Jim’s shoulders dropped and he sucked in a deep breath as he ran his hand over Jefferson’s neck and muzzle. Keeping a firm grasp on the bridle he shot a look down the animal’s flanks. Unable to see any injury to horse or rider he moved to the offside. Nothing. In fact the woman sat as though born to the saddle, except there was no saddle.
‘Mama!’ India’s voice rose above the heavy breathing of all three horses as she slipped to the ground. ‘Are you all right? What are you doing out here? So far from the house.’
Mrs Kilhampton tossed an impatient glance at her daughter and urged Jefferson forwards. Jim clamped his hand around the bridle. Now they’d found her he wouldn’t let her out of his sight again, or for that matter Jefferson.
‘One moment, please.’ He tried to keep his tone even and offered a tentative smile, mindful of the way she’d fled on the first day. She shivered like a frightened filly as India’s screeches rose, resembling her sister in the mating yard.
‘India, why don’t you go back and tell Anya and Peggy we have found Mrs Kilhampton.’
‘Jim! You …’
‘Now! I have this under control.’ He locked her gaze. She would do as he said.
‘India, do what Mr Cobb said.’
‘Oh Mama, I … Mr Cobb?’ she questioned again.
‘Stop arguing, child. Do as you’re told.’
With an enormous huffing sound India remounted then threw him a bemused glance over her shoulder and headed back down the track.
Jim exhaled a slow, shuddering breath.
‘Thank goodness you came, Mr Cobb. I knew you would. We remembered exactly where to go but I rather hoped you would find us.’ She patted Jefferson’s damp neck. ‘He’s a wonderful horse but then you knew that from the outset, didn’t you? You have such an eye for an animal.’
His mind circled, trying to make sense of her words. She must have mistaken him for his father. He doubted India realised Cobb was his rightful name, or how Mrs Kilhampton would know. Right now it was the least of his concerns. He had to get her back to the security of the house, and if it meant pretending to be his father then so be it.
And Jefferson. Jefferson was obviously doing a very good imitation of pretending to be his father. If the bloody horse could do it then so could he. Slipping a lead rope from his saddle Jim moved to clip it onto the bridle.
She jerked the reins, pulling Jefferson’s head around. ‘I don’t need that, for goodness sake.’ She edged the horse past him on the track. ‘You of all people know how well I ride. You taught me all sorts of tricks.’ She pulled her bare feet up onto Jefferson’s back and dropped the reins, her arms spread like a butterfly’s wings.
‘Mrs Kilhampton, please.’ Jesus Christ! If she fell history would repeat itself, and heaven only knew what Jefferson would do if she did as she threatened and stood. The possibility of another accident, more blame and another injured horse made his blood run cold.
She tossed her head and shot him a tedious glance before sinking back down and bolting down the track.
Jim sprang into the saddle and followed, his eyes trained on the swathe of grey-blonde hair hanging down to her waist. He’d known as soon as he’d seen India that these two women were somehow related.
As the track opened out he pulled alongside Jefferson. The horse turned his head and looked at him, snorted and continued on his way with a delighted prance. Almost as though he was enjoying being the centre of attention.
‘I knew you’d come back.’
Jim sucked in a breath. ‘Let’s get back to the house and see what Anya and Peggy know,’ he said, hoping it was the right response for the poor woman forced to wander the property searching for her dead child.
The look she flashed him was so like India’s his stomach turned. ‘Good idea, Mr Cobb. You can always be trusted to come up with the perfect solution.’
Jim returned her look with a tentative smile and scanned the open paddock searching for India. She was nowhere in sight. With any luck she’d found Anya and Peggy and they were heading back to the house. Quite what he’d do when he got there he didn’t know. In fact, he had no idea about anything. Mrs Kilhampton’s effusive greeting and friendly smile were at odds with all he knew. Surely she wouldn’t treat the man responsible for her family’s misfortunes with such confidence. She’d greeted him like a long-lost friend and she appeared to have no difficulty in talking to him. Hardly the relationship one would expect between the lady of the house and the hired help.
For the remainder of the ride she sat seemingly lost in her thoughts, occasionally glancing up to the sky or over her shoulder, but not speaking. As Jim mulled over the strange situation his mistake became clear. When his family had been sent packing from the property Mrs Kilhampton lay as good as dead. She knew nothing of their departure. Had anyone bothered to tell her that his father was no longer working on the property?
