The Horse Thief (5 page)

Ignoring Peggy's disapproving glance India slurped down the last drops of her tea. ‘I'm going to get cleaned up before dinner and I'll check on Mama.' She stood, unable to control the sigh that always seemed to accompany thoughts of her mother.

‘You've got about half an hour. Is that long enough or do you want me to stall dinner?'

‘No, it's plenty. I could eat a horse.'

‘Probably not such a good idea, eating the profits. You'll have to settle for corned beef.'

‘Wonderful. It smells delicious and I don't suppose there's …'

‘Jam roll and custard? Yes.'

Smacking her lips India left, hurried along the covered walkway and through the back door to the main house. At the bottom of the stairs she paused and ran her hand over the smooth cedar banister. She inhaled the lingering scent of beeswax and lavender then trudged upwards, the pleasure of the day leaching away with every creak of the steps. Each afternoon she made the trip to her mother's room hoping for a change, yet she always left disappointed.

Knowing better than to enter the suite of rooms without permission she knocked and waited. The door opened a crack and Anya's dark face peered around the corner.

‘Good afternoon, Anya. I've come to see Mama and tell her about my day.' India repeated the words like an incantation. The same words she'd spoken every day she'd been at home since that fateful evening fifteen years ago when everyone's life changed.

‘Good afternoon, Miss India. Please come in.'

The door swung open and India stepped over the threshold into the darkened room. The familiar fragrance of roses and dust greeted her. Such an old smell, and Mama wasn't old; just trapped in the misery of the past, unable to move on.

Anya did her best to keep the rooms clean while Mama insisted everything should remain untouched. She sat statue-like in the bath chair, her profile gaunt and her body frail beneath the white gown and shawl. Staring out of the window she swung the old metal cradle and fingered the mourning locket she wore on a chain around her neck.

‘Good afternoon, Mama.' India walked over to the bath chair and dropped a light kiss on her smooth, pale cheek.

Mama's eyes flickered although her attention remained fixed beyond the window. India could clearly remember the last time she'd held her mother's attention. The occasion of her fifth birthday. The cook, the old stud master's wife, had baked a cake for her birthday, full of blueberries from the garden. No-one had ever had their own cake before, made especially for them. It had made her feel so special, so loved. Mama looked straight into her eyes across the table, then stood and brought the knife tied with a ribbon to her. They'd allowed her to cut it, and everyone had clapped.

‘Mama, we've had a very successful day. The new man has arrived and we've spent hours working around the stables. We've even given the inside walls a lime wash. They're sparkling like new.' The false joviality she forced into her voice snatched at her throat, competing with the memories.

She understood Papa's despair. In one fell swoop everything he'd cherished and worked for had vanished. Misery had gouged the heart out of the homestead and the property, sucking every ounce of life from him until he became as much a shadow as her mother.

It wasn't until she returned from school in Sydney that the enormity of Papa's despair had become apparent, her home reduced to such a shell of despondency. It made her heart bleed. Encouraging Papa to return to the city and his shipping business, she pledged to return Helligen to the home it had once been. Besides, she had a responsibility to Mama. One day she would regain her senses and return to the vibrant woman of India's childhood.

Receiving no answer India turned, as always, to Anya, the one person who understood. ‘Have you everything you need? Is there anything I can do?'

Anya's hand grazed her shoulder and she shook her head. ‘It has been a pleasant day. We have talked of past times and remembered old friends.'

India listened to the words, knowing them by heart. Tears stung her eyes; there were so many conversations she wished she could have with Mama, so much she'd missed. Thank goodness Anya had the patience to deal with Mama's delusions. Day after day they sat staring out of the window recreating the events that had changed everyone's lives forever.

‘I saw Goodfellow.'

India jumped at the unexpected words. Anya's hand tightened on her shoulder before reaching out to smooth her mother's greying hair. ‘There, there, Miss Laila. Hush now. Don't concern yourself.'

For a reason India didn't understand she stilled Anya's hand. ‘Did you, Mama?' Her voice snagged; she didn't want to upset her mother but all the same she couldn't let the first inkling of communication between them pass. The granite slab marking Goodfellow's grave stood alongside Oliver's beneath the fig trees. Mama often sat on the stone bench there, staring into the distance.

‘A man was riding him near the lagoon.' Mama ran her finger and thumb over the chain around her neck, the constant reminder of all she'd lost.

India met Anya's dark gaze. ‘Were you out riding?'

Her mother nodded. Her neck was so thin India feared she might damage herself with the movement.

‘Don't go alone. It's dangerous, you might fall again.' As the words left her lips India realised her mistake.

Mama's frail body crumpled, her hands cradling her head, and her loud heart-rending sob filled the room.

Anya's eyes blazed, the she-cat protecting her ward. ‘See what you have done? Go, Miss India. Go now.'

Slamming her hands against her ears to block the sound of her mother's keening, India backed to the door. Goosebumps flecked her skin and threw her back to the past. To the time when these same cries rent the night and she burrowed under a pillow, unable to assuage her conscience and her heartache. Fumbling, she found the door handle and turned it. As she left the room Anya held the small glass of laudanum to her mother's lips. The drug offered its release almost before she closed the door.

After a bath and a change of clothes, India made her way into the dining room hoping Violet's company might erase the sound of Mama's cries still ringing in her ears. Violet stood at the tall sash window, arms clasped around her waist, staring out into the fading light.

‘Hello. Have you had a good day?'

