Matilda's Freedom (16 page)

There was no point telling his mother that Eliza wasn’t the woman for him. Mrs Barclay was adamant that her son should have the same kind of marriage she did—a marriage to secure the future, a marriage of convenience. He owed it to her, and he owed it to his stepsisters.

A sliver of ice slipped down his spine as he remembered the stilted expressions and rigid expectations of Sydney society. Maybe he could take Eliza to the Bainbridge’s while he was in Sydney and let her see another side of life, in an environment where he was comfortable, and that was welcoming and enlightened, not stifled by irrational expectations and Victorian prejudice.

Who am I trying to fool?

The Eliza he remembered had more in common with his mother than she ever would with him. Perhaps that was a good thing. His mother would have a companion, and he could dedicate his life to his vineyard. A wave of loneliness washed over him as he thought about his life over the last, few heavenly weeks, before he had made the mistake of making Matilda an offer that was second-best. How could he have done that? She deserved so much more. He shook a few more raindrops out of his eyes.

He had been offered the perfect opportunity to tell her of his true feelings, yet his mouth had clamped tight like a vice. The words were there—on the tip of his tongue—but he simply had not been able to get them past frozen lips. Why?

Kit gazed up at the heavens, thankful for the rain as it stung his face and lashed his eyes, as it dripped down his collar and dampened his back. It suited his disposition. He had no right to be comfortable; he deserved this torment. It was as if the heavens were answering as Matilda had not.

No. She had been cool, calm and collected. Two weeks, she had said. She would stay for only two weeks. What would happen if he didn’t get back to The Gate within that time? What if he returned with Eliza and Matilda had left? That possibility filled him with dread.

Wet, tired and dispirited, Kit nudged his horse onwards and took the track to the old inn at Horseshoe Creek. He had been disappointed with the lack of progress he had made, and his mood had grown fouler than the weather. It would take him the best part of tomorrow to get to Maitland, and then he must spend a whole day with the Portus family before he could even begin the tiresome journey to Sydney.

It was a far cry from the last time he had made this trip with Matilda. His memory of that day was bathed in sunshine and laughter, and the excitement of the miles disappearing beneath their horses’ hooves. Whenever Matilda was with him, life was sunshine and laughter—or was that moonlight and passion? His body leapt at the memory of her standing before him naked, like some ancient goddess.

Undoubtedly unlicensed, the slab building of the inn ahead leaned alarmingly against a massive gum tree, its bark roof sagging against the weight of the rain. Kit dismounted and led his horse around to the back of the building. A cluster of outhouses and what looked like a stable offered all the accommodation he would need.

The inn’s decrepit timber door creaked on its hinges as Kit pushed it open and strode inside. The smoky interior was virtually empty, with a moth-eaten dog that must have had dingo somewhere in its heritage raising its head and offering a low growl, yet making no effort to greet him. A motley assortment of chairs and tables littered the room, and the earthen floor was dirty and unswept. Every sane person would be tucked up in the comfort of his or her own home and out of this miserable weather.

Dripping water onto the rough floor, Kit took off his cape and hat. He caught the eye of a florid-faced woman behind the bar and crossed the room.

‘Have you got a room?’ He asked, long past any social niceties. Besides, she didn’t much look as though she’d have welcomed them.

‘One. Need to stable the horse as well?’

He nodded and followed her through the dingy corridor to a pokey room at the back of the building.

‘That do?’ She swung open the door to a windowless room with a rough bed and single chair.’

Kit grunted his approval, knowing he had no other option.

‘You’re too late for a hot meal. I can give you some cold mutton and bread, and a drink if you want it.’

The pervasive smell of burnt grease and sour milk turned his stomach. Despite not having eaten all day, he really didn’t want anything at all. His stomach gave a feeble churn.

‘That’s fine. Just some tea.’

‘Rum? Brandy? Wine? Ale?’

He shook his head.

‘Fine way for me to make a living,’ she grumbled as she shuffled back along the corridor. ‘It’ll be in the front room in about ten minutes. Take your horse round the back. There’s an empty stall there.’

Resisting the temptation to get back on his horse and leave, he dragged his sopping wet cape back over his shoulders, ducked under the lintel and strode back out into the rain. He found some damp hay stacked in a corner of the stables and a bucket of rainwater for his bedraggled horse. He removed its saddle, bridle and bags, and—after finding a dirty piece of sacking—gave the horse a cursory wipe down.

