Except Isobel. Grangemouth was where she had been born. It was the only home she knew. Here she had explored the estate with Ballandella, her first true friend who she would never forget. She had played chasings with the cocker spaniels in the garden and croquet with her sisters. She knew every secret nook and subtle detail of this house and its grounds: the angle of the morning light on the tallowwood by her window, the sound of the magpies carolling in the driveway. Now she would have to leave all this behind for some other family to enjoy.
But there was something else that troubled her childish imagination. Isobel could not shake off the memory of old Mr Macleay’s tearful face bent over her mother’s opal dragonfly. did he see, even then, his ruin reflected in its ghostly fire? Nor could she forget her father’s face that night, so malicious and triumphant.
Did no one else see what she saw? Luck wore two faces: one man’s victory meant another man’s defeat. From Mr Macleay’s ruin had sprung the Macleods’ good fortune. It was the law of nature: the strong feasted on the carcasses of the weak. Isobel joined in the collective jubilation, but in her heart there lurked a terrible thought. When would the opal dragonfly turn its fateful, fiery eyes on them?
Chapter 9
A MOTHER’S LOVE
FEBRUARY 1849 TO AUGUST 1850
Since the family’s move to Rosemount Hall four years ago, the Macleods’ prospects had brightened considerably. Any misgivings Isobel held privately about the ‘curse’ of the opal brooch were soon forgotten amid the serious business of charity work and the ongoing demands of her education, not to mention society’s ceaseless rounds of visits, parties and dances.
Father had undertaken a fourth expedition, this time to the north-west (in search of yet another great river), and was gone for a whole year. Winnie was stoic, as were the children. He returned in triumph with a handsome collection of fossils that he donated to form part of Sydney’s first Australian Museum of Natural History. The publication of his expedition journals met with an enthusiastic response from credible quarters and the subsequent sales were heartening.
Despite the unrelenting pressure of his duties as Surveyor-General and the obstinate dim-wittedness of his superiors, the Major was gratified by the colony’s burgeoning growth. He took considerable credit for this success as both explorer and surveyor, responsible for opening up hundreds of thousands of acres of productive land for settlement.
With these achievements, the Macleods’ stocks rose, both materially and socially. The two older Macleod girls, Alice and Grace, were now eminently eligible and long overdue for courting. Interested male parties soon appeared in the offing of their social sphere and made steady headway in their direction. A prolonged preoccupation of the Macleod household (and subject of excited debate and speculation) became the intentions of two suitors.
The first was a cultured young aristocrat by the name of Lord Andrew Twyckenham, who (on his father’s death) would one day in the not-too-distant future inherit the title of the 14th Baron Crawley of Gothamberly House, Hertfordshire. The young Baron—as Alice liked to call him for the sake of convenient (if premature) shorthand—had only recently arrived in the colony in pursuit of enriching experiences and even richer investments. The second gent was an officer, Captain Ralph Tranter of the 11th (North Devonshire) Regiment (dubbed the ‘Bloody Eleventh’ for its service in the Napoleonic war), now posted at the new Victoria Barracks on Old South Head Road in Paddington.
Barely turned fifteen, Isobel was recruited as an intermediary between her sister Grace and the handsome Captain Tranter, bearing confidential messages (on gossamer-thin blue writing paper) and tokens of affection (flowers, gloves, a pretty charm bracelet) between the two parties as the need arose. It was all an innocent and amusing game at first and the Captain seemed appreciative of Isobel’s assistance as a discreet Mercury.
While these tokens were received and responded to with alacrity in the first few weeks of their courtship, Grace began to grow strangely cool towards this young man’s overtures. At this behaviour Isobel was deeply puzzled, especially given her sister’s historic enthusiasm for redcoats. The only explanation that Isobel found plausible was fear. Was that possible? For all her hauteur and pride, it seemed that poor Grace, faced with the imminent reality of love (and no doubt marriage), was overcome with terror. despite their strained relations, Isobel pitied her.
And then the rules of the game changed.
