Matilda's Freedom (18 page)

With that, he strode back out to the veranda, pulled his soggy cape over his shoulders and crammed his hat back on his head.

His horse eyed him with about as much enthusiasm as his mother had when he’d refused her to make her tea; he ignored it as well, swinging up into the saddle and this time taking the driveway at a canter. As he reached the swirling waters of the creek and the bridge’s shattered remains, he reined in his horse and stopped.

If the bridge had gone under, then how had Matilda got back out? Kit scanned the creek and spied a stand of tea-trees. The penny dropped.

Jem.

Jem would have led her through the billabong where he had crossed earlier—that made sense, but then why hadn’t Jem brought the girls and Matilda back the same way?

The cold hand of dread settled onto Kit’s shoulder. He slid off his horse and walked through the low-lying water at the edge of the creek, his footsteps sending out waves across to the other side. He was tempted to cross but knew better. He had to return to Jem’s trail at the billabong further upstream.

Sighing in competition with his horse’s frustrated snorts, he climbed back into the saddle. So much for fulfilling one’s responsibilities. He’d done a fine job of that—his mother had been shattered, his stepsisters now lay dead in some flooded gully, and the woman he loved had been lost to him forever because of his own pigheaded foolishness.

‘Jem, are we going to be able to get across the creek?’ Matilda searched the expanse of water below them. The rain might have stopped, but the water level was still rising. The continual run-off from the surrounding hills was pouring down the gullies, emptying into the valley below.

Jem shrugged his shoulders, his eyes constantly scanning the area. The water now lapped against their horses’ fetlocks, which made Matilda doubt they would ever see dry land again. One night in a cave on the hillside had been an adventure, but the prospect of a second, or even a third, did little to encourage her. Her stomach rumbled. If she was hungry, then the girls certainly would be, but there had been no complaint from either of them. They were handling the situation with an impressive calmness and rationality.

‘Jem,’ she called. He turned and slowed his horse, waiting for her to ride up alongside. ‘If we can’t get back to The Gate, what are our chances of getting to Bonnie’s house?’

He nodded. All four of them stopped and reined in their horses.

‘That’s a good idea,’ Hannah said.

‘And Bonnie might have some breakfast. I’m starving.’ Beth’s pinched little face stared out from under her hat.

Matilda pushed down her feelings of guilt. If it hadn’t been for her interference, these girls would be safely tucked up in their secure, sandstone house, high above the water. They’d be dry, well-fed and comfortable. But, no—in some misguided need to prove herself to Kit, and to prove that she and women in general did
not
have to be treasured society dolls, Matilda had instilled in the girls a belief in their own independence and capability. And where had that led them? To spending a damp and soggy night in a cave halfway up a rain-soaked mountain.

‘Let’s make for Bonnie’s place. The road will be easier to follow, and with any luck, her house won’t be cut off.’

‘The Mill Pond will be up.’

‘Let’s try.’

Jem gave a curt nod of his head, wheeling his horse around as they set off. It had started to rain again. Not the heavy rain of yesterday, but a light, soft misting that seemed to crawl into her very bones. Matilda pulled up the collar of her cape and rammed her hat further down on her head. The muddy surface of the road was slippery, and in places water lapped right across it. It was passable but only at an excruciatingly slow pace.

‘Stay right behind me, girls, and follow my path. I’ll follow Jem.’ As an afterthought, she turned back and stared at Beth. ‘Beth, do you understand? Do not under any circumstances deviate from the path.’

Beth nodded her head, throwing Matilda a bedraggled grin.

Eventually, they rounded the bend in the road and the Mill Pond came into view. The formerly little pond had become a sea on which the flourmill sat, like a lighthouse afloat in an ocean of dirty water. The roof of Bonnie’s barn appeared to be drifting serenely on the water’s surface; the house on the hill that she and Bonnie had so laboriously climbed yesterday, however, stood high and dry, perched on the edge of the massive lake.

Matilda’s heart sank as Jem led them off the road and away from the house.

‘Jem, what are you doing? Bonnie’s house is safe. Let’s go there.’

