The Horse Thief (14 page)

Jim pushed himself up out of the chair and shivered. The sweat had dried on his skin, leaving him cold. Not only his body, his mind as well. India's suggestion made his flesh creep. She couldn't use Jefferson. He was related through Goodfellow to all her mares. It had never crossed his mind she would ask that of him. What else could he have said? For a moment he'd been tempted to tell her the truth. Tell her why he'd answered her advertisement. Tell her he'd come to check for Jefferson's lineage and find the deed of sale for Goodfellow. There were too many unanswered questions. Why was Goodfellow supposedly buried out under the fig trees? He wasn't dead. He was at Munmurra grazing happily in a paddock, a bit long in the tooth but a long way from dead. Was that what his father had meant when he said he'd done something he wasn't proud of? Had he taken Goodfellow without permission?

Maybe his dream of racing Jefferson in Victoria was far-fetched and unrealistic, but he wouldn't give it up. Not until he'd exhausted every opportunity. He'd nurtured the idea like a wounded beast for too long. It was his one chance to make something of himself, and he'd promised his father he would put matters straight. Besides, he had to have the papers if he was going to stand Jefferson at stud or enter the horse in any worthwhile race.

Then there was India. When he'd first arrived at Helligen his intention had been to make the most of the situation, take what he wanted and leave. He owed the Kilhamptons nothing. They'd sent his father to an early grave, but India … India had possessed him like some enchanting sprite. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, she tugged at his heartstrings. She had guts and determination, and such vision, and most of all they shared a common goal that reached across their families' history.

India trailed up the stairs. Yesterday, for the first time in her life, she'd missed her afternoon visit with Mama, her mind too full of Jim. She'd tried to kid herself into believing it was because of the horses and paperwork and getting the property back on its feet. It wasn't. Everything she did centred on Jim and being with him. When she wasn't with him all she did was think about him, or if there was anyone to listen, talk about him. He'd slipped into every corner of her mind.

‘Good afternoon, Anya. I've come to see Mama and tell her about my day.'

The door opened fully. ‘And about yesterday as well, I hope.'

India grimaced, accepting the rebuke, then entered the room and halted. Instead of the usual semi-darkness the open curtains allowed a ray of afternoon sunlight into the room. As always her mother sat in her chair gazing out the window, one hand resting on the empty cradle.

‘Hello, Mama.' She bent down and dropped a kiss on her mother's cheek. To her surprise she turned her face and the glimmer of a smile traced her pale lips. India glanced up at Anya and raised her shoulders in question. ‘You're looking well today, Mama.'

‘We've been watching the animals in the yard,' Anya said.

‘Oh.' If only she could ask her mother for advice. She knew more about horses than Papa did and for years had managed the stud with Thomas Cobb before her accident. All that knowledge locked up and forgotten. Such a waste.

‘He's like his father.'

India started. ‘I beg your pardon, Mama?'

‘He's like his father,' her mother repeated, turning her face back to the window.

Frowning at Anya, her heart rate kicked up a notch at the thought of Oliver. How could a five-week-old child resemble a grown man? This was the second time her mother had engaged her in conversation and at first she'd thought it heralded a change for the better. Dwelling on Oliver was not an improvement; it was a backward step. ‘His father?' She covered her mouth wishing she hadn't spoken.

Receiving no reply India retreated to her usual routine. ‘We've started the breeding. Soon we will have foals in the paddocks again. Won't that be lovely?'

‘Just like old times,' Anya said with a smile, smoothing the hair back from Mama's forehead.

‘I have a problem. I can't mate four of the mares because they are too closely related to the sires we have. I'll have to get an outside service.'

‘Goodfellow's offspring.' Her mother nodded her head knowingly.

‘That's right.' Her heart leapt—this was almost a conversation. Certainly the closest she could remember.

‘He's like his father. So like his father.' Her mother's eyes fluttered closed.

She turned to Anya and raised her eyebrow again. What had happened?

‘She's sleeping now.'

India studied the rhythmic rise and fall of her mother's chest; as always Anya was right. Mama had fallen asleep. ‘She seems different. A little better?' she whispered.

Anya shrugged her shoulders. ‘It is difficult to tell. She watches from the window. The new activity, the new man …'

‘Do you think it's confusing her? Perhaps we should make sure we're out of sight.'

‘I think it is good for her. Brings her mind to the present.'

‘But she's talking about Oliver so much.'

‘No, I don't think so.'

‘Saying he's like his father.'

‘She is not talking about Oliver, she is talking about the new man and his horse. Remember, she said she saw Goodfellow.'

India rubbed her temples; the pounding in her head made it difficult to concentrate.

‘Go now, India, and let her sleep.' Anya held open the door.

She crept from the room and sank down on the top step of the staircase, cradling her head in her hands. If only Jim had agreed to use Jefferson everything would be so much simpler. With a huge effort she pulled herself upright and drifted down the stairs and into the library.

Perched on the corner of the desk she ran her fingers over the worn leather of the studbook. Another day wasted! She'd made no progress and was back where she'd started earlier this morning. Goodfellow stared down at her from the painting, the supercilious expression on his arrogant face mocking her.

