‘To begin with King Richard was not a hunchback. At his coronation many witnesses were present when he was stripped to the waist for the traditional ritual anointing. There are no contemporary accounts of Richard having any deformity! Do you think all those nobles would not have noticed?’
‘I stand corrected.’ Marmaduke made a mocking bow. ‘I regret I failed to welcome you properly to our fair Antipodean shores.’
He’s insufferable. Anyone would think he’s doing me a favour entering this benighted marriage contract.
Isabel responded coolly. ‘I’d been warned not to expect the manners of an English gentleman.’
‘Then I won’t disappoint you, Miss de Rolland. That’s the last thing you’ll ever get from me.’
‘I regret I cannot offer you tea, Mr Gamble,’ she said quickly in the hope of disguising the rumbling in her belly.
‘I only drink billy tea in the bush. And you can drop the Mr Gamble tag. That’s my father’s title. I answer to nothing but Marmaduke.’
He still hasn’t removed his hat! Infuriated by his confidence she was determined to force him to make the running.
‘You can rest easy,’ he said. ‘I’ve had the name Walter de Rolland removed from your charge sheet. I notice you didn’t use our Gamble name to get yourself off the hook.’
‘I have no wish to attract scandal to your father’s name. The man has done me no harm.’ She gestured to the silver dressing-table set. ‘Please thank him for his gift.’
Marmaduke raised one eyebrow. ‘How very sensitive. Quite unlike Father, but then he is the one who’s impressed by your family tree.’
Isabel seized her chance. ‘I take it my episode in prison gives you the perfect excuse to break off our engagement?’ She hoped her voice had not betrayed her. You’ve no idea just how much I want that but I can’t appear too eager.
Marmaduke’s expression was unreadable but he avoided her question. ‘Did your mob give you the chance to decline my father’s offer? Or did they twist your arm to accept me?’
Furious to be cornered into this humiliating position, Isabel tried evasive tactics. ‘Surely your father kept you informed? Both our lawyers examined the fine print for two years past.’
‘The first I heard of your existence was a few months back. To be frank I hadn’t the slightest desire to marry you or any woman, certainly not an upper-class Pommie.’
‘Are all Colonials as forthright as you? You are about as blunt as a rusty nail.’
He looked pleased he had drawn blood. ‘Yeah, I like to think we are. The truth cuts through a lot of polite social crap. What’s to be gained from pussy-footing around at this late stage of the game? We both know why we’re here and the brass it cost my father to pay up your guardian’s debts and keep him out of the nick.’
Isabel was equally shocked by his blatant reference to her family’s financial plight and by his vulgar underworld cant. She rose with what dignity she could salvage.
‘I will have you know I do not appreciate being regarded as some prize ewe imported for breeding purposes. Like those Spanish merinos John Macarthur brought down here to improve the poor quality of his sheep.’
Marmaduke’s expression told her nothing. Was his voice insultingly polite or amused? ‘I see you’ve done your homework. I hadn’t reckoned on a girl of your exalted breeding being interested in Australian rural life, except maybe a tapestry of our landscape.’
Exalted breeding? If only he knew the truth about me.
Isabel was at a loss to know how to talk to him. None of the rules of etiquette learned during her sheltered county existence were applicable. Fighting off a wave of panic she rapidly considered her options. What hope did she have of extricating herself from this mess? I did sign that marriage contract. I can never return to England. If I became a governess I’d need to work for a hundred years to repay the money. I have only one chance. Somehow I must force him to jilt me.
Aware that Marmaduke was observing her bare feet, she tucked them under the chair.
‘I don’t shock easily, Isabel. If you want to pad around barefoot, feel free. Our heat plays havoc with English complexions and swells your feet. I’m used to seeing English heads grow too big for their hats. But that’s a national trait. Can’t blame our heat for that, huh?’
‘You are insufferably rude!’
