The Horse Thief Page 19

  ‘Yep. It’s time for a bit of fresh air.’

  Keys rattled in the thick air. They stood by the outer door, tense and silent, ears straining for any unexpected sound. Bushy bent down and one by one they crept through the hole in the door out of the cell.

  At the far end of the corridor a light flashed behind the barred window as the turnkey fumbled with a firestick. The bolt grated and the door groaned and swung open. The turnkey stepped inside.

  Bushy and the sinewy bloke grabbed him by the arms. He had time to utter one mangled cry before Bushy stuffed a handful of rags into his gaping mouth.

  ‘Stay still and you’ll come to no harm.’ Bushy nodded and the blacksmith tied the turnkey’s hands behind his back with twisted strips of blanket, then his legs before knotting the whole lot together. Rummaging around his waistline Bushy produced the turnkey’s set of keys then dumped him, trussed like a chicken, in the corner.

  He peered through the door and then raised his hand, beckoning them to follow into a small walled yard.

  The moon rode high in the predawn sky, casting an iridescent glow across the compound. Nothing moved. Last through the door, Jim closed it and shot the bolt home then followed the four men along the walls and around the back of the cookhouse. Chained against the wall stood two ladders. His heart sank—neither appeared long enough to allow access to the top of the walls. So much for the great escape plan: thwarted before they’d even started. His confidence was restored as Bushy produced the turnkey’s bundle of keys and inserted one into the lock. The padlock sprung open and the blacksmith interlocked the two ladders, one atop the other against the wall.

  In an instant the shadowy forms scooted up the ladder. Bushy sat astride the high compound wall and unwrapped a strip of blanket rope from around his waist. One by one the three men lowered themselves over the wall and disappeared from sight.

  ‘Too bloody late to change your mind now. Come on.’

  Without a second thought he scaled the ladder and sat astride the wall facing Bushy.

  ‘Grab the rope and down you go.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Got it covered. Yes or no?’ Without waiting for an answer he pushed his hand hard against Jim’s shoulder. ‘Last chance. Go!’

  Jim clamped his hands tightly around the blanket rope and pushed his feet back from the wall. His arms all but wrenched from his sockets as he scrambled against the wall. A hand clasped his ankle, pulling him down. He kicked out and heard a muttered curse then his hands slipped from the rope and he hit the ground with a thud. The air whooshed from his lungs and he lay curled in a heap in the dust, his hands covering his head as one of the horses pranced aside.

  Looking back up the wall he saw Bushy lower himself, feet pressed against the wall. There was a groan and a clatter, the rope dropped five feet and Bushy landed on the ground agile as a cat, followed by the makeshift rope.

  ‘No time,’ Bushy hissed, brushing his arse and clambering astride one of the horses. ‘Haven’t got all day.’

  Jim struggled to his feet. The four mounted men stared down at him. What now? On horseback they’d have half a chance, on foot he’d be back inside in minutes. Was Bushy good to his word?

  He leant down and offered a hand. ‘Up behind me. I presume a bloody horse thief can manage.’ Grabbing the proffered hand with both of his he swung up onto the horse and they clattered down the empty street.

  Jim flashed a look back over his shoulder. Light blazed above the main gates, illuminating a group of men spilling helter-skelter out of the gaol. They set a thundering pace, heedless of the noise of the horses’ hooves. In a matter of moments they had left the town behind.

  The countryside surrounding Maitland was a bushranger’s dream. Jim ducked his head as they passed beneath low hanging branches following the twists and turns of a wallaby track.

  A few isolated farmhouses lay scattered on the surrounding hills. After an hour of hard riding the raggle-taggle group slowed and made their way to the creek, the horses’ foaming breath making large white clouds in the early morning air.

  Jim slid from the back of the horse. It was a mottled badly conformed animal with a broad deep chest and spindly legs, but it had done sterling duty carrying two men at such a pace.

  ‘Thanks.’ He held up his hand to Bushy.

  ‘Think nothing of it. What are your plans?’

