Ghost Gum Valley

by Johanna Nicholls

  ‘I presume that magnificent emerald is your mother’s betrothal ring.’

  Marmaduke seemed restless to move on. ‘By rights Mother’s jewellery should come to my bride. But maybe Father’s mistress has commandeered it.’

  Isabel glanced up at Miranda’s portrait. He can hardly bear to say Elise’s name. But I’d be honoured to wear your necklace, Miranda. I could do with with some power from the heavenly bodies myself.

  When she asked about the ancestral portraits Marmaduke’s hand wiped the smile off his face to hide his amusement.

  ‘Father was literally born a bastard. Never knew his father’s identity. He bought those portraits in a job lot from Abraham Polack’s auction house to give himself an instant family pedigree.’

  Isabel felt a rush of pity. Garnet’s so desperate to enter upper-class English Society he even invented his family tree. No wonder he wanted a de Rolland bride to give him validity.

  They found themselves alone in the breakfast room. Marmaduke was in teasing mood. ‘You peck at your food like a sparrow. Must you always be constrained by etiquette?’

  ‘You should talk! You never cover your mouth when you yawn. You eat with your elbows on the table and fiddle with the salt and pepper as if you’re playing chess.’

  Marmaduke said lightly, ‘What a perfect little mother you are.’

  She felt herself grow pale. ‘That was unforgiveable!’

  He strode to her side. ‘I swear I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Oh, yes you did!’ she said, throwing down her table napkin, determined to flee the room.

  ‘Don’t tell me the honeymoon is over already!’ Elise said sweetly.

  She stood in the doorway wearing a fancy gown cut so low no lady would wear it before sundown. Her hair was fussily tied up in ringlets and anchored by little ostrich feathers. If her complexion had been one shade whiter she could have passed as a ghost.

  Isabel knew there was no way to deny the scene Elise had just witnessed.

  ‘A lover’s quarrel – all my fault,’ Isabel said as she rested her head against Marmaduke’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’

  Marmaduke was equal to the ploy. ‘No, no. My fault. I didn’t allow you a moment’s sleep last night.’ His voice was huskily intimate as he kissed the crown of her head. Isabel was pleased to see red dots of anger on Elise’s cheeks.

  ‘I must tear your bride away from you for a short while, Marmaduke, to discuss my plans for your welcome home banquet.’

  ‘Five minutes, no more. I have plans for a bivouac in Ghost Gum Valley.’

  He strode from the room without a backwards glance.

  Elise appeared flustered as she showed Isabel the guest list written in Rhys Powell’s hand, which Isabel realised Elise had memorised. Clearly Garnet was not the only one who was illiterate.

  Elise tried to act the confident hostess. ‘It’s far too short notice to invite Mrs Elizabeth Macarthur, or any of the Top Thirteen. So we’re confined to those close at hand. Magistrate Summerhayes, of course, and the local manager of the Bank of New South Wales – his bank would fold if Garnet withdrew his stocks and shares. Dr Llewellyn is not exactly top drawer but he’s been in practice here so long he’s part of the furniture. The Wesleyan pastor and his spinster daughter. Rhys Powell and Edwin Bentleigh if he isn’t defending some felon or other.’

  ‘A gentle, clever man.’ Thank Heavens I’ll know one friendly face.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s anyone you’d care to ask? You’ve been here so little time.’

  Isabel said quickly, ‘Murray Robertson, a shipmate on the Susan. And Queenie.’

  Elise dropped all pretensions of a refined accent. ‘You can’t be serious! Queenie is coloured. An Indian servant!’

  Isabel was not about to yield an inch. ‘I understood Queenie was Miranda Gamble’s most faithful friend. And Marmaduke would want her to be there, don’t you think?’

  It was a rhetorical question and Isabel glided from the room, leaving Elise open-mouthed.

  Marmaduke swung open the picket gate of Queenie’s whitewashed stone cabin and Isabel entered the small cottage garden that might have been found in any English village – except that, instead of the traditional thatch, this cottage was roofed by sheets of bark pinned down by horizontal poles cut from eucalyptus saplings. The squat stone chimney that ran up one side wall was cheerfully billowing smoke.

