‘“Never be forgetting this. You did not take my life, I gave you yours!” His fingernails dug into my hand. “I have no son. So take this – it was my father’s. Wear it for me in good health.”’
Marmaduke withdrew the gold watch from his pocket and held it in his hand. He read the expression in Isabel’s eyes and knew it was a mirror image of his own suppressed pain.
‘I can’t get his dying words out of my head. They return to haunt me when I’m caught off guard. Drunk or sober. In a crowded room or alone. I can’t escape them. What the hell did it mean? That he wanted to die?’
Isabel said gently, ‘It seems clear he respected you for protecting your mother’s honour. Perhaps he wanted to leave you free from guilt.’
Marmaduke’s voice was bleak. ‘One night recently just at the moment I brought a woman to climax she gave a cry that shook me to the core. My mind flashed back to that terrible day I found my mother being raped. I don’t know whether to blot out that memory or try to recreate in my mind the exact sound of my mother’s cries.’
He saw that Isabel was holding her breath as if in denial of what might come next.
‘Do you see, Isabel, why I’m haunted by the night I killed my mother’s rapist? Seven months after that fatal night Mother died in childbirth, the babe trapped inside her womb. Was it Garnet’s child? Or fathered by von Starbold in an act of rape? And was my tutor my mother’s rapist – or her lover?’
There were no answers. Never would be.
Isabel reached out and touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry I can’t comfort you, as other women do.’
‘You listened as a friend. Thank you, soldier.’
Later that night as Marmaduke fell exhausted into a deep sleep he was conscious of Isabel’s gentle hands drawing a blanket over his body, putting a fresh log on the fire and the smell of his sandalwood soap on her body as she lay down and nestled against his back.
Chapter 30
The breeze carried into the nursery the exotic sweetness of frangipani blossoms. Isabel decided that an Australian summer needed a fresh vocabulary to define adequately its contrast with the northern summers of her childhood. Muted sounds came from the sprawling convict village beyond the house but although the air was languid it also seemed charged with some electrical current – as if nightfall promised something she had never experienced.
Having bathed after their return from the bivouac, Isabel tried to remain cool before she dressed for dinner. Wrapped loosely in a silk robe, she lay across the bed, fanning herself as she idly turned the pages of old volumes from Marmaduke’s bookcase. Curious as to which authors and literature had comforted the loneliness of his youth, she hoped this would give her some insight into his mind, the cause of his swings of mood and bouts of melancholia.
Distracted by the sounds of Marmaduke washing his hair in the next room, she smiled to herself. It reminded her of bathing a dog. No doubt he would emerge smelling of that distinctive Indian sandalwood soap that she knew had been part of Queenie’s ritual when bathing him as a small boy – a touching sense memory linking him to his childhood.
Isabel tried to avoid her own image in the full-length Gothic mirror that Garnet had ordered to be moved to the nursery to await her return. Carved from mahogany, it stood tilted on its intricately carved stand, one of the many luxurious pieces Garnet had imported. She recognised it from an illustration in The Repository of Arts which each month had proclaimed its endorsement of the latest English and European fashions in architecture, landscape, interior décor and works of art fit to grace the finest town and country mansions – styles that the Quality in New South Wales copied.
This mirror was certainly regal enough for one of the royal princesses but Isabel’s reflection showed an anxious head full of paper-curlers that she hoped would emerge as decent curls to camouflage her half-shorn locks.
Thumbing through books half hidden at the rear of Marmaduke’s boyhood bookcase, she came across a curious volume sandwiched between An English Gentleman’s Journey by Elephant Through the Punjab and The Memoirs of a Scottish Merchant’s Career in the East India Company.
The mysterious book was wrapped like a gift in gold-threaded Indian silk. Its title page bore the name Miranda Gamble in faded copperplate script. Emblazoned in theatrical flourishes she recognised Marmaduke’s handwriting in his name, Marmaduke Garnet Gamble. There was also a footnote which read, translated from Hindi by Colonel James McAlpine.
