Til Morning Comes Read online

  ’TIL MORNING COMES

  BY

  LISA ANN HARPER

  Copyright L. A. Harper 2011

  ISBN 978 1 921999 12 3

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form

  or by any means, without the prior

  permission in writing of the publisher.

  Nor may it be by way of trade or otherwise, lent, re-sold, hired out,

  or circulated in any form of binding or cover other than

  that in which it is published and

  without a similar condition including this condition

  being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Lisa Ann came to Australia twenty three years ago from Toronto, Canada, the setting for her first novel, Outing of the Heart. She now makes her home in Cairns, Queensland, but has resided in Sydney, Brisbane and Perth. Lisa lives with her partner and their two dogs and three cats. They also enjoy the company of their many birds and fish.

  This, her second novel, is dedicated to women everywhere who have been touched by love. Especially she includes those women who have shaped her life. (You know who you are). Through them she has found the ability and determination to put pen to paper. You have her grateful thanks.

  Her sincere thanks also go to Bemac Publications for their meticulous editing contribution to this book and the previous work. Their support and input have been greatly appreciated.

  Contents

  BOOK ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  BOOK THREE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  BOOK ONE

  MALLORY MASON (Mal) SOCIAL WORK STUDENT

  HIGGINS HEAD GAME KEEPER

  HONOURABLE LADY NIGELLA PATCHFORD YOUNGEST DAUGHTER

  GAVIN MASON … MALLORY’S BROTHER

  HONOURABLE SIR AMBROSE PATCHFORD NIGELLA’S BROTHER

  JAKE BEESON HEAD GROOM

  MRS. CUMMINGS COOK

  LADY GLENCORA PATCHFORD (nee Broadhurst) NIGELLA’S MOTHER

  CONSTANCE ALDRED HEAD HOUSEKEEPER

  MR. CROSBY … ESTATE MANAGER

  THORA POGUE LANDLADY

  SIR EUSTACE, VISCOUNT PATCHFORD NIGELLA’S FATHER

  ALBERT POGUE WHEELWRIGHT TO THE ESTATE

  HARRY FLEGG MASTER OF THE HUNT

  JENKINS WHIPPER-IN

  LEONARD TRICKLEBANK STABLE HAND

  DOROTHY MILLIGAN (Dottie) HOUSEMAID

  MR. BALDWIN BUTLER

  FRANCINE HEWITT SOCIAL SECRETARY

  CAPTAIN HUGO CARREROS CAREER SOLDIER

  HONOURABLE LADY RAMONA PATCHFORD OLDEST DAUGHTER

  EMILY (Millie) A PERSONAL MAID

  LIONEL SHOEBRIDGE A FRIEND TO AMBROSE

  MYLES STAFFORD-CLARKE A FRIEND TO AMBROSE

  MAISIE A PERSONAL MAID

  REYNOLDS A FOOTMAN

  LADY ARIAL STAFFORD-CLARKE MYLE’S MOTHER

  LORD SEDGEWICK KNOWLESWORTHY A FRIEND TO AMBROSE

  HONOURABLE LADY PHYLLIDA STOCKWELL A FRIEND TO RAMONA

  MR. TRUE-MAY SCHOOL PRINCIPAL

  FIONA BEEVIS SCHOOL ROOM TEACHER

  BOOK TWO

  KYLIE BEASLEY SOCIAL WORK STUDENT

  DR. STUBBS SENIOR MEDICAL RESIDENT

  FAITH ACCIDENT VICTIM

  CYNTHIA LEWIS THERAPY SUPERVISOR

  TRACY SCOTT SENIOR STAFF NURSE

  KATRINA DUFF DIVERSIONAL THERAPIST

  MAVIS JOHNSON PATIENT

  RHIANNA NURSING ASSISTANT

  MONICA MCBEAN DEPARTMENT HEAD

  AT QUEEN ELIZABETH HOSPITAL

  BRENDAN REEVES HEALTH WORKER

  CORY SIXSMITH HOUSE SUPERVISOR

  DESZREE LANSKEY FLAT MATE

  RACHELLE SELLWOOD HOUSE MOTHER

  JASON MULLINS HOUSE RESIDENT

  BOOK THREE

  JOHDI REAL ESTATE AGENT

  GERALD DEARING HOME OWNER

  CONNOR MITCHELL SOLICITOR

  MILEY EARLES CONNOR’S FIANCEE

  NIKKI PORTMAN DEPUTY DIRECTOR

  AT SELLY OAK HOSPITAL

  DELINDA KNOBEL ASSISTANT INSTRUCTOR

  EJ RAMSAY ASSISTANT STABLE MANAGER

  NESSA DORRITT RIDING INSTRUCTOR

  STARR KEOGHAN ASSISTANT INSTRUCTOR

  TYSON SPEIGHT JUMPING INSTRUCTOR

  KRISSI BLAKE GAVIN’S FIANCEE

  JASON AND LEAH CONNOR’S FRIENDS

  EMMA GORDYN KYLIE’S FRIEND

  PROLOGUE