Knowing she had totally lost control she bombarded him with questions. ‘If you consider we British are so inferior, why was your father so desperate to marry you off to a girl from an English Old Family? I’m not even an heiress. Now that would have made sense to a Colonial mind like yours, would it not? Money breeds money. It can buy anything or anyone, isn’t that what you think? Tell me, wasn’t there a Currency Lass brave enough to walk down the aisle with you? Or was your avoidance of marriage due to the fact you prefer your own kind?’
Isabel stopped, suddenly aghast that she had sunk to the level of a fishwife.
The lines around Marmaduke’s mouth tightened but his quiet response was more effective than rage.
‘To borrow a boxing term I see the gloves are now off. So let’s get things straight. I’m a bachelor by choice – some would say a dedicated libertine. I have not the slightest intention of giving up that pleasure, married or otherwise.’
The intensity of his gaze caused her to flinch when he continued. ‘No doubt my interest in gemstones triggered your assumption about my masculinity. I’m not a man to sit in judgement on other men’s sexual practice if it involves adults. But for the record I’ve never had the inclination to sleep with any man.’
Isabel leant forwards and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Neither have I. You’d best know the reason. I hate all men!’
For a moment Marmaduke looked slightly taken aback then fixed her with an unblinking stare. ‘How interesting. So it’s not just me you can’t stand a bar of?’
Isabel stammered. ‘I hate the whole male race – you’re just part of it!’
Marmaduke studied her so long that the silence made her nervous. ‘Is that the truth? Can no man tempt you with romantic words and promises?’
‘There isn’t a man born of woman who could seduce me!’ She took a deep breath and played the desperate last card she hoped would prove to be her ace. ‘And it’s only fair to tell you that your father has...what is the vulgar expression? “Bought himself a pup”.’
Marmaduke’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me?’
‘He demanded two things. A de Rolland bride of impeccable lineage and virtue. My legitimate birth is on record and my Plantagenet ancestry dates back seven centuries so I meet your father’s requirements on that score, but...’
Marmaduke eyed her speculatively, twisting the ruby on his wedding finger.
Isabel took a deep breath to control the tremor in her voice. ‘But it is only fair to tell you the truth. I am no virgin. So if you wish to break our engagement I will, of course, agree to disappear from your life and cause your family no further trouble.’
Marmaduke said the words softly. ‘Did the man to whom you gave that privilege inspire your hatred of the entire male race? Or was it other men?’
Isabel felt her cheeks burn. ‘There is no need to treat me like a wanton tavern wench.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ he said quickly.
‘I’ve told you the truth. My shame has forever placed me outside the pale of God’s forgiveness. But it is of no importance to me what you or any man thinks of me.’
Isabel turned away to avoid the contempt she expected to see in his face. The silence was unbearable. Would he never set her free?
Marmaduke’s response was unexpected. ‘I admire your honesty, Isabel. That’s a quality rarely encountered in women. But decadent as my life is, no one can ever call me a hypocrite. I’m the last man on earth to demand virginity from any woman.’
Oh God, I’ve failed! She felt a sickening sense of nausea as the room began to spin.
Marmaduke grasped her by the sho
ulders. ‘You’re as pale as a ghost. You might be going down with ship’s fever. That’s deadly, I’ll call a doctor.’
‘No! I’m not used to wine at breakfast. I only need a drink of water.’
Instead Marmaduke whipped a silver flask from his coat pocket and held it to her lips.
‘Here, get this into you. Down the hatch.’
The liquid hit her throat causing a burning sensation. Isabel pushed it away.
‘Don’t worry. Brandy. I always carry it for medicinal purposes.’ He guided the flask back to her lips and added, ‘And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything!’
The warmth that diffused through her body brought a marked degree of pleasure.
Marmaduke leapt to his feet. ‘It’s my fault you’re getting a poor impression of Colonial hospitality. You must be half starved. I wouldn’t insult my horse by feeding him that prison muck.’ He grinned. ‘Yeah, I had a taste of gaol myself – after a duel.’
He was halfway out the door before he added, ‘Rest easy. I’ve ordered a fine meal to be sent up to you. Meanwhile I have something for you. Wait here, don’t move.’
