Matilda's Freedom (17 page)

Matilda glanced at the girls, waiting for their appreciation of the happy-ever-after ending. Jem, however, had more to tell. He lifted his index finger to the roof of the cave and raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Tiddalik, though, he was punished for his greed. He turned into stone and sits just up there,’ he inclined his head to the roof of the cave, ‘punished for being greedy and not thinking about others.’

‘And so we call this Tiddalik’s cave,’ said Beth, breaking the ominous silence. ‘It’s not really, because he wouldn’t fit in here. Would he, Jem?’

‘You’re right, Beth. He wouldn’t fit; he’s way too big. But it’s a safe place to be when the water comes.’

Jem stretched and stood up. His hand rested for a moment on Matilda’s head as he passed, making her wonder briefly who the story had been for.

As she stared quietly into the flames, Matilda could see the flickering hands in her mind. She imagined the giant frog spewing water across the valley and being turned to stone, all because he was greedy and neglected others.

How greedy
had
she been? Was it greedy to want Kit when she knew he was promised to another? She had thrown herself at him, giving no thought to the repercussions for Beth and Hannah, for the property, for Jem and Jimmy, and for the people whose lives revolved around the security of The Gate. But was it so wrong to want the man she loved? She touched her mother’s love token as it hung down around her neck; the warmth of the old copper and the stippled text gave her the sense of comfort she so badly needed.

Too difficult. Just too difficult
.

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that her impetuous and foolish decision would make others suffer. She couldn’t wait two weeks—she had to leave as soon as the girls were safely home.

Then Jem reappeared with an armful of blankets. Beth and Hannah wrapped themselves with a well-practised twist and curled up on the floor of the cave in front of the fire. They had obvious done this many time before. Their calm acceptance of such humble lodgings made her wonder about Barclay and his relationship with his daughters.

It was easy to understand Kit’s commitment to his stepfather and his family, but to Mrs Barclay? That was something Matilda couldn’t imagine.

Kit rolled over on the lumpy mattress and scratched the mass of red bumps on his arms, unsure why he had bothered to pay for the night’s accommodation. The itchy bites proved his point.

Flea bites!

He would have been better off sheltering under a tree or in a cave somewhere. He ran his tongue around his teeth and grimaced. The stale taste of the rough brandy from last night remained. He was disgusted with himself, and it was time he did something about it.

If everything had gone according to plan, he should now be in Morpeth boarding the ferry to Sydney, but he wasn’t and he had no intention of going. He was going to go home to Matilda, tell her he had made a mistake and ask her to marry him.

He would rather die a pauper than be involved in that irrevocable marriage of convenience. Yet, one question remained—would Matilda have him, especially after making that ridiculous proposition and shaming her? He sincerely hoped that was not the case. He wanted nothing more than
to hold her in his arms for the rest of his life and die a happy man.

Cramming his damp hat back on his head, he pulled his cape over his shoulders and made his way out to the back of the inn. The sooner he was back in the saddle, the sooner he would be home with Matilda.

The overcast sky hung low and threatening, but at least the rain had stopped, and if he put his mind to it he could be back at The Gate in a matter of hours. The only difficulty would be in crossing the creek. Kit wracked his memory as he picked his way around the potholes and puddles, trying to picture the route he and Barclay had used in previous floods and that Jem had shown them. The trail crossed the edge of a flat-open billabong but, if you followed the tree line, would rarely get deeper than knee level. That was not something that could be found in the dark, but in daylight it was a risk worth taking.

As he kicked his long-suffering horse into a canter, his heart lifted. He couldn’t wait to see Matilda, to hold her close, and to tell her about his dreams for them. His mother would be less than impressed with his decision, but she would simply have to make do. He was not going to be dictated to by her unrealistic whims.

If she wanted to move back to Sydney, he would arrange that, and the girls could make their own decisions. A town house—why not? It was acceptable in London and Paris, so why not in Sydney? The place was growing at a phenomenal rate, and buildings were now being erected that rivalled those found even in Europe. Sydney was a flourishing town, lit by gas lamps and with a university to boot. It needed a cosmopolitan society to fill it.

