‘Hunting boomerangs,’ Marmaduke explained. ‘I don’t know what powder they used to withstand centuries of wind and rain, but I do remember the old man known as a Clever Man, who brought me here. He mimed how it was done, blowing white powder through a thin reed pipe to outline each hand. Maybe these hands record a whole tribe. Or were added to over generations. Who knows?’
Isabel felt deeply awed. ‘It reminds me of the way my ancestors recorded their names in a family tree so we will never forget we spring from royal Plantagenet blood. This Aboriginal art is beautiful – but how sad.’
‘Sad? Why so?’
‘Because these people can’t hunt on their land any more. Garnet won’t allow it. And you don’t even know their tribal names. I don’t understand you, Marmaduke. You studied three or four European languages – even Latin, a dead language. You have books on ancient Greeks and Romans, the Celts, Saxons and Vikings. Everyone who invaded Britain before the Norman Conquest. So why don’t you Currency Lads care about the people living in your own country – before we British turned it into a penal colony?’
Marmaduke shrugged but looked uncomfortable. ‘That’s quite a mouthful, soldier. You’ve already made it perfectly clear that I’m uncouth, arrogant, vain, lazy and no gentleman. Now you reckon I’m a Philistine who doesn’t give a damn about Aboriginal beliefs. Just for the record is there anything about me you do approve of?
Oh God, why am I so afraid to tell him the truth? He’s handsome and clever and so brave he saved my life at the risk of his own.
‘Well, you are kind to old ladies and horses. And you have beautiful hands. I don’t trust any man alive...but...but I do trust your hands.’
She felt herself blushing at the clumsy admission that slipped out before she had time to edit it. Marmaduke suddenly looked as vulnerable as a boy.
He examined his hands as if seeing them for the first time. ‘Trust my hands, do you? I guess that’s one step along the road to a libertine’s redemption.’
At his whistled command her horse trotted over to them and Marmaduke caught Isabel’s foot in his cupped hands and hoisted her into the saddle.
‘Come on, the fish are biting.’
When they arrived at a wide, flowing creek, Marmaduke sized up their position and led her downstream to where the creek divided into two.
‘Ghost Gum Creek divides like two brothers of different temperaments – one the adventurer, one the stay-at-home.’
Isabel saw it was true. The eager half of the creek sent its waters hurtling joyously onwards to join the waterfall that fell headlong from the cliff rising several hundred feet above them. This cascade of water broke into three linked falls framed between a vertical corridor of lush ferns. In contrast the placid half of the creek detoured towards a shallow crossing of smooth white river stones glistening in the sunlight.
‘Come on, soldier, you’ve got to earn your keep if you want to eat bush tucker.’
Isabel copied his movements and pitched in as he moved rocks to form a shallow pond designed to trap fish before the current carried them downstream.
‘Will this work?’ she asked.
‘Nothing’s guaranteed in this country. But the Aborigines have been doing it for untold centuries, so that’s good enough for me.’
The fish trap completed, Marmaduke retraced his steps to a quiet bank where the creek water was pristine, its mirror-like surface dappled with sunlight. Marmaduke stretched out on his belly then beckoned her to lie beside him.
‘Patience is a virtue – so is silence. That’s why women seldom catch fish.’
Isabel watched him as he slid his hand into the water. One pointed finger remained motionless so long that Isabel was embarrassed to hear her stomach rumbling from hunger. At last a little fish swam into his orbit, attracted by the slight flick of his finger. Its wide-eyed, silver-scaled body was within striking distance but Marmaduke’s hand remained still. The fish swished closer until it finally opened its little mouth and nibbled tentatively at his finger. Still Marmaduke made no motion. The fish played with him, sucking at his finger as if with a new toy. Isabel was enchanted.
The spell was broken by Marmaduke’s lightning move. He pulled the fish from the water and held its squirming body securely with a smile of triumph.
‘Lunch is served, madam!’
Isabel anxiously plucked at his sleeve. ‘Must you?’
‘Jesus, what’s wrong now?’ he wanted to know.