  Jim shrugged his shoulders; he hadn’t had time to think further than this moment. The escape had come as such a shock and simply hanging on behind Bushy for the madcap ride had left him little time to dwell on the future. One thing was certain. He needed a horse. Travelling with these men would slow them down and put them in unnecessary danger, besides, they owed him nothing. They’d done more for him than they needed. ‘I’ll leave you here. I know the area so I’ll cover it on foot until I find a horse and then decide where to from there.’

  Bushy leant down and clapped him on the back. ‘Once a horse thief … You’re welcome to tag along a bit longer, though it’ll slow us down.’

  ‘You’ve done enough. I’m fine from here.’

  ‘Then in that case we’ll be making a move. If you come unstuck make for St Albans and ask for Molly’s daughter.’

  He lifted his hand in farewell as the four men disappeared around a bend in the track and vanished from sight. Only a random bird call and the rush of the creek over the stones broke the silence of the bush. He sucked in a lungful of freedom and let out a sigh, then found a fallen tree trunk and settled behind it in the sunshine.

  Helligen lay about ten miles to the west. If he followed the creek it would lead to the river and thence to the back paddocks of the property. In four hours he could reach the lagoon. He’d wait for sunset and make his way to the barn; Goodfellow wouldn’t like being left behind, but he had no other option. All he needed was his saddle, bridle and Jefferson. His saddlebags and belongings he would forgo. Helligen would be the constabulary’s first call.

  When Jefferson was discovered missing Kilhampton would know who was responsible, but no-one could level horse theft at him for taking his own animal. Besides, with escape under his belt as well they had enough on him. Then what? Munmurra was out of the question. All his plans for the future skittled. From now on he would think his plans through and weigh the consequences. One lesson he’d learned over the past weeks. Queensland beckoned, or Victoria, the goldfields. It was madness to go back to Helligen but he was unable to resist. He needed a horse and there was only one he wanted and one he was entitled to. Jefferson was his and he intended to claim him. Goodfellow belonged at Helligen and that’s where he would live out his days.

  The opportunities were endless. In the meantime he’d enjoy the sunshine, relax and avoid thinking of what might have been.

  Twenty-Seven

  The grandfather clock in the hallway struck ten as India knocked on the library door. Receiving no answer she pushed the door open and stuck her head around the corner. Lost in thought Papa stood gazing out of the long window to the fig trees and beyond.

  ‘Good morning, Papa.’

  He gave a slight shudder and turned, his face grey and grim, and India’s stomach sank. He looked about as approachable as a red-bellied black, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

  ‘May I speak with you?’

  His grunt of agreement did little to encourage. She sat in the chair facing his desk, a prisoner in the dock awaiting his wrath. She deserved it. Jim did not. He should not be in the lock-up for a crime his father committed. No matter how he had presented himself, what name he’d used, he was not guilty. When the so-called theft took place Jim was no more than a boy. How could he be held responsible for something his father had done?

  After an agony of delay Papa turned from the window and collapsed into his seat on the other side of the desk. For a moment she had a vision of Jim sitting in the same spot poring over the studbooks. The knowledge she’d given him free access to all of the stud records made her hands clammy and heat climb up
her arms. How could she have done that? She had no right to the responsibility of running Helligen.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘At the beginning, I suggest.’

  ‘I’ve come to apologise.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘The situation in which I placed our family. It is my fault entirely. I made a mistake.’

  Papa nodded in agreement, no smile, just a curt nod.

  She rushed on. ‘However, Jim’s not a horse thief. He shouldn’t be in gaol and he shouldn’t be held accountable for a crime committed over fifteen years ago when he was just a boy. You have to drop the charges and have him released.’ There, she’d said it. Her shoulders sagged and a little bit of the tension trickled away. She shuffled back in the chair, clasped her hands in her lap and waited.

  Goodfellow peered down at her from the portrait. It was a remarkable likeness, she could see that now. How she could have missed the similarity and not recognised Jefferson was beyond her. Then again most, if not all, of her behaviour in the last months defied description. The persistent flush rose to her cheeks and she beat it back, pushing thoughts of Jim and the river aside.

