The Horse Thief (28 page)

‘Nope. Not today.'

‘I beg your pardon?' She pulled herself up to her full height and peered down her nose. If she could imitate Papa's quelling glare the man might take more notice. ‘I am India Kilhampton of Helligen. I have a message from my father regarding the prisoner Jim Mawgan.' She paused as a frown crossed the man's face. He disappeared from the small door and she peered through. Inside the small gatehouse he stood scratching his head, studying a piece of paper pinned to the wall.

‘Well?'

He unlatched the main door and swung it wide and without a second thought she stepped over the threshold.

‘Oi! You can't come in here.'

‘I'm here now. Jim, Jim Maw … James Cobb.' She'd blundered. ‘His real name is James Cobb.'

The man's head shot up and he turned and looked her up and down with a rather ratty squint. ‘James Cobb, you say.' He sniffed. ‘You better come with me.'

With a tight smile she stepped to one side to allow the man to lead the way. This was more like it. How foolish of her to forget that Jim Mawgan was nothing but a fantasy. It was James, James Cobb. The name had a solid ring.

The ratty man slammed the main gate and slid the large bolt across, locking out the real world. ‘This way.'

From inside the compound the substantial buildings gave the impression of vast strength. The huge sandstone blocks dovetailed into each other forming an impassable barrier. Escape would be impossible. The walls were as high as the roofs of the buildings inside the compound, and thicker than she'd ever seen before. The hairs on her arms stood to attention as they walked past a caged but thankfully empty exercise yard. They skirted sheds, storehouses and rejected sandstone blocks. To her right she picked out a timber structure that had to be gallows. She averted her eyes, pushing aside the picture of Jim swinging in the breeze. It might be time to revise her opinion of the restraints Sydney would impose on her—they were nothing compared to incarceration behind these walls. A door swung open across the yard bringing with it the sound of wailing voices and crying children. ‘Are there women and children imprisoned here?'

The turnkey looked her up and down as if assessing her rationality, then raised a bedraggled eyebrow. ‘Women commit crimes too.'

Yes, he was probably right, but she didn't want to dwell on it. And children. Why would there be children?

‘Through 'ere.' He led her into a small room. Benches lined the walls and on the opposite side was a heavy timber door, cut into it a small opening covered with metal lattice. The turnkey approached the window and stuck his face up to the grid. She couldn't catch his mumbled words, but it took only a second before he turned and made for the door.

‘What should I do?' she asked his disappearing back.

‘Wait here.' He slammed the door behind him.

India cast around the small room looking for something to take her attention and found nothing. She tapped her foot and counted the seconds as they passed. This wasn't working out the way she'd intended. If she had to wait much longer Violet and Fred would reach Morpeth before her and, heaven forbid, Cecil might decide to send out a search party. She had to have at least another hour or two of daylight. It was difficult to tell now she was within the confines of the gaol. Once darkness fell she'd have to think twice about riding alone. She stood up and knocked on the door where the turnkey had mumbled in conversation. Receiving no response she knocked louder, then stamped her foot. Behind her the door ground open and she turned. A corpulent, red-faced gentleman filled the doorway. His black jacket and matching trousers marked him as a man of more significance than the turnkey, despite the stains splattering his yellowed shirt.

‘Miss Kilhampton, I believe.' He took a step towards her. ‘It's a great honour to make your acquaintance. I've had the pleasure of your father's company on several occasions in Sydney.'

Her heart sank. Why in heaven's name had she embarked on this ludicrous goose chase? She did not want Papa brought into the conversation any more than was absolutely necessary. Pulling herself up to her full height she peered down her nose at him. ‘And you are?'

‘Alfred Braithwaite, the governor of this fine establishment. I believe you're enquiring after one Jim Mawgan.'

She nodded, the knot in her stomach twisting a little tighter. The man had a sly cast to one eye and he smelt musty, as though he lived underground.

‘We have no prisoner of that name.'

No prisoner? What did he mean?

‘Or is there some confusion … James Cobb?'

The ratty little turnkey was just as shrewd as he looked and had reported her confusion over Jim's name. She licked her lips. How to respond?

