The Horse Thief (16 page)

The kitchen was the obvious place and as she walked downstairs the sound of voices drifted through the walkway. The door stood ajar. She reached for the handle and paused.

‘He is the spitting image of his father.' Anya's words brought her up sharp. ‘Alike as two peas in a pod. And about the same age he was when we first arrived here.'

‘I don't understand.' Violet's petulant tone drifted under the door and India pressed closer. She didn't understand either.

‘Then there's the horse. I would have thought it was Goodfellow if I didn't know any better. Just like that portrait in the library.'

‘So what are you saying?' Violet interrupted.

‘Violet, be quiet. Let Anya speak. She knows more about this than anyone else.'

‘It is not my place to discuss Miss Laila's situation.'

‘Anya.' Peggy's tone indicated her frustration. ‘I've respected your refusal to discuss things for a long time. None of my business what happened here before I arrived, but things have changed now and I need a bit of background if I'm supposed to do my job.'

‘And I have every right to know, she's my mother.'

Anya's sigh was so loud India heard it, then there was the scrape of a chair, and she craned closer to the door.

‘Miss Laila tried and tried … baby. Mr Kilhampton … she was always outside working with the horses, working with … put a stop to it … doctors said she must stay abed … Oliver born … Thomas Cobb … spitting image of his father …'

Anya's dulcet tones were barely audible and Peggy's grunts and groans punctuated the fragments of conversation. Unable to stand it a moment longer India threw open the door. Peggy and Anya lifted their heads in unison and their mouths gaped.

Not so Violet. A brilliant smile crossed her face and she sank down onto the chair and folded her arms. The atmosphere crackled like dry grass underfoot in a drought. The colour rose to Peggy and Anya's cheeks. Violet smirked and licked her lips—the cat had unearthed a rat's nest.

‘Well?' India asked.

Peggy recovered first. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?'

‘Not at the moment.' India eyed Anya. ‘Mama might like one when she wakes, however before you take it up, Anya, perhaps you and Peggy could tell me what's going on.'

‘Glad your mother's home safe. It was a worrying time.' Peggy bustled around the stove clanging and clattering as she filled the kettle then emptied the freshly brewed teapot.

The sound of Anya's indrawn breath skirted the table. ‘We were discussing Mr Jim's horse. Your mother is very taken with him.'

Violet shuffled, her mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.

‘So it would seem.'

‘Oh, for goodness sake!' Violet knocked her chair flying. ‘India needs to know the truth. Stop prevaricating and tell her what's going on.'

‘Thank you, Violet. It's about time I had a little support from you. Now, ladies?'

Anya and Peggy exchanged embarrassed glances. Then Peggy sucked in a deep breath and said, ‘Anya thinks Jim is the spitting image of the old stud master, Mr Cobb. The one who let your mother ride out that night, the one your father sacked because he was responsible for her accident. There. That's all there is to it.'

It was enough. Now her mother's words to Jim and the way he'd ignored them made sense. But how could he be the son of Thomas Cobb? His name was Mawgan. Jim Mawgan. He'd signed the letter that way, told her that when he arrived.

Her heart plummeted somewhere down near her boots. What would Papa say if he found out? Their agreement would be out the window so fast and she'd be bundled back to Sydney to marry that buffoon, Cecil Bryce. Something she did not want to do. She couldn't believe he wanted her to marry such a pompous idiot. Cecil didn't make her breath quicken or her heart pound. Indeed, Cecil Bryce was the polar opposite of Jim.

Something in Violet's eyes told her she'd missed some finer details. ‘Right, Violet. I want to know exactly what you think the truth is.'

‘It's not what I
think
the truth is. It's simply the truth. Your stud master, the very attractive and oh-so-nice Jim Mawgan, isn't who or what he says he is.'

‘You don't know that for certain.' Violet couldn't be right. How could Jim be the son of Thomas Cobb, and if he was, why would he want to work on the property?

‘I suggest you ask him. I don't know why he's sneaked back in here under false pretences but you know as well as I do, the Cobb family are responsible for this whole horrid mess.' She waved her hand around. ‘The entire family were told to go and never to set foot on the property again.'