The gate and Fred came into view and Jim’s shoulders dropped the moment they entered the home paddocks. Fred swung the gate and made to speak. Jim raised his hand and shook his head. For once the boy did as he was told, closed his mouth and the gate in matching movements, then followed them up the track on foot.
Once back at the stables Mrs Kilhampton dismounted and Jim led Jefferson into the stall. She began to walk away then turned and picked up a biscuit of lucerne hay. ‘He likes a reward after a ride.’ She scratched Jefferson behind his ears and dropped the hay into the stall, then drifted off towards the house.
‘Bloody hell.’ Fred appeared at his elbow. ‘That was weird.’
‘On this occasion,’ Jim said, ‘I think I agree with you. Can you see to these animals? They both need a good rub down and so will Aura. Miss India is back, isn’t she?’
‘Yep.’ Fred tossed his head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘She’s with Peggy. Peggy said she was spitting feathers. Had to have a cup of tea. She’d come over all unnecessary.’
Jim slumped down on a mound of straw. He’d just about come over all unnecessary too, and once Mrs Kilhampton was safely back in her rooms he’d have some questions to answer, that was for sure.
So be it. It was time to come clean and tell India the truth, admit his association with the property and explain why he was there. Today’s events had lost him the luxury of picking his moment. He wandered outside and stuck his head under the pump, then shook himself like a dog. The water sprayed out around him making a circle on the dusty ground, just like it had when he was a kid. He’d miss the place. It was in his blood as much as Jefferson’s, however there was little he could do about it. The saddest part of the whole mess was he’d never stand his horse at stud or see him race at Flemington.
Determined to get the whole horrendous debacle over and clear up everything once and for all, Jim made for the kitchen. He had a need to know India was safe, to see her and, if truth be known, hold her in his arms. The likelihood of that ever happening again was receding faster than an odds-on favourite.
Without bothering to knock he walked into the kitchen. Peggy sat crumpled at the kitchen table, her face red and flustered, and Violet hovered around her like a persistent fly offering damp towels and cups of tea.
‘Is India about?’
‘She’s upstairs with Anya, settling Mama down,’ Violet said without even looking in his direction.
No offer of tea was forthcoming so he hung in the doorway unproductive, useless and unwelcome. After a few moments Peggy lifted her head and looked at him shrewdly. ‘So are you going to spill the beans?’
Violet froze and her eyes narrowed as she squinted at him.
‘I need to speak to India.’
‘Before you do, young man, let me tell you a few things. First and foremost I’ve thought there was something a bit dodgy about you from the moment you walked in. Far too familiar and far too at home.’ Peggy tipped her head to one side in a bird-like fashion. ‘What have you got to say about that?’ Her chin jutted.
Peggy was a bit too knowing for her own good. He had no recollection of her working at Helligen when he was a child; however, she didn’t miss a trick. He’d never have got away with his ruse for so long if Peggy had been around when he and his family left. ‘What I have to say needs to be said to India before anyone else.’
‘I’ll go and get her,’ Violet jumped in, her eyes wide with a curiosity he’d rather not have to deal with.
‘I’d like to speak to her on my own.’
‘Oh, you would, would you?’ Peggy said, putting two and two together and coming up with fifty-four.
‘I owe it to her.’
The latch on the door clicked as India pulled it tight and turned the heavy brass key. Until Anya returned she couldn’t run the risk of her mother wandering off again.
Questions jostled for space in her head. Her mother’s disjointed sentences and illusions of the past were just too confusing. If only she’d been older and had a better memory of the days before and after the accident.
Obviously Mama was still living in the past. Her words made little or no sense. To think that Jefferson was Goodfellow was, in a way, understandable. The two horses were very similar. When had she last seen Goodfellow? Not since he’d thrown her. He was shot while she was insensible. Buried at the same time as Oliver. Too many deaths. Too many losses. No wonder Papa hated the place. More than anything else Mama’s strange reaction to Jim nagged at her. She’d called him Mr Cobb and seemed so familiar with him, so at ease, so calm. A different woman. She shook her head. The idea Mama was recovering was a myth; she’d crawled further back into the past and now would probably never regain her senses. Anya needed to be with her. Where was she? Usually the most diligent of nurses, she’d vanished.
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?