‘Not particularly.' Violet grunted and turned. ‘As I've told you I find it insufferably boring here.' She rolled her eyes. When she was happy they were the colour of the tiny violets that grew between the sandstone pavers in the walled garden. Tonight they resembled the purple Paterson's Curse that overtook the paddocks in autumn. ‘What have you been doing? I haven't seen you since yesterday.'

‘Well, I have excellent news.' India forced a cheerful tone into her voice. Since her visit to her mother she'd been trying to devise ways of keeping her in the house. The thought she might have another riding accident made India's stomach turn. Anya did her very best to keep her safe, but the belief someone had stolen her child while she lay insensible was her sole reality. Her twilight sojourns had become difficult to monitor. In the time it took Anya to rush downstairs to the kitchen her mother could be out of the house and astride a horse. Her ability to ride without a saddle made it easy for her to slip away. Perhaps Jim's presence would curtail her jaunts.

‘I have employed a new overseer.'

Now she had Violet's attention.

‘Oh! Is that who I saw you talking to? He looks charming—in a pastoral sort of way, of course.'

‘I didn't employ him for his looks.' However, she didn't find them offensive; his wide grin and straight white teeth were charming. And he appeared very capable and assured. Her mind flashed to the way he'd swept her down from the fence and the lovely scent of saddle-soap and leather. ‘You know how much I want to restore Helligen's reputation as a stud. Jim is the first step along that road.'

‘Oh!
Jim
.' Violet batted her eyelashes then cocked an eyebrow.

‘Don't be so ridiculous. Of course it's Jim. We're employing him. What do you expect me to call him? Mr Mawgan?'

‘It would seem a little more appropriate. Have you forgotten all the manners we learned at Miss Wetherington's?'

For a moment India wondered if she had. The man had walked onto the property last night and already it was as if he belonged. ‘No, I haven't forgotten my manners. He is simply the perfect candidate for the job and I was lucky enough to find him with the first advertisement.'

‘I can't understand why you feel the need to employ the man in the first place. What's the use? We don't need to be here. We'd be far better off in Sydney. If you'd take Cecil Bryce's offer more seriously you wouldn't have to spend your time getting your hands dirty.'

The same old refrain. Violet's ability to turn every subject back to Sydney was a source of constant amazement. Did she think of nothing else?

Violet's pert nose wrinkled. ‘Running the property is man's work. By all means employ someone, but for goodness sake let's get back to Sydney and leave it all in Cecil's capable hands. He'd be more than happy to take over control.'

‘It's out of the question. Helligen needs people living here, and so for that matter does Mama.'

‘Mama?' Violet managed to invest the word with a disdainful sneer, as always.

‘Yes, your mother. Did you see her today?'

‘No.' Violet pouted as she inspected her fingernails. ‘Quite frankly, I don't understand why you even bother. She hasn't been a mother to either of us since the accident and she's not interested in anything except Oliver. Why she can't get it through her shattered head the boy is dead is beyond my comprehension. It's been years.'

India sank down onto the chair and rested her elbows on the dining room table. The same old arguments every day, the same tirade. The accident had taken a toll on Mama but her physical injuries weren't the main cause. It was her mental state. Trapped in the past by a melancholy so strong that some days she could barely lift her head from the pillow.

India took a sip of water. And she was to blame. Although she didn't share Violet's views on Mama she could understand them. Violet had little memory of happier days when Helligen sparkled with life and promise. Before the accident Mama and Papa were the vibrant centre of their universe. ‘It would be nice if you could spare a few moments of your day to spend with Mama. Anya would really appreciate it, too.'

‘Oh, so now it's Anya.' Violet gave a dramatic sigh. ‘It seems everyone comes first, before me. There's Mama, there's Papa, there's you, there's Anya and even Oliver. He reaches out from the grave to taunt us all. It's like a living hell.' She stamped her foot and folded her arms, an ugly scowl marring her china doll perfection. ‘It's time to put the past behind us.'

‘Come and sit down, Violet. Let's have a nice dinner for a change. Peggy will be along soon.' Receiving no response India searched for something neutral to disperse her sister's miasma. ‘We have your favourite for pudding. Jam roll.'

‘For goodness sake, India. Please stop trying. I'm not a child anymore.'

Resisting the temptation to tell her sister to stop behaving like one, India offered a conciliatory smile. ‘No-one thinks you're a child. You are a very attractive, well-educated young woman …'

‘Who wants a husband? I even come last in those stakes. At least someone has proposed to you. I can't understand why you don't accept Cecil. He adores you and he's as rich as Croesus.'

India gave a small shudder. ‘Cecil Bryce is not a solution to our problems and he hasn't proposed to me.'

‘But he's a solution to
my
problems.'

Not understanding her sister's comment she raised an eyebrow. Surely Violet didn't want to marry Cecil. He was a good twenty years older than she was. He spent half his time in Sydney presiding over the shipping empire he and Papa had created. The rest of it attending every function his mother believed would improve his chances of becoming a politician. Added to that, the man was distinctly unattractive with his receding hairline and arrogant sense of self-importance. ‘How is Cecil the answer to your problems?'

Violet flounced out of the chair. ‘Sometimes, India, I think you have something missing up here.' She tapped her head with her forefinger. ‘If you marry Cecil you will have a Sydney house. I will be able to live there. We will have a position in society. I won't be stuck in this godforsaken mausoleum and, in case you have forgotten, I am your younger sister, so I will then be able to find a husband. If I marry before you, you'll look like an old maid, someone left on the shelf.' She thrust out her chest and thumped her hands onto her hips. ‘I have your best interests at heart.' With that Violet spun on her heel and swept out of the room in a flurry of frills and flounces, almost sending Peggy and her trolley flying.