Ghost Gum Valley

by Johanna Nicholls

  Mother ordered Queenie to make that death mask from his corpse but her diary doesn’t mention it. How much does Garnet know? How much will he admit?

  Marmaduke made a conscious effort to control his anger, aware he must not antagonise Garnet until he had extracted the truth. Piece by piece.

  ‘Let’s begin with my grandfather, Colonel McAlpine. Why did he commit suicide?’

  Garnet glanced at him then at Isabel. ‘To a military man like Colonel McAlpine, Honour is next to Godliness. To him it was a terrible social stigma for Miranda, the jewel in his crown, to marry me, an illiterate ticket-of-leaver squatting on a few hundred acres.’

  ‘So why did he give his consent and attend your wedding?’

  ‘He discovered we were lovers and Miranda was with child. You!’

  ‘So I’m to blame for your shotgun wedding. Her diary states my actual birth date was four months earlier than the date I’ve been told. Her diary describes you as young and nutty about her – and you’d already begun to amass your fortune. You built this mansion before the ink had dried on the parish register. Yet the Colonel killed himself two years later. Why then?’

  Marmaduke realised he’d at last asked the important question. Damn it all. I’ll kill Garnet if he fobs me off with another pack of lies.

  Garnet looked cornered. ‘Two years after your birth Miranda discovered her father had intercepted letters written to her and destroyed them without her knowledge. Miranda swore that because her father had manipulated her life he would never see his grandson again. That was the price he must pay for burning her letters.’

  Garnet’s hand curled into the shape of a pistol. He inserted the index finger in his mouth and fired it.

  Marmaduke snapped, ‘What letters?’ He knew the answer before Garnet said the words. ‘Love letters, written by another man before our marriage.’

  Garnet’s voice rasped out in his defense. ‘The scoundrel had abandoned her!’

  Marmaduke’s voice was soft, without mercy. ‘Not quite. It’s all here in Mother’s diary. The young soldier she met on the voyage out. That they intended to marry, but when their ship reached Cape Town the Colonel contrived to have the soldier imprisoned on a trumped-up charge that led to his court-martial. Miranda was forced to continue the voyage to Port Jackson, heartbroken in the belief her lover had abandoned her – unaware the Colonel had destroyed the soldier’s letters begging her to wait for him.’

  Marmaduke tapped the diary cover. ‘Mother only married you in desperation to give her fiancé’s unborn babe a name – Marmaduke Gamble.’

  Garnet’s lips turned white with rage. ‘I didn’t damn well care! I would have married Miranda at any price. And I loved you like my own son.’

  Marmaduke leant across and said softly. ‘Mother was too much the born lady to name her child’s true father in her diary. But we both know him, don’t we, Garnet? And then, she describes twelve years later, their accidental reunion in Sydney. How she tricked you into hiring Klaus von Starbold as my tutor.’

  ‘That’s a lie, pure coincidence!’ Garnet roared.

  In answer Marmaduke opened his watch. ‘Klaus von Starbold gave me this before he died. I read the inscription to mean it was his father’s gift to him. Now I know the truth. For my son in all but name – Klaus von Starbold. This was my father’s gift to me.’

  Garnet’s eyes were glassy. Marmaduke jumped to his feet, unable to restrain his anger.

  ‘You used me as a hostage to bind mother to you.’ He stabbed his finger at the diary. ‘Read it! Mother’s lover might have been a scoundrel but he was no coward. He confronted you with the truth. You told him he was welcome to take Mother with him but you refused to relinquish me. You were the second wealthiest man in the Colony. You knew when a woman commits adultery the law grants custody to the legal father.’

  ‘Why not? That was the only time the law was ever on my side,’ Garnet said acidly. ‘When I discovered von Starbold’s identity I knew I’d lost Miranda’s love forever. But I was damned if I was going to let them drag my son around the world, living like a pack of gypsies. Playing in barns when he couldn’t find work in a theatre.’

  Marmaduke was stunned. ‘You mean Klaus von Starbold was an actor?’

  ‘An actor?’ Isabel gasped in admiration.