Intrigued by the discovery of a work by Miranda’s father, a Scottish Highlander who evidently had the soul of a Hindophile, Isabel idly turned the pages. At first glance the text contained archaic words and descriptions beyond her understanding. But the volume’s naively coloured illustrations soon proved a very different matter. Her shock discovery of the true nature of Vatsayayana’s Kama Sutra made her sit bolt upright, her cheeks inflamed. The more pages she turned the more amazingly contorted were the positions assumed by the innocent-looking little lovers enthusiastically engaged in their execution. Isabel was breathless with amazement.
God in Heaven! Tangled arms and legs everywhere. They might as well be tied in knots. How do they get out of these positions? Is this what Marmaduke does with his sweet ladies? An appalling thought struck her. Does he perform all of this with them?
At the sound of Marmaduke’s light tap on their adjoining door Isabel thrust the manuscript under her pillow and hastily assumed a cool demeanour.
Marmaduke’s half-dried hair flowed freely over the shoulders of a paisley dressing robe loosely knotted across his naked chest. He came armed with a bottle of wine and two wineglasses. Trust Marmaduke never to be loath to try a new vintage, on the excuse that he had bought shares in a new winery in the Hunter Valley and had high hopes their wines would in time rival imported vintages from France and the Rhine.
‘There’s time for us to sample this new claret before we dress for dinner. Forgive my state of deshabille – too damned hot to dress one minute before absolute necessity. Being forced by fashion to wear those infernal stiff collars is as Hellish as seven years under Captain Patrick Logan at Moreton Bay.’
Isabel let the callous remark pass. ‘I’ll fix it for you if you’ll lace me into my gown.’
‘Deal,’ he said but on the point of handing her a wineglass he hesitated.
‘What’s wrong, Isabel? Your face is scarlet. Not going down with some fever?’
Isabel realised she had betrayed herself by her involuntary glances at the book protruding from beneath her pillow. He clearly recognised the Indian silk cover.
‘Well, well, well, Isabel. Your catholic taste in literature never ceases to surprise me. Most well-bred English ladies would be content with Samuel Richardson’s Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, where the heroine is so pure she faints at the mere suggestion of the hero’s lust. But then you’re a far more adventurous young lady, eh?’
Marmaduke’s eyes were laughing in amusement. Isabel decided that attack was the best weapon of defence. She waved a hand airily at her pillow. ‘I can’t understand why anyone would find that Indian nonsense romantic.’
‘I reckon romance is like beauty – in the eyes of the beholder. But in my experience women find some of the Kama Sutra’s ideas quite exciting.’
Isabel still harder tried to appear uninterested. ‘I suppose men like you need to attend a school for libertines to learn all that stuff?’
‘Personally I learnt on the job.’ He clinked his glass against hers then stretched out languidly like a leopard across the foot of her bed.
‘The truth is, Isabel, I was born clumsy in bedroom matters. It required the patience and expertise of a retired courtesan to teach me the art of pleasing a woman in bed. I discovered that time and a willing partner are all that’s needed. Call it by whatever euphemism you will – the connection, consummation, shagging, lust, or the bible’s polite ‘Cain knew his wife’. Whatever. To me the art of becoming one flesh is God’s greatest gift to man.’ He added, ‘And woman.’
Is
abel held her breath. He’s just waiting for me to hang myself.
She found her voice. ‘I must take your word for it. I never intend to find out.’
To cover her confusion she began to unwind her paper curlers.
‘So that’s how it’s done, eh?’ Marmaduke watched her progress with interest. He sipped his wine in silence but his lazy eyes never left her face. On impulse Isabel decided to break down the barrier she had created around the forbidden subject.
‘You assume that because I conceived a babe it must follow...’ She began to flounder. ‘I remember full well how I gave birth. But I don’t know how I came by that babe. I don’t even know what a naked man looks like. Greek statues always have fig leaves down there.’
To her surprise Marmaduke did not laugh but nodded politely.
‘There’s nothing to fear, Isabel. Men come in all colours, shapes and sizes but we’re all pretty much the same down there. Except some of us are circumcised, like those of the Hebrew persuasion. Some of the British nobility and the royals tend to favour the snip but the working class can’t afford the additional fee. No doubt Garnet had me tidied up as a babe to follow the fashion set by the upper classes.’