  Last week, looking through the personals in ‘Out and About’, Randelle’s had jumped up at her. Mallory just could not let it go by. She had responded immediately and arranged for lunch at a little teahouse in Warwick. If they hit it off they could always stroll through the manicured gardens of the castle – perfect for confidences. This morning she had dressed with care, singing in her head Adam Harvey’s When The Heart Talks, Love Listens.

  Checking the scene for some time now had only resulted in a big fat zero. Well, at least after all this she knew what she did not want. Cream coloured, soft chambray shirt, dark brown cords and best brogues. Yes!! Believing first impressions to be crucial, the comfortable joggers had been rejected as too scruffy. There were good omens about this one and she needed the right look. No botch ups. Anyway, she could not rely on her face, it was too angular with lips too thin to be readily assessed as kissable.

  Nothing if not a realist Mal, she thought to herself.

  If Randelle could get past the head, although she was a bit vain about her bouncy, short hair that shone with copper highlights even on the cloudiest day; she reckoned her body could well and truly pass scrutiny. Obsessive about gym workouts, Mallory never missed a Pump Class unless absolutely forced; not only was she staying fit and muscular, she also found it relaxing. The natural endorphins, induced by lifting the heavy weights, gave her a welcome respite from the intensity of her studies, about which she was also fanatical.

  Not prepared to risk being late, she had arrived early and was strategically positioned to observe all who entered and exited and was now sipping from a bottle of spring water. The ringing doorbell alerted her to the arrival of a cute Babe. Very up to the minute in the style of Cleo; hair spiked but not tinted, carrying some weight, but there was no problem there. She watched her settle in and order. According to the description, she must be the one. With a confident smile in place she rose to her rather considerable height and began what she judged to be a winning approach.

  “Fantastic, you made it. I was beginning to think you might have changed your mind.” The spunky chick looked up, slightly startled. Not to allow any misunderstanding, Mallory continued hastily: “I’m the one who answered your ad. in ‘Out and About’. It’s great to meet you at last and you’re even more lovely than I imagined.” She pulled out the other chair and sat, having read somewhere that eyeball to eyeball was a better way ‘to make friends and influence people’. Her smile broadened encouragingly: “I’m Mallory Mason,” she said as she extended her hand. At that moment she heard a masculine voice above her head.

  “Lindsey! Who is this?” The tone was not agreeable. Tilting her view she saw a rather severe
young man regarding them both, as if at a tennis match and waiting impatiently for his answer.

  “I’m s..sorry, Ryan,” Lyndsey was flustered. “I don’t know. She came over just before you arrived … and sat down.”

  Now they were both looking at her, expecting answers and she could wish herself anywhere but here. How could she have been such a dork? The handsome young man was examining her scathingly, his intense eyes boring into her while his control over his patience decreased by the second. What could she say? Best make her apologies and beat a hasty, even if somewhat graceless retreat.

  It was true. She could not get out fast enough, but she had had to settle the bill, all the while feeling their eyes burning her as she had waited for change. Right on one o’clock, as she was pulling away she saw, whom she guessed to be the genuine Randelle, pull in. Oh why hadn’t she held off? Why did she always jump in with both feet? Well, impossible to do anything at this stage. Perhaps a call later.