He returned bearing a stack of boxes tied with ribbon. ‘Just a few things I bought this morning while you slept. They’ll do to go on with. I’ll take you to a mantle maker and dressmaker to replace your lost trousseau. So if you decide to leave the Colony you’ll be all decked out to marry a gentleman of your own class.’
Isabel let the jibe pass. She tried to sound nonchalant. ‘How did you know my size?’
‘A typically female question. Australian men are nothing if not practical – the key to survival in this country. I took your grey dress to show the storekeepers your size.’
‘How clever. I’ll have something to wear when I face the magistrate this afternoon.’
Marmaduke shook his head. ‘I’ve taken care of that. You’ll soon learn the way things work here. There’s nothing and no one that can’t be bought, if you know the ropes.’ He hesitated. ‘Rest up today. Tomorrow I’ll show you a typical Saturday in Sydney Town. The kind of life you can expect as Mrs Gamble. I’ll pick you up at nine sharp in the morning.’
He was gone. Despite the frustration of her intitial failure to break their engagement, Isabel was overcome by curiosity. She flung herself on the floor among the boxes, exclaiming with pleasure over exquisite lace-trimmed silk undergarments, silk stockings, a parasol and two dresses with fashionable belled sleeves, striped in Regency wallpaper patterns with peonies and violets. An Indian silk shawl was threaded with silver, a bonnet sprigged with flowers. The shoes slipped on like the fabled glass slipper that was lost then found by Cinderella’s Prince.
The clothes fitted to perfection. Marmaduke Gamble certainly knows his way around a woman’s body. I suppose that’s not surprising for a libertine.
Admiring her mirror image Isabel felt so excited she almost forgot the legacy of her fight: her egg-sized swollen eye. But Marmaduke had thought of everything. A small package contained a domino-checked silver and gold Venetian eye mask.
What manner of man am I dealing with? He’s as far from an English gentleman as the North Pole is from the South. He’s blatantly arrogant, ill-mannered, insensitive, devious and insulting. It sounds as if he breaks the Ten Commandments as casually as other men break open a box of cigars. He dislikes me and every English settler he considers has invaded his country. I hated him on sight – and that’s the one thing we have in common.
Isabel covered her eyes with the Venetian mask and asked her reflection. ‘But a man who buys a lady a mask to save her public embarrassment can’t be all bad, can he?’
The moment that this thought found a voice Isabel was suspicious. Marmaduke’s gifts might look like the act of a generous heart but she had proved the truth to her great cost. A man’s charm and kindness simply concealed the weapons of his cruelty and manipulation.
Isabel sighed as she repeated the line from Romeo and Juliet: ‘There’s no trust, no faith, no honesty in men.’
Chapter 13
The following morning Isabel dressed in one of the becoming new gowns Marmaduke had bought her, carefully placed her Venetian mask to avoid flattening her side curls and waited in the Gamble hotel suite, clutching her furled parasol like a weapon.
She had no idea where the barbarian planned to take her but his reminder that this was winter in the Colony prepared her for the day to be warmer than an English spring.
Marmaduke sauntered into her chambers on the stroke of nine. Isabel took one look at his dress and was appalled. Bareheaded, he wore the slop shirt and trousers she recognised as typical convict garb, plus a red neckerchief tied around his throat and a second spotted handkerchief knotted around his skull like a pirate.
Yet as if he considered himself an arbiter of fashion he cast a critical eye over her.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked defensively.
‘You’ll pass muster. But you’ll need a sun bonnet unless you want to cop a heap of freckles. That parasol’s only good for flirting. Bring a shawl and a fan. And change into outdoor shoes. You’ll be sitting outside all day by yourself.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘Don’t worry. You’ll have your eye on me all the time. My mates and I have been issued with a challenge. War games against twelve desperadoes.’
Isabel refused to take the bait. ‘Really?’ she asked coolly. ‘Are you likely to be mortally wounded?’
Marmaduke raised one eyebrow in amusement. ‘I reckon that’d solve both our problems, right?’