Isabel was stunned by how effortlessly Marmaduke explored taboo subjects. Even physicians wouldn’t discuss this with a female patient. But it is interesting.
‘I may be a rogue in many ways, Isabel, but no woman has ever had cause to fear me or my body. I would hate to think that you were the first.’
Isabel tried not to bite her lips but she knew every twitch of her body betrayed her taut nerves. Where are these revelations leading? Why can’t I simply walk away? He’s not holding me prisoner, except with his eyes.
‘Do you remember how you felt learning to swim, Isabel? You conquered your fear of drowning. Didn’t that give you a sense of freedom?’
At her nod of agreement he continued. ‘If I promise not to touch you and reassure you that you won’t even need to look at me, will you allow me to banish your fear of a man’s body?’
‘Is this some kind of cruel joke?’
‘Far from it.’ Marmaduke seemed intent on studying the bed canopy above him. ‘Tell me, what did you think of the old priest’s sermon in chapel this morning? The story of Adam and Eve and the snake.’
Isabel’s voice sounded breathless with nerves. ‘It made me sad. Eve paid a heavy price for her curiosity and disobedience, to be banished forever from that beautiful garden. Adam was a coward to lay the blame on her. It was half his fault.’
‘Agreed. Ever since Eve men have blamed women for arousing their lust. Most unfair. If we blokes can’t control our God-given lust that’s not the fault of the fair sex.’
‘The law doesn’t agree with you.’
‘It seldom does. As Shakespeare said in Henry IV, ‘The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.’ He added quickly, ‘Edwin excepted of course.’
He eyed her speculatively. ‘Well, my young actress, to put your mind at rest on the subject of fig leaves, let’s play a game before we go down to dinner.’
He beckoned her to follow him. ‘We’re now going to step inside this mirror.’
‘But that’s physically impossible.’
‘Not with this mirror. It’s magic, an illusion. You know that phrase magicians use to conceal the secrets of their trade from the uninitiated?’
‘Yes. They say, “It’s all done with mirrors.”’
‘Right. So now we’re going to test the truth of that. But remember you’re in complete control of this illusion, Isabel. You can walk away whenever you wish, understand me?’
She nodded, uncertain.
‘You once told me you would love to be an actress. Here’s your chance. Just imagine that the two people reflected in this mirror are not Isabel and Marmaduke – they’re just two actors in a play. We are the audience. You and I must not touch or look at each other on this side of the mirror. Look only at them. They exist only inside this mirror.’
Marmaduke did not look directly at her as he beckoned her. Tentatively she took a step closer. They both stared straight ahead into the mirror.
‘On this side of the mirror the reality is we are Isabel and Marmaduke. Two human creatures locked into matrimony, each for our own mercenary reasons. You dislike me intensely and—’
‘Well, not all the time.’
‘Thank you. The trick is we must now abandon Isabel and Marmaduke on this side of the mirror. We will step through the mirror into the Garden of Eden and become Adam and Eve. See their world through their eyes. Step into their shoes.’
‘No shoes. They were naked.’
‘Precisely. As God made them, naked and unashamed, like two children.’ He paused, ‘Close your eyes, count to ten. Then you will meet Adam.’
Isabel closed her eyes and counted but trembled as she realised the significance of the game she had agreed to play. She heard the rustle of silk as his robe fell to the floor. Ten. She opened her eyes and blinked but kept her gaze fixed on Adam’s face in the mirror. He did not look at Eve. He simply waited.
Isabel knew she had the right to break away and end the game. But she chose not to move. Her eyes were drawn sidelong to the strong lines of Adam’s body. Not smooth and white like a marble statue, his flesh was light olive in colour. Not classical. There was a matt of dark hair on the chest, the forearms and legs – and even there. No fig leaf. Adam’s body was slightly flawed with occasional fine scars. Strong and virile though he was, the thought struck her that naked Adam looked surprisingly vulnerable. Imperfect, yet at the same time more perfect than any marble statue she had ever seen.
