Jim made an effort to close his mouth then blinked twice at the vision before him.
‘Mr Mawgan?’ she repeated.
Clearing his throat he held out his hand, quite why he didn’t know. It wasn’t customary or proper. ‘Yes.’ His chest tightened and the hairs on his forearms rose.
‘I’m India Kilhampton.’ Her hand was warm, not cool like the pale hands of yesterday.
For a long moment he stared into her charcoal eyes: thunderclouds chasing across a stormy sky. She raised an eyebrow and tugged her hand back.
‘I wrote. The job. I’m here about the job.’
A smile hovered on the edge of her lips and she pulled back her sun-kissed hair against the nape of her neck. His skin prickled in response to the gesture, so like the woman yesterday. They could be one and the same but for the light of laughter in India’s eyes and her taut, flawless skin tanned from hours in the fresh air.
‘I am so happy to see you. Let me show you around and perhaps you can tell me a little about yourself.’
They stepped out into the morning sun. Countless colours, threads of gold and red danced in her hair and snatched his breath away. The same streaked tresses, the same eyes, and the same skin. All painted in a brighter hue, not washed out by the frenzied agony he’d seen last night.
‘I’ll take you for a tour of the property, and we’ll discuss the job.’
Jim raked back his hair and scratched at the scar on the back of his neck. He tried to concentrate on her words as he planted his hat back on his head. The likeness between the two women was remarkable and yet the difference—watercolours to oils.
Miss Kilhampton didn’t appear to notice his pensive silence, simply strode out and expected him to follow. Her self-assurance was no doubt a reflection of the confidence that privilege and security brought. He was thankful as it gave him time to gather his thoughts. He’d mentioned the woman on the horse to Peggy and she’d dismissed it. The resemblance was uncanny. He followed, forcing the image of the troubled woman to the back of his mind. Instead he searched the stylish skirt and buttoned boots, looking for some inkling of the precocious child he remembered.
‘And so, in this area around the house we have two stable blocks, here and here.’ She raised her arm and indicated to the two buildings framing the courtyard. ‘The hayloft is above these stables, the stallion yard next to the vegetable garden. Over here is the new barn. I say new—we completed it about fourteen years ago.’
Last night he was too caught up in his own memories and hadn’t noticed the aura of neglect about the place. In daylight it became tangible, a physical presence, forlorn and forgotten. Although nothing was falling down an air of decay and despondency pervaded every building. To see the once-thriving property standing idle made him want to turn back the clock. Helligen was his childhood home and his father’s life work. Once it was full of laughter and hope. Bloody Kilhampton and his high-handed notions.
‘Over there is the blacksmith’s shop, the dairy, old barn and slaughter house. We lease them out to local farmers.’ Miss Kilhampton’s hands waved, her gestures as fluid as a dancer against the hazy morning sky. He didn’t need the buildings pointed out; he remembered every one of them only too well.
They completed a loop of the driveway and ended up in front of the big house, majestic in the sunlight. Two brick chimneys soared above a grey-blue slate roof. A wide verandah skirted the front and sides of the building and tall double-hung windows flanked the impressive front door.
The more he saw of the place the more he remembered. His roots were here, his heritage. From humble beginnings, with hard work and determination his father had put his convict status behind him. He earned his reputation as the best stud master in the area. Once, Helligen was home to some of the most sought-after thoroughbred sires in the country, until Kilhampton destroyed all those years of work. And now she wanted to start over.
‘Can you tell me something of your experience?’ she asked.
He’d been expecting the question. He paused for a moment, picking his words from his practised response. ‘My father was a stud master so I grew up around horses. He worked for some of the more reputable studs in New South Wales.’
And some of the least.
‘Was?’
‘He died a few months ago.’ A broken man, his reputation ruined and his dreams shattered by a colonial upstart. Someone who thought money could buy his entry into a life he didn’t deserve.
‘I’m so sorry.’
So she should be. So easy to say. The sins of the father. ‘I’ve been working in the Upper Hunter on a stud called Munmurra, you might have heard of it.’
‘Indeed I have. They have a fine reputation for breeding remounts for the Indian Army.’
And other bloodlines, but that was another story and nothing he would ever share with a Kilhampton. For all her city manners and gentrified airs the woman seemed to know the business.
‘Please don’t think me impertinent but why are you looking for work if you have a job at Munmurra. It’s a thriving stud.’
‘This was a thriving property once. My father maintained it carried some of the best stock in the country.’ Jim turned from her, the colour burning his cheeks. He’d said too much. Let his mouth run away with him, allowed his prejudices to show.
‘I agree with you. It’s a huge waste and a terrible pity.’
Like a kick in the guts her words snatched his breath away. She agreed with him!
‘That’s why I want to restore Helligen. It’s sitting here like some shipwreck thrown aground on the rocks and left to rot.’
‘And what does your father think of your ideas?’
‘Papa is involved with his other business interests.’
‘And the rest of your family?’
‘My mother lives here. It’s her home. She wouldn’t be happy anywhere else. My sister Violet also lives here, although she believes Sydney is where she belongs. Helligen deserves more.’ Her face paled and she quaked with undisguised passion.
The spectacle of the heartbroken woman yesterday came to his mind. ‘Your mother lives here?’
A shuttered look crossed her face and she folded her arms. ‘My mother is an invalid. She rarely leaves her rooms.’ She glared out over the empty paddocks, her brow as furrowed as a newly ploughed paddock.
Scuffing his feet in the dirt, Jim followed her gaze. The paddocks were once full of mares and prancing foals. To squander such opportunity. Some people didn’t appreciate what they had and cared even less for the lives of others. He’d spoken more freely than he intended, and she had too, if the faraway look in her eye was anything to go by.
She recovered faster than he did. ‘And so, that’s why I need your help. I want to rebuild Helligen’s reputation as a horse stud. Will you help me?’
Despite his best intentions, Jim answered, ‘Yes.’