  ‘Don’t be put off by Queenie’s manner. She’s nothing if not forthright. Some people find her honesty offensive.’

  ‘So that’s where you get it from,’ Isabel said. ‘I thought all you Currency Lads were tarred with the same brush.’

  The minute the woman opened the door Isabel knew she was in for a grilling.

  Today, in place of the sari, Queenie wore a modest dark print house dress and starched Mother Hubbard pinafore. Marmaduke wrapped her in his arms and gently rocked her.

  ‘Nanny, I want you to meet Isabel, my bride, the future mistress of Mingaletta. But I’ll build you your own little house. We all know how fiercely independent you are.’

  Queenie hugged Marmaduke warmly, then promptly banished him.

  ‘I’ve things to say to your bride that would burn your ears. Women’s business. Be off with you. Come back in an hour when I’ve finished with her. I’ve made your favourite Summer Pudding.’ She gave an affectionate tug at the hair that hung down his back in a horse’s tail. ‘Your hair’s longer than a girl’s. I don’t know what the world’s coming to. Now be off with you.’

  Isabel obediently took the seat offered her and looked around the two rooms as Queenie busied herself making tea in the skillion outside the back door. The cabin was furnished in an odd combination of bush carpentry – raw timber showed notches where branches had been lopped off – and clearly loved objects from England and India made of sandalwood, silver, brass, multi-coloured glass. Eastern embroideries glittered with semi-precious stones.

  One wall held a surprising arrangement of pictures of Hindu deities and Buddhas that formed a pictorial bodyguard around a stylised painting of a very Anglo-Saxon-looking blond and blue-eyed Jesus with a group of dark children at his knee, listening intently to his stories.

  Queenie placed tea and cakes on the table and gestured Isabel to begin eating, though she took nothing herself. From her rocking chair she fixed her eyes so intently on her that Isabel decided to return the stare. The woman’s hair was a surprisingly glossy black, although streaked with what seemed like white stripes twisted in the shape of a tortoise shell on the nape of her neck. Her dark eyes held age-old secrets. Turquoise teardrops hung from her ears but she wore no rings on hands that were as slender and eloquent as those of a young Indian dancer.

  She must have been quite a beauty in her youth. I wonder why she never married when single women in this colony were always at a premium.

  Queenie took the offensive. ‘So. Why did you agree to marry my boy? I know Garnet arranged the whole thing. I want the truth and nothing but the truth. I’m too old to be fobbed off with polite English evasion.’

  Isabel decided she had no choice but to play Queenie at her own game. ‘And I’m too young to bother with lies. I married Marmaduke because he asked me.’

  That silenced Queenie for a moment. ‘What’s most important to you, love or money?’

  ‘That’s easy. I don’t believe in love.’

  Queenie gave a short. ‘That’s what Marmaduke claims. That makes you both fools.’

  ‘Then we’re perfectly suited. Neither of us will disappoint the other.’

  ‘You’re a liar!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘So you’re a deaf liar too, are you?’

  Isabel put her teacup carefully on the table, leant forwards and looked directly into Queenie’s eyes. ‘I know Marmaduke trusts you more than anyone on earth. And I have every reason to believe you truly love him. So exactly what is it you want from me, Queenie?’

  Is that a faint glimmer of approval in Queenie’s e
yes?

  ‘I want your word of honour you will never hurt Marmaduke. All his life he’s been betrayed by the people he loved. Or else they’ve deserted and humiliated him.’

  I presume she means betrayal at the hands of his lost bride, his German tutor, his father – even his mother’s death must have seemed like desertion. This old servant is nobody’s fool, I’d best tread Isabel carefully.

  ‘I made Marmaduke a promise I will never betray him. But how can I hurt him when he’s incapable of love?’

  ‘Good Heavens, girl, can’t you see through that big act of his? That he’s mastered every page of the Kama Sutra? That he enjoys going from woman to woman, from bed to bed? He boasts he’ll never be trapped by any woman because he’s clever. Incapable of falling in love.’ Queenie gave a hoot of derision. ‘Can’t you see the truth? He’s a little boy who’s afraid of the dark!’

  Isabel was taken aback, as if Marmaduke’s distorted image in a mirror suddenly became crystal clear for the first time. She spoke without thinking.

