Heart of the Country (41 page)

Night had fallen when Thomas reached Port Augusta. He'd ridden hard for several days and both he and his horse were exhausted. He stayed in one of the new hotels and stabled his horse out the back. The wool cheque he was expecting meant he could spend a little money.

The bed proved harder than the several nights he'd spent in his swag. Thomas was restless and couldn't fall asleep. Zac's story was never far from his thoughts: what was he to do about Terrett? He prayed that Wiltshire would get rid of the man, but in truth Thomas wasn't sure how he'd react. Plenty of settlers, even honourable men such as his father-in-law, would consider the molestation of a black woman a matter of no great import. Wiltshire had already proven himself less than honourable in his dealings with the Smiths, so Thomas had little hope the incident would sway him.

Pleased to see the first light of dawn, Thomas ate a simple breakfast and decided to approach Wiltshire's house on foot. He came across a cottage just as Zac had described. There was no sign of horse or people. The house was quiet. He assumed Wiltshire still had a wife and possibly children. It would be very rash of him to batter on their door at this early hour.

He hesitated at the gate then turned and walked back along the rough path towards the port, where he would conduct his chief business. The commission agent began his day early, he knew. Along the jetty men worked to load a ketch already sitting low in the water. Further out to sea the sails of a large ocean-going clipper filled with the breeze. Port Augusta had been barely a village when he'd first taken his wool there. The journey was much shorter than the trek to Adelaide but there had been no other reason to visit. Now there were two hotels, a couple of wool stores, offices and shops, along with the more permanent dwellings of the people who had moved there.

Thomas stepped through the door of the small wooden office. He planned to collect his wool cheque, pay his debt and make some purchases with the little money that would be left over. Then he would tackle Wiltshire. Once that was done, he would ride for home as quickly as he could. Even though he'd meant it when he said he trusted Zac to look out for his family, he felt uneasy. Terrett was a monster and he was far too close to Wildu Creek and everything that was precious to Thomas.

“Is something wrong, Mr Baker?”

Thomas looked from the paper to the commission agent, Mr Grant. He was an officious little man wearing, as he always did, a starched white shirt and thin black tie. A pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose above a slightly curled moustache. Thomas had dealt with him on several occasions and, while he found the man aloof, he'd had no reason to doubt his business ability.

“My count says I've been paid for four fewer bales than I delivered.”

“That can't be.” Grant peered at him over the top of his glasses. “Let me check my file.”

He leafed through a folder and pulled out another paper, then held out his hand for Thomas's copy. He studied both without speaking then opened a large ledger and leafed back through the pages.

“Here it is.” Grant tapped a line of writing in the middle of a page. “The same number as recorded on your paper. The date they were loaded on the ship, and my signature.” He folded his hands at the base of the page and stared at Thomas. “I count every bale as it is loaded. I hope you do not doubt my word, Mr Baker.”

Thomas met his look. “I've never had reason to before, Mr Grant, but the number I've been paid for does not match the number that left my property. I counted them onto the wagon myself.”

“But you didn't travel with them last time, as I recall.”

“No, my brother-in-law drove the wagon.” Thomas frowned.

Mr Grant closed his ledger with a thud. “I am sure you trust your brother-in-law, Mr Baker, but perhaps you need to take it up with him.”

Thomas frowned. Even though the money he'd been paid for his wool this year had risen, the loss of those bales had a big impact on his plans for Wildu Creek. A year earlier, without telling Lizzie, he'd borrowed money from Grant against this wool cheque. It was a gamble that had paid off, in spite of the poor weather conditions. Not as well as it would have with those extra four bales, of course.

Grant clasped his hands over the ledger. “Is there anything else I can do for you today, Mr Baker?”

“I wish to pay the debt I owe.”

“That's good to hear, Mr Baker, but I no longer hold your note.”

Thomas leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“I held notes for several pastoralists and was concerned I had over-stretched myself. I sold some off, yours included.”

“Who to?”

“I sold to a few different backers.” Grant stood up. “I'll have to look it up.”

