Emma Berry Mysteries 1-4: Emma Berry Mysteries

By Irene Sauman

A long and winding river, a young woman 'too big for her britches'
It's the 1870s on the Murray River and Emma's comfortable life on her family's sheep station is about to be turned upside down. There's murder, an inherited riverboat, and an old promise that refuses to go away. And then there's her brother-in-law, Daniel.
Can Emma negotiate the love, loss, and mysteries she encounters, or will the lives of those she cares about be forever in limbo because of her decisions?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jakada Books
• Release date: Aug 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223163916

Book preview

EMMA BERRY

MYSTERIES

1-4

A black and white drawing of grass Description automatically generated

Irene Sauman

Jakada Books

PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA

Copyright

Copyright © 2023 by Irene Sauman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Emma Berry Box Set 1-4: Format (collection) Irene Sauman / Jakada Books / Perth Western Australia

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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Contents

EMMA BERRY  MYSTERIES 1-4

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Contents

Dedication

Author’s Note

SADDLED WITH  DEATH

Main Characters

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

A GEM OF A  PROBLEM

Main Characters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

A BODY IN THE  WOODPILE

Main Characters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

MURDER  at the MILL

Main Characters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Next in Series

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Acknowledgements

About the Author

Our books

Brief Note on the Riverboats

Dedication

This collection is dedicated to

the memory of my grandparents

George Bennett

who was a Murray River fisherman

and former riverboat captain

and

Alice Bennett

who started married life on a riverboat

and baked the best ever scones

in a wood fired oven

Author’s Note

The Emma Berry mysteries are set in the 1870s on the Murray River, the third longest navigable river in the world, surpassed only by the Amazon and the Nile. Its great navigable length was responsible for the development of the riverboats, the side-wheel paddle steamers that opened up the Australian countryside along the river’s length to settlement and sheep farming in much the way railways did in later times.

Indeed it was the railways that eventually ended the glory days of the paddle steamers, though they continue to ply the waters in the 21st century, carrying tourists and holiday makers. Two generations of my father’s family produced working riverboat captains. But these stories are strictly fiction.

SADDLED WITH

DEATH

Emma Berry Mystery Book #1

Irene Sauman

Jakada Books

PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA

Main Characters

At Wirramilla on the Murray River

Emma Haythorne – 25-year-old woman, educated, assists her grandmother with her herbal remedies

Edward & Rose Haythorne – her parents, pastoralists

Eleanor Haythorne - Edward’s mother, Emma’s grandmother

Lucy Wirra - housekeeper

Janey, Sal & Jacky Wirra - Lucy’s adult children

Nella Brackett - Lucy’s eldest child married to overseer Jeff Brackett

At Nettifield on the Murray River

George Macdonald - pastoralist

Margaret Macdonald - his terminally ill wife

Matty, Beatrice (Bea), Jim – their adult children

Tillie - Irish maid

Abe - station hand

The paddle steamer Mary B

Daniel Berry - Captain,

Sam Berry - his younger brother

Visitors to Nettifield, on the way home from England

Vernon Appleton - George Macdonald’s younger half-brother

Dora Appleton - their sister-in-law, widow of their brother Harold Appleton

Anthony Appleton - Dora’s son

Claude Devereaux - a Frenchman

Gabrielle Fournier - Claude’s sister

Sachi - her 8-year-old daughter

The Sandridge town pier presented a very busy appearance on Monday, in consequence of the embarkation of the horses shipped by Messrs Warren and Lalor on board the ship Berkshire for Madras and Calcutta. Adelaide Observer, Saturday 8 March 1873

Prologue

Untimely Met

A black and white drawing of grass Description automatically generated

Tuesday 20 December 1869

What a relief to get away on his own. There was only so much family he could take at any one time. One was forced to live in too close contact even here, in this supposedly idyllic setting on the Murray River. Idyllic for some anyway. He had no interest in farm work and animals. And there were no poker games, no deals on offer. Well, not normally anyway.

Leaves and twigs scrunched underfoot. Invisible birds cheeped and magpies, he recognised them, warbled in the gum trees above his head. The river flowed lazily beside him the water invitingly cool in the heat. The temperature had to be well into the nineties today. Wasn’t there a small sandy inlet along here somewhere? He might take off his shoes and cool his feet. How long had it been since he’d done something like that?

He swished his stick against a bush and startled a frilled-neck lizard seeking shade. It reared up, frill extended, mouth open emitting a harsh hissing sound. He could have whacked it but was feeling too pleased with himself to bother and ambled on instead.

This latest venture would be a success, profitable for everyone. And who would have thought George would be the one he’d be involved with. Good old steady George. But it would be a nice change to have some success, he thought wryly. There hadn’t been much profit from his investments in recent times. He could understand Dora being a bit annoyed. Fortunately, she didn’t know the extent of his past losses. But this would be different. There was no risk with this despite what she thought.

Ah, just as he remembered. A sunny inlet with red sand lapped by inviting coolness. He sat and took off his shoes in the shade of the trees, sticking his socks inside. He stepped onto the sand anticipating the feel of it between his toes. Damn, it was burning.

Quick hop-steps on tiptoe took him the few yards into the water. Ahh, that was better. He wriggled his toes, the sand rising and turning the water opaque until he couldn’t see his feet. Yes, Dora would be all right. He had her on side now. It was all about Anthony for her. That niggled. As if he didn’t want to leave a healthy legacy for his only son. Well, she’d see. This investment would put things back on track. His luck was changing. It would all work out.

He’d never seen so many ducks. There must be hundreds of them. And all for the taking. They were having roast duck for Christmas lunch, Margaret had said. He supposed there were some benefits to life out here in the bush. Not enough though. You’d get tired of duck, soon enough, too.

He slid his feet forward a few inches, pulling up his trouser legs. Relief for his feet had become discomfort for the rest of his body as the sun, no longer screened by the trees, threatened to bake him.