  ‘But why? Marmaduke’s so handsome. He could have any woman he wanted.’ Good God, I don’t believe I said that, yet it’s true. Why didn’t I see it before?

  ‘Because the boy doesn’t believe he’s worth loving! His parents fought over him like two dogs with a bone. His father humiliated him. Then that bitch! It was bad enough when she left him high and dry at the altar. But when he found her in bed with his father...’

  Queenie stopped in mid-sentence, aware that Isabel had sunk back in her chair.

  ‘Elise?’ Isabel asked faintly.

  Queenie looked contrite. ‘I thought you knew.’

  ‘No. I’m the stupid girl everyone in the world chooses to leave in the dark.’

  She rose with as much dignity as her trembling knees would allow. ‘Thank you for the fine Indian tea, Queenie.’

  Like a little terrier Queenie blocked her path. ‘Wait, there’s one important thing you need to know. Miranda left a box in my care and made me promise to hand it to Marmaduke when he had married a woman who would stick by him come Hell or high water.’

  Queenie’s fingernails dug into her arm. ‘Tell me the truth. Are you that woman?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I refuse to live in the same house as the woman my husband is in love with!’

  Isabel hurried out the door, picked up her skirts and stumbled blindly down a track behind the house. She hoped it led as far from Bloodwood Hall as the wind would take her.

  Chapter 26

  ‘Saddle up the new bay mare. Forget the lady’s side-saddle, it isn’t safe! My wife’s not used to our rough territory.’

  Marmaduke issued his orders so fast he had Davey the ostler on the run. He felt driven by the need to escape this wretched place and Garnet’s manipulation but also by an urgent desire to be alone with Isabel. To try to understand her. He had slept badly last night for many reasons – all involving Isabel.

  Two of Garnet’s best horses were now saddled ready for departure and a packhorse loaded with stores for the bivouac. Marmaduke double-checked each detail, aware that despite her lack of complaint Isabel’s pride – had been wounded by her inexperience as a rider.

  She’s got a lot to learn, that girl. But I must admit she’s pretty intrepid. She doesn’t whinge or chuck a fit of hysterics at the sight of a spider. The acid test will be her first snake!

  It was time to collect Isabel from Queenie’s cabin after what his nanny had called ‘women’s business’. But first he must brief his father, mindful of the unwritten bush law that travellers must advise their destination in case an accident or bushrangers prevented their return.

  In the vestibule he caught sight of a letter on the hall table – from London. It was addressed to him but on reading it Marmaduke’s suspicions were aroused by the slight difference between the handwriting of Godfrey de Rolland’s letter and that of the envelope.

  This envelope is a forgery. Garnet’s read my mail!

  He tracked down his quarry by following the sound of the lion’s roar to the library where Garnet was off-loading his frustration on Rhys Powell.

  Marmaduke had hoped to find Garnet alone but he offered the young Welshman his hand and stated his preference for informality.

  ‘My father is loath to dish out deserving praise, Rhys, but behind your back he speaks highly of your work. He’s fortunate to have a man he can trust for a change. Some of your predecessors have lined their pockets at his expense.’

  ‘Yeah, but they ended up in chains working for the infamous Commandant Patrick Logan at Moreton Bay!’ Garnet warned.

  Marmaduke managed to keep his anger in check. ‘I received a letter this morning from Godfrey de Rolland in England, which appears to have been mislaid for some weeks. The contents are vitally important. I think we need to discuss this now, Garnet.’

  Rhys Powell looked anxious but Garnet chose to ignore the implied accusation.

  ‘You’ll dine with us tonight, of course. My friend, Magistrate Summerhayes, is keen to meet our illustrious bride.’

  ‘The law can wait. I’m taking Isabel on a bivouac. We won’t return until Edwin arrives to witness the handover.’

  Rhys Powell jumped in with alacrity. ‘Mr Bentleigh sent a Government report that shows Governor Bourke wants to push through new statutes to abolish land grants and encourage free settlers to immigrate. This will affect the modus operandi of landholders.’

  Garnet bellowed, ‘Nonsense, Bentleigh jumps at shadows.’

  Marmaduke could restrain himself no longer. ‘Enough of politics. I came here to discuss Godfrey de Rolland’s letter, Garnet! There have been major repercussions!’

