Saddled with Death

by Irene Sauman

  A GEM OF A PROBLEM

  Book 1 Sample

  Tuesday 24 August 1875

  “Emma? Could you go and help Sal with the wash, dear? It won’t be done before dark at this rate.”

  Emma Berry turned from her work, her hands in a bowl of soft chamomile soap, a row of shaped bars laid out on the bench beside her.

  “Yes, Mother, if you need me to.” Heaven forbid the wash didn’t get completed on a Monday.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t,” was the plaintive reply.

  Emma exchanged a wry smile with her grandmother, Eleanor Haythorne, who was stirring a pot over the fire. The scent of rosemary rising in the steam added to the pungency of the still-room. She finished moulding the last bar of soap and dried her hands before rubbing in some soft tallow to lessen the effect of the lye. She kissed her grandmother on the cheek.

  “Sorry, Grandmamma. Duty calls.”

  “We’ve done enough here for one day, child,” her grandmother said. She lifted the pot from the fire, the firelight reflecting in her green eyes. With her expertise in herbal remedies it was little wonder some along the river called her a green witch.

  Emma stepped out into the yard and paused to take in a breath of fresh air, untainted with the scent of herbs. Even though she had seen it for all her twenty-seven years, the view from the plateau to the north still had the power to catch her pleasantly by surprise. One could see forever across the mallee scrub from this height, its grey-green haze lining the horizon, the Murray River winding around the base of the plateau, the glimpses of its waters, blue in the distance between the trees, exerting their pull.

  To the west and the south, the view was truncated by garden plantings and farm buildings, but the landscape was the same. Man may have decreed the Murray as the boundary between the colonies of Victoria and New South Wales, but the land had other ideas.

  Emma entered the steamy washhouse that occupied part of the same outbuilding as the still room. Sal was stirring the contents of the copper tub with a round wooden stick, smooth and almost white from use, her brown skin slick with sweat and the steam rising from the bubbling water.

  “Where’s Janey?” Emma asked.

  “Helpin’ Nella,” Sal grumbled. “Gracie gottem that chickenpox now.”

  That made all three of Nella’s little ones fallen ill. Nella, the eldest of Lucy Wirra’s three daughters, was married to overseer Jeff Brackett.

  “Poor little things,” Emma commiserated. “Perhaps I could help nurse them tonight and give you all a rest.”

  Sal gave her a sideways look. “I can’t keepem eyes open, mikkgun,” she said. Emma didn’t take much notice. Sal was always complaining of feeling tired. But she would do it for Nella.

  Sal deftly wielded the stick in the tub, straining to lift the heavy wet sheet and drain the hot water before dropping it into the trough. Emma tipped a bucket of cold water in on top and sloshed and squeezed to rinse out the suds, her fingers tingling from contact with the hot cloth. She lifted a corner of the sheet and teased it between the rollers as Sal turned the mangle.

  “Emma.” It was her mother’s voice again from the doorway. “Daniel’s here.”

  “Daniel!” Emma looked around. She had a vague idea she had heard a steamer whistle, but you heard them so often as they signaled at the bends, it barely registered. She tucked a stray strand of dark, damp hair back under her black cap, the only concession she made in her dress to mourning. It wasn’t as if Wirramilla was a public place.

  “Hello, Em.”

  Daniel's bulk filled the washhouse doorway, blocking the light. Emma’s stomach turned over at the sound of his voice. He sounded so like Sam.

  “Are you on the Mary B?” she asked. Their steamer should have been back on the river by now. It was over three months since the accident.

  “Fraid not,” was Daniel’s response.

  “Take Daniel out to the arbour,” said her mother. “I’ll send some tea.” She sighed. “And Sal, I suppose you will just have to do what you can with the wash. I don’t suppose we will run out of linen before next Monday, but we really must make sure it all gets done next week.”

  “Thank you, Missus Rose,” Sal said, with obvious relief.

  Emma kissed her mother on the cheek, surprising the lady. Rose Haythorne wasn’t known for consideration of her servants.

  “I’m staying at Nella’s tonight, to help with the children,” Emma told her.

  “Oh, well, if you think it necessary, dear.”

  “I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t.”

  Her mother gave her a sharp look, but Emma pretended not to notice. Rose Haythorne was of English upbringing and took an attitude to servants in contrast to a mistress of Scottish background, such as her mother-in-law, Emma’s grandmother. An English mistress wouldn’t nurse a sick servant, but a Scottish one would. And Emma had not only inherited her grandmother’s green eyes and tall slim figure, but had also taken on many of her attitudes and sensibilities.

  Emma took off her pinafore and hung it on a nail, smoothing her skirt over her belly. It was flat now, but she could still feel the ghost of the roundness it recently had. She stepped out to walk with Daniel across the lawn. Below, on the river, she could see the gentle plume of smoke from the Lisette, hanging above the treetops like a question mark.