He turned. Damn. He was going to have to go back over the sand to get to his shoes. Ah, no. There was a better way. He’d wade further around and come back up in the shade. Easy.

He rolled his trouser legs up to his knees. The sand beneath his feet turned to a fine sludge as he left the shallow edge and he felt invisible things brush against his skin. Why had he thought this a good idea? He couldn’t wait to get out and back on dry land.

The water was deeper and darker here in the shade and the bank steep, the water already up past his knees. His trousers were soaked. He grasped an overhanging branch to haul himself out.

The crunch of footsteps on leaves surprised him. He looked up.

Oh, it’s you. Grab my shoes, would you? They’re just…

The blow to his head took him by surprise. He fell back. The last thing he felt was the cold water closing over him.

Chapter 1

Arrivals by River

A black and white drawing of grass Description automatically generated

Tuesday 8 August 1873

Emma Haythorne gave a last wave as the Mary B steamed into the centre of the Murray River and headed upstream, its progress marked by a plume of smoke above the eucalypts crowding the bank. The paddle steamer was carrying Emma’s regards to her family twenty miles upstream at Wirramilla with the message that Margaret Macdonald was still with the living.

Her mind lingered for a moment on her conversation with Captain Berry and a wry smile tugged at her lips. She wasn’t looking for a husband but if she were he would certainly be a contender. Good looking, well built, with a neat beard, and brown eyes that always regarded her warmly. At almost six-foot tall, he was just the right height for a woman like herself at five foot seven. Pity he was already spoken for.

A chill breeze rippled the water and Emma pulled her woollen shawl higher around her shoulders. Spring wasn’t far off according to the calendar but there was no sign of it yet. There would be a frost tonight.

Emma, come along, Bea Macdonald, petite and pixie faced, a year younger than Emma at twenty-four, called.

Shaking off her thoughts as the folly they were, Emma tagged along at the tail end of the group going up to the Nettifield homestead, located on a rise fifty yards above the river.

Ahead of her were four members of the Macdonald family and the six guests who had been deposited from the Mary B. Three were Appletons, relatives of Margaret’s husband, George. The other three, including a girl of about eight-years-old, were the Appleton’s travelling companions, French it would seem. The party had travelled together from England and left their ship at Adelaide in South Australia, taking to the Murray on a riverboat to reach Nettifield.

No one at Netti was sure of the reason for the visit, which had been heralded by a telegraph from Adelaide to Wentworth, the message then carried by riverboat the last thirty miles. Margaret’s illness was already taking a toll on the family. Emma hoped the visitors would bring some joy rather than be an added burden.

When the group reached the homestead, Bea took the female guests on a tour of the facilities as Emma went out to the kitchen, a separate building attached to the back verandah where afternoon tea was in preparation. Tillie, the Irish maid looked up from the fruit cake she was slicing into finger sized pieces, her round face puckered with anxiety.

Are they very posh, Miss?

Emma laughed. I suspect the French pair are a little posher than we are, Tillie. They don’t have any servants with them, though. They’ve been sent on by sea to Melbourne with the rest of the luggage I expect - steamer trunks and hat boxes and what not. At least we won’t have any strange valets or ladies’ maids looking down their noses at us.

Huh! And more work for us, Janey Wirra commented as she set up the tea tray with the best china.

Probably. It will only be for a few days, Emma replied her tone soothing. Dark-skinned Janey was on loan from Emma’s family home for the duration of the visitor’s stay, an extra hand for the domestic duties having been considered necessary.

Bea came into the kitchen in a rush.

Everyone’s in the drawing room, waiting on afternoon tea and I need to take a small plate in to Ma.

I can do that, Bea. You go and entertain your guests, Emma said. You know your menfolk aren’t too comfortable with drawing-room talk although I’m sure Mrs. Appleton will be only too happy to talk about her visit to England.

Bea, who rarely said anything derogatory about anyone, didn’t pick up on the wry comment but Janey did, casting Emma a quick sideways glance. Janey knew her too well.

Thank you, dear, I will. Tell Ma I’ll bring Aunt Dora in to see her shortly. She picked up the plate of cake Tillie had ready. Bring that tea tray along now, please, Janey.

Emma paused outside the bedroom door for a moment to prepare herself. Instead of the robust healthy woman she had known for much of her life Margaret Macdonald was now weak and shrunken, her skin grey. When Emma entered, she was lying back in bed propped up on her pillows her face turned toward the window.

George had raised the bed with rounds of timber cut from a thick tree branch, so it was high enough for a clear view across the river. Emma wasn’t sure if the grey-green Mallee scrub that extended to the horizon provided much interest, but the riverboat traffic might have proved a distraction. A fire burned in the corner fireplace and a rosemary-scented candle flickering on the hearth sweetened the air.

You saw your visitors arrive, then? Emma said in greeting as Margaret turned her head slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Aye, came the reply from a dry throat.

Emma helped her sit forward while she plumped up the pillows and then settled her comfortably with a folding tray. Margaret sipped thirstily from the teacup before nibbling the edge of a sandwich and crumbling a piece of cake. Her plate always looked as if she had eaten more than she really had.

Emma poured her a second cup of tea and sat down again in the bedside chair.

Bea said she would bring Mrs. Appleton in to visit later.

Dora. That will be nice. The ironic tone suggested anything but. Margaret was straightforward and astute, something Emma had always admired in the woman. And how is Anthony? He looks quite the young man now from what I could see.

Hmm.

Margaret gave her a knowing look. Still not impressed?

Emma flushed. It seemed Margaret at least hadn’t forgotten that afternoon tea after all these years. She patted Emma’s hand.

If it’s any consolation, you haven’t changed either. Still as lovely and outspoken now as you were at thirteen.

Emma gave her a rueful look but felt better for the comment.

I must have sounded pompous at the time, telling him off for snatching that last sandwich almost out of Bea’s hand. She wondered if Dora Appleton or her son Anthony would remember her as the thirteen-year-old they had met back then. She was afraid it wasn’t by accident that she hadn’t been invited to meet them in the ensuing years.

