The River Charm by Belinda Murrell

minutes kicked her back into a steady canter. Within half an hour Charlotte was cantering across the sandstone bridge and down the rutted main road of dusty Berrima.
    She slowed Ophelia into a trot as they entered the rectangle of the village green, which was surrounded by inns and houses built of sandstone and red brick. Outside the Victoria Inn, Charlotte recognised a brickmaker named James Welling. He usually worked at Oldbury but Mr Barton had set him to work building a couple of cottages on land that he had recently purchased in Berrima.
    â€˜Mr Welling, have you seen my mother?’ asked Charlotte. ‘I need to find her as a matter of urgency.’
    The brickmaker shook his head. ‘No, but you might try the store near the Surveyor General Inn. She often has business there,’ he suggested, gesturing further north with his hand.
    Charlotte called out her thanks as she cantered up the street. Near the store, Charlotte recognised her mother’s bay mare, with its distinctive white blaze, tied to the hitching post. Charlotte tethered Ophelia beside her and ran inside the store. It was crowded with ladies poring over ribbon and feathers, men testing harnesses and small children jostling over the sweets display.
    â€˜Excuse me, Mrs Mason, have you seen my mother by any chance?’ asked Charlotte of a woman whom she recognised.
    Mrs Mason peered down her nose at Charlotte. ‘Your mother?’ said Mrs Mason, looking as though she had accidently sucked on a slice of lemon. ‘I believe I saw Mrs Barton walking to the courthouse.’
    Mrs Mason looked Charlotte up and down with a dis­approving glare before continuing. ‘You should know better than to ride into town with no hat or bonnet on your head, with your hair hanging down your back like a complete hoyden.’ She sniffed. ‘There is never a reason why a lady should be in an unseemly haste. You are not all alone? I am surprised your mother let you leave the house like that. But then, perhaps she does not realise how young ladies are expected to conduct themselves. My daughters would never –’
    â€˜Thank you, ma’am,’ replied Charlotte, backing away. ‘I’m sorry but I need to go. My mother is expecting me urgently.’
    â€˜Well,’ complained Mrs Mason. ‘Such rudeness. But what would you expect with a mother like that?’
    Charlotte turned and ran out of the store towards the courthouse a few doors up. Mamma was there, wearing her best clothes for town: grey gloves, cream silk shawl and a dark-blue bonnet.
    â€˜Mamma, Mamma,’ Charlotte called desperately. ‘I need you to come home.’
    â€˜Dearest, what’s wrong?’ demanded Mamma, her voice rising in panic. ‘Has something happened to Louisa or James? Is Emily all right? Don’t tell me one of them has been thrown from a horse? And why have you ridden for me? Why didn’t you send Mr Ash or one of the men?’
    â€˜Don’t fret,’ Charlotte said. ‘Everyone is fine, Mamma. It’s the furniture. Mr Barton is emptying the house of all the finest furniture and packing it on a dray.’
    Mamma’s hand flew to her mouth; then she frowned fiercely. ‘That man will be the death of me. I was just on my way to visit Mr Chalkley about the impounded goods. Perhaps he will be able to help us.’
    Fortunately it only took a few minutes to find the chief constable in his office at the gaolhouse. After Mamma had explained the situation, he agreed to escort them back to Oldbury, together with two of his constables. They all rode at a gallop, and at every bend Charlotte expected to see the bullock dray, dragging away their belongings.
    The five horses eventually thundered up the carriageway and around the back of the house, where the two labourers and the bullock driver were lashing down a canvas tarpaulin over the furniture. Mr Barton came out the back door brandishing a