Violet twirled through the house like a dust storm, clattering and banging as she added to the oversized pile of trunks and hatboxes collected at the bottom of the stairs. India sidestepped them and placed her single carpetbag alongside.
‘Is that all you’re taking?’
India sighed and shook her head. ‘I have clothes in Sydney.’ She couldn’t pierce the cloud that hung over her. She should be pleased Papa had at least agreed to withdraw the charges against Jim, even if he wasn’t to know of it for another week or so. And the transformation in her mother should surely have given her some pleasure. How long had she wanted Mama to take an interest in life, be a part of the family? Now all she felt was a vague sense of annoyance. As though there were still obstacles cluttering her path.
‘I cannot wait to get back to Sydney.’ Violet rammed her purple hat onto her head and adjusted the peacock feather in front of the mirror in the hallway. ‘I would rather stay at Potts Point than reopen our house. The Bryces’ mansion is absolutely magnificent and the gardens a dream.’
And that was the crux of her distress—the Bryces, Cecil, and her failure to resurrect Helligen. She’d wasted her opportunity and the possibility of ever presenting Papa with the Melbourne trophy. The closest she’d get would be to bet on someone else’s horse, and with the way her luck was going she wouldn’t manage to pick a winner. The peacock feather was the culprit. Hadn’t Peggy said it was bad luck to have them in the house? For goodness sake, what was the matter with her? ‘Take the peacock feather outside. Peggy will be livid.’
‘No, she won’t. She’s far too excited for me. She says it’s the best possible thing that could have happened and I deserve to be in Sydney.’
Despite her malaise India’s lip twitched. Peggy didn’t mean her comment in quite the way Violet had interpreted it. No doubt, Violet was the winner in the situation. Who would have thought a foolish advertisement in a newspaper would have provided her with her longed-for release?
‘I am absolutely convinced I will strike up some friendships in Sydney in a matter of days. I’m sure not all of the girls from my time at Miss Wetherington’s can have snaffled themselves husbands. I do believe there are some new plays at the Prince of Wales theatre and in another month or so, the first of the balls. Oh, my gosh! Do you think I might be presented to the governor? Would Papa permit it?’
‘I don’t see why not. I was.’ Not that it was an experience she would ever want to repeat. All the gewgaws, baubles and inane tittle-tattle.
‘Of course, I will need an entirely new wardrobe. These old rags—’ she kicked the pile of trunks, ‘—will just have to do for the time being. Where is Fred? We’ll be late into Morpeth and Cecil will be wondering where we are.’
Violet’s prattle swirled and dipped around her. Thank goodness she was riding. Perched between Fred and Violet in the buggy all the way to Morpeth would be more than she could bear.
‘There you are, Fred. Hurry up and get this loaded, it’s time we were leaving.’ With a wave of her gloved hand Violet turned on her heel and drifted off in the direction of the buggy, leaving Fred to wrestle the accumulated baggage out of the house.
‘Violet, I think we should go and say goodbye to Mama and Papa.’
‘I’ve already done it. Do hurry.’
India walked down the hallway. Once she’d made her farewells there would be no going back. Her feet dragged. If only there was another way. It was as though Papa had forced her to trade her freedom for Jim’s. An eye for an eye … She knocked on the library door.
‘Enter.’ As ever the terse command made her stomach flinch as she pushed open the door. The sight that greeted her wasn’t what she’d imagined. Her mother sat in the winged chair, her legs crossed at the ankles and resting on a small footstool. Papa had dragged his leather chair around, loosened his cravat and removed his jacket, and his feet were resting on his desk. Shrouding her look of surprise she walked in and dropped a kiss on her mother’s head.
‘Violet and I are leaving now for Morpeth.’
‘Goodbye, my darling. Have a wonderful time in Sydney. I’m sure Cecil will look after you both admirably.’ She couldn’t be certain, but she thought Mama met her gaze with a gleam of sympathy in her eyes, as if aware of her reluctance to leave.
‘Your father and I have a lot of catching up to do. He’ll be down in Sydney soon and, who knows, I may even accompany him.’
Papa nodded in agreement. ‘I’ve received word from Cecil that he’ll be in Morpeth this evening to meet you. Go directly to the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle. He has already set in motion the matters with our Sydney house. You’ll be pleased to know you won’t have to stay too long at Potts Point.’