‘Well, who is it?' the governor barked.

She took a step back to escape his intimidating presence and the waft of unwashed armpits and alcohol seeping from his portly body. ‘James Cobb.' Somehow saying his name aloud boosted her confidence and she straightened her spine.

‘In that case, I cannot help you.'

Deflated once more she stared at him. ‘Why not. I know he's here. Accused of horse theft.'

‘Was, my dear, was.'

Was?
The word screeched through her head.
Was! The gallows
. Was she too late? Had they hung him or taken him away? Not Sydney. Not so soon. He can only have arrived last night, less than twenty-four hours ago. Papa said they would keep him for at least two weeks until the magistrate arrived. ‘Where has he gone?' Ignoring the stench she took a step closer to the man with her hands outstretched.

He lifted his arm and she slammed her hands behind her back.

‘I have no idea. I thought you might be able to enlighten me?'

‘What do you mean, you have no idea? He is under your care, is he not?'

‘He was. Until he and four others escaped this morning. The constabulary is out now. No doubt they will round them up before long. Would you care to wait in my office?'

Escaped! Wait in his office? No chance
. She skirted him, step by careful step with her eyes fixed firmly on the door.
Jim had escaped
. A thrill shot through her at his daring, and subsided equally quickly. Now he truly was a wanted man.

‘Not so fast, my dear.' The overweight oaf lumbered back, blocking
her
escape route. ‘I have a few questions first.'

The memory of the women's voices in the compound echoed in her mind. What law had she broken? Could he restrain her? Throw her into a cell until someone, anyone, came to her rescue. No-one knew she was here.
Oh God.

‘You called the prisoner Jim Mawgan. It would appear you know something we're not aware of.'

She shook her head. ‘A mistake, a simple mistake.'

‘I would like to remind you that aiding and abetting an escaped prisoner carries a sentence in its own right.'

She sank down on a convenient bench as her legs turned to jelly. What a foolish mistake she'd made. James Cobb had escaped, but she'd given his name as Jim Mawgan. With those two words she'd flagged him as a man with something to hide.

‘I'm enquiring after James Cobb. I have a message from my father, Alexander Kilhampton. He intends to drop the charges he levelled against Jim Mawgan.' Goddamn it. What was the matter with her? ‘James Cobb.'

‘I see, however the prisoner is known to you as Jim Mawgan?'

‘Jim is simply a childhood name, a pet name,' she stammered, pulling words from the air. She had no idea. No idea until recently that he hadn't used his real name.

The governor interlocked his sausage fingers and twirled his thumbs. ‘I see.' He rocked on his heels as he studied her. ‘I presume then you're well acquainted with the prisoner?'

‘Yes, yes I am. He worked for me, for my father, until—'

‘Until your father had him committed for horse theft.'

This was getting more and more complicated by the moment. If Jim had escaped then she was wasting her time. She could hardly give him a message that the charges had been dropped. ‘Since he's no longer here …' She rose to her feet, eyeing the door, envisaging the narrow corridor she'd walked down with the turnkey, the trip across the compound, the gallows, the heavy gate, and her horse on the other side of the walls. No. She didn't have a hope in hell. She would have to brazen it out. ‘There's little I can do to assist you. I shall bid you good evening and be on my way.' She reached around him for the door handle.

His hand landed on her wrist, hot and sweaty on the strip of bare skin above her gloves. The hairs on the back of her neck quivered and rose.

‘Perhaps you would care to accompany me to my office and we can discuss this in greater detail. As I said, the prisoner has escaped and any information you can provide about his possible whereabouts would assist us greatly.'

His piggy eyes glinted with something more than concern for an escaped prisoner as he cleared his throat and sent a waft of warm alcohol over her face. ‘My office.'

It wasn't a request. ‘I'm afraid I haven't the time. The hour is late and I'm expected in Morpeth before nightfall. Should I not arrive …' India let the threat hang in the air. Should she not arrive, what would happen? Would Fred come looking for her? He was no match for this pompous fool. And Cecil. If she called upon him it would leave her in his debt. He would delight in rescuing her and she'd pay for it until her dying day.