  After Garnet dismissed his secretary Marmaduke was free to vent his anger.

  ‘You manipulative bastard! Reading my mail. I had the right to know about Isabel’s illness for her own safety. I only discovered it by accident when I found her sleepwalking in her nightgown in the corridor of your hotel. God alone knows what would have happened if she had wandered down into The Rocks! You ought to be bloody ashamed of yourself. She’s my wife! My responsibility.’

  Garnet looked contrite. ‘It was an oversight. I wouldn’t hurt that girl for the world.’

  ‘You won’t get the chance, Garnet. We’re leaving right now for Ghost Gum Valley.’ As he strode from the room he flung his exit line over his shoulder.

  ‘She’ll be safer with me in the wild than she is with you in this damned house!’

  It was only when Marmaduke led the three horses up to Queenie’s cottage and saw her standing on the doorstep, her arms folded and wearing a dour expression, that he suspected his plans had begun to fall into disarray.

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong, Queenie? Where’s Isabel?’

  ‘You neglected to tell her Elise was your runaway bride. Not surprisingly Isabel’s upset. She’s run off.’

  Marmaduke gave a resigned sigh. ‘Righto. Which way was she headed?’

  He sprang into the saddle and rode off down a rough dirt track that would finally peter out miles away beyond the boundary of Mingaletta. No girl could manage to walk that far in flimsy footwear.

  Except Isabel. She’s so damned stubborn she’d crawl on her hands and knees just to spite me.

  He began to rehearse his explanation. Should his line be defensive or offensive, apologetic or a noble, hurt silence? He knew he was in the wrong. It was a delicate balance.

  An hour later Marmaduke sighted her distant figure down the track. She was bareheaded, her hat slung across her back swinging from its ties. Her pace suggested she was driven by anger. Her wild gestures indicated she was having a heated debate with herself.

  Within a hundred yards of her Marmaduke dismounted and led the horses at a gentle walking pace so as to give Isabel ample time to cool her anger at his approach.

  He walked alongside her for a full minute before he said lazily, ‘I reckon we’ve got good weather for it.’

  Isabel turned on him a face flushed with undiluted rage. The force of
her hand struck his face so heavily, he laughed in surprise.

  ‘Whoah! I reckon you learnt the art of self-defence from Daniel Mendoza himself.’

  ‘I’ll teach you to laugh at me!’

  Isabel completely lost control. She belted him with both hands and pummelled his chest, infuriated when she kept missing his face by a hair’s breadth as he weaved and ducked out of range.

  Finally tired of the game, Marmaduke pinioned her arms behind her back in a hold that constrained but did not hurt her. His tone was as patient as if placating a child.

  ‘All right, that’s enough. You have every right to be angry with me. I should have told you.’

  ‘You lied to me! Why keep Elise a dark secret? You contracted me to be your ally but a soldier can’t fight if he doesn’t know who the enemy is! I’m not stupid. I knew Elise hated me on sight. But I thought that was because she saw me as a threat to her shaky status as Garnet’s mistress. The truth is Elise is the girl who broke your heart. And you love her still. Don’t deny it! I can see it written all over your face!’

  ‘Not true! Garnet’s welcome to her. I can’t stand the sight of her.’

  ‘Liar! You brought me here to live under the same roof. An act of revenge. To flaunt your blue-blooded prize, prove what a fool she was to choose Garnet over you!’

  Pink in the face, Isabel tried to struggle free. ‘Let go of me!’

  Marmaduke answered softly, ‘I will when you’ve heard me out.’

  He sat down on a fallen tree trunk and drew her firmly onto his lap. Much needed to be said and said quickly. ‘You’re right and you’re also wrong. I’m no gentleman, as you never stop reminding me. But there’s one thing I never do. Talk about women I’ve been involved with. So I couldn’t identify Elise as the girl who dumped me at the altar.’

  ‘Everyone knew the truth but me! You envy your father his mistress. Well, don’t let me stop you.’ She snapped her fingers in his face. ‘I don’t give a damn what you do!’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Marmaduke said quietly. ‘But I really wish you did.’

  The element of surprise silenced her just as Marmaduke intended it would. He waited until her breathing slowed to a normal pattern.