Dora believes she is a cut above us ordinary mortals, Margaret said. Unfortunately Anthony is a reflection of…of that. She began to cough, a dry, raspy sound that wearied her greatly.

Emma hastened to pour a spoonful from one of the many bottles of remedies on the bedside table that her grandmother, a herbalist, kept well stocked. The ‘green witch’ Eleanor Haythorne was referred to along the Murray, her green eyes adding credence to the name. Eyes Emma had inherited.

The cough syrup she gave Margaret now contained a little laudanum, honey and echinacea. After coughing a little more, but not as harshly, Margaret sank back onto the pillows with a tired sigh.

Thank you, dear. Her hands moved restlessly on the covers. Matty told me all about it, Emma, she said, her voice now querulous. That ten-year arrangement is all very well, but I won’t be around to see it. He promised me he would speak to you about it.

A bubble of panic rose in Emma’s throat. Oh, right. She racked her brain for something to say to change the subject. I’ll tell Mrs. Appleton she can come in and visit, shall I? I should be getting back to the kitchen to help with dinner. Bea will be busy with your guests and someone needs to keep an eye on, on everything. She was babbling.

Margaret coughed and her eyelids fluttered. Not now, Emma. Draw the curtains, will you? I’ll have a little nap.

Emma did as asked. I’ll tell Bea no visitors for a bit, then, she said, her hand on the doorknob.

Thank you, dear. You will listen to Matty, won’t you? It would be nice to know… Her voice trailed away, and she was asleep before she could finish voicing her thought.

Emma closed the door behind her and leant back, shutting her eyes. It hadn’t been her imagination then that Matty had been watching her lately. That stupid promise. Ten years, they’d agreed. But the time wasn’t up yet. She opened her eyes and saw Tillie coming up the hallway, and forced herself to move.

They want more tea, the maid said, teapot in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. Just the ladies. The men are off to the stable.

Thanks, Tillie. The lamb roast is in the oven, I hope.

Yes Miss. Janey done it already.

Of course, she had. Troublesome as she could be, Janey was a dab hand in the kitchen. Emma decided that dinner would be soon enough for her to socialise with the visitors, and went to get herself a cup of tea and give Janey a hand.

Claude Devereaux held Emma’s chair for her before taking his own seat at the table on her right. They were an uneven seating as despite being ten at the dinner table, George Macdonald hadn’t yet allowed Bea to take her mother’s chair at the far end. Bea’s younger brother, Jim sat on Emma’s left with Dora Appleton on Claude’s right where she could talk easily with George at the head of the table. Opposite Dora, and going down the other side of the table, were Bea’s older brother Matty, Bea, Anthony Appleton, the French woman Gabrielle Fournier, and Vernon Appleton.

Missing, was eight-year-old Sachi Fournier who was having her dinner in the kitchen with Janey to take care of her. The child had fallen in love with Hux, the family’s ageing Newfoundland Labrador cross, and had christened him l’ours, French for bear. The dog seemed perfectly comfortable with his new name and was enjoying Sachi’s attentions. Or at least tolerating them. Hux hadn’t been himself lately, listless and off his food. It might just be his age, but Emma believed he was pining for Margaret, whose companion he had always been.

As Tillie served the soup, Matty asked his Aunt Dora if she rode much these days. Vernon snorted, earning a small moue of distaste from Gabrielle.

Not for many years, Dora said, glaring across the table at her brother-in-law. I have a two-wheeled chaise, she announced to the table. A lovely light little carriage for my own personal use, visiting all my dear friends in the neighbourhood, you know.

Emma winced at Dora’s pronunciation of chaise as ‘chase.’ She wasn’t the only one to notice.

A two-wheel shayze eez very nice, Gabrielle said, if you find yourself having to travel alone.

The double barb brought a startled silence to the table.

"Se comporter," Claude said quietly to Gabrielle. Behave yourself.

Bea’s wide-eyed look in the direction of her aunt suggested to Emma that Dora’s facial response to Gabrielle’s remark was anything but pleased. Everyone bent over their soup bowls. All that could be heard for the next few minutes was the clink of spoons on china and the occasional slurp. Vernon was the first to break the silence.

Speaking of riding, he began, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. As I’ve told you before, Devereaux, you must visit Hillcrest if you want to see really top bred and properly trained horses. I can show…

Suggesting of course that mine are not top bred or properly trained? George interrupted, his face reddening.

I don’t know what you expect if you insist on training brumbies, Vernon countered. You can’t even get them accustomed to the stable.

They were fine until you started shouting. Anyone would think you did it on purpose to keep me from making the shipment.

Bea almost choked on a mouthful of soup and covered her mouth with her napkin. Everyone seemed a little stunned.

I don’t think the horses are too bad for army mounts, Claude put in smoothly. Good strong bodies, not always the prettiest but certainly serviceable.

Well, erm, I wouldn’t want to argue with you on that, sir, Vernon blustered. But I do know something about horses.

I wouldn’t dispute that you understand your thoroughbreds, Claude said, but they aren’t what’s needed on a long trek over rough country or during an encounter.

Exactly! George agreed.

Hmph. Vernon sent a blistering glance at George but said no more.

Emma admired Claude’s ability to pour oil on troubled waters. Or did Vernon adhere to the idea that it wasn’t smart to upset the brother of a woman you were interested in romantically? She knew that was the case because Captain Berry had mentioned that Vernon Appleton enjoyed the company of Madame Fournier. Emma supposed her mourning attire must be for a departed husband. Whatever the reason, it seemed clear the disagreement about horses hadn’t just started at the dinner table.

Tillie cleared the soup bowls and local conversations tentatively started up around the table. Dora took the opportunity to tell George about Elizabeth’s family in England.

And what do you occupy yourself with when you are at home, Mr. Devereux? Emma asked turning to the man.

