Queenie gave a sage nod. ‘So they’ve come to you, too. I’m not surprised. Presences have been seen or heard here over the years. Irish and Aboriginal servant girls are particularly sensitive. Some say they’ve seen a man as well as a woman. Garnet’s the one person who’s desperate to see Miranda but never will if she has her way.’ She added, matter of factly, ‘But Miranda comes to me quite often, warns me what’s going to happen.’
Isabel shivered at those words but decided to press on. ‘Is there any pattern to their visits? Any reason?’
‘Ghosts are said to be attracted to heightened emotion. Fear, grief, anger, passion, which means they are hardly ever allowed to rest in peace at Bloodwood Hall, this house is such a whirlpool of negative emotions. They’re also drawn to special currents of energy given out by a small child, a stormy adolescent or a pregnant woman.’
‘I see,’ Isabel said carefully. ‘I’ve noticed the energy has been reactivated since Elise’s stormy departure. I hear she’s the thorn in Garnet’s side, refusing to leave the Garnet and Rose public house until he agrees to pay her off as his rejected mistress.’
Queenie put her sewing aside and said frankly, ‘I wouldn’t blame Elise for attracting ghosts. It’s more likely to be you.’
Isabel deliberately pricked her finger to avoid a response.
Oh dear God, has she guessed the secret I’ve hidden from Marmaduke? That Silas contacted me?
Village gossip abounded about the mysterious, handsome English aristocrat who was said to have taken the lease on Penkivil Park and was planning to entertain the Quality there at balls, kangaroo hunts and duck shooting. Isabel had heard that he had the famous Yankee Nightingale ‘in keeping’. Newspapers confirmed Josepha St John was performing a series of ‘final’ benefit nights.
Silas had made no further attempt to contact Isabel since their encounter in the graveyard but the knowledge that he could be in residence only ten miles distant cast a malignant shadow over her happiness.
Silas is stalking me mentally, like a living ghost. What is he waiting for? Why doesn’t he return to England where he belongs?
The cause of another anxiety lay in the pocket of her skirt, the envelope addressed to her in Aunt Elisabeth’s elegant hand. Written in haste the letter advised her that she was ready to depart with Rose Alba for Southampton. The letter was undated and the vessel unnamed so she had no idea when they might be arriving.
Isabel tried to imagine how the child might have changed since she last saw her asleep in Aunt Elisabeth’s cottage on the eve of her departure, earlier. Desperate as she was to see Rose Alba the idea terrified her.
I’ve never even held her in my arms since the hour of her birth. Aunt Elisabeth’s love is all she’s ever known. I don’t know how to be a real mother and I can only acknowledge Rose Alba as my half-sister. What if she doesn’t like me?
Isabel’s anxiety came in tandem with the bitter realisation that no matter how many thousands of miles she had travelled from the land of her birth, she could never escape her past while Silas was alive.
Queenie was relentless. ‘Tell me the truth. You’re suffering from nausea, aren’t you?’
Isabel was startled by the intensity in the old lady’s expression. Her eyes were as dark as night and twice as enigmatic. She began to stammer a denial but Queenie ignored her.
‘I’ve brought you some herbal tea. The Romanies swear by it. Drink it three times a day until your time comes.’
Isabel jumped with fright. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Enough of this secretive business, Isabel.’
Isabel was so confused she pricked her finger again and caused a drop of blood to fall on the white rose tapestry. ‘Shit!’ she exclaimed then flushed with acute embarrassment. ‘A bad habit I acquired from Marmaduke.’
‘Clearly not the only thing you acquired from Marmaduke. How far gone are you?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Come, come. No use trying to hide secrets from me, girl. Tall, skinny girls often carry well – you aren’t showing yet. But your body is blossoming like a rose. No doubt Marmaduke thinks that’s his doing – making you happy in bed. Men!’ She gave a deep chortle. ‘But I recognise the signs. Those fine blue veins on your breast, preparing them to carry milk. Your nausea. Sudden tears and laughter without warning. How far gone are you?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Well, we’ll find out soon enough.’
Isabel stifled a sob.
