Ghost Gum Valley

by Johanna Nicholls

  There was a rumble of reluctant laughter and Isabel sensed the tension was draining from the crowd. Some men were eyeing him as if for the first time.

  ‘Now you know my record. Most men here are serving seven or fourteen years. Whether you copped it guilty or innocent – I can’t change that. I don’t have to tell you blokes about British law. Grand in theory, rotten at worst and dodgy in practice if you don’t have the price of a decent lawyer. But British democracy is all we’ve got until we Australians invent something better for ourselves, eh?’

  He paused to let that idea sink in. ‘Meanwhile you have my word and I speak for Garnet Gamble. From this day onwards every man here who chooses to stay and work Bloodwood Hall and Mingaletta will earn his ticket of leave and be free to work for wages long before his sentence expires.’

  Angry voices called from the rear of the crowd. ‘Choose to stay?’ ‘Fat chance of that!’

  ‘Three choices! You can bolt. Have a brief taste of freedom before the traps or the Finisher cops you.’ Marmaduke looked around him. ‘Yeah. Like James Leech and Will Barrenwood.’

  There was an ugly silence. Isabel’s knees buckled when she saw the same Irish giant was cradling an axe. Had Marmaduke seen him?

  He pressed on. ‘Or you can return to Hyde Park convict barracks in Sydney Town and take your chances on being assigned to a master who’s better or worse. Or you can choose to remain with us.’

  Marmaduke gestured in the direction of the avenue of Bloodwoods. ‘The gates are open. Your choice.’

  The red-headed Irish giant had appointed himself spokesman.

  ‘Ye would be suggesting we stick with the devil we know, Fordham the Flogger? What rum choice is that?’

  Marmaduke quickly agreed. ‘No choice at all. That’s why I called you here to witness this.’

  At his signal the crowd divided to allow young Davey the ostler to cross to Marmaduke’s side leading a stallion loaded with two saddlebags.

  An incredulous voice called out, ‘Saints preserve us, that is being Fordham’s nag.’

  Marmaduke stroked the horse’s nose. ‘Right. Fordham is in Bloodwood village. Your overseer has ended his tenure at Bloodwood Hall,’ he gestured to his father, ‘on the orders of Garnet Gamble.’

  Alarmed, Isabel tightened her grip on Garnet’s arm. Marmaduke’s really rubbing salt in the wound.

  At a nod from Marmaduke, Davey swung himself up into the saddle.

  ‘Davey is delivering Fordham’s horse to the village. The Flogger’s quitting this locality forever. We’re got a good bloke ready to step into his shoes.’

  Necks craned as Marmaduke beckoned to a figure at the back of the crowd. Isabel smiled with real pleasure when she saw the young man step forwards wearing a cabbage tree straw hat, striped shirt, moleskin trousers and riding boots. He was suntanned and carried himself with confidence but there was no mistaking the old Murray Robertson.

  Marmaduke introduced him. ‘Don’t let this bloke’s youth fool you. He’s as tough as they come, descended from a clan of Highland Jacobites – they don’t come much tougher than his mob. Murray Robertson’s dead straight and gives every man his due. He’s in Ford-ham’s shoes as from tomorrow. It’s Davey’s job to make sure the Flogger hits the road tonight.’

  Davey was clearly elated to be entrusted with the task. He directed a question at the crowd. ‘Any farewell messages ye want me to deliver to the Flogger?’

  A sea of hands was instantly raised in the insulting two-fingered salute, followed by a wave of comments so ribald Isabel bit her lip to conceal her laughter.

  Davey rode off to the sound of cheering. Marmaduke took back control of the crowd and spun around with a dramatic sweep of his arms.

  ‘Fordham’s methods of punishment are dead and gone. Murray and I will investigate all claims of abuse – of any nature. No woman or lad on this estate will be molested or harassed by any man. All of you have the right under the law to go before a magistrate if you have a grievance.’ He turned to Garnet. ‘Right, Father?’

  Isabel saw from Garnet’s clenched jaw that he was inwardly seething, but his voice still had the ring of authority.

  ‘You heard him! You have the word of the Gambles. Father and son.’

  Isabel searched the faces in the crowd trying to assess the range of feelings from guarded disbelief, confusion to a bewildered sense of triumph. She froze when she saw the Irishman cradling the axe move forwards again.