  ‘An actor!’ Garnet said contemptuously. ‘What else but an actor? Von Starbold – or whatever his true name was – probably gave the best performance of his life in the role of your tutor. Had me fooled. All I ever knew about Miranda’s first love was he was some soldier who ended up in gaol. When I advertised for a tutor for you, a German turned up who spoke four languages and quoted Shakespeare and that Goethe bloke at the drop of a hat. I had no reason to suspect who he was. Why should I? He came armed with a glowing letter from some Weimar court claiming he’d tutored some duke or prince’s sons. No doubt the cunning bastard wrote the damned reference himself.’

  Marmaduke had a sudden painful flash of memory of an afternoon in the garden, reading aloud to his tutor Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister in the original German. Marmaduke had finished the passage and asked anxiously, ‘Is my accent all right, sir?’

  His tutor nodded approvingly then asked, ‘But do you understand what Goethe is telling us? I had the great good fortune to meet the genius when he was producing a play. I was overcome with nerves but Herr von Goethe kindly discussed with me the answer to my question, “What does a man do if he does not die when his love is unrequited?”’

  Von Starbold’s words were now alive with fresh significance. Marmaduke turned his anger on Garnet.

  ‘So my foolish duel of honour solved your problem of Mother’s love triangle. By then you knew the truth. Why in hell didn’t you stop the duel?’

  ‘Because you needed to believe in your mother’s honour! Von Starbold was a trained soldier, you a raw novice he’d given a few duelling lessons. He’d never have fired at you. The shot that killed him was a fluke.’

  ‘Fluke! It was murder! I meant to kill him.’ Marmaduke lost control, grabbed hold of Garnet’s shoulders and shook him like a terrier with a rag doll.

  Isabel cried out, begging them to stop but Marmaduke was beyond all reason.

  ‘You manipulative bastard! I’m twenty-five years old and I only found out tonight I’m the cuckoo in Mother’s love nest. For my whole life, you, Mother, Queenie, you all knew the truth – yet you trapped me in a conspiracy of silence.’

  Garnet offered no resistance. ‘What else could I do? You were a miserable little sod who wanted to be a hero. Would it have made you happy to grow up knowing you’d murdered your own father?’

  Confronted by the truth Marmaduke was shocked into silence.

  Garnet combed his fingers through his hair, his eyes wild with despair. ‘Don’t you understand? I never stopped loving Miranda but after I knew I’d never win her love I rogered every piece of skirt I could lay my hands on. In all these years I never managed to plant one of them with child, except your mother. Even you were courtesy of that Hessian bastard’s seed!’

  Marmaduke stared into space, his mind flooded with fragmented memories of the two men he had hated for years but until this moment had never really known.

  Garnet’s ragged words rasped out breaking the silence. ‘You’ve always hated my guts, Marmaduke, but I’m the man who loved your mother. I’m the man who gave you your name. You are...the only son...I will ever have!’

  Marmaduke’s voice was cold. ‘So that’s why you refused to send for a physician and let Mother die. To punish her for bearing a second bastard to Klaus von Starbold.’

  Garnet was defeated. ‘Believe what you will. You can’t hate me more than I hate myself.’

  ‘No? Just watch me, Garnet, I haven’t even begun to hate you!’

  Marmaduke brushed past Isabel and stormed out, hoping to lose himself in the anonymity of the darkness of night.

  He ran blindly through the bush, only halting when he reached the graveyard.

  Moonlight etche
d the outlines of the tombstones. Marmaduke made straight for the stone slab in the far corner where he rested his hand on the name Klaus von Starbold.

  Forgive me, my Father, I didn’t understand what I was doing.

  He spoke the words in anguish, in German. ‘Verzeih mir, mein Vater, ich verstand nicht, was ich tat!’

  The terrible, guttural cry that seemed to be ripped from his throat echoed across Mingaletta to the Ghost Gum Valley.

  Chapter 50

  The end of her first long Australian summer brought Isabel conflicting feelings of elation and acute anxiety. She knew this imbalance was partly a symptom of her condition as she was only a few months away from giving birth.

  The world around her was a thing of beauty. The eternal blue of the sky, the golden orb of the sun, the hot sunlight that drenched the terraced gardens and filtered through the canopies of eucalypts. The blend of perfumes of the native plants with those from English gardens. Her ears had sung with the high-pitched buzz of cicadas and the choirs of excited birdsong that seemed to Isabel to be the epitome of the bush’s voice in summer – heat translated into sound waves.