  Now she was driving through the narrow, winding Warwickshire lanes that would take her back to the city, the air fragrant with wood smoke and the serene evocation of late summer. Unfortunately, the dramatic contrast these dense hedgerows of Hawthorn and Bramble, colourful with their ripe, red and purple berries, made with the Australian bush passed her by, unnoticed. The last few days had been severely over-cast, the unpredictable sky heavy with showers, but now the afternoon was flooded with merry sunshine. Only a few drifts of gauzy cloud remained, slow moving. She drove fast through patchwork meadows of clover, dotted with Scarlet Pimpernels and shady Crab Apple trees, their lacy branches laden with clusters of pink flowers. Everything here was on such a small scale compared with her native Queensland.

  Mallory had been over in the UK for two years already, an exchange student between James Cook Uni. and Birmingham University. Right now it was summer break and the first semester of her third year would not begin for another month. With this in mind she had bought a manual V-Dub. It was really beat-up, but she could live with the shakes and rattles on a temporary basis. It was the cheaper way to go compared with the cost of hiring. She reckoned she could get most of her money back when she sold. At this stage the shirtsleeves had been rolled up and the windows rolled down. The wind whipped her hair sharply about her head, sometimes stinging her eyes, but still the heat of the sun as it shone between the white woolly clouds, was relentless. Damp patches had formed round her collar and between the shoulder blades. More speed would provide a cooling breeze as much for her mind as her body.

  How could I have been so boneheaded? Recriminations chased her thoughts. She had really screwed up big time. An SMS wouldn’t do it. “Oh shit!”

  The sharp curve was upon her, but she was too late. Crashing through the rickety fence, the car tumbled down a steep bank and on into an old, water filled quarry. It over-turned, wheels spinning, doors flying. As the vehicle buckled the seat belt let go and Mallory was thrown clear. The old V-Dub gurgled to the bottom as she lost consciousness, lying on the ground in a muddy heap.

  BOOK ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Long shadows stretched away from the tall Sycamore, as speckles of light found their way through the tiny holes in the canopy above, down to the prostrate figure below. Burning pain kept the body immobile as it seared the lungs with each breath. Any movement made it worse.

  Laboured sounds of staccato breathing could be heard as the rocking figure heaved back and forth, struggling desperately for air. The boggy ground shifted suddenly and the contorted body lurched forward. Putting out a protective hand to prevent further damage, there was the realisation that nothing was broken – the legs were intact; the arms worked. While fighting for better control over breathing and body, questions tumbled over themselves. What had happened? How much time had passed? Better yet, where was she?

  The effort to breathe was easing. With head up, she could see a gap in the fence. It would be a good idea to reach the lane, find the arterial and possibly flag down a ride. Gingerly she moved one foot at a time. The crawl became a stagger and soon she was upright. A rest on the precarious rail would help and she began looking about. Still catching her breath, she saw how dirty she had become. Her previously spotless pants, like her shoes, were heavily spattered with mud.

  “No good hanging about here,” she muttered and licked her lips. There was the metallic taste of blood, but no broken teeth – a cut lip? She wiped her sleeve across her face. Hells bells, what a sight! I’ll be chancing my luck if anyone will stop for me in this state.

  She checked the time and swore frustrated. Her watch was gone. It had been a twenty-first present from her parents and much cherished. She had other cheepos, but she had wanted to impress the date.

  So much for that ploy, too late now, she remonstrated.

  “OK, here goes.” The legs were still unsteady, but at least functioning so it was a lurching progress in what she hoped was the direction of the M1.

  “Oy! Where d’you think you be goin’?” The voice was peremptory with a broad accent. She turned to see who had accosted her so rudely, but her head swam too much as she made an effort to tell him where he got off. She was too slow and he too quick. In no uncertain terms, he began to lay into her with no mercy.