Without waiting for an answer he took her elbow and hurried her downstairs to where Thomas was waiting beside a closed Gamble family carriage.
Driving in silence to their unknown destination Isabel was torn between catching tantalising glimpses of the town’s scenery – a prisoner in the stocks being pelted by boys with rotten fruit and an altercation between a humble ‘shay’ cart and a bullock train – and sidelong glances at the man who was a total enigma to her.
Despite her disdain of Marmaduke’s boorish Colonial manners she found herself observing him as keenly as a schoolboy studying an alien bug under a microscope. She was disconcerted to discover the reverse was also true. The bug was examining her.
He finds me as unpalatable as I find him. But what can I do? If I jilt him George Gamble would be justified in demanding the return of all his money and Uncle Godfrey would be forced to live under The Rules.
Isabel felt like an inexperienced female in a de Rolland–Gamble chess game being played by powerful men.
How can a pawn like me hope to challenge the opposing King and deliver the check mate to win the game?
She concealed her surprise when Thomas halted the carriage in front of iron gates in the high stone wall of the George Street Military Barracks. Marmaduke identified himself to the guard on duty and added laconically, ‘Colonel Despard’s expecting us.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ the guard replied in a clipped English accent, ‘may the best men win.’ And like open sesame the gates swung open for Thomas to drive the carriage through.
Isabel was startled by the bold notice attached to the gate: Citizens Must Keep Off The Grass – by Order of Colonel Despard.
The barracks were vast, like a military village behind the massive stone walls. Two long double-storey buildings stretched endlessly on either side of the impressive central headquarters. The total barracks must have covered four town blocks, capable of housing any or all of the four regiments stationed in the Colony, together with their horses, weaponry, ammunition, stores and the small army of convicts assigned to serve the soldiers’ needs.
After halting by a green sward in front of the Officers’ Mess, Marmaduke hurriedly escorted Isabel to a shady bench under a tree on the edge of what appeared to be a drilling square covered by grass.
‘This should be safe enough. It’s out of the line of fire,’ he added enigmatically before disappearing inside one of the buildings.
Feeling as if she
were the last woman alive in a world of men, Isabel waited for the war games to begin. But instead of the expected appearance of armed military officers in the traditional uniform of British red coatee and shako helmet, the line of men who marched onto the field were formally dressed gentlemen wearing tall black silk ‘bell-topper’ hats and spiked boots. They planted wicket stumps at either end of what she now saw was a worn strip on the grass.
‘My God, it’s a cricket match!’ she said aloud, suddenly aware that two ladies, likely officers’ wives by their accents, had taken their seats behind her and were animatedly discussing the latest French fashion papers to arrive from a ship that had recently dropped anchor in Port Jackson. They broke off to glance at the men on the field.
‘Naturally, m’dear,’ said one matron condescendingly, ‘the pity of it is we don’t have enough officers available to make up two teams. So we were forced to invite a Currency team – scratched together so you can imagine how rough they’ll be. No doubt the visitors will all be bowled out by the tea break, thank Heavens.’
Soldiers of the lower ranks had assembled around the edge of the field and there was a warm round of applause from the team of officers and the soldier spectators when the team of Currency Lads filed out onto the field, led by their captain – Marmaduke.
Isabel gave a sharp intake of breath at the contrast between the top-hatted formality of the Officers and Marmaduke’s Currency team – none of whom had changed into the traditional cricket uniform of cream shirt and trousers. All twelve men wore casual slop clothing, their heads covered by a rag-bag assortment of knotted scarves or battered cabbage tree hats. Two were in their stocking feet. The rest of the team, including Marmaduke, were intent on playing barefoot.
Isabel caught the horrified female whispers behind her.
‘The Currency captain is the son of Gamble, that nouveau riche Emancipist. What else can you expect from convict stock? They simply don’t know how to behave.’
‘Colonial barbarians, n’est-ce pas?’
Isabel flushed with anger but decided to ignore them.
The captain of the English military team won the toss and sent his team in to bat.
Ghost Gum Valley Page 14