  “How have you been?” Daniel asked softly, turning to look at her, his eyes only a couple of inches above hers.

  Emma felt her throat tighten and blinked at the tears never far away. It was easier to put it in the background in the everyday bustle of life, but then someone would ask the question. It was meant kindly, but it was difficult to answer without allowing her grief to show and then feeling embarrassed and pathetic, or covering it up and sounding hard and unfeeling. The in-between must come eventually, but she hadn’t got there yet.

  “Oh, day follows day. I try to keep busy, you know. And you?”

  They had reached the grape arbour at the far side of the garden. Leaf buds were bursting on the vine and the air trapped inside was warm. A rustle overhead told of lizards among the canes. Daniel brushed off a chair with his hat and offered it to her before sitting down himself.

  “Much the same, I suppose,” he said. There were shadows under his eyes and tightness about his mouth above the dark, neatly clipped beard. They’d looked much alike, he and Sam, except Sam had been clean-shaven. And Sam had always lounged, confidently, long legs thrust out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Daniel looked as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his legs when he sat. Emma had always found him comfortable and reassuring, a dear friend. She may have married his brother, but she had realised, now she no longer saw him every day, that Daniel had been an important part of her married life on their paddle-steamer.

  “So, the Mary B is still not back on the water?” she said. She had inherited half-ownership of the steamer from Sam, making her Daniel’s partner in the vessel. “I thought it wouldn’t take more than a month or so once the problem with the insurance had been dealt with.”

  “The boat yard has a lot on at the moment, so they say.”

  Emma nodded. Meanwhile, Daniel piloted for the McCulloch Company. He found it hard not to be his own master.

  Her attention was momentarily diverted as Charley Ah Lo, the Lisette’s Chinese cook, trotted across the garden and around the corner to the kitchen. He would be visiting Lucy to top up her store of river gossip in return for some fresh eggs for his galley. He’d probably leave with some vegetables as well. Daniel hadn’t seen him, which was just as well. He didn’t like his crew mooching at the stations.

  “Emma…” Daniel drew her attention again. He hesitated and looked down at his hands. “I had an odd conversation with Major Barnaby before I left Echuca.”

  “Barnaby? Of Honey Hills?”

  “The same.” He waited, looking at her as if she was supposed to know what he was talking about. She shook her head, frowning. “You can’t tell me?” he asked, fi
nally.

  “I’ve no idea what you're referring to. Why the mystery?”

  “He intimated he had some arrangement with Sam.”

  “An arrangement? About what?”

  “He said Sam was delivering something for him. He wouldn’t say exactly what. He was hedging. Sounded dodgy to me. But he threatened if the item wasn't returned I would regret crossing him. What was Sam doing, Em?”

  She shook her head again. Daniel had left the Mary B at Euston to travel south by coach, and it was only two days later the accident had changed everything. If anything out of the ordinary had happened in the days leading up it had been pushed from her mind.

  “Why would Sam have anything to do with Major Barnaby?” she asked. “You didn’t do any work on the Murrumbidgee. Unless he was hoping to get a contract from up that way. Do you suppose that was it? Honey Hills is only ten miles from the junction, after all.”

  The Murrumbidgee, or Bidgee as it was commonly called, was one of the two major tributaries to the Murray, feeding in from New South Wales and forming the northern boundary of the rich Riverina district.

  “Whatever it was, he didn’t discuss it with me,” Daniel said. “You sure you don’t know?” He gave her a sharp look.

  “Of course, I’m sure. Isn’t it listed as part of the cargo?”

  “No, there’s no record of anything, so it isn't covered by insurance. When did the Major get in touch with Sam, anyway?”

  “I didn’t know he had, Daniel. Why are you getting annoyed at me? You were his partner. Sam didn’t discuss business with me.” Didn’t discuss much of anything, if the truth be told.

  “You sure he didn’t take a side trip up the Bidgee, after I left the Mary B?”

  Emma stared at him, amazed. “I think I’d remember if we had, Daniel.”

  He regarded her steadily. “Well, it doesn’t make sense. Surely Barnaby isn’t trying to pull a fast one, claiming to have lost something in the accident when he didn’t?”

  Emma had no answer. Daniel seemed to suspect her of hiding something. Of lying to him, in fact. But if Major Barnaby was pressing, it was a concern. Honey Hills was one of the largest pastoral properties in the Riverina district and it didn’t do to get on the wrong side of powerful people. As if the accident hadn’t done enough damage to their reputation.

  Emma tried to bring a picture of the Major to mind. She had met him, once, some years before, when she had accompanied her grandmother on a visit to Honey Hills to see Major Barnaby’s wife. Lady Adeline credited Emma’s grandmother with safely bringing the youngest Barnaby daughter through a childhood illness. Emma remembered the Major as arrogant and stand-offish, though Lady Adeline seemed to have his measure.