Business, for the most part, Claude replied. I have interests in several gold mines, and of course racehorses.

Do you ride in the races yourself? Matty asked from across the table.

That is the best part, Claude explained. The exhilaration of putting one’s faith in one’s choice of horseflesh. A vindication, if you will, against all the doubters who insist on placing their money on the opposing runners.

Matty nodded thoughtfully. He could understand a man who liked to win. Emma couldn’t help imagining how well Claude would look on a horse. As horses were not to be avoided and hoping to exhaust the topic, Emma turned her attention to Gabrielle.

And what about you, Madame? Do you ride? she asked.

Gabrielle laughed. Non, non, she said, with a delicate wave of the hand. I much like a carriage. I do not care to be, er, over heated and dusty.

Vernon said something to Gabrielle in French about having an excellent pair of carriage horses of his own at Hillcrest. Gabrielle merely nodded. Claude reached across and refilled his sister’s wine glass. Perhaps he thought she needed fortification. Clearly there were undercurrents among the visitors. Emma couldn’t help wondering why they were travelling together.

Tillie returned bearing the roast lamb followed by Janey with the platter of vegetables. George stood to carve the meat and Tillie served up the crisp potatoes and carrots and the green beans from Janey’s platter. Under cover of the food service Emma quietly asked Jim if something had happened while the men were visiting the stables earlier.

Jim nodded around a mouthful of buttered bread. Dad and Uncle got into a right barney, he said. Seems Uncle blames him for everything that’s gone wrong in his life since they were children, even the trouble with his leg. The horses were just a part of it.

My goodness.

She had watched Vernon Appleton disembark from the riverboat with a sideways step-slide motion down the narrow plank. His right leg didn’t bend at the knee and he used a cane, but had irritably waved off the helping hand of a crew member. She could understand his desire for independence, but he seemed to be lacking pleasant manners.

Yeah. All the shouting upset the new horses getting used to being in the stalls, Jim said. Emma knew that would be the worst offence for Jim. Took us an hour to settle them down. Devereaux’s a handy man with a horse though.

Not too bad at handling difficult men either.

Oh ho. Like that is it, Em?

Emma gave him a quick dig with her elbow. If only Matty had Jim’s easygoing personality she might feel a little more comfortable with the situation they were in. But perhaps she shouldn’t be too hard on him. As the eldest at twenty-seven Matty probably felt the weight of Nettifield more keenly. He had told her that the station was in danger of not meeting the next delivery of horses for the Indian remount trade.

My sister tells me you are a visitor here also, Miss Haythorne, Claude Devereaux said as they attacked their food. Emma felt her face flush slightly at the suggestion she had been the subject of discussion. She hoped he hadn’t overhead her comment to Jim. Do you live far?

My family’s property is two hours’ ride further up-river. You will pass it on your way home, Emma said.

And it is the same as this place? Sheep and horses, yes?

Sheep, yes, but we only keep horses for work and pleasure. My own horse Pepper is in the stable here.

Ah, yes, I did see a little black mare. He smiled, his grey eyes twinkling at her.

Emma’s napkin slipped to the floor and Janey’s dark hand replaced it from behind.

Is anyone in the kitchen with Sachi, Janey? Emma asked, knowing there couldn’t be as she could see Tillie waiting behind the other side of the table.

No, Miss, Janey replied, on her best behaviour in company. Hux is with her, as if that absolved the need for anyone else.

The child shouldn’t be left on her own, regardless. Please stay in the kitchen with her. Tillie can serve dessert.

I would appreciate, if you will, Gabrielle said. "She eez in a strange place, non?"

Certainly, ma’am.

The click of the tongue that followed told Emma that Janey was ill-pleased at being sent from the dining room and missing the action, having no doubt already heard from Tillie about the tensions at the table.

She has been with you long, zat one? Gabrielle asked, turning to Bea when Janey had left.

Oh, no. Not with us. Janey comes from Wirramilla. Another loan, Bea said, with a smiling look at Emma.

But you are right, Madame, Emma said. Janey was born at Wirramilla. Her mother, Lucy, is our housekeeper of more than twenty years.

"Ah, bon. It eez very agréable to have zee long-time servant, eez it not?"

Most of the time, Emma said with a laugh.

I am fortunate to have Mrs. Appleton. A competent housekeeper, Vernon said, attempting to take his part in the conversation. Not that she is a servant of course, he hastened to add, being in fact my dear brother’s widow. But certainly, it is an agreeable arrangement.

Perhaps it was as well Dora was still engaged in conversation with George and didn’t hear Vernon’s clumsy words. As conversations ebbed and flowed around the table, Emma realised that while Gabrielle had a pronounced French accent, her brother did not. In fact, Claude sounded positively English, though his French was impeccable to her ear. She had to admit, however, it had been some years since she had been a student of the language, but there didn’t seem to be any family resemblance between the pair either.

Gabrielle’s pretty round face was framed by dark hair, pulled back in a bun with a spiral of curls each side, while Claude sported a smart wing of blonde hair and a more elongated face. It was a puzzle.

The men didn’t remain in the dining room with their port at the end of the meal but accompanied the ladies to the drawing room where Tillie was serving tea.

Vernon Appleton wasn’t fast enough to claim the seat on the sofa beside Gabrielle, Claude beating him to it. Had Emma imagined Gabrielle’s quick hand signal to her brother? Vernon, relegated to the opposite sofa beside Bea, didn’t look displeased. Maybe he adhered to the idea that it didn’t become a lady to appear too eager. Emma found herself a seat at the end of the sofa beside Bea and immediately regretted it as Dora took the armchair next to her. George joined Jim, Matty and Anthony by the fire, perhaps having heard enough from Dora over dinner, or needing some distance from his half-brother.

Emma felt forced to be polite and speak to Dora Appleton.

Whereabouts did you travel in England, Mrs. Appleton? she asked. I have never been there myself, but I have read a great deal about the countryside and about London.