  “You get back to t’other lads. I’ll have no skiving whilst I’m in charge and don’t you forget it. They still be helping with drawing the covert for the Master.” This burly, red-faced man, pugnacious in his self-importance was dressed as muddily as she, but certainly seemed used to giving orders. His face sported a big, handlebar moustache and an equally bushy beard. At this moment all of it was bristling with indignation. He pointed imperiously in the direction of a small clump of trees, far off on the other side of the lane. By now confusion was total, but she felt ready to get her tongue into action and articulate something in her defence. However, the irate over-seer, impatience flowing from every pore, barked in her ear: “Get on with it, boy. It’s to Featherstone Copse with you … at the double!” He gave her a quick once over. “And where are your gaiters? Never mind. I’ve no time now. I’ll speak to you later.”

  What a mean look.

  At this stage Mallory was at a complete loss and could only wish to put as much distance between her and this obnoxious individual as quickly as possible. Forget speaking to him, she would just take off and head in the direction indicated. She had spotted a tall chimney which must mean a house. She would speak to someone more approachable and reasonable. This dick-head was wacko!

  The staggering decreased as her balance returned. Also, her head began to regain a normal feel. The terrain across the paddock was uneven and downhill, making her slow and clumsy, but she was feeling better. More like her old self. Things were looking up. Get some help and she could be on her way.

  Gaining the hollow it was possible to see the copse was composed of Elms, Sycamores and some Silver Birch, not too densely clustered so they must have been here for some time. To cut through, Mallory had to zigzag her way between the tall trunks and it was then the body came into view, sprawled out amongst the dry leaves. Not far was a stamping horse, aggressively cropping at short tufts.

  As best she could, she made haste to assist. The coat had fallen open to reveal baggy breeches and a dried bloodstain from a long cut on the thigh. She guessed it was a young woman who had come a cropper, but hard to tell with the face grimed and hair awry. Chocolaty brown tendrils had escaped from the little hat, now sitting askew. Odd-looking, rather like a man’s bowler; high crowned and small brimmed. Despite the dirt, it was easy to see the riding gloves and boots were of the finest leather. The eyelids began to quiver and fluttered open. Momentarily, Mallory glimpsed the most startlingly green eyes flecked with brown and gold, she had ever seen. Quickly they were veiled behind dense, black lashes as the lids drifted closed again. She would check her for further injuries later, but at least she knew she was not unconscious or worse dead. Now her priority was to collect and calm this animal, before he had a chance to wreak havoc on unsu
specting motorists.

  The horse was a gleaming chestnut, rippling with toned muscle, his coat spattered with patches of white foam. He had been hard ridden and was now truly spooked. Rolling eyes regarded her warily with sensitive ears twitching at every move.

  Mallory was not alarmed, feeling comfortable and at ease around horses. Years in her youth spent on her parents’ B&B outside Cairns, were now standing her in good stead. The Masons ran a stable, providing horses for trail-rides. She loved these animals as much as she loved cars. She would find any excuse to join her brother and dad, to tinker in the back shed on the resort’s old Ute. ‘Fixing’ she would call it, but her mum reckoned she just liked getting dirty. Sometimes she would jokingly remark that she had given birth to two sons.

  There was one year between the siblings, but they were great mates. They would Scuba dive together out on the reef at Green Island, careen over the Ranges on their trail bikes with friends and both had an affinity for horses. Gavin was working now for a large cattle station on the Northern Territory/ Queensland border, as a helicopter-mustering pilot – highly skilful and dangerous. He had become expert at dodging the treacherous power lines. He relished challenges and was always up for a test. His philosophy in life: “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re not living.”

  Mallory’s opinion was that, although younger, her risks were tempered with common sense. At twenty-three she still had all her own teeth and no broken bones.

  The reins had become tangled, so with gentling sounds she collected them and edged herself closer, all the while keeping her voice soft and letting him watch the approach: nostrils flaring, ears thrust forward. With arm extended, palm down, the hunter was able to assess her scent. She gave him time until at last he placed his bristly muzzle into her hand. Still unhurried, Mallory drew the reins close under his chin and began to lead him back to his rider, collecting the discarded crop on the way. The horse stood still while she helped the young woman to her feet. On taking her arm she let out a sharp cry.