She opened the book, flicked through it in a desultory fashion watching the years float by. One of the last entries was in May 1850:
Goodfellow covered Storm
. Just before he died. It was correct because Storm's foal was on her breeding list. Running her finger over the spider-like writing she searched for a solution. Somewhere in this book lay the answer. What had Mr Cobb done? Had he imported sires? She turned back through a few more pages. The notes solved nothing. Over the years she'd tried so hard not to blame anyone but there was no doubt Cobb was the wretched man who'd caused all the heartache they'd suffered. If only he hadn't allowed her mother to ride out that fateful night, life would be so very different.

‘Tosh!' She closed the book with a snap. Wallowing in self-pity would solve nothing. Maybe Violet was right, perhaps they should return to Sydney. The thought of handing over responsibility for this mess to someone else grew more inviting with every hurdle. Had she taken on more than she could manage?

‘What are you doing?' Violet appeared in the doorway. She drifted into the room and sat in Papa's leather chair, rocking to and fro like a little girl on a seesaw.

India swallowed the scream building in her throat. She couldn't explain the confusion to Violet. She didn't understand it herself. ‘I'm looking.'

‘Looking at what?'

‘I'm looking at the old studbook trying to decide what to do with the horses.'

‘Leave them here for Jim and come back to Sydney. That's what you should do. He can manage the property, he's quite capable.'

‘I can't do that! I made a deal with Papa. A year. I've already gone against his wishes by employing Jim without his consent. You know how he feels about outsiders on the property.'

‘Oh, what? Because Mama had an accident and he blames the stud master for it and Oliver's death. Look, it wasn't a very nice thing to happen, I'll grant you that. I'd love to have a brother. Let's face it, you wouldn't be wearing that laughable attire and trying to pretend you can do a man's job if we had a brother to help. But hundreds of people lose a baby and there's no rhyme or reason. One minute they're asleep in the cot and the next minute, poof—' she snapped her fingers and India's skin went cold, ‘—they're dead.'

It took a long moment for India to regain her composure. The mention of her little brother lying tucked in the cot, with his bright eyes and the beginning of a smile on his cherubic face, would always bring tears to her eyes. ‘Try and show some compassion. There's much more to it as you very well know.' So very much more but nothing Violet would remember or understand.

‘Anyway, Peggy sent me in here to get you. She says you're not eating properly and she's worried about you. We're in the kitchen. Come along.'

India clambered to her feet and put her arm around Violet's shoulders. ‘Thank you. It's good to have a sister.' She gave her a hug. Constantly blaming Violet for her own woes would solve nothing.

‘You've changed your tune.'

‘You're behaving like a grown-up instead of a spoilt child. It makes it easier.'

Violet let out a yelp of fury and chased India through the walkway to the kitchen, narrowly missing Jilly carting a basket of washing out to the garden. They barrelled inside and came to a skidding halt.

‘Peggy! Peggy! Where are you?' Violet peered into the pantry then the scullery. There was no sign of the promised meal although the table was set. The silence was broken only by the loud tick of the clock in the usually busy room.

‘She's not here. Where's she gone?'

‘I don't know. I'll go and check outside. You go and ask Jilly.'

India left the kitchen with her skin prickling. Peggy was nowhere to be seen. Three white bed sheets billowed on the clothes line and Jilly stood pegging out more. The gate to the vegetable garden was closed. None of the usual activity in the stables; the mares were all out grazing. The mating yard stood empty. Shivering, she ran into the stables.

‘Oh Miss India! Thank 'eavens. I was sent to saddle a horse for you,' Fred said.

‘Saddle a horse for me? Why?'

‘It's Mrs Kilhampton. She's taken off. Anya and Peggy can't find her. Mr Jim, he's taken Euros but he's real worried because Jefferson's gone and he thinks Mrs Kilhampton might be riding him. He's a mighty stroppy horse for a lady, 'specially a lady who's like Mrs Kilhampton. Sorry miss, no disrespect meant.'

India swallowed, trying to marshal her thoughts. She'd never heard Fred speak at such length and it sent shivers down her spine.

‘Go and get Aura for me and bring her back as fast as you can.'

Taking the ladder to the hayloft at a run she clambered right to the top and onto the piles of stacked hay. From the highest air vents she had a complete view of the property. Breathing heavily she peered out through the slatted timber. On the far side of the lagoon Anya and Peggy made their way around the shallows, each holding a long stick, pushing aside the tussocky grass and prodding the water. Surely they didn't think her mother had fallen into the water.

She dismissed the idea and squinted out beyond the lagoon to the paperbark forest. If Jefferson had thrown Mama he'd be running free. For a moment her heart snagged as she saw a flash of bay. The rider came into focus; Jim appeared to be riding in ever decreasing circles, covering the uncultivated area between the river and the paddocks.

‘Miss, I'm here.' Fred's voice floated up the ladder. She slithered down and launched herself onto Aura's back from the sixth rung of the ladder.

Fred whistled between his teeth. ‘Bloody hell!'

‘Fred.'

‘Yes, miss.'

‘You are to stay here.'

‘Aww, miss.'

‘Stay here with Miss Violet in case Mama comes back. If she does, tell Violet to take her back to her room, sit her in her chair by the window and stay with her. Do you understand?'