Reading is hardly the same as seeing the real thing, of course, Miss Haythorne, Dora said, her condescending tone reminding Emma of why she had never warmed to the woman.

Dora Appleton had been attractive when younger and was still handsome, but there was a hardness now around the mouth and eyes as if life hadn’t treated her fairly in the ensuing years. She was dressed in a dark-blue jacket and skirt over a white blouse with a high frill at the neckline. The softness of the blouse seemed to accentuate the hardness of the face.

We visited Vernon’s sister Elizabeth and other family members in Sussex, Dora was saying. Beautiful country. Vernon insisted Anthony and I go too, of course. It’s important to keep up family connections, isn’t it? I’m sure they will be useful to Anthony during his life. Elizabeth’s husband holds a high position in the Colonial Office and Vernon had a lot to discuss with him about conditions here in the colonies, Vernon being a Justice of the Peace, of course, and much consulted in our district.

And did you visit London? Emma managed to ask, before Dora could launch into more eulogies of the Appleton family.

Oh, of course, she replied. We saw Queen Victoria driven in state to the opening of Parliament. It was wonderful. Thousands thronged the streets. The Queen wore a yellow satin gown with a large pink bow at the back. You know, she said leaning forward a little in a confiding manner, it did not suit. She is too short and heavy for such a thing. Prince Albert would have advised her against it were he still alive. She leaned back sighing. Poor dear man.

How very interesting, Emma couldn’t resist commenting, stung by Dora’s patronising manner. "I read an article about the opening of the British Parliament in the newspapers. The Weekly Times, I believe. It mentioned the Queen’s apparel." It had also stated that the Queen’s dressmakers had convinced her not to wear the pink bow.

Dora’s eyes narrowed. I would like to read that article.

Emma smiled apologetically. I imagine that newspaper must have been used for lighting the fires by now, Mrs. Appleton. But how exciting for you to have been there. I am quite envious. All I could do was read about it.

Can I get you more tea, Aunt Dora, Bea said, jumping up and stepping between Emma and her aunt with the teapot. Matty, come and talk to Emma, she called to her brother, throwing a quick, frowning glance at her friend.

Oh, bother. Bea had overheard and was now intent on damage control. And having avoided Matty at dinner he was now coming over.

Are you enjoying your visitors? she asked brightly as he approached.

Rum lot, Matty replied, leaning against the back of the sofa, and bending over her. Don’t seem to like one another much, he said quietly.

They don’t, do they. Are there other problems amongst the men? Apart from your uncle and your father.

Devereaux doesn’t have much time for Anthony.

Well, I don’t find that entirely odd. Anthony doesn’t seem to have time for anyone. I don’t think he spoke a word at dinner. Unpleasantness seemed to be an Appleton trait. I guess the argument in the stable wasn’t settled considering it overflowed to the dinner table.

Matty shifted his feet. It was mostly about things that happened years ago, he said dismissively. But it spooked the horses. That’s what Dad was really mad about. As was Jim, Emma remembered.

I see. Are the horses all right now? Was Pepper upset?

No, she was grand. He leaned in again. You seem to be getting on well with that Devereaux bloke, Em, he said. Bit smooth for my liking. I wouldn’t place any trust in him.

I’m just being polite to your guests, Matty. What would you have me do? Emma’s irritation at his words coming through in her own.

Don’t act up now, old girl, he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She tensed, the tight sensation in her chest manifesting again. We need to have a chat. I’ll find you sometime tomorrow. I know Ma’s had a word with you.

Emma had been hoping Matty had told his mother about their promise simply to soothe her, but it seemed not. She looked down, brushing an imaginary crease from her skirt and didn’t answer.

Chapter 2

A Disturbance in the Night

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Somone was in the room. Emma blinked, rousing herself from sleep with difficulty.

Who’s there? She shaded her eyes as light from a candle filled her bleary sight.

Something wrong at the stable, Janey’s voice came from behind the light.

Bea stirred on the other side of the room. What’s wrong?

The candle moved and Janey, fully dressed still, but with her hair down, became more visible. Emma pulled herself up and squinted at the timepiece on her bedside table.

It’s one o’clock in the morning, Janey. What are you doing still up?

Tellin’ you somethin’s wrong in the stable. Abe says, Janey replied, arcing up, her English fracturing in the process.

What’s wrong? Bea asked again, her voice tinged with concern.

Abe says it’s horses loose, Miss, and they shouldn’t be.

Abe? Emma asked.

I’ll get Matty. Bea threw a blanket round her shoulders and went out into the hall.

Janey, where have you been, and who is Abe?

He’s a friend. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid or somethin’.

Janey, for goodness sake…

Just because Abe don’t speak all smooth and dress fancy like your Mister Devro, Janey said now, hand on hip, it don’t mean he aint no gentleman.

Even in the candlelight Emma saw that the girl was looking mutinous. Guilt, probably.

You did the right thing to wake us, Janey, she said, trying to be conciliatory. I’m just concerned for you.

You like kaanyi hit with stick, the girl snapped back, and disappeared before Emma could come up with a suitable response to being told she behaved like an angry snake.

Perhaps she should send the girl home and bring her sister Sal over instead. But she’d always felt more in tune with Janey. Probably because they were alike in some ways, she thought ruefully. But clearly, Janey felt she was able to behave more freely here than back home at Wirramilla where Emma’s mother kept a firm hand.

Emma was wide awake now and felt it unlikely she would get back to sleep until the matter, whatever it was, had been dealt with. She pulled her coat on over her nightdress and slipped her feet into her house shoes, hoping everyone wasn’t being woken for a false alarm. Then immediately hoped they were. She joined Bea and Janey on the back verandah, standing at the corner looking past the kitchen and down toward the stables. Shivering in the chill air, she wrapped her arms across her chest, hands tucked in. The oil lamp hanging above the back door offered no warmth.