‘Please let her go – she trusted you!’
Marmaduke gave her a long steady look then examined the fish, eyeball to eyeball.
‘The lady has spoken. You’ve been granted a reprieve. Go swim off and find your mates,’ he said, slipping the fish back into the water.
Without a word he strode back to the fish trap but motioned her to keep her distance.
‘Turn your back. If you keep striking up friendships with our dinner – we’ll starve.’
Marmaduke selected several fish then whipped the knife from its sheaf and with a few speedy gestures gutted several. He kicked a hole in the fish trap to give the remaining captives their freedom to rejoin the current.
Isabel watched him intently as he positioned small rocks to form a bush oven, built a fire inside it then swiftly knocked together a damper from flour and water ready to bury in the hot ashes. By now hunger had overcome her sympathy for the fish. She keenly observed how he skewered them on stakes ready to cook, then she followed at his heels as he strode off into the bush. They collected different coloured berries in his leaf-lined hat, as casually as if making a selection at a village store.
Suspecting she had offended Marmaduke’s pride in his hunting skills by vetoing his original plan to kill and cook a kangaroo, Isabel thought it wise to remain silent while they ate. But at last she ventured a compliment.
‘The fish is delicious and the damper is perfect. I can see how clever you are at living off the land.’
Marmaduke shrugged off her attempt to mollify him. She tried again.
‘I would eat bush tucker – kangaroo and snake and anything else if I was starving. And it’s perfectly natural for Aborigines to hunt them for food. But it’s quite different for us, isn’t it? We have a choice.’
‘You didn’t leave me much choice for today’s menu,’ he said wryly. ‘But I’ve never been known to allow a lady to go unsatisfied.’
Isabel flinched at this unnerving statement. What arrogance! He really believes he’s God’s gift to women. But I must turn it to my advantage. As Agnes said, honey catches more flies than vinegar.
‘I think this bivouac must be the most unusual honeymoon any bride ever had,’ she said sincerely. ‘I suppose being a libertine for years you gain insights into women. You know, engaging in all that.’
The flicker of a smile played at the corner of Marmaduke’s mouth.
‘All that is great fun, if you’re careful not to fall in love. Spoils everything. Goethe was right. Just look at Young Werther. Took it too seriously and topped himself. Think of all the women he missed out on enjoying in bed.’
Isabel tried to sound polite so as not to lose ground. ‘But surely you’ve missed the point. Young Werther only wanted one woman – and she loved and married someone else.’
‘Any man’s an idiot to kill himself over a woman.’
The sun was now high in the sky and she had a raging thirst so she gladly accepted his offer of a glass of wine.
‘Tell me, Marmaduke. Do Lotharios ever fail to seduce a woman they really want?’
Marmaduke seemed preoccupied opening the wine bottle but finally answered. ‘Casanova is said to have gained his reputation as a great lover because he never pursued any woman unless he was sure she wanted him to seduce her. So, in the eyes of the world he never failed. Clever bloke, I reckon.’
‘That means Casanova’s lovers chose him. He had no say in the matter. How sad!’
‘Why do you always see the sad side of things? Most women would be shocked or excited by Casanov
a’s career. You feel sorry for him.’
Isabel knew her next question was asking for trouble but she asked it anyway. ‘Do you always choose your sweet ladies?’
‘Of course. I’m no Casanova,’ he said modestly.
‘They say every man favours a certain type of woman. Are all your mistresses as dark and voluptuous as Josepha St John?’
Marmaduke shook a warning finger at her but his tone was gentle. ‘Hey, you know better than to ask me to name names.’
‘But it’s true you did have a new mistress when we were married?’ she stated as fact.
‘You know I did. I never lied to you. End of story.’
Isabel gave a little sigh. ‘I fancy artists like Goya painted your ideal feminine beauty.’
Marmaduke gave her an odd look. ‘I won’t argue with Goya’s taste, but there’s room for different kinds of beauty. It’d be boring if all you females came out of the same mould.’