Thomas watched as the man pulled a wooden box from a drawer and began to look through the papers it contained. The morning was not going to plan at all.

Thomas did trust Zac, but he had been in a bad way when he'd driven those loaded wagons to Port Augusta. Thomas hadn't realised how bad. Perhaps he'd sold some bales on the side to buy his grog and the makings of his still. No – if he had, he'd have money left over. After his recent unburdening, Thomas felt sure Zac would have told him if he had stolen the bales.

Thomas had had no idea back then just how much Zac had been drinking. He'd found Zac baled up by a Port Augusta constable for drunken behaviour. Thomas had managed to talk the constable into releasing Zac into his care, and they'd gone back to where Zac had been sleeping under the wagon on the edge of town. The bullocks had hardly been fed. Zac had been a pitiful mess, having drunk his meagre earnings. There had certainly been no sign that he'd had extra money to spend.

It was a puzzle that led Thomas in circles. He could do nothing until he spoke to Zac.

“Mr Septimus Wiltshire.”

Grant's voice cut into his thoughts. Thomas glared at the agent. “Septimus Wiltshire?” he repeated.

“That's correct.”

The name hammered in Thomas's head. The very man who had fleeced the Smiths of their lease and who Thomas suspected had also gone by the name Seth Whitby, held a note of debt over Wildu Creek.

“He has a house here in the port.”

“I know where he lives.” Thomas pushed back his chair and lurched to his feet.

“You have the money, of course, so it shouldn't be a problem.”

Thomas gave the hand Grant offered a quick shake and left the office deep in thought. Outside the sun was a ball of yellow in a brilliant blue sky. He pushed his hat onto his head and stopped on the edge of the road as a bullock dray loaded with bales of wool rumbled past. He gripped a hitching rail with both hands. Somehow this Wiltshire seemed to keep taking possession of things he shouldn't have.

Thomas now had two reasons to visit the man. The problem of Terrett must be dealt with and now the debt repaid. He had a busy day ahead. Lizzie had given him a list and he had his own idea for something special for her, but there was also equipment and livestock to be purchased, and far less money than expected with which to do it.

As well as all that he had to find a new shepherd. He hoped he would find someone as easily as AJ had found him all those years back.

None of those errands, however, held his interest. His debt and the person who covered it occupied his thoughts. It was time to meet Septimus Wiltshire face to face.

Harriet was surprised to see a man hesitate at her front gate then step in. She rarely got gentleman callers. Septimus conducted all his business at the wharf and her customers were always ladies, except on the odd occasion when one of their husbands came to pay for their purchases.

She leaned back from her window. The man was tall and wore the clothes of a bushman. Perhaps he wanted to spend money on something for his wife. He knocked on her door. Even though she expected it, she jumped at the sharpness of the sound.

She turned to the little boy playing on the floor. “Henry, the oatmeal biscuits will be cool enough to eat now,” she said. “Take your train into the kitchen and you may have one biscuit.”

He obeyed instantly. He was used to his mother having callers. Harriet slid her old shawl from her shoulders. She had a much nicer one now but she wore the green on cool days about the house. She laid the shawl over a dining chair and straightened her dress.

The knock came again. Harriet opened the door and looked up at her visitor. She paused briefly. There was something vaguely familiar about him. He removed his hat to reveal thick dark hair. It was neatly groomed in spite of the rugged look of his attire.

“Good morning,” he said. “Mrs Wiltshire?”

“I am. Have you come on business, Mr …?”

“Baker, Thomas Baker.”

Harriet hesitated a moment. Had she heard the name somewhere before?

“Please come in, Mr Baker.” She stepped back and cast her mind over the items she might be able to show him ready for immediate purchase. She sold most of her needlework for a decent price. His jacket was the thick brown variety favoured by men of the bush. His shirt was flannel and his trousers well worn. He didn't look like a man with money to spare.

Thomas stepped into the front room and glanced around. “I was hoping to speak with your husband,” he said.