Ahead of them, two men walked in a moving pool of light across the hundred or so feet to the stable, at that moment a darker shape in the overall blackness. Emma recognised Matty, carrying the lamp, his night shirt showing a faint strip of whiteness at his back where it hung beneath his jacket. The lawn, already covered in a light frost, showed one small and one larger set of footprints coming from the opening in the rosemary hedge. Abe and Janey’s? They were partly overlaid by the two new sets leading back out.

The men reached the stable and stopped. There was a small door to the side of the large stable doors, and it was this one that the men cautiously opened, holding the lamp high to get a good view of the interior. For a moment they were still, then Matty stepped inside and the door shut behind him, his companion outside swallowed in the darkness. Only a thin glow of light showed under the stable door.

Soon, footsteps crunched, and a young man entered the area of lamplight where Emma, Bea and Janey waited. Dark haired, dark skinned, with the round dark eyes and broad nose of his race.

You need to get the boss, Miss, he said to Bea, his hand on the verandah post.

Confident, too. If this was Abe, he needed to be to deal with Janey.

What is it? Bea asked.

Someone’s there, down on the floor.

Tillie, who had appeared on the verandah behind them, let out a little scream. Bea told her to go stoke the kitchen fire and put the kettle on and went to fetch her father.

Who is it, Abe? Janey asked.

A man's all I could tell. And some horses out of them stalls.

Emma stepped off the verandah and headed toward the light under the stable door. If someone were injured or ill, she could help. She wasn’t her grandmother’s apprentice for nothing. She hoped it wasn’t Jim or George down on the floor. She already knew it wasn’t Matty.

You need to be careful, Miss, Abe said, catching her up. The horses are spooked.

Did you see any blood? The smell of it could upset horses.

Too dark.

Had Mr. Macdonald put someone on watch in the stable? George may have thought it wise, given his brother’s behaviour.

No, Miss.

They reached the small door. Emma turned with her hand on the latch. Don’t you do that girl any harm now, she said in her most commanding voice.

I—I don’t mean any, he said, his tone surprised and indignant.

You’d best not, she replied and entered the stable, shutting him out. What she meant by harm probably didn’t match his idea, anyway.

Three horses huddled at the far end of the stable reacted skittishly to her arrival, snorting, and moving nervously. One, a piebald, backed himself into the corner. A chair lay on its side in front of the stalls, several of which were wide open

Matty’s harsh voice accosted Emma. What are you doing here?

His lamp lit the body beside him that lay near to the row of stalls. Although the head was turned away, it was clearly Vernon Appleton. He wasn’t lying in a comfortable position, his good leg bent and the other stiff and straight, lifting his hips slightly off the floor. One didn’t choose to lie that way.

I thought there might be something I could do to help, Emma said crossing the floor to join Matty.

It’s a little late for that.

She bent down to touch a hand, lying flaccid. There was no warmth, but rigor mortis hadn’t set in. Death was sometime in the last two hours or so, but that didn’t require any skill to work out. They had been in the drawing room until well after ten. A small pool of blood had congealed by Vernon’s head. It didn’t add anything to the time frame, not in this weather on a cold brick floor. There were no marks on the visible side of his face.

What happened? An accident, do you suppose?

It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Matty said, indicating the horses at the end of the stable. He must have let them out of their stalls and got knocked down.

It was a reasonable assumption, in one way, given Vernon Appleton’s compromised mobility.

But why would he be letting the horses out?

How would I know? He’s been arguing with Dad ever since he got here. Perhaps he did it out of spite.

That was possible, too, but the animosity was mutual, and if this wasn’t an accident…

We should turn him over, see what injuries he has, she said. We should be able to tell if…

There’s no need for you to get involved, Em. We’ll deal with it.

If she had been a cat, her fur would have stood on end. Of course, she needed to be involved, especially if there was a chance the Macdonalds might treat this death as an accident when it was something else. Especially if George was involved.

Emma sought for words that Matty would not find offensive as they stared at one another across his uncle’s body. Matty, your father…

The door opened and George Macdonald entered, stopping just inside. Behind him, Bea and Jim stood in the glow of the lamp Jim held. George swept his gaze around the space. He wiped a hand across his eyes, as if having difficulty taking in the scene, then slowly made his way across and stared down at his brother. Emma stood and stepped away as George bent down on one knee and shook Vernon by the shoulder.

You idiot, he muttered. Why couldn’t you have left it alone? After all these years.

Is he dead, Emma? Is Uncle dead? Bea whispered coming up to her.

I’m afraid so, dear.

Oh.

Emma put her arm around Bea’s shoulders.

Did he get knocked down by a horse? Jim asked. How did they get out?

George Macdonald continued to stare down at his brother. Death was as common as life, but it always came as a shock none the less.

What do you want us to do? Matty asked.

His father got to his feet. We need to find out which of those horses did this. We can’t send a horse that’s killed.

We don’t know yet if it was a horse, Emma put in.

What? He turned his piercing blue eyes on her. It’s obvious. You two shouldn’t be here, anyway. Get on back to the house, both of you.

Emma stiffened but didn’t move. Bea didn’t appear to have heard. George Macdonald wasn’t Emma’s favourite person, and she knew she wasn’t his. Something to do with the fact she had an education and wasn’t afraid to speak out. Not something he suffered well in a woman. Whatever way she voiced what was on her mind, it wouldn’t go down well.

What if it wasn’t an accident? she said now. You can’t just assume.

Oh, right. Why am I not surprised? he all but snarled at her. You always know better than anyone else, don’t you?

Dad? Bea queried, startled at his tone.

Someone else might have been in the stable last night, Emma said, keeping her chin up and holding his gaze. She hoped George would get the message.

He stared at her a moment longer before turning to Matty. Let me know what you find.

He stalked out. At least he had enough self-possession not to slam the door and further frighten the horses. Bea and her brothers watched him go and turned to stare at one another.

He’s upset, Bea said uneasily. It’s his brother after all. You would be too if it were one of us lying there.