The sky maintained its unrelieved grey. It was difficult to tell how high the sun had risen, but morning had definitely come and with it a break in the incessant rain.

Much to her surprise, Matilda had finally drifted into an uneasy sleep. It had been haunted by selfish frogs and the ever-present memory of Kit’s body intertwined with hers.

When she awoke, she pushed back the blanket and folded it up carefully. Jem had managed to read her mind once more, pressing a tin of warm black tea into her hands as she’d stood up. She wrapped her hands tightly around it, inhaling the pungent steam and relishing the scent of eucalyptus.

‘Are you nearly ready to go, Matilda?’ Apart from her somewhat bedraggled hair and rather dirty shirt, Beth appeared as cheery as she did any other morning. Matilda decided to push away any thoughts about the two sides of the girls she had seen yesterday. They were just too difficult to fathom.

‘I’ll just drink this, and then we can leave.’

She turned to Jem. ‘Will we be able to get back to the house? Mrs Barclay will be beside herself with worry.’

He nodded curtly, back to his usual taciturn self with the breaking of day. Matilda drank the tea quickly and made her way out of the cave with the others.

The horses were saddled and waiting, and looked no worse the wear for their night in the open. The little party rode in single file down the narrow path and on to Wollombi Road.

As he entered the valley, Kit’s shoulders dropped in relief and the curl of anticipation in his gut began to grow.

Nearly home.

He pulled to the right of the deserted road, avoiding the random potholes filled with muddy water. Scanning the calm expanse of flat water, he tried to remember exactly where the shallow crossing was. A gnarled group of tea-trees clustered together, the perfect symmetry of their reflections creating a weirdly distorted vista. That at least appeared to be familiar.

Kit slid off his horse and led it carefully into the water. The water crept up his boots with each step, and he swore softly. One more step and he would have to turn back. Placing one foot carefully in front of him, he lowered his weight and waited for the level of the water to settle. He sank slowly, the muddy ground sucking at his ankles as the water rose above his boots to his thighs. His memory hadn’t served him well—this was not the spot.

He edged around his horse, reins still in hand and unwilling to turn it, but unsure of the state of the ground beneath the water. As he reached the rear of the horse, his foot caught, and he lurched forward. Stumbling and praying at the same time, he tried to regain his footing and found himself standing on top of a small knoll. The water now lapped at his ankles.

Carefully, he turned his horse around behind him. Through the calm water ahead, tufts of grass waved like seaweed beneath the shallow water. He took a step forward and then another. The water stayed at ankle level.

He had found the path.

Kit was unwilling to risk the horse stumbling, so he continued to walk it—slowly at first, then faster as his confidence grew. ‘Thank you, Barclay,’ he murmured to the overcast skies. He smiled with relief as there was a break in the greyness and saw the beginning of clouds and the tiniest patch of blue. He pressed on and found himself once more on dry land—his land.

He had crossed the creek and now found himself on the driveway leading up to the house.

Once mounted, he resisted the temptation to canter. He walked the horse up the sodden road towards home, towards Matilda.

He could hardly wait to count the golden freckles on her upturned nose, he’d been promising himself that treat for many days now. He’d hold her in his arms and tell her what a fool he had been.

As the house came into view, he searched the veranda, hoping to see her perhaps waiting for him to return—but how would she know? She believed him to be on his way to Sydney, on his way to claim his bride.

Well, he
would
claim his bride.

‘Christopher. Christopher, darling!’ His mother’s call reverberated from the shadows of the veranda. He lifted his hand to wave, knowing she would turn back to the house and announce his arrival.

Kit waited with bated breath for Matilda and his sisters to appear.

He couldn’t wait. Throwing caution to the wind, he urged his horse onwards and cantered up the remaining stretch to the garden. His mother’s hands waved frantically. He lifted his hat and brandished it at her, and then slithered to a halt. Leaping from his horse and taking the shortest route, he ran through the sodden rose garden and jumped onto the veranda—ignoring the steps.

‘Oh, Christopher. Thank God you’ve come back.’ Ignoring his wet and smelly cape, his mother threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.