“Oh.” It didn't look as though she was going to get a sale after all. “My husband isn't here, Mr Baker. His work takes him away from home a lot.”

“When do you expect him back?”

“Not for a month or more. You've only just missed him. He's been gone but a few days.”

Baker stopped in front of her. A frown creased his brow. He reached a hand towards her neck.

Harriet gasped and took a small step back.

“Where did you get that locket?” he asked.

Harriet put her fingers to the gold heart. “It was a gift from my husband.”

Baker glanced around the room as if he thought Septimus might suddenly appear.

Harriet set her jaw. She was beginning to wish she hadn't let this stranger in. His eyes searched everywhere. Perhaps he was planning to rob her.

“My wife said you loaned her a book.”

“Your wife?” Harriet had no idea what Baker was talking about.

“You visited her family property a few years ago, before we were married. Her name was Lizzie Smith.”

“Oh! I remember her –”

“You gave her a book. Just like these.” Thomas plucked a book from the shelf beside the door and leafed through it. “With my mother's name in it.” He thrust the open book under her nose. “The page seems to be gone.”

Harriet didn't look down. She knew Septimus had ripped the page with the name from each book long ago.

Baker's eyes narrowed. He snapped the book shut. “Very strange, isn't it, Mrs Wiltshire? The page that bore my mother's name is missing. And you wear a locket exactly like the one my father gave my mother on their wedding day.”

“I cannot explain it, Mr Baker, but I would like you to leave now,” she said. “I am expecting Captain Harrison's wife to call.” The lady wasn't coming until the afternoon but Harriet hoped the imminent arrival of an important caller might encourage her unwelcome visitor to leave.

He ignored her. Instead, he strode across the room to her little glass cabinet. “Where did you get this?”

Harriet stared at her precious china tea set, the one Septimus had let her keep from the big trunk. The trunk that she assumed hadn't been his but hadn't asked any questions about. Baker turned to her but before she could speak he snatched up her old shawl from the chair.

“And this?”

Harriet's heart began to beat faster. Baker's eyes were fierce.

“These are all gifts from my husband, Mr Baker. He …” Harriet was suddenly back under the wagon the day Pig Boy had raped her. This was the man Septimus had bumped into that day. Even though the man glowering at her across the room was more solid, and had an air of strength about him that he'd lacked back then, she recognised him now – Thomas Baker. That had been the name he'd said.

Thomas stepped across the room towards her. Harriet stood her ground. “Where did your husband acquire all these things?”

Once again she put her hand to her locket as his gaze swept down to it then back to meet her eyes. “That is none of your business, I'm sure.”

“It is most certainly my business, Mrs Wiltshire. These things –” He swung his arm out in a wide arc. “The books, the china, the shawl.” He waved it under her nose. “These items were all my mother's, all stored in a trunk that was stolen from me by a man named Seth Whitby. A name very like Septimus Wiltshire.” His deep brown eyes glowered at her.

She swallowed. “My husband is not Seth Whitby and I know nothing about your trunk,” she said. The very trunk now stood in the corner of the room full of fabric and threads for her sewing. She glanced in that direction. It was almost completely covered by a long cushion so that it could also be used as a seat. She moved towards the door, drawing Baker's attention away. “As my husband is not home I think you should leave, Mr Baker.”

Harriet spoke with a firmness she didn't feel. She could see Baker was struggling to keep his emotion in check.

“Your husband runs a lease in the Flinders Ranges, Mrs Wiltshire.”

“I know little about my husband's business.”

“So it seems.” Baker gave a soft snort. “Nevertheless, the property is called Smith's Ridge and borders mine.” The man's eyes blazed but his voice was low. “He has an overseer called Terrett, who has done some terrible things. Tell your husband he must remove the man or I will call in the law.”

“I really don't know how soon –”

“Just tell him,” Baker cut her off. “And when he next visits Smith's Ridge, he can call on me. It seems, in yet another unlikely coincidence, I owe him a debt and I'd like to repay it as soon as possible.”