It has to have been a horse, Matty said, but his face betrayed the certainty he had tried to convey in his words.

Emma couldn’t blame him for wondering, not after the argument he had witnessed and the tension at dinner. She had an even better reason. She had seen George Macdonald heading for the stable before bed.

Well, Jim said rallying, we need to get these horses back in their stalls before they do themselves some damage. Uncle’s not going anywhere, sadly. He picked up a halter hanging from a nail beside one of the empty stalls and started for the horses still huddling together in the corner.

You don’t need to stay, Em, Matty said. You and Bea go back to the house. There’s nothing you can do here, and you’ll catch a chill if you hang about. Jim and I’ll deal with it.

You do what you have to, Matty, Emma said. But I’m staying.

Matty frowned at her and looked to Bea.

I’m staying with Emma, she said.

He glared at them both, looking more like his father than Emma cared for. She wouldn’t blame Matty if he tried to cover up for George, if he thought his father might be responsible, but he would never be the same person if he did. Just because they were at odds right now didn’t wipe out fifteen years of friendship. He needed to know the truth for his own sake.

Matt, Jim’s voice, pitched low so as not to disturb the horses further, reached them. Give us a hand here.

We’ll see about that, Matty said before going to help his brother.

With the boys occupied, Emma knelt beside the body and looked more closely at Vernon’s face and head. The skin was washed out, grey, but her initial assessment stood. There were no marks. She stood, and then bent down, placing both hands under the body and bracing her feet.

Emma. Leave it, Matty called, startling the horse Jim had been getting a halter on, causing the animal to shy away again. The piebald in the far corner snorted and lashed out at the wall with his hind legs.

Jim cursed softly. What’s the matter with you?

Matty mumbled something Emma couldn’t make out. She concentrated on what she was doing, putting all her strength into lifting the body. It rose and hung. She leaned in, giving one final push. Vernon’s body rolled, falling with a flat thump on its back, the arm flailing out.

Bea gasped, and Emma’s stomach lurched at the damage to the side of Vernon Appleton’s head now open to view. Dry blood caked his cheek, forehead and hair and the front of his vest. She needed to clean the blood off his face, see what the damage could tell them. Would they find evidence of a hoof print? She heard Bea gagging behind her and turned to help her friend.

What do you think you’re doing? Matty demanded. I said to leave it alone.

Matt, Jim’s voice was ripe with frustration. Keep your voice down.

They had gotten a halter on the dun-coloured horse, but he was balking at moving to the stall and Jim was having trouble holding the animal. The piebald looked as if it might lash out at any moment. Matty turned his attention back to the horses, mumbling something Emma didn’t catch.

Bea, are you all right? Emma asked.

Bea wiped her mouth with the hem of her dress.

Why is Matty so upset with you?

He’s afraid your father had something to do with this.

Bea’s eyes widened. "It’s because of those arguments, isn’t it?

I suspect so.

But that’s ridiculous. Dad wouldn’t knock someone down and then leave them lying there. He wouldn’t.

Bea may have been trying to convince herself, but that certainly sounded more like the George Macdonald she knew. He could rant and rave, but he wasn’t violent. Had years of anger and frustration with his brother warped his normal behaviour? Heaven alone knew how deep their issues went.

Help me clean up his face so we can see the injuries. We need water and some cloth.

There’s some cleaning cloths in the tack room.

Bea headed for the small room at the near end of the stable while Emma grabbed one of the several buckets of water that stood just inside the door. Jim and Matty had managed to get the second horse into its stall and were trying to get close to the piebald who was lashing out again.

Emma and Bea met back at the body. Emma soaked a cloth and tried to wash the blood from the face wound. The water was icy cold, and the blood was caked and dry. Emma’s fingers quickly numbed. Across the stable, the boys forked some hay into a pile in the corner, leaving the piebald to look after itself.

He should settle down once we get out of here, Jim said, coming back to the girls. He hunkered down by the body. Whoa. Something’s made a nice mess of him. There’s blood all down his jacket. Did all that come from his head? What was he doing in here?

I’ve no idea, Emma said. "We need to clean him up properly. See what his injuries can tell us.’’

She lay the wet cloth over the side of Vernon’s face to soak and soften the blood.

We’ll deal with this, now, Matty said. Why don’t you go back to the kitchen with Bea.

Emma looked up at him. What are you afraid of? That it wasn’t a horse did this?

He coloured at her words and his hands clenched by his side. You’re not at Wirramilla now, Em. It isn’t your place to be taking over.

You’re afraid your father had something to do with this, aren’t you? she persisted.

What are you talking about? Jim asked, his gaze going from one to the other.

He’s afraid your dad may have caused this, Emma repeated. Because of the arguments, the accusations. He doesn’t want me to find out it wasn’t a horse that killed your Uncle Vernon.

What? That’s ridiculous. Dad wouldn’t have left him lying here like that if he’d had anything to do with it. He’d have got help.

That’s what I said, Bea put in.

You’ll have to report this to the police, in any case. Whether it’s an accident or something else. There’ll be an inquest and you know what gossip there would be along the river if questions were left unanswered. You all need to know the truth, whatever it might be.

Even if Dad did this? Matty said harshly.

Oh, hush, Bea told him, while Jim said at the same time, What’s wrong with you? How can you even think that?

What if your uncle wasn’t knocked down by a horse, Matty? Emma said.  What if someone really did kill him? Accidentally or not. If you try to hide it you will always wonder. Secrets destroy people, destroy families. Don’t do something you’ll regret.

She lifted the cloth off Vernon Appleton’s face, but the injuries were still obscured by blood.

Maybe he had a heart attack and just fell down, Bea offered hopefully.

And hit his head when he fell, Jim suggested. Or got knocked down and then had a heart attack. Anything was possible. What they needed was certainty. Well, where are we going to put him? Jim asked getting to his feet.

In the washhouse for tonight, I suppose, Matty said, grudgingly.

That’ll do.