  Though its beauty comforted her it could not wipe out the anxiety that stemmed from Marmaduke. Not once had he returned to the house since that shattering night he had discovered his true identity. He had totally withdrawn to work on the final stages of Mingaletta. She knew he was too proud to admit he was fast running out of money to finance it, so he worked seven days a week, alone when no assigned men were available.

  Although Isabel’s sleepwalking pattern had not returned, the Other was again making its presence felt. She tried to dismiss her fear of it as an irrational symptom of pre-natal imagination, that it was the babe kicking inside her that was causing her emotions to swing like a metronome, but she sensed it was far more than that. Signs of the Other increased to become a daily occurrence. She remembered how Silas had frightened her when she was a child, telling her that because they were so close in blood as double cousins they shared a strange gift – they attracted dark beings that ordinary mortals could not see or hear. Silas was in residence barely ten miles distant. Was this the reason the dead were drawing psychic energy from her body?

  Silas had not openly contacted her since his appearance in the graveyard but every week she received another of the anonymous ‘letters’ that made her shiver with dread: a blank page wrapped around a pressed rose. The white Rose Alba, the white rose of York.

  Today as she hurried down the staircase en route to the kitchen in search of Bridget, she faltered at the sight of the plain white envelope lying on the console, addressed simply to ‘Isabel’. It was identical to all the others. She did not need to open it to know what it contained. Who brought these letters here? They never came by mail. She always found them lying around, on a table, once in the summerhouse. The servants when questioned looked blank and she had no right to accuse anyone. The letters unnerved her. Silas was mentally stalking her.

  Take hold of yourself, girl. How can anonymous white roses hurt you? Don’t allow Silas to get inside your mind again.

  Isabel hurriedly retraced her steps to the nursery, opened the drawer and placed the pressed rose with the others beneath her undergarments. She wanted to destroy them but felt if she did it would attract bad luck to her own little Rose Alba.

  As she took the servants’ back stairs to the kitchen her thoughts returned to Marmaduke.

  Although Davey rode to Mingaletta daily to deliver stores and Murray Robertson in his new role as overseer kept Marmaduke informed, Isabel was forbidden to go to the site.

  Marmaduke has cut himself off from us all like an animal licking its wounds. Queenie warned me this would happen but it’s time I broke through the barrier.

  In the kitchen she found Bridget packing up the boxes of stores for Davey to deliver.

  Since Elise’s dramatic exit Isabel was on alert for signs of the return of Garnet’s mood swings, suspecting that Bridget had inherited the role of his scourger.

  Although her father-in-law remained unfailingly kind in his dealings with her, Isabel was afraid that since the break with Marmaduke, his burden of guilt was building towards a peak of self-loathing that only physical pain could alleviate.

  Isabel tackled the problem head on. ‘I’ll deliver the stores today with Davey.’

  Bridget resisted the idea. ‘I have strict instructions you are not to visit the site.’

  ‘Rules need to be bent when occasion demands, Bridget. I need you to tell me if my father-in-law orders you to go to the priest hole with him. You know what happens there?’

  ‘I do. Sure and I can be delivering what Elise did,’ Bridget said coldly. ‘So what if the Master does take pleasure from pain? I know when to stop. I won’t be killing him.’

  Although the words were said with contempt Isabel sensed the underlying anxiety.

  ‘I understand it’s difficult for you to defy your master’s orders and reject money—’

  ‘It is not being the money! I’m not a common whore, ye know! The master promised he’d be recommending me for my ticket. Free to choose me own boss and earn wages. That’s one step closer to joining me Mam in Van Diemen’s Land – if she’s still alive when she’s finished her fourteen years.’

  Isabel knew Bridget and her mother had been transported for the same crime, rolling a drunk in her grandmother’s shanty in Dublin, but she was stunned by the pain in Bridget’s voice.

  ‘I promise I’ll do what I can to help you win your ticket, but you must warn me about the priest hole.’