‘Your sister does not seem pleased with my trinkets,’ the Captain confessed sadly one glorious afternoon at a picnic lunch out at Lady Macquarie’s Chair.
He and Isobel stood together at a distance from the main party, eating their cured English salmon sandwiches and admiring the harbour view. By the water’s edge, Alice could be seen flirting with her well-dressed beau, the young Baron, as were Beatrice Finch and Emma Bradley with their respective suitors. Grace sat apart with the other single Finch and Bradley girls as if she did not have a young man to pay her court.
‘They are certainly not trinkets, Captain Tranter!’ said Isobel indignantly. ‘I should think any woman given such gifts should consider herself deeply flattered. I know I would.’
Captain Tranter regarded her with a look of such intense curiosity as to make her blush. ‘Would you, Miss Isobel?’ he asked.
Oh my! thought Isobel. What have I said? She scrutinised the contents of her own heart to decide if she had spoken out of gallantry (to soothe his wounded feelings) or coquettishness (to arouse and distract them). For the sake of propriety she hoped it was the former but, if she was to be brutally honest, she was not at all sure.
Her face burned for shame. ‘I should go and help Florence with her dogs,’ she said, excusing herself and hurrying away to where Miss Finch sat on the rug with her pet foxhounds tumbling about noisily.
In the days following this scene, Isobel’s heart was in a state of blissful confusion. The more she tried not to think about Captain Tranter, the more he wandered into her thoughts and then, one night, into her dreams. He had an undeniably fine visage, a good wit, winning manners, and, as far as she could tell, a kind and honest heart. With his officer’s commission and rumours of a more than adequate income, it was a mystery why he had not already found a match.
On the occasion of the Captain’s next visit to Grangemouth, Isobel could not help but notice the frequency of the handsome soldier’s glances in her direction, glances of such unmistakeable warmth that they caused her cheeks to colour and her pulse to race. Isobel feared that her own eyes disclosed the warmth of her feelings no matter how hard she struggled to conceal them. Each subsequent visit only confirmed the persistence of this courteous gentleman’s interest in her and between these visits she debated with herself as to whether her young, untutored heart was responding merely to the flattery of his attentions or was genuinely attracted to his fine qualities.
What should have brought a young woman like Isobel great delight was instead the cause for great alarm. She could tell that Captain Tranter was impatient to steal a moment alone with her and the idea filled her with a painful admixture of ecstasy and dread. For Isobel knew all too well the catastrophe that would ensue if she interfered in Grace’s courtship. Anna and Grace found reasons to be disappointed in Isobel on an almost daily basis but she knew that a betrayal such as this would furnish them with a fierce and righteous anger she did not think she could bear to endure.
Isobel decided to find every excuse henceforth to be absent when the Captain called. The change in her sister’s attitude was both prompt and remarkable. Isobel could not be sure if it was because Grace had become cognisant of her suitor’s straying attentions or suspected the new target of his desires. Whatever the reason, Grace suddenly began to take a more active interest in the lover whom she had of late treated with a nonchalance bordering on disdain. ‘Look what Captain Tranter brought me today,’ she would boast at dinner, showing off the latest love token or billet-doux to her sisters while looking darkly in Isobel’s direction (or so Isobel ne
rvously imagined).
But Grace had let the young officer’s ardour cool too long. Isobel tried to tamp down any excitement or hope she felt regarding what now looked like a fateful misfiring of Cupid’s shaft. But why should she? she asked herself. How was she to blame? It was her sister, after all, who had played so recklessly with the young man’s feelings. What could Grace expect?
The moment of truth was nigh. One afternoon, Captain Tranter rode over from the Barracks to Rosemount, arriving unannounced with a note for Isobel. The family were out that day but, thankfully, the note was taken by the maid, Agnes, and delivered directly into Isobel’s hands. Inside was pressed a purple orchid, a floral symbol flagging a lover’s ardent passion. With it the brave Captain declared his love without shame or reservation.