Regardless of the diabolical reception he’d received, when he returned to the front of the inn, the fire was warm and there was a plate of bread, cheese and cold meat waiting on the table. He picked at the bread and discovered that he was hungry after all.

With some food in his belly, he began to feel a little more human and accepted the mug of brandy the serving woman deposited on the table. She gave him a look, daring him to refuse.

‘Settle up tonight and you can be on your way at first light.’

Throwing three shillings across the table, he ignored the complaints of the dingo and stretched his legs out in front of the fire. He watched the rain as it dribbled down the dirty, makeshift windows.

The shabby interior of the slab hut brought home to him just how privileged a life he’d led. With a sudden clarity, he wondered if this was the kind of home Matilda had grown up in. Had she lived in a hut with no light to speak of, with only a smoky fire for warmth and meagre, greasy food to sustain her? How could anyone be as full of laughter and light as she was and have lived like this? The thought of her going back to such a life made his blood run cold. If only he had paid more attention to the snippets of information he been told about her past and had spent less time dreaming of her naked in his arms, writhing at his touch.

The raw spirits burned the back of Kit’s throat as he drank.
It’s a strange old world
, he thought, closing his eyes. Old world. What had she said?
A hidebound colonial society
. Perhaps she was right. Marrying for position and connection was common in England but did such customs really belong in this new country? People from all walks of life had started afresh here, for a myriad of reasons. Sure, some of them had come in chains, like Matilda’s father, but they’d paid their dues and moved on to forge a new life.

Now there was a constant influx of those searching for something more. Edward Hargreaves’s discovery of gold had opened up the floodgates; ships from San Francisco arrived almost monthly, disgorging fortune hunters who hoped to strike it rich. The country could not continue to be raked by such social divisions.

Why couldn’t Matilda live the life he lived? How important was it that he married into Sydney society? His life was in Wollombi—that was where he wanted to be. He wanted to make his own way, not follow in the footsteps of his stepfather or commit to a woman who might or might not aid him in his political career. Did he even want to become a politician? In all honesty, he could think of nothing better than spending the rest of his days at The Gate, growing his vines and watching his children grow. They would have hair the colour of sunshine and noses that were sprinkled with golden freckles.

A door banged in the distance, and Kit lurched upright, startled. No, he wouldn’t do it. He didn’t want a life with Eliza. Looking around the darkened room, the realisation dawned upon him. What he wanted was Matilda. Not as a mistress, but by his side—always. They would make a life together, and he would be the man she believed him to be.

With Matilda, life was clearer and less complicated. The sun shone and the water in the brook was fresher, the grass greener and the potential endless. Together, they could do anything and everything.

He had never thought of himself as a fearful man, so why be fearful now? Matilda had been so brave, in the face of so much adversity. He was a grown man—it was time to act like one.

Kit couldn’t imagine a life without her by his side. He loved her.

How had that happened?

‘Matilda, come and sit down here near the fire.’ Beth shuffled along the dry sand of the cave floor and made a space for her. Holding her hands out to the warmth of the fire, Matilda looked around.

The interior of the cave stretched back into solid darkness, but the front was wide open as though some giant hand had scooped out the indentation and had deposited the four of them safe and dry above the rising waters. In the twilight she, could see across the valley to Broken Back Ridge. Miraculously, the smoke from the fire rose and swirled and then drifted lazily out into the greyness beyond, but the air inside the cave was dry and clean.

‘How did you find your way here?’ Matilda asked.

Hannah grinned sheepishly and then looked across at Jem. ‘Can I tell her, Jem?’

He nodded and moved back into the cave, away from the fire.

‘This is Tiddalik’s cave.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s what?’

‘It’s Tiddalik’s cave.’

‘Who is Tiddalik?’

‘A frog,’ Beth piped up, shifting around on the floor with excitement. She’d tried her best to not interrupt her elder sister but couldn’t help herself.

‘Papa and Jem used to bring Beth and me up here when we were little, but we were never allowed to tell Mama because she would have worried.’ Hannah pushed herself up from the ground, and then reached into her pocket and brought out a candle. She handed it to Jem.