He patted her back and looked over her head into the shadows of the house as he searched for a glimpse of Matilda. Disappointed, he turned his attention back to his mother. Her shoulders were shaking, her whole body heaving as she sobbed violently against his chest.

Kit patted her delicate back and made soothing noises, waiting for her to calm sufficiently enough to speak.

‘The girls, the girls! They’re missing and didn’t come home last night. I have been all alone for hours and hours through the darkness and the rain. It’s Barclay. It’s just like Barclay all over again. I know they have come to grief.’

‘Hush, Mother. Hush.’ He calmed her as he would a child and lead her into the house, lowering her carefully into the ladder-back chair in the hallway. ‘Sit down here. Tell me what has happened.’

Once she was settled, he dropped to his haunches in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her shaking knees. ‘Where did they go and what happened?’

Only a long exaggerated sniff broke the silence, but he waited patiently. He only wanted to ask where Matilda was but knew he would find out soon enough.

‘Matilda …’ His mother sniffed again, and Kit’s heart lurched in his chest. ‘Matilda left to help Bonnie move her stock and fodder to higher ground because Will is away, and when she came back—’ Kit’s shoulders dropped. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Matilda was safe, ‘—the girls weren’t with her.’

‘Mother, you’re not making any sense. Matilda left and came back alone?’

She nodded, her head hanging low. ‘The girls went after her, but then they must have missed her because when Matilda came back she was alone.’

‘And then?’ He asked, trying to ignore the aching in his gut. ‘And then?’

‘Then Matilda set off with Jem to look for them but that was at dusk last night, and I haven’t seen them since. They’re lost, they’ve drowned, they’ve fallen and hit their heads, been bitten by snakes …’

She raised her tear-stained eyes, and a flash of anger crossed her face. ‘This is all Matilda’s fault. If she hadn’t instilled in them the ridiculous notion that they were free and independent spirits, they would be here, safe with me, and not dead like their father.’

Her wail reached a crescendo. Kit pushed himself to his feet, knowing there was little he could do or say until she’d managed to control herself.

He tried vainly to make sense of his mother’s story. Matilda had returned but the girls hadn’t, and so she had gone back in search of them last night at twilight. He closed his eyes, mouthing the swear words that were filling his mind. And all the while he had been stubbornly making his way along Morpeth Road in the pouring rain, in some misguided attempt to convince himself he wanted to be married to a woman he neither liked or even knew. He kicked the panelling on the wall and paced to the door, searching the driveway for any sign of Matilda and the girls.

‘Did you say she took Jem with her?’ he asked.

His mother nodded. ‘Yes. Jem went with her.’

Sighing deeply, he said, ‘That’s one good thing.’

If Matilda and Jem had gone back, they would have followed the girls’ path and found them on the road returning from Bonnie’s. If so, then why in God’s name weren’t they back here safe and sound? It was only a matter of fifteen or twenty minutes each way, but it had already been as many hours since.

‘Didn’t you go out and look?’ Kit stopped himself, realising the foolishness of his words. Of course she wouldn’t have gone looking for them. He doubted if she even owned a pair of shoes capable of withstanding the rain, never mind that she would not have the stamina for hiking.

‘Why didn’t you ask Bonnie?’ He drummed his foot on the floor as waves of agitation rolled through him.

‘Bonnie had gone home. I told you.’

‘Then, Jimmy?’

‘I don’t know where Jimmy is. I called and called, but he didn’t come. You know how he disappears whenever there is a problem.’ She let out another wail. ‘No one came.’

Kit closed his eyes, hanging onto his temper by a thread. His mother had no business being here. She belonged in a town where the footpaths and lamplights turned night into day and where other people were never more than a discreet call away.

‘Right, Mother. You take yourself upstairs to bed. I will go out and see if I can find them.’

‘Oh, Kit, I would so love a cup of tea to help—’

How he contained himself he wasn’t exactly sure, but he managed his next sentence with an amount of restraint that impressed even him. ‘Mother, there is no time for me to make you tea. You will have to make it yourself. You are quite capable.’