My dearest Isobel
The Poets know that when one has been blind’d by the brash & gaudy glitter of the Sun, one can fail to appreciate the pale & dignified Beauty of her sister, the Moon, she who seeks to hide her face modestly under cover of Night but still outshines even the stars.
As have I, dearest Isobel, at first distract’d by your Sister’s undeniable and praiseworthy qualities, come to a deeper appreciation of your own peerless Beauty and good nature. Your loveliness of soul and figure, your fine intellect and tastes, your many virtues that declare themselves not vainly but discreetly through selfless deeds and considerate words, all these excellent qualities have taken my poor heart Prisoner. I entreat you, fair lady, to allow me the honour of courting you once you are of age. I am barely eight years your senior and shall happily await that blessed time.
The last thing I wish for is to cause a painful disruption to your sibling affections. Your sister has been kind enough to indulge my attentions but we both know that love does not flourish in her bosom or my own. I am sure she will be reliev’d and glad to release me from our courtship and rejoice in the fact that you and I (who wish her nothing but happiness) may discover feelings of Mutual Tenderness.
One word from you and I shall seek your sister’s and parents’ blessing to our courtship. Or, if my feelings find no echo in your own, I swear I shall cease to importune you and shall resign myself to my loveless fate with courage.
Yours with respect and hope etc., etc.,
Captain Ralph Tranter Esq.
Oh, how little it seemed that the Captain knew her sister! And what a whirlwind of grief, Isobel feared, this would unleash. Her heart was sorely tried. She did not really know what she felt; her acquaintance with the young man had been very agreeable but also very brief. What chance was there for them to come to know each other better when their courtship would be overshadowed by Grace’s jealousy and hate?
She turned for help to the only person she felt she could trust—Alice.
‘How do you feel about him, Izzie?’ Alice asked when she had read the letter.
‘I don’t know. I…I think about him a great deal,’ she confessed.
Alice smiled. ‘And what do you think? Have you ever imagined kissing him?’
‘Oh, Alice!’ Isobel blushed and stared into her lap. ‘Well…yes.’
Alice laughed and clapped her hands. ‘Well, that is a very good start! Now, tell me, my little sister, what is it about the man that you like so much? Apart from the fact he has the sense to see that Grace does not love him.’
To her own surprise, Isobel had quite a lot to say about Captain Tranter’s good points. Alice promised she would talk to Mama. She was sure something could be worked out. It would be a tragedy to have a misunderstanding stand in the way of a good match and (who knows?) a loving marriage.
But Alice was wrong. despite her best efforts, Winnie would not be moved. ‘Isobel is too young and it is not her turn,’ she insisted. ‘Everyone on the Hill knows the gentleman is courting Grace. Imagine her humiliation to be replaced by her little sister! It would be a scandal! I will not have it.’
‘But, Mama, Grace does not love him!’ Alice insisted. ‘Surely Isobel should at least be given a chance to find out what is in her heart. God moves in mysterious ways.’
‘God has nothing to do with it!’
At Winnie’s insistence, the letter was returned with a curt note from Isobel terminating all relations with Captain Tranter. The Captain graciously made his exit, proffering his deepest apologies to Isobel and to Grace in separate notes. His rapid exit may have averted gossip and saved Grace’s pride but there was no hiding the truth. Grace had eyes to see what had occurred, and the smouldering fire of her resentment against her little sister (who had always been her parents’ favourite and was now the preferred choice of her first suitor) blazed even hotter than before.
And Isobel? She too resented Grace, who had flirted coldly and cruelly with such a fine young man and thrown away a chance at love. And, in defiance of her deep and instinctual affection and respect for her mother, Isobel harboured a kernel of resentment against Winnie, who had forced Isobel to surrender her first love to save her sister’s pride.
Thankfully Alice’s courtship was more happily resolved with the acceptance of a proposal from the Baron and the fulfilment of her long-held ambition to marry a dull man with a handsome annuity. The wedding at St James’ was a splendid affair, with Alice’s sisters and friends (two Finches and two Bradleys) making up a party of seven bridesmaids in white muslin trimmed with blue bows, while the bride shone in white silk with a tulle veil and orange blossom wreath. Sydney society turned out in force and all its finery to pay tribute to the eldest daughter of Major Macleod. ‘What a truly excellent match!’ Mrs Palmer declared tearfully to anyone who would listen amid general agreement that the Baron would provide Alice and her family with many reasons for joy and honour.