  Papa steepled his fingers and stared across the desk. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re asking?’

  Of course she did. She was asking him to have Jim released from gaol. Not to hold him responsible for a crime he hadn’t committed. She wasn’t asking for Jim to stay at Helligen, in fact she never wanted to set eyes on him again knowing she’d been played for a fool—but she didn’t want to see him hang. ‘Horse thieving is a hanging offence. He doesn’t deserve to die.’

  ‘You’ve been talking to Peggy,’ Papa said with the first glimmer of softening in his harsh features.

  ‘Yes, I have. Peggy told me Jim had been taken away last night. No-one else saw fit.’ She couldn’t resist the last barb and regretted it the moment the words left her lips.

  His brow drew together in a familiar scowl, the one capable of making her stomach sink and as a child had heralded all sorts of horrible punishments. ‘Only Sydney’s Supreme Court is entitled to award the death penalty. The punishment for horse and cattle theft is a prison sentence. I somehow doubt the common little horse thief will be dragged to the gallows, as much as I would wish otherwise.’

  ‘Papa!’ The noose loosened around Jim’s neck. ‘You cannot wish any man dead.’

  ‘I can, I have and I did. Unfortunately God intervened and beat me to it.’ A dreadful look flashed across Papa’s face, an absolute leaching of all colour, his eyes glazed and dulled, fixed in the past.

  Whatever was he talking about? ‘I’m sorry?’ She had to concentrate. Her mind kept slipping back to Jim. If he received a gaol sentence, how long would he be incarcerated, and where?

  ‘Thomas Cobb is dead. He died before his son saw fit to pay us a visit. It was his death that inspired your stud master to begin his misbegotten quest.’

  That’s right. She knew that. Jim had told her right at the very beginning his father had died a few months back. He hadn’t lied about that. ‘His father was a stud master who worked for some of the more reputable studs in New South Wales. Jim grew up around horses.’

  ‘Indeed. Helligen amongst them,’ he said drily. Her face flushed again as he pinpointed her gullibility. ‘Didn’t you think to ask him where?’

  No. She hadn’t thought to ask him where, instead she’d told him everything there was to know about Helligen and her family. ‘Oh Papa, I have been so very, very foolish.’

  ‘You have and now I think it’s time for you to tell me about the rest of your foolishness. Shall we start at the beginning?’

  The look of compassion on Papa’s face swept away any doubts. ‘I should never have placed the advertisement without asking you first.’ Her words tumbled out, jumbled and confused. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I was so keen to …’

  He walked around the desk until he stood in front of her and took her hand in his, patting and soothing. His eyes searched hers. ‘Of course you were, my poor girl.’

  ‘I should never have … I just wanted everything to be as it was. Full of laughter and love, not misery and memories.’

  Perhaps it was the haze of shame that made her accept responsibility for the chaos she’d caused; it certainly wasn’t the outrageous feelings Jim had inspired. He had duped her, tricked her and lied to her. She covered her cheeks with her hands, hiding the putrid beetroot colour. Never could she look at him again. How could she have been such a fool? She dropped her hands into her lap, her face no longer burning. A cool calm certainty told her she must make amends.

  Papa sat on the corner of his desk. ‘This is what I have decided.’

  With a demure expression on her face she waited for the axe to fall. If only she’d thought things through and hadn’t jumped in full of enthusiasm and determination. She had played straight into Papa’s hands. A year to prove herself—she hadn’t even reached the halfway mark.

  As she ruminated on her plight there was a brief knock on the door. Papa lifted his head and a guarded smile drifted over his face. ‘Laila.’

  ‘Mama.’ Surprise made her voice catch. Mama’s pale grey silk dress swished as she crossed the room. She stared all the while at Papa with the strangest look in her eyes.

  ‘Come and sit, you will tire yourself.’ Papa led her to the wingback chair by the window. India stared open-mouthed at the transformation a few short days had wrought. Mama’s long hair was drawn back off her face and her carriage was poised and upright.