I can clean up his face there, Emma said, determined not to let them sideline her. Some hot water would help.

There’s a table in the tack room. We can use the top of it to carry him on, Jim said.

The boys laid their uncle’s body on the table-top, which was several boards nailed to a frame.

Get the lamps, Matty said, as he and Jim hefted the body.

Bea, carrying one lamp, held the stable door for them and then lit their way to the homestead. Emma, following with the second, hesitated at the door as she saw another oil lamp off to the side, clearly visible now in the light she carried.

She picked it up and the oil sloshed inside. About half full. She held it up to get a closer look. The wick was turned down. Had Vernon brought this lamp with him? Unlikely he would have come to the stable without a light. But someone else must have turned the wick down and extinguished it.

Emma closed the stable door behind her and had caught up to Bea and the boys as they reached the washhouse at the back of the kitchen.

I’ll fetch the kettle, she told them, about to go on.

Leave your lamp, would you Em, Matty said. I’ll go back to the stable shortly.

Just like him. She needn’t have brought the lamp at all. Emma left it outside by the washhouse door and took the unlit lamp with her, returning it to a hook on the verandah wall above the shelf where the bottles of paraffin and the matches were kept. When she returned to the washhouse with the kettle a few minutes later the tabletop had been placed across the concrete wash troughs and Bea’s lamp hung from a hook in a beam overhead, throwing a revealing light over Vernon’s body.

Emma added hot water from the kettle to a half bucket of cold.

I’ll take what’s left in that, Matty said, reaching for the kettle. I’ll get rid of that blood in the stable.

Don’t you try dealing with that piebald by yourself, Jim warned. I’ll come and give you a hand with him shortly.

Did you see Dad? Is he in the kitchen? Bea asked.

Emma shook her head. Wherever he was, he clearly needed some time to digest what had happened, but whether from shock or guilt she had no idea.

Chapter 3

Who’s to Blame?

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Bea gripped Emma’s hand as they watched Jim sponge the dried blood from the right side of Vernon Appleton’s face. They both had a desire to know how he had died, but neither could have said they were enjoying themselves. Emma didn’t think Jim was either.

Bea gave a gulp as the hot water revealed the damage. His cheek bone was broken and an abrasion to the forehead had bled freely. It hadn’t been a horse that knocked him down. Not unless their shoes made the small, rounded marks visible on both wounds.

What caused that? Jim asked.

Emma didn’t know. It doesn’t look bad enough to have killed him, whatever it was.

It could still be a heart attack, Bea said hopefully.

But someone attacked him.

Who would do that? Bea whispered her head pressed against Emma’s shoulder.

There’s blood on his hand, too, Emma said, looking more closely. Her body created a shadow as she bent over making it difficult to discern the details. He might have clutched at his head and then put his hand to his chest, transferring the blood, but I need to see...

She reached for the lamp. Jim lifted it down, holding it out and dispelling the shadows. Bea took a step back as they both bent over the body.

The front of his waistcoat is caked in blood, Emma said. The extent of it hadn’t been clear before as the waistcoat was in a dark maroon paisley pattern. There is no way that all came from his head wounds. There must be another injury.

Here. Jim handed Emma the lamp and began to clean the blood from Vernon’s hand. He squeezed the cloth out in the water, now a bloody pink. He wiped some more, peering closely. There’s a nasty cut on the palm.

Did anyone pick up Uncle’s cane? Matty asked, poking his head back in at the washhouse doorway. I looked for it just now back at the stable.

Emma and Jim looked at one another, and back at the injuries on Vernon Appleton’s face.

Look at this, Emma said, stepping aside so Matty could see the injuries. He hesitated before stepping in.

It wasn’t a horse, Matt, Jim said as Matty peered at the marks.

Satisfied now? he said, looking pointedly at Emma.

Oh, Matty, give it a rest, Bea said, suddenly exasperated with him. What on earth is the matter with you? Anyone would think Emma was responsible to hear you talk.

Neither of you should be involved in this, Matty responded in similar vein. You only behave this way when Emma is around.

Behave in what way? Bea demanded, hands on hips. Not letting you order me around, you mean? You don’t have enough respect for women, Matty Macdonald. Heaven help the woman who marries you.

Emma stiffened and looked away before she caught anyone’s eye. Bea had no idea.

When you two have quite finished, Jim said. Take another look at these marks, Matt. They might be from the knob of Uncle’s Malacca cane. Here, and here. Matty bent his head closer. I wouldn’t reckon that silver knob would have enough weight to kill him, though, would you?

It could be filled with something. Lead maybe?

There’s a cut on his hand, too. Something sharp did that, not the knob of his cane.

There must be an injury to his chest, Emma said, moving closer again and reaching for Vernon’s vest.

You’re not going to go investigating that now, and that’s final, Matty said roughly.

I was only trying to see if there was a tear or a cut in the clothing, Emma replied. He could have been stabbed. Her fingers were itchy to investigate even though it wasn’t her place, as an unmarried woman, to be undressing a male body. Unless it was to heal and even then, there were limits, but it was a little late for that here.

Why don’t Emma and I go back to the kitchen and you two find out where that blood has come from, Bea suggested. Three heads turned to look at her in surprise. Well, we want to know, don’t we?

I’m up for it, Jim said. This is serious.

Who could have done this? Bea asked, bewildered, as she and Emma went around to the kitchen.

Emma shivered and not just from the cold. She knew of only one person who had been angry enough with Vernon to do him injury, despite what his children might believe about his ability to do such a thing. They found the man himself sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of something in front of him. They’d had wine at dinner. Had he been drinking since then?

Janey was half dozing in the armchair beside the fireplace, the fire blazing under the kettle. Emma stood close by trying to get warm and let Bea talk to her father.

It wasn’t a horse, Dad, she told him, leaning in to give him a hug. Someone hit him with the knob of his cane, and he has a cut on his hand. He might have had a heart attack, but the boys are looking to see if there’s anything else. George pushed his chair back and got