He topped up the wine in her tin pannikin. ‘Take your nose, for example.’
Isabel’s instantly covered her nose. ‘A snub nose is the kiss of death for any woman.’
‘You’re dead wrong. The most celebrated beauty of the age was Lady Emma Hamilton, the great love of Horatio Nelson’s life. When she lived in Naples a local artist made cameos of her profile so beautiful that the classic Grecian profile went out of fashion. Everyone envied a retroussé nose á la Emma Hamilton.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘I saw Joshua Reynolds’s paintings of Emma in London. Her nose was almost as nice as yours.’
Disconcerted, Isabel touched her nose. It sounded like a real compliment but she was not to be deterred from her line of questioning.
‘Marmaduke, last night I don’t know exactly what I said or did. What was reality or just a dream.’
‘Don’t worry. You were just in shock. I didn’t take much notice.’
Isabel tried to conceal her relief. ‘But I do vividly remember that moment just before the tree came crashing down on us. Why on earth didn’t that man try to help us?’
Marmaduke was watching her keenly. ‘There was no other man. Only us.’
‘Yes, there was. Standing on the bank watching us. Tall, straight like a soldier. Piercing blue eyes.’
Isabel touched her cheekbone about to trace the line of the scar on the stranger’s cheek but Marmaduke cut across her words.
‘You’re mistaken. Believe me, we were quite alone.’
Isabel watched him as he hurriedly doused the fire and packed their saddlebag.
Marmaduke is either lying – or else he doesn’t see the Other.
Chapter 29
The smoky cave was quiet except for the crackling sounds of the small campfire.
Isabel lay asleep under a blanket. Marmaduke drank a pannikin of wine, trying to sort out his confusion about the events of the past weeks.
Long, lazy days of bush exploration had passed since the afternoon they had ‘cheated death’. Neither had spoken of that experience on the bank of the billabong, but Marmaduke could not free himself from the images in his head. It was if the events of that whole day were divorced from time.
Isabel had never spoken again about the stranger who she believed had been watching them just before the accident. But Marmaduke did not doubt she had seen in greater detail what he believed had been a trick of sunlight and shadows – Klaus von Starbold.
Marmaduke drank deeply of his wine. He did not realise he was humming a tune under his breath until Isabel stirred.
‘That’s an old German love song, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, very old, medieval. Can’t seem to get it out of my head.’
‘What do the words mean?’
‘Your curiosity is insatiable.’
‘Can’t I ask a simple question?’
‘Righto, you win. I reckon a man leaves a woman unsatisfied at his peril. My Hessian tutor – the man I murdered – used to sing that song when we were walking in the bush. Klaus von Starbold had a rich, deep voice speaking German and English. But when he sang this song there was no doubting it was a love song. His eyes took on that faraway look as if he was searching for another time, another place.’
‘That almost sounds as if you liked him.’
‘I did in the beginning.’
Marmaduke could see how intently Isabel observed him and wasn’t surprised when she prompted him.
‘How did he become your final tutor?’
‘Garnet wanted to pack me off to London to be educated as an English gentleman. Mother was desperate to find a tutor to keep me at home. She wanted me to study languages, to share her love of the classics and theatre. To keep her quiet Garnet advertised in all the Colonies’ newspapers. Klaus von Starbold had just arrived in Hobart looking for work and read Garnet’s ad in the Hobart Town Gazette and Van Diemen’s Land Advertiser. He fitted the bill perfectly so Garnet hired him.’
‘Does it upset you to be reminded of him?’
‘Not at all. What’s done is done. No regrets on that score.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Oh, y’know, tall, blond, blue-eyed, athletic in the Germanic mould. Terribly correct in manners and bearing. But beneath the surface I could feel there was a wild, angry quality he barely restrained. He was about twenty years older than me. Claimed he’d been an officer in some Hessian regiment attached to the British Army. Maybe his name was Anglicised. I got the impression he’d been drummed out for challenging his commanding officer to a duel or maybe flirting with the man’s wife. In my young eyes he cut a glamorous figure. One part hero, one part rogue, with a dash of mystery. A deserter? Maybe. Whatever the truth, von Starbold had clearly fallen on tough times, reduced to a post as tutor in a penal colony.’
