Midsummer's Eve

I could almost hear his voice ... and Gregory Donnelly's answer. My father had known where she was and he was going there.

What did it mean?

Only one thing, it seemed. He knew of Stillman's Creek, the home of the girl who said she was his daughter.

What had he intended to do? To recompense her in some way? He could naturally want to see his own daughter. Was that the real son why he had wanted to go to Australia?

She had talked of Cador as though she knew it. It was almost as though she had seen it. There could only be one answer. Her story was true. She was my father's legitimate daughter. I was a bastard. I had no claim to Cador. Not only had I lost my parents and my brother: I was going to lose my home as well.

Discoveries

I shall never forget those months. I think they were some of the worst I have ever passed through. My common sense told me that her story was true, but every emotion I possessed assured me that it could not be. My father would never have deserted her and her mother in that way. I could well understand that if he had in fact married that woman he would realize he had made a vital mistake and that the prospect of returning to England with her would fill him with dismay. She would certainly not fit in with the life at Cador. He might have wanted to desert her, but he would never have done so in the way it was suggested.

The matter was brought to court. Mr. Tamblin said it was imperative that this should be. I could not simply hand over the estates to a woman who had come along and asked for them. It was a court of law that would decide the merits of the case and legal documents would have to be drawn up.

Rolf was with me in those days. He was completely astounded by the turn of events.

I should have liked to turn to him then, to tell him of my desolation and explain how I longed to be with him; and at this time I did not seem to care if he had been there on that Midsummer's Eve. But he was aloof. I suppose he could not forget the humiliation I had inflicted on him by waiting until the morning we were to be married to tell him that I could not go on with it.

There was a barrier between us. He was there helping me, advised me; he §ave me ms knowledge, his sympathy, his time-but the loseness which had once been between us was there no longer. He agreed with Mr. Tamblin that the matter would have to go to court.

I dreaded it.

The woman told her story well. It seemed to fit in with everything. Her mother had met my father-so the story ran-in a hotel in Sydney where she worked as a barmaid.

They had become friendly. He had finished his term of seven years and had bought a bit of property. It was called Cadorsons and was some miles north of Sydney. A daughter had been born to them-Maria herself. Then it appeared news of my father's inheritance had come to him. He had kept it from his wife. He had told her that he was selling the property to a man named Thomas Donnelly; and then went back to Sydney where she thought they were to remain until he bought a bigger property. But he had left her in Sydney and that was the last she saw of him. He had left her nothing and she was penniless. All she could do was go back to her father on his property at Stillman's Creek. There Maria was brought up. If anyone tried to pretend she was a bastard she had the means to prove that she was not.

When there was all the fuss in the newspapers about Sir Jake Cadorson with the story of his past, she realized that this was the father who had deserted her and her mother all those years ago. She learned about the property in Cornwall and had spoken to a few of her friends about it. They had told her that she ought to claim what was hers by right; and this was what she was doing.

The marriage certificate was scrutinized, and the verdict was given that it was authentic.

Her Counsel reminded the court that Sir Jake Cadorson was a man who was a little cavalier in his relationships with women. He had been known to have one illegitimate daughter who had been born in Kent the same year as he had been sent to Australia for seven years. That child had been looked after by others and he had not been in the least concerned about her welfare.

Our Counsel pointed out that he had been unaware of her existence until he returned to England and in any case was in no position to do anything about it as he was sent out of England for seven years.

It soon became clear to me in which way the case was going.

Everything seemed weighted heavily against my father. The marriage certificate was declared to be valid; Maria's story fitted exactly with what had been known to have happened. It was remembered that my father's crime had been to kill a man who, according to him was assaulting a young gypsy girl, presumably, was the sly comment, a protégée of his during this madcap sojourn with the tribe.

They were vilifying him. That was what I could not bear. To prove the woman's case they had to make my father into a callous philanderer.