‘Road’s covered. Got to go up and around first.’

She bowed to his superior knowledge, and against her better judgment, she followed him off the road to the left and up to higher ground. How foolish and frustrating to be travelling away from their goal when she could almost touch it.

‘Cooee!’ Bonnie stood on her veranda, fluttering a large white piece of material above her head.

‘Stop, Jem! There’s Bonnie.’ She snatched at her hat and waved it wildly around her head, the girls and Jem following suit. They were rewarded by the sight of Bonnie dropping her white flag and jumping up and down.

‘Let’s go!’ Jem clamped his hat back on his head and turned his back on the excitement, leading them along a track that ran parallel with the road and skirted the edge of the enormous expanse of water.

As the path gradually curved back around the school and led in the direction of the house, Matilda’s impatience subsided. She could almost smell freshly baked bread and feel the warmth of a hot mug of tea in her cold blue hands. Turning, she grinned at the two girls and was rewarded with radiant smiles of their own.

‘Not long now,’ she called back.

As much as Matilda enjoyed riding, the sheer pleasure of slipping out of the saddle and having both feet on the solid wooden veranda of Bonnie’s house was almost overwhelming. The girls were dry and safe, and she had fulfilled her obligations—Jem was to thank for that. Quite what would have happened if she had not been able to rely on the man, she did not know, but that was not a scenario she wished to dwell on.

‘Jem. I don’t know how to thank you. You’re amazing.’ Mindful of his taciturn nature, she resisted the urge to throw her arms around him and hug him. A slight flush of colour on his dark cheeks was reward enough.

‘Come inside, come inside,’ Bonnie said as she ushered them all into the little cottage. A fire burned brightly in the grate, and the kettle hissed on the hob. The smell of freshly baked bread made Matilda’s mouth water and her stomach rumble.

Bonnie pressed mugs of steaming tea into their hands and sat them down at the large scrubbed table. ‘Jem, you come and sit down, too. You deserve coddling as much as anyone.’ He shrugged off his cape and removed his hat, carefully hanging it outside on the veranda before he came and sat at the table.

Matilda watched with amusement as the girls’ eyes lit up at the sight of Bonnie cutting a newly-baked loaf of bread. She skewered the huge slices and passed them over—each in their turn—on the end of her knife. They spread freshly churned butter and Bonnie’s strawberry jam on top and started eating.

‘Now, tell me what happened. I imagined you would all be safe and sound at The Gate, not riding around in this mess.’ Bonnie waved her hand to the windows. The view reminded Matilda of her trip up the Hunter River with Kit, isolated by water. That seemed a lifetime ago, when her world was full of promise and before she had selfishly taken what she wanted with no thought to the repercussions or consequences.

Swearing loudly, Kit wheeled his horse around for the fourth time and then made his way back to the dry land on the house-side of the creek.

It was impossible. The path through the billabong had vanished. How could he have found it so easily an hour ago? He turned his back to the creek and scanned the hillside. His answer lay before him. Rivers of water were running down from the Broken Back Range and emptied into the already swollen creek. That, and the influx of water from Wollombi and Yango where they joined up with Congewai Creek, accounted for the extreme flooding. The rain may have stopped, but the water would continue to run for days.

Kit dropped the reins of his horse and sank down onto the fallen branch of a tree. His horse was in no danger of taking off on him. It stood—dejected—under the tree, as wet and miserable as he was. The only path now led back to the house.

He was hemmed in on an island in the middle of the brown muddy waters. Somewhere out there, in the vast ocean of swirling debris and untold dangers, Matilda and his sisters lay abandoned.

Frustration boiled in his gut, made worse by the knowledge there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He reluctantly dragged himself to his feet and made his way back to the house—back to his mother. The thought of having to explain his failure to her was almost as bad a prospect as tramping up and down the creek like a marooned sailor, hoping for a sign of life.

‘Christopher! You’re back!’

His mother’s words were echoing through the bedraggled rose garden even before he’d had the chance to deposit his horse in the stable. Staving off the inevitable, he waved his hand and turned his back on the house. His track record with responsibility was wearing thin, and the least he could do was dry his poor horse down and give it a feed. It had covered as many miles as he had in the last two days, and he knew exactly what that felt like.