‘No doubt he was a great storyteller?’
Marmaduke gave a sharp laugh. ‘How did you guess? I was hungry for excitement, fired by his adventures. Real or imaginary. I didn’t care.’
He ran his finger down his cheek. ‘He had a thin duelling scar right here. Told me his adversary looked far worse in his coffin.’
Isabel caught her breath. Marmaduke warmed to the memory.
‘His command of English was too perfect for a born Englishman. Clearly well educated but whether aristocratic by birth or the von prefix was assumed for effect, who knows? He was an expert with swords and pistols. Taught me everything I know on that score.’
Marmaduke caught her expression and nodded sagely. ‘And you’re right. I didn’t hesitate to use that knowledge against him when I shot him dead.’
Isabel said gently. ‘I know you had good reason to kill him. But would it help you to tell me about the duel? I can bear it if you can.’
Marmaduke drank his wine, watching her bemused.
Why her? Why am I choosing to unload my guilt on this funny little girl? I’ve never told a soul what really happened. It never came out in court.
‘After von Starbold stalked off and left us in the cellar of Mingaletta, I took Mother home. She went straight to her room and remained closeted with Queenie. I didn’t sleep at all that night. Early next morning I ran to the stables and pulled a young ostler out of bed, a boy my own age. Told him he must act as my second. We headed straight for the cricket ground where von Starbold had given me lessons in the duellists’ code practised by the military.
‘My tutor was waiting for me in the centre of the cricket pitch. He bowed with a click of his heels. I was so blinded by rage my hands trembled, but I told him to choose his weapons. That it was immaterial to me.’
Marmaduke assumed his dead tutor’s manner when he quoted his words.
‘I remember he said, “I see you have inherited your father’s confidence, young Gamble. But you have had little time to absorb my knowledge of firearms.”
‘Von Starbold was intent on acting the diplomat. “I appreciate your sense of honour, young man. But there is no need for us to proceed with this. I will leave the Colony today as I intended and your mother’s honour will remain untarnished. You are but
sixteen years. I am six-and-thirty, and a former soldier. You are clearly disadvantaged, young man.”
‘I remember I said something like, “Better disadvantaged than dishonourable like you! Pistols are quick and final.”
‘Von Starbold slowly unfastened his military jacket and flung it aside. His white shirt was open at the neck, his breeches tied with a sash around the waist. I had brought my second, where was his?
‘I remember every word he said that last morning. “I have no need of a second, young master. This is a private matter to be settled between you and me.’ Like an officer he ordered the young ostler to return to his bed and tell no one what he had seen.
‘The next thing I remember I was standing back to back with Von Starbold. It all felt unreal, like two actors on stage in the final act of a play in which one of them must die. I heard Von Starbold giving me instructions as if this were no more than just another of our lessons. I heard the paces being counted as we walked away from each other. Turned. I heard the order to fire...’
‘My hand shook as I fired. I was surprised by the red stain on his white shirt. It opened like the bud of a rose but von Starbold remained standing on his feet, smiling.’
Marmaduke refilled his pannikin and drank deeply. He knew he must soon put his confession into words for the first time.
‘I was mortified when my opponent did not return fire. Then, with great deliberation, he aimed his pistol in my direction, tilted it and fired into the ground.’
‘Right until that moment I had wanted to kill von Starbold but seeing him lying there bleeding, I felt sick.
‘He reached up and gripped my hand. “So. Life is being full of surprises, eh, young sir?”’
‘I panicked. “I’ll fetch a doctor,” I said.
‘Von Starbold shook his head. “Stomach wound, nothing to be done. You have learnt well, my young friend, I’m proud of you. But next time, aim for the heart. Death comes quicker. Do one thing for me! You can’t refuse a dying man’s last request,” he said.
Ghost Gum Valley Page 30