Isabel suddenly felt as if the actress playing Eve was cheating. Wearing a robe like a suit of armour to protect herself – from what? She felt quite sure Adam would not touch her. Her heart began to beat wildly as on impulse she untied the sash and allowed her robe to slip to the floor.
Adam kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. He said very gently, ‘Hello, Eve.’
‘Hello, Adam.’
‘Thank you for coming to keep me company. Animals are quite fun to play with. But I felt terribly lonely in this beautiful garden with no one to talk to.’
‘I had no choice in the matter,’ Eve said promptly. ‘God took one of your ribs and created me out of it. Like it or not.’
Adam counted his ribs. ‘So that’s where the missing one got to. Clever of Him to fashion you from just a bit of bone. But I guess if He can make dinosaurs and elephants, He can make just about anything He fancies.’
Adam’s eyes remained fixed ahead. ‘We’re different from all the other animals, Eve.’ He gestured casually from his chest to his groin. ‘You’re the same as me – but not quite.’
‘I’d noticed,’ Eve said, trying not to blush.
Adam frowned with the effort of thinking. ‘I quite like the difference. But I wonder why God didn’t make us exactly the same? Did He tell you?’
‘No. But all the animals have a female and a male of the species. Why not us?’
‘So they do!’ Adam said in surprise. ‘Eve, you seem to have been born knowing things that I didn’t notice. Does that mean Woman is cleverer than Man?’
‘No. But you’re bigger and stronger than me, so I guess God gave me something to help balance things.’
Adam hesitated. ‘Are you happy to share this garden with me, Eve?’
‘I don’t know. It’s quite beautiful. And we’ll never go hungry with so many kinds of fruit to eat. Everything seems to grow without help from us. God seems very kind. Do you think He has a special plan for us?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Adam. ‘Our Creator is full of big plans.’ He held out his hand sideways but didn’t look at her directly. ‘Let me show you around the garden.’
Tentatively Eve slipped her hand into his. She felt comforted by the warmth of it.
Adam dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘There are only two trees we’re forbidden to eat. I suppose God told you that too?’
Eve no
dded. ‘I wonder why.’
‘Never asked him. But He seems pretty determined on that score. He keeps telling me, “Do this, don’t do that. And you can live the life of Riley.”’
Adam’s eyes flicked sideways to Eve. ‘Have you ever noticed a snake in our garden?’
Eve looked a bit wary. ‘Only one. He seemed quite a friendly fellow.’
‘He really knows his way around the Garden of Eden. Slithers up and down trees like he owns the place. What do you think? Maybe he has all the answers about the forbidden trees?’ Adam sighed. ‘I’d give anything to know.’
Eve hesitated, ‘What are you suggesting? Do you want me to go and ask him?’
‘Why not? What have we got to lose?’ Adam asked.
Where on earth is this game leading? Isabel suddenly froze and the spell was broken. Marmaduke casually draped her robe across her shoulders then turned his back as he slipped into his own paisley robe.
‘You played the scene beautifully, Isabel. Eve never stepped out of character. I think you would make a very fine actress.’
Now the game was ended Isabel was startled to find she was no longer nervous. She tied the sash of her robe and wrapped it like a silken skin around her body.
‘It was my dream as a child. To run off with a troupe of strolling players and change my name. Can you imagine a Plantagenet treading the boards – and a woman at that? Uncle Godfrey would have had a pink fit. I wonder why they say that fits are pink?’
‘Maybe because people go red in the face.’
‘In that case they should be red fits.’
‘So they should.’ Hands in his pockets, Marmaduke paused in the act of crossing to the door of the adjoining room. ‘Time to dress for dinner. By the way, what did you think of Adam? A bit of a clod I thought, but harmless enough without his fig leaf?’
‘Quite nice looking. Just a boy at heart. Eve had nothing to fear.’
Marmaduke nodded thoughtfully as if digesting a compliment paid to another man. Gently he closed the door between them.
Isabel sank down on her bed and felt her heart racing, no longer from fear but an oddly excited feeling of self-discovery.
Ghost Gum Valley Page 31