  She searched for words to soften Bridget’s resolve. ‘Long ago he made a terrible mistake that caused his wife’s death. Your master has lost his way to God. No priest can give him absolution. He punishes himself for his guilt.’

  Isabel saw Bridget begin to waver and pressed her advantage.

  ‘Garnet Gamble’s pardon didn’t make him a free man. For all his wealth he’s never been free in his mind. Yet freedom is what lies at the heart of this country. If it doesn’t break your spirit or kill you, it gives you a second chance.’

  ‘A pretty speech coming from a lady of Quality who came free.’

  Isabel chose to ignore the insolence. ‘You think I don’t know what guilt is? This is my second chance.’ She stopped herself in time.

  The girl’s face was blank. Isabel finally lost her temper.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Bridget, you don’t have to like Garnet Gamble, but can’t you find it in your heart to help me set the poor man free from his demons?’

  Bridget finally gave a nod of assent. ‘I will,’ she said.

  Isabel rode in single file behind Davey towards Mingaletta, seated on the gentle mare that Davey had saddled for her despite his unease about defying Marmaduke’s explicit orders.

  In her pocket was the letter from Aunt Elisabeth from Sydney Town.

  As they drew closer to the orchestrated sounds of hammers, sawing timber, pick-axes and the different accents of male voices, Isabel was reminded of the tangled plot of A Servant to Two Masters. Like the play’s wily servant, Trufaldino, Isabel felt trapped in the similar role she had agreed to play – being the ally to two masters – though in her case both her masters were Marmaduke. One Marmaduke was kind, patient, warm and loving. The other was obstinate, demanding, melancholic and had a foul temper. God only knew which mood she would find him in today when she confronted him about Aunt Elisabeth’s letter.

  I can’t allow the threat of bushrangers stop me joining Rose Alba and Aunt Elisabeth. Bolters will be part of this landscape as long as The System is in force. Marmaduke wants to protect me but I can’t live life marooned in a safe house afraid to travel the highway to Sydney Town.

  When Isabel caught sight of Marmaduke before he saw her, she dismounted and led the mare to the building site on foot.

  ‘I’m a Greek bearing gifts!’ she called out, counting on her husband’s pride to conceal his annoyance at her forbidden arrival.

  Marmaduke stood o
utlined against the sun, balanced precariously on a half-timbered section of roof. He made no response, so Isabel turned the full force of her nervous smile on the only other person in sight, a young lad whose head rose like a mushroom from a hole between the floorboards.

  ‘Could you help Davey unpack the saddlebags, lad? Bridget and the three Marys have cooked a large amount of fine food to heat up in your camp oven.’

  Murmurs of approval followed when a number of bodies swung easily down from the rafters. The men were so busy unloading Davey’s saddlebags and getting the campfire going for their meal that they were well out of earshot.

  Isabel squinted up at Marmaduke and tried to sound playful.

  ‘If Queenie’s special Summer Puddings won’t tempt you down off your high horse, Marmaduke, what will?’

  In two moves he swung down effortlessly to her side. If the glance he gave her body held any trace of desire it was well concealed. Isabel felt deflated.

  It’s not fair. The puffier and pudgier I grow the leaner and browner he is. He hasn’t shaved for days but he’s so handsome I could race him off to bed as soon as look at him. Oh dear, this babe’s making me so lusty, I’m dangerous.

  Marmaduke took a swig of water, wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hand and tried to sound casual. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Never better. I’ve also brought you clean clothes, towels and your special sandalwood soap. And Garnet sent you a couple of bottles of Hunter Valley red wine from a new vintner he says is the best yet.’

  ‘Tell Garnet to bounce ’em right back in his cellar. I’m not here to party. Time enough to celebrate when the roof’s finished and the building is ready to be locked.’

  ‘Marmaduke, there are serious things I need to tell you face to face.’

  ‘I made it clear all visits from you were verboten. Your reason for defying me had better be good.’ He added quickly, ‘You haven’t been bleeding?’

  ‘I’m fine. Queenie says she’s never seen an expectant mother in a ruder state of health. I’m eating like a horse, sleeping like a babe, full of energy. And if I hold my breath I can still fit into most of my clothes. But there’s one thing I can’t control. I laugh or cry at the most unpredictable moments. And...and I miss you like crazy.’