Wild Lands (38 page)

‘This man is under arrest for the murder of a settler west of the mountains near Bathurst.' James pushed the end of the barrel roughly into Adam's back, jolting him forwards.

‘He saved our lives,' Kate countered, taking a step towards Mr Stewart. ‘He should not be arrested.'

‘You've been fully occupied, Major,' Mr Stewart commented dryly, looking from the officer to Adam and then Kate. He whistled for his horse and the animal came immediately, although the mare shuffled slightly back and forth as he remounted. ‘Well, come on, lass. You best give me an arm,' Mr Stewart told Kate. ‘You look as if you could faint at any moment.' He extended a hand to her.

Kate glanced at Adam. She didn't want to leave him. James was wrong.

‘Go,' Adam told her.

Reluctantly, Kate walked towards Mr Stewart and was heaved up roughly behind the Scotsman onto his horse. She rubbed at her shoulder. It felt as if her arm had been pulled out of its socket.

‘Marcus and Riley, stay with this lot and I'll return with a couple of horses.'

‘There's one thing,' Adam finally spoke, ‘a man's dying out there, a friend, his son is with him.'

With the setting sun the expanse of pasture was made dark and impenetrable.

‘Blacks,' James explained. ‘I'm pretty sure one of them was involved in the same attack as this man,' he pointed to Adam, ‘but by the sounds of it he won't last the night. As for the younger one we've no quarrel with him and he's not armed.'

‘Fair enough, I'll let them be for now, however, just in case you can put the prisoner in the smokehouse. He'll be secure there.' Mr Stewart gathered the reins and turned his horse homewards. ‘Hang on, girl.'

Kate did as she was told, wrapping her arms around the barrel-chested Scotsman as the horse changed effortlessly from a trot to a canter. Mr Stewart was soon commenting on the murder of the Hardys, on how lucky the group had been to make it through unscathed. That his wife Nettie would be pleased to have a bit of company. Kate knew she shouldn't do it, that she daren't glance behind as they rode away. But she did. Adam's silhouette was unmistakeable in the twilight.

Across the country came a terrible wail. A moaning cry that grew thick with pain. The sound never varied, never weakened or grew stronger, but remained constant, throbbing. The noise echoed across the grassy plains, hovering among trees and spiky-headed grass. It was all around them as Kate rode on, away from the dreadful declaration of death. Her cheek was pressed firmly against the Scotsman's broad back as tears streamed down her face. She thought of the Morning Star Adam spoke of and Kate wept for all of them, dead and alive, friend or foe. She wept for the land that black and white bled for and the life that fate had given her.

1838 July – the Stewart farm

It was dawn when Kate woke. A pale light revealed a chair and washstand. The light increased, sliding up close-fitting timber walls and into well-crafted corners. The night had been filled with dreams that Kate couldn't recall, only the memory of a constant wailing came with her into this new day and a fiery glow out beyond the buildings, on the grassy plain. This hadn't been some fantasy of her imaginings. Kate had watched as the red-gold reached up towards the sky.

She blinked and yawned, blinked again, wondering if it was Jardi who'd lit the fire and whether the old man, his father, was dead. Rubbing at sleep-crusted eyes, she realised that she was propped up by numerous pillows in an actual bed with thick blankets and a pale coverlet. She was thirsty and on the washstand she could see a pale pink pitcher with a glass next to it. Kate really didn't want to move. Didn't think she could. The dull ache that had lodged in her brain after the attack yesterday remained constant.

She stretched out her legs and wriggled her toes. The sheets were intact, without holes or sprouting ticking and the scent of lavender pervaded the bedchamber. Leaving the bed, with its four posters rising to the timber ceiling and the thick mattress, was the last thing that appealed but finally Kate gingerly turned back the coverlet, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. A dizziness slowed her movements, but the light-headedness and accompanying ache did not detract from the amazement Kate experienced at her surrounds: a brightly coloured mat, floorboards and a round mirror hanging on the wall directly above a plain wood dresser. The cabinet held a matching bone-handled brush and comb, a number of glass bottles with stoppers and on the chair there was a clean skirt and bodice. Kate swallowed. Tears welled.

There was a tap on the door and Nettie Stewart entered with a tray. ‘Good. I was hoping you'd be awake with the birds, for the noise this household makes doesn't suit those who need rest. Now, I've brought you hot tea with a bit of sugar, Kate, and bread warm from the oven. Major Shaw told us that none of you had eaten much so we don't want to tempt chance by stuffing you like a bush turkey.'

