Ghost Gum Valley

by Johanna Nicholls

  Marmaduke felt like yelling out loud. It’s only for a year. I’m not an ogre!

  But the next moment when she touched Mendoza’s gift of the house-shaped pendant as if to draw comfort from the symbol, he wanted to reassure her.

  I won’t hurt you, girl. I’m not your so-called beloved cousin.

  Suddenly conscious of the intensity of his stare, Isabel turned her eyes to him as if to read his thoughts. His smile died on his lips when she whispered crossly, ‘What’s wrong now?’

  He said through gritted teeth, ‘Smile. We’re in love, remember?’

  James Backhouse read out the details of the marriage document, the names of their parents living and dead. Edwin was prompted to hand across the wedding rings.

  Marmaduke felt Isabel’s hand trembling as he placed the wedding band on her finger.

  The romantic illusion was shattered when Isabel placed the man’s ring on his finger and said under her breath, ‘I’m surprised you were willing to give up your ruby!’

  Marmaduke felt confused. How the hell did she know?

  He had forgotten to ask the minister if and when he was supposed to kiss the bride, so he took matters into his own hands by quietly asked Isabel’s permission. ‘May I?’

  Isabel obediently tilted her face for his kiss but closed her eyes tightly and clenched her mouth in a hard little line. That was the final straw. Enough was enough.

  Well, soldier, this is a kiss you’re never going to forget.

  He executed the movement with a rapid flourish, pulled the veil forwards to screen them from sight and held her face between his hands. With the tip of his tongue he touched her lips and when they parted in surprise, Marmaduke kissed her, a kiss a beloved bride should receive in the privacy of her wedding chamber.

  Marmaduke did not break from the kiss until he felt her body melt in his arms.

  Then with a casual flourish he replaced the veil and whispered in her ear. ‘There, Mrs Gamble. I will never do that again. Until you beg me.’

  From the look in her eyes he thought Isabel intended to strike him but realised she would never do that in the presence of a pacifist Quaker. She gently touched the flower in his buttonhole and smiled sweetly at him for the benefit of those present.

  Only Marmaduke heard her words. ‘I’ll die first!’

  He hooked Isabel’s hand through his arm and led her to the cave to sign the wedding certificate. Isabel’s bouquet was caught by Maeve. Edwin organised a carriage to deliver James Backhouse to his lodgings. Marmaduke placed his bride inside the flower-decked bridal carriage and closed the door after her.

  ‘I’ll join you in an hour, soldier. First I’ve got to get my Irish mate on board ship.’

  As Isabel was driven away she peered back at him in total disbelief.

  Edwin was resigned to the worst. ‘You could be convicted for aiding a bolter escape!’

  ‘I reckon everyone deserves a second chance. You gave me mine when you got me off a murder charge scott-free. I’m just passing on my good luck to this poor lad.’

  Thomas whipped the horses in the direction of Cockle Bay. Marmaduke propped the bolter upright beside him, trying to sort out his feelings about the girl who had turned into a chameleon in front of his eyes. He knew Isabel had only married him for his money. But now that she was bought and paid for, she was his responsibility. He assured himself that tonight he would enjoy committing passionate adultery with Josepha. So why this confusion?

  Discreet adultery is fine. Isabel expects it. But I’ll be damned if I’ll allow my bride to be publicly humiliated. She’s copped enough of that from her cousin Silas.

  By the time Marmaduke boarded the Kythera, the Irish bolter had passed out cold so he lumbered him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes down to the cabin and let his inert body slide to the floor. Captain Michaelis tilted his cap back on his head and gave a cursory glance at the bolter’s Bond Street tailcoat, frayed trousers, bare feet and iron shackles.

  ‘Yasou, my friend. I see you’ve brought me another human cargo for New Zealand.’

  ‘Yeah, mate. Tote up his fare on my account. I’ll have a grog with you next time you’re in port. Must fly. Got to be in two places at once tonight – it’s my wedding night.’

  Chapter 21

  The French chef had surpassed Marmaduke’s instructions by creating a small but superb wedding banquet fit for a royal princess. Set up in Marmaduke’s chambers it was an intimate affair shared with their witnesses, Edwin and Maeve.