‘Yes, Papa,’ she replied in a dutiful voice. It would appear Violet had already been appraised of all the arrangements—maybe Papa no longer deemed her the more capable sister. However, the news that she’d be subjected to Mrs Bryce only briefly was a small bonus.
Papa stood and escorted her to the door. ‘Take care, and I’ll see you soon.’
‘Goodbye, Papa.’ For a split second she had the urge to drop a curtsy, as she would have done as a young child. Bringing her hand to her lips she blew a kiss to Mama and closed the door behind her.
The bags had disappeared from the hallway so she made her way to the kitchen. Saying goodbye to Peggy would be harder than farewelling her parents. As happy as she was to see her mother so much more … alive, Peggy had been the centre of her life for too long and she’d miss her more than she dared imagine.
In the warm, cosy kitchen a tantalising waft of apple pie hung in the air. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’ She threw her arms around Peggy’s ample waist and received a floury hug in return.
‘You take care now and don’t you worry. It will all turn out for the best. That boy won’t be languishing in that gaol for much longer, I promise you that.’
‘I hope you’re right. Jim doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned, even if it’s only for a short time as Papa says.’ As much as Jim’s deception irked her she couldn’t see a man imprisoned for a crime he hadn’t committed. No-one should have to pay for another man’s sins. Thomas Cobb had stolen Goodfellow. Jim had simply inherited the horse.
Peggy fixed her with a steely stare. ‘I guess Jim would feel a lot happier if he knew his stay was only temporary.’
‘If only there was some way of telling him.’ Peggy was right. Jim’s stay would be far more tolerable if he knew it was only for a few days.
‘So Fred’s taking you to Morpeth, is he?’ Peggy rubbed her hands together, her head tipped to one side in a habit she must have picked up from the curious willie wagtails that inhabited her vegetable garden.
‘I’m riding. He and Violet are travelling in the buggy.’
‘So they’ll be taking the turnpike road. No cutting across country like you did when you went last time?’
India narrowed her eyes. ‘I presume so.’ Since when had Peggy developed an interest in the roads? On the rare occasions she left Helligen it was to take a simple walk to the village.
‘The road goes through Maitland, doesn’t it?’
‘It does.’ Perhaps Peggy was planning a trip; once Mama and Papa went to Sydney her workload would be cut in half.
‘Peggy, we’re going. I’ve come to say goodbye.’ Violet hovered at the door. ‘But I can’t come in and kiss because I have arranged my hat, besides, I don’t want to greet Cecil smelling of apple pies and kitchens. I’ll just wave from here. Hurry up, India. We’re ready.’
Peggy lifted her hand and Violet disappeared. With a sigh India turned to follow.
‘You’ll be travelling right past Maitland Gaol, won’t you?’ Peggy asked.
India stopped in her tracks and turned back to Peggy. ‘Yes, yes we will.’
And then Peggy’s strange behaviour became clear, making her heart leap. She gave a quick wave and offered an enormous smile. ‘And thank you, Peggy, thank you for everything. I hope to see you before too long.’
Her heels rang as she crossed the flagstones. Should she or shouldn’t she? Fred held her horse and she stepped onto the mounting block, eyeing the saddle with displeasure. It was the perfect symbol—side-saddle. Perched on the horse with little control, cramped in an unnatural position giving no pleasure to rider or mount. That’s what Sydney would be like. A prison. Jim wasn’t the only one incarcerated. Neither of them had any hope, or could see the end of their sentence. The least she could do for Jim was give him hope. Let him know his sentence would be lifted when her father saw fit. He’d be free to take Jefferson and resume his life. His father’s debt to the Kilhamptons paid.
Everyone deserved hope. She would leave Fred and Violet to continue on their way and stop in Maitland. The gaol would surely give her a moment or two with Jim, or at least pass a message to him. It would take the buggy far longer to reach Morpeth than it would take her on horseback, even riding side-saddle. She’d catch up with Fred and Violet long before they reached the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle, long before Cecil docked and no-one would be any the wiser.