‘Mama's accident wasn't Jim's fault.' Why was she defending him?

‘No, but it was his father's fault. If he hadn't saddled Goodfellow and allowed Mama to go riding that night she would never have fallen. Everyone knew perfectly well she wasn't capable. It was too soon after the birth. She'd been confined to her bed for the best part of a year. She could hardly walk, never mind ride. Even I know that.'

India collapsed into the chair, her head spinning. If it was true, Jim had answered the advertisement under a false name. He'd known all along about the place. My God! Her heart almost stopped beating. What could have happened when she'd left her mother alone with him? A flush of heat scored her body. And the way she'd fallen into his arms like a strumpet. Was that part of his plan, too?

‘I don't understand how you can defend the man.' Violet had read her thoughts.

India groaned aloud and dropped her head into her hands. Anya patted her shoulder making unsuccessful soothing noises. ‘He does look very much like his father. He was a very attractive man as I remember, tall and virile with a wicked sense of humour. He always made your mother laugh. They were inseparable, working away together. And that horse of his might as well be Goodfellow reincarnated. That is what's caused your mother's behaviour.'

India stared up into Anya's eyes unable to frame an answer.

‘Papa's going to be livid,' Violet said, a delighted grin splitting her face. ‘You'll be dragged back to Sydney with your tail between your legs. I told you. You're wasting your time. The place is doomed—we're all doomed if we stay here. Leave it to Papa to sort out. He'll sell the property and you can go and marry Cecil.'

India pushed up from the table. ‘We'll see.'

‘Everyone will see.' Violet hummed a few bars of Handel's ‘Wedding Anthem'. ‘I can't wait to get back to Sydney. I love a wedding.' With a twirl she left the kitchen with Anya following hot on her heels.

Peggy placed a mug of tea on the table in front of her and she wrapped her hands around it, trying to draw some comfort from the warmth.

‘I'm sorry, love. If I'd thought about the consequences I would have kept my mouth shut.'

‘It's not your fault, Peggy. It's mine. I should have checked into Jim's background more thoroughly and not been swayed by his charm.'

‘And good looks.'

‘And good looks,' India admitted with a rueful smile. ‘I suppose I shall have to tell him to leave the property. Violet's right, Papa will be livid when he finds out. He holds the Cobb family responsible for shattering all his dreams—even Oliver's death.'

‘Well, that's a nonsense. It wasn't Cobb's fault Oliver died. Maybe for your mother's accident … who'd let a sick woman only weeks out of childbirth ride a bloody great stallion like that?'

The vision of her mother astride Jefferson flashed through India's mind. These days there was nothing wrong with her physically; she rode as well as she always had. It was the broken skull and consequent brain pressure that had taken its toll. The best doctors in the colony had attended her and they all said the same. A coma as a result of head injury, nothing else could be done. And before Jim arrived her mother had been quite content to ride one of the mares. Why had she been drawn to Jefferson? Because he was the reincarnation of Goodfellow?

Seventeen

Jim pulled the currycomb through Jefferson's coat making it gleam like burnished copper. He found solace in the motion and the company of the horse. Last night he'd tried to see India, to speak to her, but he'd had no luck. Peggy had met him at the kitchen door with a face as dark as thunder, handed him his dinner and sent him packing. For the first time since he'd arrived at Helligen they'd treated him as the hired help. He gave a rough snort and Jefferson responded in kind.

He
was
the hired help. Just as his father before him. People of his background simply didn't spend their time hobnobbing with the Kilhamptons of this world. They moved in circles he couldn't even comprehend, dined with the rich and famous, the pillars of Sydney society. He'd got too close and now he was paying the price. Sent away before he could solve the mystery surrounding Goodfellow, or find the deed of sale.

Jefferson's ears pricked and he turned his head, his nostrils flaring. Jim followed his gaze, hoping it was India although the horse didn't react to her in that way.

‘Good morning, Jim.' Violet sashayed down the aisle towards the stall.