‘Jem will tell you about Tiddalik, but first you have to look further into the cave.’ She held her hand out to Matilda as she stood up.

Jem cupped his hand around the candle, holding a glowing ember from the fire to the wick. In the flickering light, Matilda watched as their shadows elongated and danced on the walls of the cave. Beth came and stood next to her. She raised her hands above her head and wriggled her fingers. Hannah did the same.

‘Now you, Matilda. You do it, too.’

‘We have to dance, just like the witches in Macbeth.’

The girls waved their hands and swayed their bodies in the flickering half-light, and Matilda reluctantly joined them. Jem stepped closer, and she thought for a moment he too would join the foolish game, but instead he moved to the back wall of the cave and held the candle high above his head.

Matilda gasped in awe as the shadows multiplied, and their hands blended into a seething mass of ochre handprints on the cave wall. A cool sweat broke out on her forehead and slivers of fear trickled down her spine as she stepped closer to the wall.

‘Don’t be frightened, Miss.’ Jem’s low, comforting voice filled the cave. ‘It’s just my family. Fellows from Wollombi a long time ago sheltered here and left their mark.’

As her eyes grew accustomed to the fluttering light, her heartbeat slowed, and the handprints came into focus. Hundreds, literally hundreds of them—all different shapes and sizes—covered the back wall of the cave.

Matilda raised her hand again, stretching it out and placing it gently against one of the prints. The warm rock seemed almost alive. It was as if she was reaching out and touching the past, connecting with the person who had left their mark. A sense of peace and calm wrapped around her as she stood there, hand against the wall, unwilling to break the frail connection.

‘Come and sit back down now,’ Jem said quietly, moving away and throwing the back of the cave once more into darkness.

Returning to the fire, Hannah and Beth sat with their legs drawn up to their chins, watching the flames. Matilda sank down beside them. ‘The hands are beautiful, Jem. Thank you for showing me.’

‘Just have to pay your respect to past and present, Miss. Just pay your respects.’ With that, he doused the candle and sank silently down on the opposite side of the fire.

Matilda gazed at the little group around the fire. The girls sat, relaxed and at ease, and looked comfortable in the security of the cave. They’d obviously been here many times before.

‘What made you come up here?’ she asked. ‘I thought you’d followed me to Bonnie’s place.’

‘We did, but you’d already left when we got there. We turned around to go home, but when we got to the bridge, we couldn’t cross the creek. We could see the water rising, so gave up and followed the path up here.’

Matilda gazed at Hannah in amazement, rapidly trying to equate her calm acceptance of the facts with that of the girl from the dining room at The Gate, who supposedly had all the makings of a perfect Sydney socialite. She stifled a laugh, wondering what Mrs Barclay would say if she were here now.

‘What about the snakes and spiders, Hannah? I bet there are a few in the bush around here. I thought they frightened you.’

‘I don’t like them much, but the rain is worse. We knew Jem would know where to find us.’

Jem nodded across the fire at Matilda, obviously at ease in his role as protector. There was undoubtedly more to the story than she realised—more to the Misses Barclay. They switched very quickly and easily from one persona to the other, and that confused her. A little like their brother.

Poised to delve deeper, Matilda’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Beth.

‘Jem, tell Matilda about Tiddalik and then she’ll know why we’ve got a flood. It’s all Tiddalik’s fault, you know.’

Matilda settled back to listen as Jem’s deep, dark voice filled the cave. ‘Tiddalik was a giant frog who lived in the Wollombi Valley back in the Dreaming. One day, he woke up and he was very, very thirsty.’ Jem’s eyes bulged as he licked his lips and clutched his parched throat.

Beth giggled and copied him.

‘He was so thirsty he began to drink from the brook, but instead of drinking only what he needed, he continued to gulp the water, not caring about anybody else. In the end, he took so much his tummy nearly burst.’ Cheeks protruding and eyes wide, Jem rolled from side-to-side. ‘He was so full he could hardly move away from the empty creek. All the other animals got really worried. With no water, they’d die. They knew they had to get Tiddalik to give some of the water back up. They got together and made a plan—if they could make Tiddalik laugh, he would bring all the water back up and everyone could share. In the end, the eel made him laugh, and all the animals could survive and enjoy life.’