Anticipation fizzled and bounced with every prance of her horse. Her skin stretched tight, as though at any moment her excitement would burst free and sprinkle like raindrops over her head. When Peggy had reminded her of the route they would take it all became clear in her mind. As though the final pieces of the puzzle had fallen picture-side-up, ready to slot into place.
Papa might think it fitting punishment for Jim to languish behind bars for a week or two, but he didn’t deserve that. And besides, she had a moral obligation to ensure the man she’d employed was safe before she set off for Sydney.
‘Fred! Whoa up! I need to talk to you.’ The dust thrown by the buggy billowed around her. Why Violet would prefer to travel perched like a bird in a gilded cage was beyond her. She sneezed as Fred pulled back on the reins and brought the buggy to a grinding halt. From the flushed look on his face it was obvious the pleasure of driving Miss Violet was almost as high on his list of priorities as being a jockey. She smothered a grin.
‘I’m going to ride ahead. I have a couple of messages to deliver for Papa in East Maitland.’ That wasn’t exactly an untruth. Telling Jim he would not be prosecuted was a message from Papa, just not one he’d asked her to deliver. More of a half-truth really. Not a lie. ‘You go ahead and I’ll catch up with you before you even reach Morpeth. If not, I’ll see you at the inn.’
‘Miss India, that’s not a good idea. I promised Mr Kilhampton I would escort you both to Morpeth. You’re under my care. I’m responsible. Mr Kil—’
‘Fred. I’m not asking. I’m telling. I’ve ridden to Morpeth many times on my own and survived. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. I’ll see you at the inn.’ The boy was getting ideas above his station. Ever since Jim bribed him with a ride on Jefferson he’d cast himself in a role way beyond stable boy. ‘I’ll see you soon, Violet.’ She dug in her heels, giving her sister no opportunity to express any opinion, then veered off the road to follow the rough track that skirted the town.
The gaol dominated the landscape, leaving no doubt as to the direction she should take. Massive sandstone walls held it firm, perched on top of the hill; a solid building made from Hunter sandstone. The slate roof glinted in the afternoon light. Large and oddly handsome, vertical iron-barred windows sat at equal intervals along the walls. Jim languished somewhere behind those bars. She couldn’t wait to see him and tell him the news. The peculiar golden flecks in his eyes would flash and his grin would spark the dimple in his cheek.
The gates appeared ahead of her, an imposing entrance for such a hellhole. She dismounted and tethered her horse to the convenient rail. Within moments a small door opened in the studded wooden gates and a man’s head popped out. ‘What?’
She swallowed, ignoring his terse greeting. ‘I’d like to speak to someone in authority. I have a message for one of the prisoners.’
‘No admittance today except on official business.’
What was the fool talking about?
‘Gaol’s closed.’
How could the gaol be closed? What rubbish! ‘This is official business. I have a message concerning one of the inmates with regard to his sentence.’
‘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.
The prisoner. Jim was not a prisoner. Papa was dropping the charges.
‘You say your father, Mr Kilhampton, intended to drop the charges against James Cobb? I have nothing to that avail in my paperwork.’
‘My father realised his accusations were erroneous.’ If he insisted on sounding like a court reporter from the newspaper then so could she. ‘He intended to come to Maitland himself and ensure the charges were dropped. Since I was passing he asked me to inform Mr Cobb to … to prevent him being unduly concerned until his release was secured.’ There, that didn’t sound bad.
‘And your father employed Mr Cobb to work on his property?’
‘No, I … yes. He advertised for a stud master and Mr Cobb answered the advertisement and secured employment.’
‘So your father has returned from Sydney and is now residing at Helligen once more.’
‘Yes, he’s residing at Helligen at the moment.’ That was closer to the truth. To admit that she, a mere woman, had been running the property would no doubt make the situation appear even more peculiar. Where was Cecil? For a man who prided himself on his ability to sort matters this time lapse was impossible. The clock struggled its way past the hour, each and every second ticking in her head. For the first time in her life she would be pleased to see Cecil.
‘It states here that James Cobb was in possession of a horse, Goodfellow, belonging to your father. I take it that is no longer the case.’
‘It was all a misunderstanding. Goodfellow is at our property and, as I said, my father intends to drop the charges.’ How many times did she have to say it?