  Marmaduke had also invited his sometime dinner companion, Rupert Grantham, to join them but his friend had sent an apologetic note by courier to explain his absence. He had another libel suit pending, that could blow one of the most respected men in the Colony out of the water!

  Accompanying his letter was a gift wrapped in Indian silk: a coromandel box inlaid with mother-of-pearl containing a beautiful pair of silver loving cups. The card was inscribed, To the new Mrs Gamble. May your bridegroom, my friend, bring you to dine at Waratah Waters one Sunday very soon. I look forward to riding with you to show you over my Petersham estate – my oasis. It was signed Rupert Grantham, Esquire.

  Throughout the banquet Marmaduke was an attentive host. Having dispensed with servants in order to create an informal mood, he paid chivalrous attention to Isabel and Maeve. He tempted them all to try the various exotic dishes and kept both the champagne and the conversation flowing, amusing them with anecdotes about the Colony’s most colourful rogues. He took care to present Edwin in an heroic light as the legal champion of the underdog and was rewarded by seeing his mate so uncharacteristically relaxed that he placed his arm around Maeve’s shoulders.

  Isabel looked pale and fragile. Marmaduke caught her gazing at him from time to time with a look of feigned adoration. In response to his romantic, intimate gesture when he hand-fed her chocolate-coated strawberries she coloured prettily. He hoped he was the only one to notice the flash of anger in those green eyes and the way she almost bit his finger.

  To his surprise Isabel seemed to have genuinely warmed to Maeve, who in Irish Republican style acknowledged no social barriers and treated Isabel like a little sister who needed her advice about the wicked ways of the Colony.

  Reminded of his need to depart for the Theatre Royal, Marmaduke tried to avoid looking at the clock but he was inwardly relieved when Maeve suggested to Edwin none too subtly, ‘It’s time to leave the bride and groom to entertain themselves.’

  Edwin jumped to his feet, full of apologies. They all exchanged warm hugs then Marmaduke escorted them downstairs for Thomas to drive them home to Woolloomooloo.

  On his return Marmaduke felt unaccountably awkward alone with Isabel.

  ‘I’ve arranged for a housemaid to help you undress. I hope you’re not afraid of electrical thunderstorms. There’s a real beauty about to burst. We do things on a grand scale down here.’

  ‘Thank you for your concern. I’m not a child afraid of the dark,’ she said firmly but Marmaduke did not believe her.

  Isabel added hastily. ‘I prefer to undress myself but that’s not a complaint. It is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. I thank you.’

  ‘Glad you like it.’ He backed towards the door. ‘It’s late. I must hurry.’

  ‘Yes, it’s bad manners to be late for the theatre. Don’t let me detain you.’ She added with quiet dignity, ‘I trust the audience will be kind to Mr Levey’s new Portia. She looked so nervous.’

  Marmaduke was thrown off guard. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘The wedding shoes you chose were lovely but a size too small. When I slipped out to exchange them I couldn’t resist having a look at the new theatre from the back of the stalls.’ She added politely, ‘Your sweet lady is very beautiful.’

  Marmaduke was shocked by her cool acceptance of his adultery. She must have heard everything. Seen him kiss Josepha. Feeling defensive he floundered for the right words.

  Isabel cut him short. ‘No need to explain. You are free to d
o as you please as per our contract. Now if you’ll excuse me I must get some sleep. What time do you want us to depart tomorrow for Bloodwood Hall?’

  ‘You look tired. Sleep late. Later this week will do.’

  Isabel nodded. ‘Fine. I forgot to thank you for remembering my family’s emblem. The white roses were beautiful. You went to a great deal of trouble to make the day perfect. Just like a real wedding.’

  Marmaduke felt wary. Was this polite English sarcasm? ‘You didn’t mind missing out on the traditional big social affair in church?’

  ‘It was the most idyllic place I’ve ever seen. The Quaker ceremony was so beautiful. Imagine what those words would mean to two people who really did love each other.’

  Marmaduke was annoyed to feel a touch of guilt. He wanted to keep the mood light.

  ‘Did you see those wallabies hop out of the bush and watch the ceremony? It took me weeks to train them to stand to attention.’

  Isabel gave a sidelong smile. ‘Is that what you call an Australian tall story?’