Jefferson snorted and backed against the wall, the whites of his eyes shining.

‘Easy boy.' He pushed past his horse and closed the stall gate before Violet got any closer. ‘She has the same effect on me, mate. I'll get rid of her.' He snapped the padlock on the stall, and pocketed the key, unsure whose safety he wanted to maintain. ‘Violet.'

She raised her eyebrows at his deliberate lack of courtesy. He was over her pretensions and if he wasn't going to be around any longer then why grovel? The Kilhamptons could take their social airs and graces and stick them where they belonged.

‘Jim, I wondered if we could have a word. There are a few matters which may be to your advantage.'

Now she had his attention. His heart gave a leap. He wouldn't put it past her to have examined every paper on the property. She had enough time on her hands.

Silently Jim held open the door and extended his arm, indicating the seat outside against the wall.

‘Thank you.' The coquettish smile she threw at him made his blood run cold and when she reached for his arm her cloying scent wafted around him in a suffocating cloud. She sat then patted the bench next to her.

He perched on the far end and stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to assume a relaxed pose. It was so far from the truth. He couldn't trust the woman for a moment. Every move she made was for her own good. He examined the toecap of his boot, his nerve endings prickling as he waited for Violet to speak.

She cleared her throat. ‘Jim. It's not my place to tell you this but …' Her eyelashes fluttered.

‘Get on with it.' He clamped his teeth together counting the stitches on his boot.

‘I don't believe India has been entirely honest with you.'

He pushed upright and stared at her. India hadn't been honest with him? Surely it was the other way around. Moistening his lips he continued to play Violet's game, all the while imagining turning his back and walking away. ‘Really?' he prompted.

‘Bear with me. I have to go back a bit. It's important you have the whole story.'

Every bone in his body screamed at him to leave. Get up and walk away. Talk about it with India, not her sister. If only he could let go of his desire to see Jefferson race, and the memory of his father's words.
Right the wrongs of the past before they shatter your dreams.
Somewhere in the piles of ledgers and notebooks lay the answer to the mystery and Violet might know exactly where. ‘I'm listening.'

‘After my mother's accident and Oliver's death Papa was devastated. He blamed Thomas Cobb for all his misfortunes. He lost all interest in Helligen. The doctors told him nothing could be done for Mama other than giving her time and patience. He tried and it made no difference. It was as though overnight Mama ceased to exist. She was dead to him. At first we stayed here. It was like living in a graveyard. India and I had to tiptoe through the house, and even when Mama began to recover she shunned us. The doctors said her mind was stuck in that one week of her life. She didn't speak or leave her room. Only Anya could offer her any solace. Her illness sucked the heart out of Papa. Finally when it became obvious she would never recover he arranged for some men from the village to oversee the place and Anya and Peggy stayed here with Mama. He took India and me to Sydney. We lived in Sydney and went to school. Then, when India finished she was presented to the governor and became the toast of the town.'

He could imagine that, see India sweeping across a dance floor on the arms of her escort, jewels sparkling at her throat, her eyes flashing as she flirted behind a fluttering fan, bright with excitement. His gut twisted. ‘Then why did she come back?'

‘A very good question and one I have asked time and time again. Cecil Bryce proposed to India. He's mad for her and he's a wonderful catch. He and Papa have common business interests and he is prepared to help finance Helligen until it can be sold. India refused. She said it wasn't fair to Mama. That this was her home and it belonged to our family. She and Papa had the biggest of arguments. She said he was perfectly happy to leave Mama here to run the property before her accident, so why couldn't she do the job. They came to an arrangement. India has twelve months to resurrect Helligen. If she can do that then she and Mama can stay here. If not, the place will be sold.'

Violet stood up and wandered down the aisle between the stalls, almost as though she was thinking, planning what to say next. Then she turned and marched back, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips.

‘I hate to see you wasting your time, Jim. The horses will be sold. If Mama's health is improving she would be better in Sydney where she can receive the best medical treatment. India will end up marrying Cecil. She's in love with him. It's just her misbegotten belief Mama is happier here.'