Queenie sighed. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t told Marmaduke? Ah, so that’s it!’
Isabel burst into tears, suddenly as insecure as a child facing her first day at school.
‘I tried to tell him before he left for Sydney but I couldn’t get the words out. Please, Queenie, don’t tell him. He’s forbidden me to have his child – ever!’
Queenie’s laugh was mocking but not unkind. ‘Famous last words. So what are you planning to do? Find the baby under a cabbage?’
Isabel began to teeter on the edge of hysteria. ‘It isn’t funny, Queenie. It’s not that Marmaduke doesn’t like children. He’d make a wonderful father, but we married on the clear understanding that the Gamble line must die out with him because – just because.’
‘Because Garnet may well end up in a lunatic asylum, which is probably the best place for him,’ Queenie said crisply. ‘Well, there’s no proof it’s hereditary. Could be the legacy of Cape Fever, like John Macarthur. The reality is Marmaduke’s besotted with you. Love and a good helping of lust made him careless. It happens to women all the time, but now you’re left worrying yourself sick about telling him. Huh! Talk about truth and consequences!’
Isabel stroked her belly and said plaintively, ‘So what do I do now?’
Queenie became serious and patted her hand. ‘Garnet and I have been hoping for this pleasant little problem for some time. There’s a solution for everything and we’re prepared for it. I warn you it’s not going to be easy. Your role is to stay very calm and don’t abandon Marmaduke no matter how badly he behaves. He’s just a boy at heart. We must all give him time to grow up.’
Isabel felt suddenly tired and confused. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Marmaduke has an appalling temper but I assure you he’d never lay a finger on me. He’s very protective – in an odd Currency kind of way.’
‘You don’t have to sing my boy’s praises to me, girl. I brought him into the world and had to spank his backside to make him take his first breath.’
Isabel felt her spirits soar. ‘That means you’ll be able to help deliver this babe?’
Queenie nodded. ‘First things first. Marmaduke has a tough adjustment to make. Remember one thing. What’s going to happen isn’t your fault. The future was written long ago!’
Isabel wondered if this referred to some Eastern philosophy or poetry but she felt too tired to question it. When Queenie accompanied her to the nursery and gently undressed her in preparation for a siesta Isabel felt as comforted as a small child. On the brink of sleep she kissed Queenie’s hand.
‘I now know why Marmaduke loves you so much. As a boy everyone around him was driven by passion, love and hate. Pulling him every which way. You were the sole lodestar that guided him through his painful childhood.’
The last thing Isabel remembered before she fell asleep was a faint feeling of surprise. It was the first time ever she had seen tough old Queenie’s eyes fill with tears.
Chapter 48
The sound of galloping horses caused Isabel to run down the staircase and out onto the terrace. The wheels of the carriage sent showers of pebbles in its wake.
She instantly recognised the driver by his hat. Thomas’s battered old tricorn was pressed against the wind and even from this distance his wide grin promised the pleasure he was bringing her. Marmaduke.
Isabel was so excited she skipped like a child at the sight of the beloved head jutting through the window, the wild hair whipping around his face as he repeatedly called her name. Isa
bel melted at the sound of his voice.
Thomas swerved the pair of greys to a halt in front of the front steps and Isabel ran to the open carriage door. Marmaduke pulled her inside and there were no words that mattered, only Marmaduke’s laughter and soft grunts of pleasure between their kisses and his longed-for hands urgently caressing her body.
Isabel felt hot, cold and hungry for his touch, desperate to be alone with him. To possess him. At last he broke his mouth free. Ruefully running his hand over his jaw he apologised for not wasting time to stop and shave.
‘I didn’t know what real hunger was until these past weeks away from you. I couldn’t sleep – hungry to see you, touch you, arouse you, take you – love you!’
Isabel tenderly stroked the stubble on his chin. ‘Our bed is ready and waiting, my love,’ she whispered.
‘We must wait just a little longer. The world has changed overnight. There are plans I need to put in place to keep you safe. Come, I must make Garnet understand the urgency. If he refuses I must take full control myself.’