  Marmaduke assumed a look of mock outrage. ‘Really, Isabel. Would I lie to you?’

  She shrugged. ‘You’re a man, aren’t you?’

  Jolted by the underlying note of bitter acceptance he wanted to leave her on a positive note. ‘A good commander never lies to his allies. Good night, soldier, sleep well.’

  Making a hasty bow Marmaduke returned to his own chambers to bathe and change into evening clothes. If he was in luck he would time his arrival to catch the last act of The Merchant of Venice and Portia’s famous ‘quality of mercy’ speech. Josepha would be none the wiser. He knew the play by heart but was it Colley Cibber’s modern adaptation tonight or Shakespeare’s original text?

  The Bard was a genius but Cibber was a crowd-pleaser. If I were King I’d forbid anyone to rewrite Shakespeare. Goethe’s translations are more faithful to Will’s plays in German than Cibber’s are in English.

  A half hour later, dressed in immaculate evening dress and opera cape Marmaduke was satisfied he passed muster except for his usual cock-eyed attempt to tie his neck linen. He hesitated in passing Isabel’s room. The door was ajar.

  A loud clap of thunder followed by flashes of forked lightning revealed a candle burning beside her bed. The rooms were empty. Marmaduke fought down his frustration. Had the silly girl bolted again in fear of the storm? Or was it fear of him?

  He strode off in search of her. Through the window at the end of the corridor rapid flashes of sheet lightning slashed the darkness. He heard the sound before he saw the source of it. The low moaning of a voice that sounded more ghostly than real. A flash of lightning revealed a misty, wraith-like figure at the far end. The hair on his arms bristled. He stood perfectly still as it moved towards him.

  It was then he saw its face. Isabel. She was moaning softly and making repeated movements as if in the act of washing her hands. Reminded of Lady Macbeth’s sleepwalking scene he realised with a start how close this was to the truth. He was chilled by the expression in Isabel’s eyes. The pupils were dilated but she appeared to be locked in another world, oblivious to his existence even when she passed directly in front of him.

  Marmaduke tried to decide fast. He had read somewhere that it could be dangerous to awaken a sleepwalker suddenly. He pressed himself into the shadows of the wall and gently pushed open the door of her room. A wedge of light fell across the carpet. As if drawn to the light Isabel entered her room, continuing to wring her hands and muttering broken phrases.

  He caught the words ‘Silas’ and ‘Martha’ then the stream of words became clearer as she sank to her knees by the bedside and appeared to be holding an unseen bundle in her arms. Marmaduke pressed himself against the wall out of range of her line of vision in case she woke suddenly from her nightmare.

  Her voice became clearer but the words made little sense. Was this purely a dream or was she replaying a scene from her past?

  ‘God forgive me, if Thou canst find it in Thy heart to forgive a witch?’ She looked down at her hands and said quite clearly, ‘So beautiful. How can something so innocent come out of such evil?’

  Every muscle in his body was taut as he studied her every gesture and expression, sensing she was unknowingly offering clues to the cause of her tormented soul. Her eyes were wide open but blind to everything outside her dream world. Like a fragile insect trapped inside a piece of amber.

  What was it she believed she concealed in her hands? He felt the transference of her terror as she cowered and looked around her. Then she smiled at her empty hands and with a look that stunned him by its tenderness, she untied the drawstring of her nightgown and, slipping her hand inside it, she bent over and offered her childlike breast with a gesture of such sweetness Marmaduke caught his breath.

  ‘There, there little one. Don’t cry. Mama will take care of you. I’ll find a safe place to hide you, I promise. Cousin Silas will never hurt you.’

  She gently rocked the imaginary bundle, softly singing snatches of a lullaby.

  Shocked by the painful intimacy of the scene Marmaduke was unable to avert his eyes from her face. He felt like an intruder yet was grateful to witness the source of her pain.

  When she climbed into bed she rested the invisible bundle beside her and closed her eyes. He waited until her breathing became so regular he was convinced she had fallen into a normal pattern of sleep. Safe to emerge from the shadows, he moved to her bedside.

  Isabel’s face was now peaceful. Marmaduke sat on the side of her bed, aware that his plans for the night were in chaos. There was no possible way to send Josepha a message to explain his absence on the night she needed him most. He dared not leave Isabel alone in this state. The glorious night of lust he had planned had been turned on its head.