‘Ah! Intends. I see.’ He took another sip. ‘In that case, when Mr Cobb escaped he was still under the charge of horse theft.’ He refilled his glass and drummed his fat fingers on the side. ‘And you have no idea where Mr Cobb might be?’
She shook her head although she knew exactly where Jim would go. Back to get Jefferson—she’d put money on it. Jefferson meant more to him than his freedom. He would leave Goodfellow but not Jefferson. The horse was all he had. And when Papa found out he was back on the property? A cold shudder traced her spine. She had to get back there. She couldn’t go to Sydney until Jim was safe. Why had she agreed to leave?
‘A thief generally returns to the scene of his crime.’
The words hung in the air. The wretched man was a mind-reader. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you mean.’ She scrabbled for something more. ‘He has not committed a crime. He is not a horse thief.’
She almost missed the knock. Before the governor had time to open his mouth again the door flew open.
‘India. Thank goodness.’
She leapt up and almost threw herself into Cecil’s arms. Never, never in her life had she been so pleased to see anyone, least of all Cecil.
‘Mr Bryce.’ The governor lumbered to his feet, his hand outstretched and his face wreathed in a sycophantic smile, a far cry from anything she’d been privy to.
Cecil pulled himself up to his full height, which was in fact quite imposing, and peered down at the governor. She took a step closer, surprised by her need to seek Cecil’s protection.
‘I hardly think this is a social occasion.’ Cecil ignored the governor’s outstretched hand. His inane grin dropped along with his hand and India restrained a cheer.
‘Quite why you saw fit to detain Miss Kilhampton is beyond my comprehension. I shall be taking the matter further, have no doubt of that.’
A degree of spluttering filled the room, almost covering Cecil’s words. ‘Come, my dear. Let me get you home.’
Home. For a moment hope blossomed. Home. And they might get there before Jim ran into Papa. Cecil ushered her out the door without a backward glance and marched her across the compound.
The shadows cast by the gates had lengthened and she drew closer to Cecil’s side, resting a hand on his arm. He tucked it under his elbow and she shrank against him, comforted by his presence.
‘Violet is at the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle. We really can’t leave her alone any longer. It is hardly suitable. The mistress assured me she would act as chaperone but I’m unconvinced. Violet would tempt any man. I took the liberty of bringing Fred with me.’
The ratty man at the main gate appeared from his hidey-hole, took a quick glance at the grim look on Cecil’s face and swung the gate open. Swaying against Cecil she almost collapsed in relief at the sight of Fred lounging against the buggy, with her horse tethered behind munching on a bag of something delicious.
Cecil handed her up into the buggy. ‘Let’s get back to Morpeth now, Fred, quick as you can. Miss Violet will be worried.’
‘Yes, sir. Mr Bryce, sir.’
India collapsed against the padded seat and let out a long slow breath. The afternoon had not been one of her finest. At every turn some evil bunyip stretched out a toe and tripped her, and then before she had time to get back on course something else cropped up.
Her most pressing need now was to return home. How to convince Cecil of that? He had played an admirable role as rescuer, but the prospect of Jim returning a wanted man, in search of Jefferson, sent shivers scuttling down her spine. Papa would not be impressed.
‘Not long now, my dear, a few miles and then we will have you safe and sound at the inn. We’ll take the steamer to Sydney as planned in the morning. By tomorrow afternoon we’ll be ensconced at Potts Point with all this nonsense behind us.’
Nonsense! Wasn’t he even going to ask her what she’d been doing at the gaol?
‘Miss Violet was really worried when you didn’t catch up with us before Morpeth.’ Fred answered her question. Violet! Of course, she would have taken great delight in apprising Cecil of her version of the situation. India could almost hear the conversation, the sighs and raised eyebrows, lowered lashes and coy smiles.
‘Cecil.’
‘Yes, my dear.’ He gave her arm another soothing pat.
‘Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. I feel a complete fool.’
‘Think nothing of it. Your father would be horrified if anything happened to you on my watch. I’m only pleased we resolved the situation so easily. These pompous fools always crumble in the face of authority.’
The only problem being the situation was not resolved, and she had to find some way of persuading Cecil that she must return home. Travelling to Helligen tonight was out of the question. Tomorrow, however, was a distinct possibility.