He lifted her down from the carriage and signalled Thomas to drive on to the stables.
Marmaduke’s mood was suddenly serious. ‘But first I must know the truth. You’ve not had any unwanted visitors at the house in my absence?’
‘No,’ she said, believing that to be close to the truth. Marmaduke was such a hothead he would see the encounter with Silas in the graveyard as an invasion of his territory and be likely to front him at Penkivil Park and challenge him to a duel. She must choose the right moment to assure him she had banished Silas from their lives forever.
‘But I’m happy to say my shipmate Murray Robertson has just arrived here at my invitation. Garnet has agreed to interview him for a position on one of his properties. Do you think you could put in a good word for him to Garnet?’
Marmaduke frowned. The teasing note in his voice was a thin veneer to camouflage jealousy. ‘He’s the bloke whose clothes you wore to masquerade as a boy, right? Anything else I need to know about your relationship? He’s nutty about you, isn’t he?’
‘Good Heavens, nothing like that. Murray’s like a protective brother.’ Isabel seized her cue to ease her way into difficult subjects. ‘Marmaduke, during your absence our world here has changed dramatically. I have many things to tell you. To begin with Elise has—’
‘Father’s mistress is of no consequence. Come!’
Drawing her by the hand in the direction of Garnet’s study Marmaduke took long strides that forced her to double her steps to keep apace. Outside the door he kissed her hurriedly, his mind already working on the scene ahead of him.
‘I must beard the old lion in his den. Alone. Wait for me. I want you by my side when I put my plans into action. It’s a matter of politics and survival.’ The door closed leaving Isabel sitting on a hall chair alone in the corridor. She felt a slight wave of nausea from the heat that managed to penetrate even the darkest recesses of the house in summer. Straining to hear their conversation she was rewarded with nothing but the familiar rising pitch of insults and the tattoo of fists banging on Garnet’s desk. She knew this confrontation must be urgent for Marmaduke to put politics ahead of taking her to bed.
Why did God in his wisdom create us women to wait in suspense while our men duel with words? Heaven knows what this argument’s about. But I’ll wager women could resolve it in a civilised manner over tea and scones without resorting to foul language.
The grand Georgian clock in the corridor chimed the hour, a sound instantly echoed by timepieces throughout the house as if taking their cue from patriarchal authority.
Frustrated by the waiting game Isabel was on the brink of knocking on Garnet’s door when Marmaduke burst from the room and bowled into her.
He steadied her on her feet then called back to Garnet. ‘Wake up, Garnet. Your methods are as dead as the dodo. I’m doing things my way!’
Isabel knew what to expect from Marmaduke’s anger. Her heart raced as she hurried down the corridor beside him. Without missing a step he shed his coat, ripped off his neck linen and thrust the bundle into her arms.
‘Good Heavens, what is the matter? Tell me. I’m your wife, not your servant.’
‘What I expected. Garnet’s in denial. Round up all the servants, fetch Queenie. I want you all assembled in the convicts’ courtyard in half an hour – with Garnet. I need the master of Bloodwood Hall, my wife, our whole household to be seen to be in solidarity! I’m going to address our Government men.’
‘Dressed like that? Unshaven, in your shirtsleeves?’
Marmaduke paused to lay his hands on her shoulders. ‘This isn’t England, Isabel. The lower orders in this Colony don’t respect their betters or tug the forelock to the master. I’ve just witnessed the full story of Rupert’s murder. When he confronted an escaped convict and demanded his name, the bolter answered, “I am a man!” then shot him dead. Those words will reverberate around the Colony and they’re likely to trigger a convict insurrection if we’re not careful.’
Striding ahead of her Marmaduke called back over his shoulder. ‘Half an hour!’ Then registering her concern he added, ‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.’
Isabel was left cradling his coat.
I’ve never seen him like this. He’s a changed man. But I feel he’s in grave danger. Our assigned men hold Garnet in contempt and would be happy to see Fordham dead. Marmaduke will be outnumbered ninety to one.