Among all the happy faces in the church that day, Isobel was struck by her mother’s strained expression, at variance with the overall mood of celebration. With a look of the most intense scrutiny, Winnie stared at the groom as if she might lay bare the inner secrets of his soul. What on earth was going on? Isobel wondered. Why this sudden air of suspicion? The Baron had been a frequent guest at Rosemount over the last year and the object of much admiration and affection within the household and beyond. In all that time, Winnie had remained one of the most enthusiastic advocates of this match. What had changed?
Isobel dismissed this strange behaviour as no more than a mother’s natural tristesse at bidding her daughter farewell. After the awkward matter of Captain Tranter, Isobel had noticed that her mother was more temperamental than usual, even short-tempered. It was understandable, of course; finding suitable husbands for one’s daughters (and wives for one’s sons) was known to be an exhausting, often drawn-out rite of passage for every mother.
For Isobel, tears of joy were alloyed with heartache at the departure of her dear sister Alice with her new husband to England. The only balm was the prospect of frequent letters and the knowledge that Alice had found happiness. Isobel herself found refuge from sadness in her sketching and painting, with a renewed focus on and dedication to her art lessons with their art master, Mr Vasey.
Life at Rosemount resumed its normal rhythms, albeit without Alice. Grace, Anna and Isobel attended their weekly rounds of music, dance and language lessons, and their social calendar was never empty for more than a day or so before their attendance was required at a supper, dance or picnic.
With Papa so often away, Isobel had grown accustomed to this busy female sphere. But she did miss her brothers. It felt only like yesterday that the three boys had played cricket on the lawn and hide-and-seek under the tallowwoods late into the long summer afternoons at Grangemouth. Her fondest memories of childhood at Rosemount were of winter evenings in the morning room, where she played draughts with Joseph, listened to Richard reading poetry or to William singing a duet with Grace or Alice, accompanied by Anna on piano, while her parents read or dozed by the roaring fire.
Now all three of her brothers were men, embarked on their own adventures in the wide world beyond Rosemount. How she envied them. Enlargi
ng the Major’s paternal pride, William was serving as an officer with the frigate HMS Iris on anti-slaving patrols off West Africa. The youngest, Joseph, was finishing law studies at university and hoping to be articled to a firm in the city. The middle son, Richard, had put his plans to study classics at Oxford on hold at their father’s request that he manage the family property at Camden.
Studious and gifted, Richard possessed a scholarly rather than agricultural disposition but took on this heavy responsibility out of filial love. He had proved a most intelligent and conscientious manager and had made a success of the venture, despite his initial self-doubt. His duty almost done, Richard looked forward to his release early in the new year.
And then catastrophe struck with the unexpectedness of lightning from a clear sky.
Afterwards, Isobel would be haunted by the argument she had overheard between her parents in the breakfast room a few weeks before. She had hung back, unseen, in the doorway and noted every word of their exchange. It was a rare occurrence for her mother to question Papa’s judgement, especially within earshot of others, so Isobel had paid close attention. Winnie had implored her husband to appoint a new manager for the Camden estate as soon as possible and bring Richard home before Christmas. She had urged this course of action vehemently, saying the ‘dear boy’ deserved a rest over the summer before leaving for Oxford. The Major had dismissed her concerns and insisted Richard stay on into the new year.
In the second week of the following January, Richard rode out with the head stockman to inspect a broken fence in the northern paddock. Startled by a red-bellied black snake in the long grass, Richard’s horse threw him violently from the saddle. He broke his neck and died instantly. Within a twelvemonth of Alice’s splendid wedding, the Macleod family gathered again at St James’ for the funeral of one of its sons.
The Opal Dragonfly Page 9