  ‘Thank you, Alexander. I will sit, not because I’m tired, but because it’s time you gave me the opportunity to speak. Anya tells me Jim was taken away last night, at your behest, to Maitland Gaol.’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself, my dear. I have everything under control.’

  ‘I am concerned. You have accused him of horse theft. He’s not a thief any more than his father was.’

  Papa’s jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed. ‘You know nothing of the situation. Please, I beg of you, let me handle the matter.’

  ‘Jim brought Goodfellow back to Helligen because I asked him.’

  India attempted to smother a gasp and failed. Mama looked up at her and smiled. ‘I have always known Goodfellow did not lie beneath the granite monstrosity you saw fit to place beside Oliver, as I also knew Thomas Cobb could not have shot Goodfellow.’

  ‘How did you know?’ India couldn’t keep quiet a moment longer.

  Papa took several steps away from Mama, his face darkening. ‘I rest my case. The man was a horse thief, however I didn’t imagine he’d committed the crime with your consent.’

  ‘Oh, Alexander. You’re jumping to conclusions. Let me speak and let India hear the truth. It’s time to heal past wounds. Her life hangs in the balance because of something that happened half a lifetime ago.’

  In a strange way it was right Mama should be the one to understand her feelings. She settled back into the chair. Papa stood with one arm resting on the mantel. He tossed a glance up at the portrait above the fireplace and then back to Mama.

  ‘For all these years you have laid the blame for my accident on Thomas Cobb’s head. Said he allowed me to ride Goodfellow that night. He didn’t. I did it of my own volition.’

  ‘I thought you had no memory of the events.’

  ‘That’s right. I had no memory of those events, but when I looked from my window and saw Jefferson it was as though a fog had lifted and I began to remember. At first I thought it was a dream. For so long I had been searching for Goodfellow. I knew if I could find him he would be the key to unlock the past.’

  ‘You were looking for Goodfellow?’ India asked. ‘When you went out at night?’ The enormity of Mama’s statement ripped the ground from beneath her feet. All this time she, they, had thought her mother searched for her dead son. That one fact, her failure to comprehend Oliver’s death had convinced the doctors she’d lost her senses. The sound of Papa’s hand slamming
down on the mantel made her jump.

  ‘I have had enough of this. Are you telling me you have been riding again, Laila?’

  ‘Alexander, will you hear me out or will you let a man go to the gallows because of your pigheaded attitude?’

  ‘He won’t go to the gallows,’ Papa mumbled through lips rigid with frustration. ‘Continue.’

  ‘For over a year everyone had fussed and pampered me. Kept me abed all the time I was carrying Oliver.’

  ‘It was for your own safety. I couldn’t lose you … the string of miscarriages all because you insisted on working in the paddocks with that man. I wanted a son.’ Papa’s hand slammed down again, rocking the skeleton clock beneath its glass dome.

  Her mother’s plaintive cry was almost a wail. India recoiled. What had she done? She’d opened up even more heartbreak and all because she hoped to heal? What a diabolical disaster.

  ‘Yes, I was determined to give you your heart’s desire. A son to carry your name and rule the perfect kingdom you’d created for us, your family. Everything we hadn’t had as children.’

  India’s throat tightened. Papa stood and peered down at Mama. His eyes narrowed, almost as though he didn’t believe what she was saying. Mama offered a timid smile. ‘I sneaked out of the house, as I have done so many times. I needed to feel the wind in my hair and the freedom. You had your ship. For months I had only four walls and Anya. The accident was my mistake and my foolishness. It was God’s will we lost our beautiful son. It was never Thomas Cobb’s fault and his son shouldn’t pay.’

  A tear rolled down India’s cheek and she brushed it aside. It was as though she stood in the audience in one of the Sydney theatres watching a great melodrama unroll, but this was no narrative. It was her family. And Mama and Papa had no knowledge of her own role that night.

  ‘It would appear both of you wish to take responsibility for the Cobbs’ failings. None of what you have said leads me to change my opinion. Thomas Cobb stole Goodfellow.’

  ‘And what about Jim?’ Mama asked.