Isabel looked around the convicts’ courtyard where every Government man assigned to Garnet Gamble had been assembled, except for a few shepherds and boundary riders stationed in remote backblocks of the estate. These men looked like a hostile, defeated army of soldiers. Dressed in drab versions of the convict ‘uniform’ of slop clothing, sun-bleached shirts and trousers, their handkerchiefs were tied around their necks to soak up sweat or knotted around shaven skulls to ward off sunstroke.
Isabel met their eyes and exchanged a slight nod with a few she knew by name, like Davey the ostler and Paddy the gardener. It seemed odd that Fordham was nowhere in sight.
The sun was intense and despite her shady straw hat her eyes watered from the glare. Her hand was securely looped through Garnet’s arm as they stood positioned at the apex of the body of house servants. Flanking her side was Queenie, who had sensed the unusual nature of Marmaduke’s meeting and had exchanged her house dress for her Sunday best. Her eyes were shaded by a leghorn hat as she watched Marmaduke’s every move.
He stood like an actor holding centre stage, the focus of all, bare-headed, unarmed. His white shirt was open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up ready for action. Isabel noticed the slight twitch of fingers that betrayed his nerves and longed to stand at his side. She had never felt more pride in him – or more afraid.
A young lion. Strong, alert. Fully aware of the danger. Challenging Garnet while keeping up the front of solidarity. All these men must know the details of James Leech’s crime – and the price he paid on the scaffold. This confrontation could end in bloodshed.
Marmaduke began quietly, choosing down-to-earth language in typical Currency style to hold his audience, his voice projecting clearly to engage their attention.
‘I’ve called you here together to inform you of changes that affect every man Jack of you and every woman – whether bond, free or holding a ticket.
‘I don’t have to tell any of you the Colonial grapevine spreads wild rumours as well as the odd grain of truth, so it won’t come as a surprise that with Garnet Gamble’s blessing I’ve inherited my mother’s land. I’ll be working Mingaletta myself.’ He paused to add significantly, ‘without an overseer.’
Isabel glanced furtively at Garnet’s impassive face.
Marmaduke’s gone mad! He’s waving a red rag at a bull. Garnet hasn’t even handed over the deeds yet. Or is that what just occurred in the library?
As Marmaduke continued talking up the crowd he moved deeper into their midst, turning to focus on different faces, an actor intent on in
volving his whole audience. But the circle around him seemed to be shrinking as men edged closer. Isabel grew tense, reminded of that dramatic scene in Julius Caesar, when the Roman senators surrounded Caesar and plunged their knives into him.
Marmaduke seemed oblivious to danger. ‘I return on the wings of change. I doubt if any man, bond or free, would argue that radical improvements to the System are long overdue.’
His gesture invited their response. Their murmured comments were not aggressive but Isabel knew it only needed one violent mind to turn the mood of the crowd.
‘The question is which changes are possible? A wise old Greek once said, “Even God cannot change the past.”’
Isabel rolled her eyes to heaven. Aristotle! Even in a crisis Marmaduke can’t resist quoting from the classics. Now I know just how nervous he is.
‘The past is history,’ he said. ‘But every man and woman in this Colony, bond or free, can help alter the future. Begin to build a new life.’
An Irish voice belonging to a wild giant of a man broke through the crowd in open mockery.
‘Easy for him to say. Master’s son is not having to serve fourteen years or life!’
Marmaduke seized on the open challenge. ‘Spoken like a true Irishman. You hit the nail on the head. I was born free, the son of an Emancipist – a Currency Lad just like your own sons will be. But at nineteen I left my father’s house to do it my way. I travelled the land we live in. Learnt to work it, respect its challenges. I’ve done time on the West Coast as a drover, a stockman. Been a carpenter’s mate, built bush huts from the mighty Murray River to the Swan. I learnt bushcraft from old lags in Moreton Bay and Van Diemen’s Land, who weren’t above teaching a greenhorn like me. I can brand cattle with the best of them. No shearer would call me a top gun, but I can hold my own in a shearing shed. I drove a bullock team from beyond the Black Stump to South Australia – where else do you think I learnt to swear like a bullocky?’
Ghost Gum Valley Page 48