The rhythmic motion of rubbing the horse down and the familiar, if damp, smells of the stable calmed him, but did little to soothe the ache in his chest. He could only hope and pray that the girls had found somewhere dry to shelter and that Matilda was with them. She had promised she would stay until he returned. He couldn’t imagine her ever being anything but truly honest.

Finally, he would admit the truth to himself. He hadn’t offered Matilda the position just to be a companion to his sisters but because—from the first moment he had set eyes on her—he couldn’t imagine a life without her. He didn’t want Matilda as his mistress.

He wanted her as his wife.

Kit stomped back up to the house, steeling himself for the inevitable tirade from his mother. He would tell her that he could not marry Miss Eliza Ramsbottom and that he had no intention of entering politics. He would tell her that he intended to marry Matilda and develop his vineyard here in Wollombi. She may as well have all the bad news in one dose.

‘Christopher! Where have you been? I have been mad with worry.’

‘I’m sorry, Mother. I had to settle the horse. Jimmy is nowhere to be found.’

Mrs Barclay followed Kit into his stepfather’s study. He could feel her eyes boring into his back as he poured himself a generous slug of brandy from the crystal decanter, but for once she said nothing. When he turned, she was sitting relaxed in one of the crumpled leather armchairs, her feet on a footstool and waiting patiently for him to speak. Something was wrong.

‘I’m at the end of my tether, Mother, and I have absolutely no idea what to do next.’ He took a gulp of the brandy, enjoying the sensation as it burned down the back of his throat. It helped to remind him he was alive.

‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you have fallen in love with that girl, would it?’

Kit tried to control the colour rising in his face. He spluttered and choked on his brandy, trying to regain some form of composure. This was made no easier by his mother’s raised eyebrows.

‘I beg—’ he started and then stopped.

How did she know? How could she tell?
He had hardly even admitted it to himself. Kit walked over to the veranda door and flung it open, sucking in a great lungful of damp air.

‘I haven’t,’ he finished lamely. Another lie, but he wasn’t ready to admit the truth to his mother before he’d had the chance to speak to Matilda.

‘Christopher, you seem to forget that I am your mother, and I have known you longer than any other person on earth.’

‘What has that got to do with it?’ He snapped. Typically, every topic she mentioned revolved around her.

‘Knowing you as I do, I would suggest you think long and hard about this turn of events, and be sure you make a decision you can live with. I must say, I hadn’t expected you to return quite so quickly. I thought perhaps you would make it as far as Sydney before you realised the error of your ways.’

How in God’s name did she know he was going to return? He hadn’t known himself. ‘If that was the case, Mother, then why did you keep pushing Eliza down my throat? Why did you insist she was the perfect candidate?’

She steepled her fingers and gazed at him; he thought he could see the beginning of a smile on her lips. ‘Kit, my darling, despite what you might think, it is very important to me that you are happy. If you are going to take on the establishment and go against Sydney society, it is imperative that you are certain about your decision.’

Certain?

He’d never been more certain of anything in his life, but why in God’s name had that realisation come after he’d made so many mistakes?

How could I have done that to her?
Matilda deserved so much more. Could she forgive him?

The smile his mother tossed in his direction held nothing of her previous malice—it was full of caring and wisdom.

‘I think I need some advice, Mother.’

‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books. My son now finally admits he needs advice.’

Kit took a deep breath, knowing his next remark was going to test her new-found disposition and wisdom to its limit. ‘I made a mistake—a very serious mistake.’

‘Hmm?’ Her fingers lifted and dropped in a repetitive pattern, her eyes never leaving his face.

‘I asked … I explained to Matilda that I had to marry Eliza for the social connections, to ensure our family’s continuing status in the community. But, then, I asked her to be my mistress.’

‘I see.’ She continued to drum her fingers.

Wasn’t she going to say anything? Wasn’t she going to be shocked?

‘Not an exceptionally bright thing to say. Did you make reference to her inferior social standing and rehash my appalling statements about her having ideas above her station?’