  “What was that brother of mine up to?” Daniel asked, leaning forward. “As if wrecking the Mary B wasn’t bad enough, now this threat about a mysterious package. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Emma put a consoling hand on his arm. It wasn’t only because Daniel missed his younger brother. There was an element of responsibility, a feeling he should have been there and prevented it. Sam had needed an eye kept on him, she'd discovered.

  “I’ll give it some thought and see what I can remember,” she told him, more to comfort than with any hope. She heard the squeak and bang of the kitchen screen door. Lucy came across the garden with the tea tray.

  “We’ve had a letter from Joe,” she said, changing the subject. “He’s been posted to Wentworth. Mother’s pleased. She’s hoping she’ll see more of them, now they’ll only be fifty miles away.” At the moment her older brother, a customs officer, was eight hundred miles upriver at Albury with his wife. “And Catherine’s expecting. I’ve been thinking I might go and stay with them for a few months to help out.” It would be something useful to do, anyway.

  “You’re going to Albury?”

  “No, I’ll wait until they move to Wentworth. In December, Joe says. Catherine’s due in January, I believe. They’re cutting it a little fine. I’m thinking the Mary B should be ready by then and we could bring them down.”

  “Hmm. We’ll see.”

  Lucy arrived and put the tray on the table. “You stayin’ with us long Capt’n Daniel?” she asked. Lucy loved a title.

  “No, just a quick visit to enjoy your scones,” Daniel responded gallantly, eyeing the plate of baked goods that accompanied the tea.

  “Hmmph.” Having accepted the compliment as her due, Lucy strode back to the homestead, her black skirt whipping around her thin brown ankles.

  “I never know how to treat your Lucy and the rest of her family,” Daniel admitted as Emma poured the tea. “They don’t behave like any servants I know.”

  “That’s because they’ve been at Wirramilla since forever. They’re as much a part of the place as the Haythornes.”

  And part of the family if it was true Nella was her grandfather’s child. A year older than Emma, Nella had also been a house servant until she had married. She was lighter in hue than her younger sisters and had an exotic look. Lucy herself was half-caste, the child of an early explorer, or an escaped convict. To Emma, who had been born at Wirramilla and grew up with them, they were an extension of her family.

  “I suppose you took what you could get when you were as isolated as this place would have been back then,” Daniel commented.

  “Why, Daniel, do I sense an air of disapproval?” The story of Nella’s parentage was an old rumour along the river. He would have heard it, especially after his family became connected with hers by marriage. If it didn’t bother her grandmother, she couldn’t see why it should bother her or anyone else.

  He shrugged. “You lead a comfortable life here,” he said, but Emma caught a harsh note in his words, which surprised her. Well, neither of them were themselves these days. She would have to make allowances for him.

   

  AVAILABLE HERE with an Amazon universal link

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

   

  Irene Sauman is a retired historian living in Perth, Western Australia. She grew up and went to school in New South Wales, by the mighty Murray. Several generations of her father's family were involved with paddle steamers on the river.

  Irene is a widow with three children and four grandchildren all living in Western Australia. She loves reading, watching tennis on television, and is active in her local croquet club. Her favourite authors-gone-by are Anthony Trollope, Dorothy Sayers, Ngaio Marsh and Agatha Christie. She reads a lot of cozy mysteries, especially British-flavoured.

  Irene can be contacted through her Facebook author page. She is also on Goodreads, where she is a member of the Aussie Readers group and several cozy mystery groups.

   

  If you enjoyed this book, and would like to recommend it to other readers, leave a review at your favourite online retailer. The author thanks you.

  Get a free short story Death Ruins a Wedding and don’t miss hearing about Emma’s new adventures.

   

  Other titles by the author can be found at Amazon. Emma Berry books are available in both print and ebook.

  Saddled with Death, Emma Berry novella-length series prequel. FREE to download

  A Gem of a Problem, Emma Berry Book 1.

  A Body in the Woodpile, Emma Berry Book 2.

  Also in ebook:

  A Use for Old Underwear, short story.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Robyn Clough, Murray Darling Authority.

  Don Fraser and Echuca Historical Society.

  Dr Christina Eira, Community Linguist, Victorian Aboriginal Corporation for Languages.

  Brendan Kennedy, Traditional Custodian in the Region.

   

  Trove and the National Library of Australia's digitised newspapers project.

  Curr, Edward Micklethwaite, The Australian race, Melbourne, Gov. Printer, 1886-87.

  Jupp, James (ed), The Australian People, Cambridge University Press, 2001 edition.

   

  A big thank you to everyone who
has written about the Murray River paddle steamers.

  A special thank you to my dear friends and fellow members of my critique group, Jacquie Garton-Smith and Helena Holton.