Kate clutched at the high-necked nightgown that she could barely recall dressing in the previous evening. Was it true? Was this petite woman in her plaid skirt and dark bodice, with the laughing eyes and sun-creased skin, the same kindly woman who'd greeted her last night? ‘M-Mrs Stewart, please. You don't have to wait on me. If you point me in the direction of the kitchen, I'll make myself useful. I'm sure the cook –'

‘Nettie, lass. My name is Nettie. We didn't come all this way to live the way we had in the past. This is a new world and a new world deserves new rules, don't you think?' She didn't wait for a reply. ‘As for a cook?' The older woman gave a lilting laugh, her cheeks turning a pretty pink. She continued chuckling as the tray was placed on the dresser. ‘We've no cook, dear. I've three
daughters aged fifteen to twelve and a right terror of a ten-year-old son and, believe me, they cause enough of a commotion without paying good wages for more trouble. So I can't be responsible if the tea's stewed or the bread's as hard as riding tack.'

A cloth was lifted from the tray and the sweet smell of bread and tea was enough to make Kate swoon.

‘This morning, however, there's a semblance of quiet for my eldest are setting the fire to get the copper in readiness for the laundry while the younger two have already scampered off to the huts with their father. The shearing of the sheep is only part-way through.'

‘Thank you.' Kate accepted the tea and bread and sipped at the hot drink. She wanted to gulp and gobble down the offering in one go, but Mrs Stewart was right. Her stomach was barely used to food.

‘Of course they were up half the night, what with that black terrorising them with his melancholy whining. Just like a dog it was, but twice as frightening for the little ones, especially in the dark of the moon. Why they let him be,' she gave a dramatic sigh, ‘well, I can't say I share my husband's thoughts on the establishment of beneficial relations. Not after what's been happening lately. And I doubt the blacks are too fond of the pretension either.'

‘I can't thank you enough, Mrs Stewart.'

‘Nettie, Kate. Now my eldest Joanna is about your size.' Mrs Stewart held up a dark blue skirt with a faint pattern running through it and a similarly coloured long-sleeved bodice. The colours of the garments were bold. ‘But I'm afraid there's nought we could do about shoes. Yours are close to ruined but we mended them a little so they're wearable.' She lifted Kate's shoes up that had been left near the door and turned them over – one of the soles had been replaced with new leather. ‘I'm surprised you could walk at all with that foot. Red raw and blistered it is.'

Kate looked down and saw with some surprise that her left foot was bandaged from the toes to the instep.

‘Now let's have a look at that head of yours.' Nettie opened the internal shutters on the window.

A single pane of glass, although cracked from corner to corner, made Kate feel that more than ever she had indeed returned to civilisation. Her spirits lifted in spite of her aches and pains.

‘On the bed, lass.'

Perching on the edge of the cot, Kate ate hungrily as Mrs Stewart wrung water from a cloth in the basin on the washstand and dabbed at the injury. ‘You've a nasty bump and a bit of a gash and a bruise any prize-fighter would be proud to claim. There'll be a scar, I'm afraid, but it will be close to your hairline. How do you feel?'

Kate swallowed. ‘Fine.' Her voice remained croaky and tight, but with the bread and tea already settling her stomach, she did feel better.

‘Fine? Well, you're a bonny lass if ever I've met one. The poor Hardys dead in their sleep and you dragged halfway across the country.' Her tongue made a tsking noise. ‘Of course I never met them. It was intended after the boundary dispute was resolved but, well, it's not like it's a doddle across hill and dale. Now off with that gown and we'll finish washing you proper like and then get you dressed.'

‘What?'

‘Don't be bashful, Kate. I cleaned you up as best I could last night but there's a smell about you, my dear, which suggests attention is needed.' Nettie took the empty teacup from her hands.

‘I'm sorry, I didn't realise.' Kate brushed absently at the bread-crumbs on her lap and then watched with horror as they scattered on the floor.

‘I'd not be expecting you to. You've had enough to contend with.' Kate found her arms lifted and the nightgown tugged over her head. She stood naked and shivering in the weak morning light as Nettie began to scrub at her as if she were intent on removing
Kate's skin. Water sloshed in the basin, more was added to the bowl from a rose-coloured pitcher and the homemade lye soap was used liberally, time and again. ‘Here you go, lass.' Nettie passed Kate the wash-cloth and made a gesture to her breasts and private parts. ‘Heavens, you're a slight thing.'

Kate accepted the cloth and, aware that the determined woman had no intention of leaving the room, turned side on and quickly dabbed at the areas instructed.

‘Good. Now dry yourself with this and then it's a quick splash of lavender water and we're done.'

Kate rubbed her body with a dry cloth as the fragrant water was selected from one of the glass bottles on the dresser and poured into Kate's cupped palms. She splashed it on her face and neck. The scent was sublime. Next Kate was dressed in a clean pair of drawers and a warm shift, woollen stockings were tugged to her thighs, the skirt tied firmly about her waist and the tight-fitting bodice done up. A square piece of tartan resembling a shawl, but smaller, was the last addition, placed around Kate's shoulders and fastened with a silver brooch at the front. Nettie touched the ornament, smiling softly. ‘It was my sister's and her husband's mother's afore that. She'd no children of her own.'