  Marmaduke held up his hand for silence. ‘I want every man on this estate to be vigilant about unwelcome guests. That includes a gentleman named Silas de Rolland, who’s leased Penkivil Park. He has no business here.’

  Isabel’s flood of relief came in tandem with her guilt that she had not told Marmaduke of Silas’s visit. Too late now. Marmaduke drew her to his side.

  What on earth is he going to say now?

  ‘I understand my wife is well known to you,’ he announced on a note of pride.

  A young lad was quick to respond. ‘Yeah, it was her what stopped Fordham from flogging Paddy Whickett. She put an end to the lash. No more “red shirts”.’

  Marmaduke’s question caught them off guard. ‘Which man is our top timber-cutter?’

  The crowd pushed forwards the giant, whose arms were tattooed with hearts and anchors.

  ‘I reckon that’d be me,’ he said, nursing his axe.

  ‘Right,’ said Marmaduke. ‘I see you’ve come ready for work. So you’d be the right bloke to make short work of hacking that down for firewood.’

  All heads swivelled in the direction of the hated wooden stocks that had been used to punish and humiliate prisoners for years.

  ‘No time like the present,’ Marmaduke said.

  The woodcutter gave a beatific grin, exposing broken teeth, and turned to cut a swathe through the crowd. He swung his axe over his head. His first blow cut deep into the stocks’ framework and drew a unanimous cheer that was repeated with each successive blow until the structure lay like splintered firewood.

  Marmaduke slipped his arm around Isabel’s shoulder. ‘Before you return to your assigned places, next Friday is free from all work. We’ll be turning a few sheep on the spit and draining a few kegs of ale to celebrate the new era on Mingaletta and to welcome Murray Robertson as the new overseer of Bloodwood Hall.’

  Isabel knew that no man present was going to respect an overseer until he proved himself to be decent, but as the men filed back to their tasks she was relieved to see most of them appeared to be relaxed. She was suffering a wave of aftershock from the realisation how close Marmaduke had been to an armed convict – and a riot.

  When Murray bowed to her, hat in hand, she impulsively embraced him then quickly explained to the Gamble men. ‘This man was a protective brother to me on the voyage out. I’d not have survived without him.’

  ‘I trust I’ll live up to your son’s confidence in me, sir,’ Murray said to Garnet.

  The response was polite but Isabel knew the older Gamble was furious his son had gone behind his back and usurped his power to interview, hire and fire men in his empire.

  When Murray was escorted to his new quarters in Fordham’s former cabin, Isabel fell into step between the two Gamble men, linking her arms with them to return to the house.

  ‘I’m so proud of you both. Like father like son. Today is a shining moment in Bloodwood history, isn’t it? A fine example for neighbouring estates. I think this calls for our own celebration tonight, don’t you, Garnet?’

  ‘Of course, m’dear.’

  Marmaduke’s smile now reflected genuine relief. Isabel saw he needed no reminder of the danger of his impromptu performance. He had walked unarmed into mass of hostile felons in whose eyes the executed James Leech was a martyred hero. No doubt a legend had already begun to grow around his name.

  Isabel sent up a fervent prayer that Marmaduke’s courage had begun to establish his own reputation as a landowner who played fair.

  Invited by Garnet to join him for a
dram of whisky in his office, Marmaduke hesitated but Isabel quickly included herself in the invitation, sensing her father-in-law was all geared to challenge his son but would not do so in her presence.

  Isabel longed to share Marmaduke’s urgent bedroom plans but she was determined to prevent Garnet’s post mortem about his son’s revolutionary tactics.

  Father and son drank a toast ‘To the Land, boys, We Live in’. Then as Isabel expected, Garnet began to probe Marmaduke under the thin guise of praise.

  ‘How industrious of you to fund your Grand Tour of Europe by the sweat of your hands, Marmaduke. I’d no idea you’d led such a colourful working life in the Australian Colonies – from the Swan River to Moreton Bay. Bullocky, shearer, jackeroo and, no doubt, card sharp?’

  ‘That just goes to show, Garnet, a man can’t rely on the accuracy of his spies.’