  Marmaduke had no desire to relinquish his freedom as a bachelor yet he was overcome by a strange sense of disorientation.

  I feel as if I’ve just stepped out of my body and into another man’s life.

  Chapter 22

  ‘God damn it, where the hell is everyone? Not a lazy bastard in sight.’ Garnet raised his voice. ‘I’ve got a bloody good mind to boot out the lot of you, send you back to the gutter where you belong!’

  Standing at the foot of the staircase Garnet’s bellow of rage reverberated around the marble entrance hall, a sound quickly followed by shattering china after his angry gesture sent the giant Ming dynasty vase flying off its pedestal to disintegrate in all directions. Hundreds of years old, it now lay in shards at his feet.

  ‘Never liked the bloody thing, Chinese junk covered with cracks. I’m damned if I know why they cost a fortune,’ he mumbled then resumed his roar. ‘Powell! Elise! Bridget! Red Mary, Black Mary, whatever your names are. Get here on the double! That’s an order!’

  Running footsteps approached from all directions, upstairs and down. Much to his surprise and chagrin the first to arrive was Queenie, who wasn’t even his to command.

  She tossed one end of her sari over her shoulder and her penetrating coal-black eyes eyed him with silent contempt.

  ‘What are you doing here, old woman?’ he demanded. ‘I didn’t send for you.’

  ‘Who else isn’t afraid to tell you the unpalatable truth?’

  Suddenly curious, Garnet lowered his voice, ‘What do you mean? What do you know that my informants don’t?’

  ‘That young Marmaduke has refused to marry at St James’s Church the bride you imported for him. He’s left Sydney Town.’

  ‘You know nothing!’ he said bluffing. ‘My informants have kept tabs on every move that boy’s made since his return to the Colony. All of them. My coachman Thomas, that Froggy dressmaker Madame Hortense, my Sydney accountant, Princess Alexandrina’s housekeeper and a shipmate who’s now high up in the police force.’

  Queenie smiled knowingly at the euphemism ‘shipmate’. Everyone knew that old lags who kept their noses clean were often appointed police constables and were usually no more corrupt than men who came free.

&nbs
p; Garnet blustered on. ‘The only one I can’t pay to inform on Marmaduke is Edwin Bentleigh. I’d sack the bastard for disloyalty to me if he wasn’t the only honest advocate in town.’ He finally conceded defeat. ‘All right, who was your source?’

  Queenie narrowed her eyes in triumph. ‘Miranda. She told me Marmaduke’s on his way back here with Isabel.’

  Garnet felt his gut wrench. ‘So Miranda came to you again, did she? Not to me. You won’t be happy until you dance on my grave, will you, old woman?’

  Queenie did not deny it.

  Garnet tried to save face. ‘Anyway, I knew all that. I was just going to announce my change of plans. The wedding will be here in my chapel. I’m putting you in charge of the ceremony. I want the chapel perfect, polished to a shine. Make sure the blacksmith fixes that damned bell. And tell the priest he’s to wear robes fit for a coronation.’

  Queenie had the final word as she turned to leave. ‘You’re deluding yourself if you think Marmaduke will toe the line and marry there. If you want the chapel restored, get your mistress to do it. She must be good at something.’

  Garnet knew the insult was deliberately timed because Elise had just appeared in the doorway beside Rhys Powell.

  Several assigned servant girls hung at the fringe of the vestibule but Bridget was the only one who openly smirked at Queenie’s barbed comment.

  Garnet’s secretary hurried to his side, carrying an armful of books, with a flushed and anxious Elise at his heels. Garnet was uncomfortably aware of the way his mistress watched him like a hawk, afraid he was building up to another manic episode. Although this surveillance was one of her paid duties, the anxiety in her eyes irritated him.

  Anyone would think the bitch cared about me.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, Powell? I gave you instructions to teach Elise the alphabet and write her name, not to read the bible from cover to cover.’

  Elise looked so stricken Garnet instantly regretted humiliating her in front of the servants. It was his secretary who jumped to her rescue.

  ‘Miss Elise is an avid pupil, sir. I am delighted by her progress and feel sure you will take pride in her accomplishments.’