‘I'll keep good care of it, Nettie. Thank you.' Kate began brushing her hair.

‘One hundred strokes, Kate.'

‘My mother used to say that.'

‘Did she now? Well she's a woman after my own heart for there's nothing so attractive to a man as a sweet-smelling lass with well-kept hair, after food of course.' Nettie giggled. ‘In a few days, when that wound's healed, you'll be able to wash it. There's a ribbon on the table.'

‘Thank you.' Movement drew Kate to the window as she continued to run the bristles through her hair. An icy mantle crisscrossed the grass, plants and trees.

‘A frosty start today,' Nettie remarked, ‘but it will be a fine one in an hour or so.'

A number of low fences some ten feet in length and placed like a series of obstacles for a steeple-chase were set back from the homestead. Vines grew up and across the top palings, which were positioned adjacent to a large garden flush with vegetables and herbs. Beyond, a half-mile away, was the woolly traffic that had first caught Kate's attention. Sheep were being driven by men on foot towards a bark hut.

‘Major Shaw asked after you, Kate.'

Returning to the dresser, Kate gathered her hair and tied a ribbon around it.

‘He's a fine catch,' Nettie smiled.

Kate studied her reflection in the mirror. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her once pale skin was tinged brown by the months working outdoors. She would have two scars now, one on either side. ‘For a girl like me?'

‘For any girl, although for myself any Highlander is far too uppity for his own good. They always have been.' Nettie peered over Kate's shoulder so that two images stared back. ‘But I don't think that an officer in Her Majesty's Regiment at Foot would go by the name of Bronzewing. Don't look like that. I came and checked on you last night after you'd gone to bed and it wasn't the Major's name that you called out in your sleep.'

‘I-I don't know what you mean.' Kate fussed with the wrap. She couldn't recall dreaming about Adam. She wished she could.

Nettie patted Kate's shoulder and adjusted the tartan wrap so it sat evenly across her back. ‘I know who he is and why he's locked in my smokehouse, Kate. Of course, I've not laid eyes on him but adventurers are such romantic figures, are they not?' Mrs Stewart turned Kate around to face her. ‘He's also a criminal, while Major Shaw is a rather dashing gentleman. You mentioned your mother before, Kate. I'm assuming that she would think the same as me, yes?'

Kate felt like a naughty schoolgirl. This was a woman experienced at ferreting out issues and solving them, as a mother should, before they became a problem. She busied herself putting on the repaired shoes, leaving the laces loose on the foot that was bandaged. Kate wanted to ask how Adam was but instead said, ‘How is Mr Southerland?'

‘He's in the men's quarters with a deep wound to his thigh. We hope for the best. Although I fear poisoning of the blood may occur.' Mrs Stewart gathered the washcloth and the basin of dirty water and sat it on the tray.

‘Can I see him?' Kate hoped the overseer would be able to explain if what Adam stood accused of was indeed correct. She just couldn't believe a man like that had murdered anyone, not after the way he'd spoken of the Lycetts that night in the burial ground.

‘I think it's best if Mr Southerland rest. For now I'd like you to join me in the kitchen. It's some time since I had female company closer to my own age, Kate, and I'm sure you'd have a tale to tell and I would be interested in hearing it.'

The Stewarts' home was exactly what Kate had expected to find upon arrival at the Hardys' run last year. The original hut stood at the centre of the house from which two square wings had been constructed. Nettie Stewart was rightly proud of her domain and she showed Kate every room, including the pantry, waiting patiently as her guest limped after her. Kate noted how each glass window gave a pleasing view of the surrounds. There were still musket-sized holes in the walls and two of the windows at the front of the house had been broken in the recent troubles but it was a sizeable building.

The kitchen was spacious but cosy. Kate drew up a chair at the kitchen table as Mrs Stewart placed a large blackened kettle
on the coals and sat down in front of a spinning wheel close to the fire. The stone fireplace was almost large enough to stand up in. Bread was being baked, a joint of meat was roasting and any number of pots, pans and griddles hung down from hooks in and around the great hearth. They were soon discussing the price of linen and cotton and the flax which Mr Stewart hoped to grow but had not as yet tried his hand at. Kate did her best to talk along, to be politely interested, but she stopped short at sharing her past life, or that of her parents, other than admitting that they too were settlers but were now dead. No good had come from speaking of her birthright before.

‘Weaving's not in my blood, although my eldest is markedly skilled with the loom. Self-taught is my Joanna, with the help of kin before we left Sydney. I was of a mind to ask your Major this morning if he'd teach me, but I doubt a Highlander would see the humour in such a remark.' Nettie laughed. ‘Honourable man the officer is, although I mark he secretly still follows the Catholic faith and if not he'll be a believer of the fairy folk or some such nonsense. Thank heavens for the union and the end of the Jacobites.'