  Garnet’s complexion turned puce. ‘Spying on you? No such thing. It was my only way to keep track whether you were alive.’ He softened his tone to Isabel, to justify himself. ‘When I first arrived in the Colony it was a rum currency, a monopoly run by the military. Dog eat dog. I don’t deny my own business dealings were shady. I took advantage of human weakness – paid men to inform on each other.’ He paused. ‘Marmaduke ridicules the whole idea of Freemasonry, but I was inspired by my brother Masons. I strove to become a better man – in the hope of making Miranda proud of me.’

  The note of resignation in his voice caused a subtle change in Marmaduke’s expression. ‘I reckon your informants have fallen down on the job this time, Garnet. I’m already a Master Mason – in another lodge.’

  Garnet looked pleasantly surprised. ‘Are you indeed, m’boy? Well Lodge 260 was good enough for me and Sam Terry, but I hear that new lodge has a number of fine members. Dr Bland and your mate Barnett Levey shifted over to its ranks with Sir John Jamieson.’

  Garnet raised his glass and said pointedly, ‘So my son’s a Mason at long last. That’s the first good news you’ve given me today! Apart from knowing Leech and Barrenwood danced on the scaffold.’

  Marmaduke downed his whisky and on behalf of Isabel took their leave on the excuse he needed to bathe and shave after his journey. He ignored Garnet’s innuendo.

  ‘Of course. Shaving’s the first priority after a long absence from a bride. We dine at seven. Don’t be late.’

  ‘I make no promises, Garnet.’

  The moment they were alone in the corridor Marmaduke gripped her hand and quickened his pace to take the stairs. Passing Miranda’s portrait on the way to the nursery he gave a perfunctory nod.

  Isabel was overcome by curiosity. ‘I must congratulate you on becoming a Master Mason, Marmaduke, but like Garnet I was surprised by the range of your experiences in the Outback. I understood you’d spent most of those absent years in London and on the Continent.’

  Catching his subtle shift of expression, she broke free and stood, arms akimbo.

  ‘Did you really have all those adventurous around Australia?’

  Marmaduke looked like a hurt puppy. ‘Would I lie to you, Isabel?’

  ‘You certainly would if you could get away with it! The truth and nothing but!’

  ‘Well, I did visit those places. And one day I hitched a ride on a bullock train. That’s how I learnt to swear like a bullocky.’

  ‘So how did you earn your ship’s passage to England?’

  ‘This and that. Mostly cards. That’s how I financed my half of Mendoza’s store.’

  Isabel shook her head in amused disbelief. ‘You’re unbelievable. So most of what you said to the Government men was a Colonial tall tale?’

  ‘Yeah. Went down pretty well, eh? Had you and Garnet fooled. You see, being Mingaletta’s new master, I had to win the men’s respect fast.’

  They had reached the nursery and Marmaduke was shedding his clothes with more speed than seduction. Isabel refused to allow the subject to drop.

  ‘I’ll bet you don’t even know where to begin to shear a sheep, do you?’

  ‘Well, I can tell the head from the daggy end. Don’t worry, I’ll pay a top shearer to give me lessons on the quiet. That’s what makes us Currency Lads different from your British gentlemen. We excel at bullshit. You’ll soon get the hang of it, Isabel.’

  ‘I never know when you’re telling the truth or lying through your teeth.’

  Isabel had kicked off her shoes and was stripped down to her petticoats but Marmaduke was miles ahead of her. He sponged his body, rubbed himself dry and tossed the towel to the far side of the room. His dark, lazy voice sent shivers down her spine.

  ‘I don’t want to be guilty of grazing that creamy English flesh of yours. I’ll shave – if you’re willing to wait for me.’

  Isabel tried to sound equally careless. ‘Tomorrow morning will do.’

  She lit the candle in the darkening room and felt herself flush with anticipation as Marmaduke stretched his body to its full height in a pretense of weariness then flipped back the bedcovers. Lying naked on his back he was more than ready for her. He beckoned her imperiously like a sultan bestowing his royal body on a harem favourite.

  Isabel decided it was time to bite the bullet. Now or never. Share two secrets.

  ‘Marmaduke, first there’s something I need to tell you. While you were away... ’

  But it was too late. Marmaduke borrowed the lines she recognised John Milton had written in a religious context but which Marmaduke now made his own to seduce her.