‘Should you not arrive …?' His eyebrows rose and the beginning of a leer lifted the fleshy folds surrounding his eyes.

She dredged up as much righteous indignation as possible and peered down her nose. ‘Are you insinuating you intend to keep me here against my wishes?'

‘My dear, of course not. However, as you are aware, the light is fast fading and it would be irresponsible of me to allow you to travel unaccompanied to Morpeth. I would be remiss in my duty.'

She stepped nimbly away from him. There was nothing for it. Cecil was the only answer. ‘My father's business partner, my fiancé—' that would please Violet, finally admitting she needed the wretched man, ‘—will be more than happy to come to my aid. Please send a message at once and tell him I require his assistance.'

‘And he is?'

‘Mr Cecil Bryce of Kilhampton & Bryce, Sydney. I feel sure you have heard of him?' She raised an eyebrow hoping the oaf understood her veiled threat.

‘Ah yes, indeed. Mr Bryce.' He crossed the room and rapped on the small window.

‘Percy. Open up.'

The window opened. ‘Sir?'

‘I need a message taken to Morpeth, immediately, at once. Paper, pen and organise someone to deliver it. Now my dear—' he turned back, ‘—what shall we say in this missive?'

A very good question.
Dear Cecil, please come and rescue me from yet another ridiculous situation I've landed myself in.
That wouldn't do at all. Cringing, she said, ‘Please ask him to come to the gaol and escort me to Morpeth.'

‘As you wish.' He gave an inappropriate, almost jovial smile. ‘I shall arrange that and in the meantime you can enlighten me about the prisoner and his likely whereabouts.'

‘I don't think there's any information I can give you.' There was certainly nothing she wanted to tell him and she had no idea of Jim's intentions. Whatever had possessed him to escape?

‘Let's make ourselves more comfortable in my office while we wait for Mr Bryce.'

She lowered her eyes and acquiesced. There was little else she could do. He spent a few more moments at the barred window then opened the door and escorted her out into the corridor. There was no doubt about the lateness of the hour; leaving the small room the corridor yawned dark and foreboding ahead of them. He reached for a lantern hanging outside the door and held it aloft then led the way deep into the bowels of the gaol.

‘My offices are at this end of the building, away from the caterwauling of the prisoners. A constant reminder of the riffraff we have to deal with is difficult to tolerate. I would not wish to subject a lady of your breeding to such horrors.'

The riffraff? Horrors?
Where had Jim been imprisoned? How could he have escaped? The walls were at least fifteen feet high.

The corridor ended and the governor led her across a compound. ‘The walls are eighteen feet high.' He pointed through one of the barred windows to the massive sandstone blocks entrapping them. ‘Escapes rarely succeed. We will have the offenders back here within a matter of hours, of course.' There was something in his tone that made her doubt his blustering. If that were the case then why would he be interested in any information she could give?

‘Here we are.' He led the way through the door into a well-appointed room dominated by a large polished desk with bulbous legs. ‘Please make yourself comfortable. I'm certain Mr Bryce will not be too long. Morpeth is a mere five miles hence.' He shot her a look from under his uncontrolled brows, as if he disputed the veracity of Cecil's existence. ‘Can I offer you any refreshments?' He gestured to a silver tray on which a half-filled cut glass decanter sat beside two well-used glasses.

Her stomach churned at the thought. ‘No, thank you.'

‘If you'll excuse me, I feel the need for a little something. It has been an interesting evening, has it not?'

Gritting her teeth India refrained from uttering a word. Anything further from interesting she had yet to imagine. It had been a nightmare, and worse still another of her own making.

The governor settled back into his chair and twirled the amber liquid in the glass before taking a somewhat noisy slug. He smacked his lips then placed the glass with exaggerated care on the desk and pinned her with a cold-blooded gaze. She must take care and keep her wits about her.

‘If you could just fill me in on a few details I'm sure it will assist our efforts to secure the prisoner.' He rifled through a pile of papers on his desk, pulled one out and scanned it.