’ll be traveling the faster.” Cal let a tide of cooler air under his hat and readjusted the angle.
“But if they’re trying to hide their tracks, they’re expecting to be followed.”
“Of course they...” Cal began before noting the drained expression on her face. He swallowed his impatience. “We’ve been following clear tracks the whole time. They haven’t crossed to hide their trail. At this moment we can see where they laid their bedrolls in the scrub, and we can see where they tethered the horses to the trees.” He pointed to the unmistakable sign of the horses’ presence—a pile of trampled manure. “They only wanted to hide their fire, hoping any searchers couldn’t work out how far ahead they are.”
“I hope that means they’re not as far ahead as I suppose.” Ella bent and massaged each of her smooth white calves in turn, drew a deep breath, and prepared to remount.
“I’m sure they’re not.” Relenting, Cal took her reins. “I think we could rest for a bite to eat and a cup of tea, couldn’t we, Jed?” He estimated the time to be around midday, judging from the angle of the sun.
Jed nodded and clattered his spears to the ground. He started a neat and economical fire while Cal fetched fresh water from the river. Girl stayed at heel as she always did in an unfamiliar situation, lapping water from the river and staring ahead as if scanning their intended route. Ella unpacked the sandwiches. After a long-lashed gaze at Girl, she tapped at the side of her leg.
The dog, acknowledging another person for the first time in Cal’s living memory, pricked her ears and moved forward. Ella gave Girl a sandwich and patted the dog on the head. The dog sat and blinked at her, letting her tail slowly stir the soil.
“That’s because he wouldn’t let me bring meat for you.” Ella gave Cal a quelling glance.
“We’ll catch her a lizard later.” He reached for a sandwich, feeding the avid hunger that eventuated after a period of intense concentration. Mutton. Again.
At home, on his grandfather’s property, they ate mutton but they also ate beef and pork and large plump hens, eggs, and fresh fruit from their home farm. Even their workers had a far more varied diet than the Beauforts. Cal had had a good life.
Since the age of eighteen he’d worked toward his future, assuring Farvista would run efficiently when his grandfather sat tuning his harp on a throne-like white cloud, criticizing every one of Cal’s actions. Although he craved more responsibility, he toiled day and night, thinking he had to prove himself. He had never expected a wage, assuming himself to be his grandfather’s heir. Money seemed unimportant when he appeared to have everything money could buy—except autonomy.
Nothing had shocked him more than to hear from his grandfather’s own lips that he’d never earned more than his board. In his wardrobe at Farvista sat fine cotton shirts, well-cut jackets and woolen trousers, cravats, brocade waistcoats, and leather boots as soft as butter, all of which, according to his grandfather a month before Cal had left, were his to wear only while living with Edward.
“Whom will you leave this to when you’ve passed on?” Cal had asked with a sweep of his hand across the property.
“I’ll decide that in the fullness of time.” Edward had flattened his shaggy eyebrows into a frown. “I might yet divide the place up.”
“So my care of the land counts for naught?”
“Be grateful you’ve been taught to put in a good day’
s work. That’s my legacy to you.” Edward had stamped off.
Instead of being the heir to a vast property, Cal owned only a deaf dog. He’d left a month later, his legacy from his grandfather standing him in far better stead than his custom-made saddle or his leather-bound books. Now independent and with his ideas set into motion without using Edward’s money or name, he was well on his way to proving himself worthy of his grandfather’s respect. Only when he had succeeded would he face his grandfather on equal ground.
More dissatisfied than he supposed, he rose to his feet and strode to the river’s edge. Grabbing up a stone, he flung the weight as far as he could across the water. Ella had endorsed his grandfather’s assessment. Like Edward, she hadn’t trusted him. She doubted his ability to retrieve her horses without her supervision. This from a woman who, until a few days ago, scarcely knew the boundaries of her own land.
He hurled two more stones before he admitted to himself that half his frustration with her came from knowing he couldn’t satisfy his physical desire. The retrieval of the horses meant her security. If she didn’t trust him, as he meant to do with his grandfather, he would prove himself by confronting the horse thieves for her and removing their ill-gotten gains.
That resolved, he wiped his sandy hands on his trousers and trod back to the others. “Do you know this area?” he asked Ella, who sat cross-legged with her skirt tucked around her, making finger pictures in the sand. Her hair gleamed gold in the sun.
“We passed our last fence quite a few hours ago. We’re on Crown Land now.”
“Does that mean you have never been past your last fence?”
“I’ve been to Willunga. As a matter of fact, I’ve been to Adelaide, too. But, no, I’ve never been in this direction, not that I know which direction we face now because of the bends and twists we’ve been following with the river.”
“I suppose you’ve never been fishing either?” Snagged twigs patterned the clear water with vee-shaped ripples. A flock of sulfur-crested cockatoos gossiped while they gathered grass seeds. One, reminding Cal of a child hanging by his legs, swung upside down on the shredding bark of a river gum, creaking a call that sounded like “watch me, watch me!” in the way of an attention-seeking child.
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