  ‘Take me to you, Isabel. Imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor chaste – except you ravish me...’

  Isabel finally fell asleep wondering if making love to Marmaduke was a case of mutual conquest – or mutual surrender?

  Isabel had hoped day would dawn like every other day before the weeks of Marmaduke’s absence in Sydney Town. The first trace of the pink picaninny dawn and the infectious sound of kookaburras’ laughter was their cue to begin the day with a pattern of lovemaking that was fresh and frantic. They snatched time against the clock as if Marmaduke was a mariner whose vessel was scheduled to sail on the tide. The reality was he needed to depart early to rally his team of carpenters on the house he was building at Mingaletta.

  This morning the moment she opened her eyes she sensed her world had changed.

  Marmaduke stood leaning in the open French doorway, dressed in work clothes, observing her with that familiar expression that made her guilty before she knew the cause.

  ‘What’s wrong, Marmaduke? Were you going to leave without waking me?’

  ‘As a matter of interest when were you intending to tell me?’

  Does he mean Silas? Elise? Or the other secret?

  ‘There’s so much to tell you, darling, I hardly know were to begin.’

  ‘Let me help you.’ His eyes were cold. ‘It slipped your mind to tell me you are with child. Did you truly think I wouldn’t notice the shape of a naked woman’s belly?’

  ‘I forgot you were a connoisseur of the female body,’ she snapped, clutching at anger like a shield to prevent her tears flowing.

  ‘You forgot something else. The only thing I asked of you. To be my ally. And never lie to me.’

  He strode towards her, gesticulating in anger.

  ‘Don’t you know I love every inch of your body? And haven’t I always given you everything you asked of me? But I have damned good reason to avoid fathering children. Why do you think I wanted to bring Rose Alba to live here with us? So at least you wouldn’t be deprived of a child. Why the hell didn’t you tell me earlier? Now it’s too late.’

  Her eyes filled with angry tears. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you. I wanted it to live!’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing for it but to wait and get through this somehow. You’re my only concern. I insist you rest each day. Eat healthily and have someone to attend you night and day. I’ll send for a physician to examine you. And tell Queenie.’

  ‘She knows.’ Isabel instantly regretted her careless words.
<
br />   ‘And Garnet too?’

  ‘He guessed.’

  Marmaduke laughed at himself but without humour. ‘It seems I’m the last to know! Very well, as my role in your life is no more than provider I’ll spend most days and nights at Mingaletta to see the house is made ready for you. Send Davey to fetch me if you need anything.’ He hesitated, observing her tears. ‘No doubt you think I’m heartless because I don’t want this child. I blame myself for its conception – not you. But you lied to me.’

  He paused in the doorway. ‘What a fool I was. I trusted you to be my ally. Yet you never told me Cousin Silas had contacted you. I had to hear it from a servant.’

  Shocked by his cold manner Isabel watched him through her tears...as he turned away from her and strode from the room. The door closed with a note of finality. Waves of sorrow, anger and despair struggled for dominance.

  What’s wrong with me? Why won’t God ever allow me to be like other women? To bring a babe into the world with joy!

  Chapter 49

  Marmaduke worked alone on the building site, occasionally conscious of the sounds of church bells, the distant drunken laughter of revelry among the felons, to whom Rhys Powell had issued Christmas cheer in the way of traditional food and drink on the Gambles’ instructions.

  Since his confrontation with Isabel, Marmaduke had chosen to work and sleep in the shell of the new house for days at a time. Rhys Powell visited him daily and kept him informed of Isabel’s progress but Marmaduke continued to banish her from the site. He could not so easily break free from the waves of melancholia that came with the unwanted thoughts of his impending fatherhood.

  On the occasions he returned in the dark of night to Bloodwood Hall he showed concern about every detail of Isabel’s health, saw to her comfort and joined her for supper in her room, but he chose to sleep in the room adjacent to the nursery, which Queenie always occupied on the nights he was absent.

  He presented Isabel with the cameo brooch inspired by Lady Emma Hamilton but he politely countered her protests that she would welcome his company in bed with the excuse that she needed her sleep undisturbed. In truth, he often lay awake listening to the sound of her breathing, forced to remember the trauma of watching his mother die in childbirth.