Ghost Gum Valley (12 page)

Isabel forced herself to answer politely. ‘I doubt you have need of my prayers, Cousin. I asked the gods to smile on Kean.'

Silas made a languid gesture towards the uppermost gallery where a rowdy crowd was sandwiched in rows of the cheapest seats in the house.

‘The Children of the Gods are Kean's most fervent supporters. They cheer him whether he arrives drunk, sober or carted on in a wheelbarrow.'

‘Why do you mock him? You know it has long been my dream to see him.'

‘Perhaps I'm just a little jealous,' he said gently. Then, as if to restore himself in her favour, he assumed a note of greater respect.

‘I can't bear to see your disappointment when the thespian fails to appear. It's said Kean's been cursed with the greatest terror that can befall an actor – the loss of his memory. When he opened in some new role especially written for him—'

‘
Ben Nazir
,' she prompted.

‘Indeed. He not only forgot his lines but the plot of the whole play. He's now confined to the roles he made famous in his youth.'

‘Richard III,' she said, ‘Othello, Macbeth, Shylock and the mad villain Sir Giles Overreach in
A New Way to Play Old Debts
.'

Silas smiled. ‘I forgot you devoured as gospel every word written about the fellow.'

‘I
read
every word,' she corrected. ‘But I never believed that scurrilous gossip about him in the broadsheet rags and lampoons.'

‘Despite your loyalty, I'm afraid there was evidence aplenty in the Kean versus Cox trial to prove him guilty of adultery. Kean's no gentleman. His hilariously passionate love letters to Alderman Cox's wife, when read out at his trial, kept London amused for months.'

‘Mr Kean was gentleman enough to refuse to allow his lawyer to use Charlotte Cox's love letters to
him
as evidence in his defence,' she snapped.

‘As I suspected, you're one those young girls who are attracted to scoundrels.'

The teasing note in Silas's voice held an undercurrent that made her eager to change the subject. The audience in both gallery and pit were now chanting Kean's name.

‘How restless they are. Mr Kean is late but I don't doubt he'll give us his Othello.'

‘Don't doubt he shall if he's seduced by enough money to keep the bailiffs at bay.'

Isabel barely kept her anger in check. ‘If that were the case our family should have sympathy for him. We've only just escaped the spectre of poverty ourselves, Cousin.'

Silas's reply was soft but equally dangerous. ‘What makes you so sure Kean won't drink himself senseless to escape his fear of failure? Money is all that thespians understand.'

‘No. Mr Kean will play tonight. Even more than he needs money, his son needs
him.'

‘What touching faith you have in drunken actors, m'dear.'

Isabel turned to face him. ‘Perhaps I'd be wiser to put my faith in actors than in my kinsmen.'

Silas whispered in her ear. ‘You forget yourself, Isabel. If I had not lied to protect you, you might have been transported to the Colony. The minimum sentence is seven years.'

Isabel withdrew her hand, disguising her gesture of rejection by joining the wild applause that greeted The Great Kean's entrance.

Edmund Kean brought his son forward to acknowledge the audience. Standing beside the taller figure of young Charles, the elder Kean seemed at first glance frail, almost shy, but was suddenly heartened by the warmth of their reception. Isabel felt a delicious tremor at the illusion that Edmund Kean looked directly up at her box. Those amazingly eloquent dark eyes blazed out from the Moor's black countenance and seemed to speak to her alone.

At last the play began. In Isabel's eyes the actors were transformed into living Venetians. Charles Kean's Iago was indeed the double-faced Janus whose jealousy of his commander Othello caused him to hatch the plot to destroy the Moor, while presenting himself as a bluff, honest soldier and Othello's friend.

The magic of Shakespeare's dialogue held Isabel captive. Her lips moved in silent communion with Othello and Desdemona's speeches she knew by heart. It seemed as if the flimsy barrier of oil lamps between stage and audience dissolved and she offered up her heart to the
real
world being created for her. Nothing else
existed. Othello the Moor and Edmund Kean had fused to become one soul.

The first acts kept Isabel so entranced she refused to break the spell by leaving her seat at interval to take the champagne refreshment Silas offered her. But by the Third Act she grew tense, unable to block out the truth. Her hero was engaged in a life and death struggle to continue to perform. She willed him to draw strength from her own body, became one with the house in total silence, hanging on Othello's tortured words after he was duped by Iago's poisonous lie that his beloved Desdemona had betrayed him with a lover.

The agony in Edmund Kean's voice pierced Isabel's very body as he said the words: ‘What sense had I, in her stolen hours of lust? I saw it not, thought it not; it harmed not me. I slept the next night well, was free and merry; I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips...'

But midway through his next speech Kean faltered. Isabel almost cried aloud to give him the cue. His eyes filled with black confusion.

Is this Othello's agony? No. God help him, it is Edmund Kean's!

Horrified, Isabel's mind blotted out his words until suddenly aware of the dual significance of his speech.

The great actor paused as if fighting for breath but gave to Othello's words a world of sadness, ‘Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!'

Isabel covered her mouth to silence her cry.
My God, this is not merely part of the play. This is real!'

Like an automaton Isabel joined in the audience's warm applause at the end of this speech but although his son Charles silently acknowledged the compliment to his father, Edmund Kean stood as if abandoned, marooned on stage, his eyes downcast. After the last shouts of ‘bravo' the silence was drawn out too long to be intentionally dramatic. An uneasy murmur spread throughout the theatre.

Isabel felt the actor son's own quiet desperation seep through Iago's line to Othello, ‘Is't possible, my lord?'

Cracked words were torn from Othello's lips. ‘Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore—'

Isabel felt faint with fear. Othello did not complete this speech nor step forwards as she knew the scene demanded for him to seize Iago by the throat and throttle him.

Instead Kean broke into a desperate fit of weeping as he fell on his son's neck and cried out to him, ‘Oh God, I am dying – speak to them for me!'

Charles Kean caught his father as he slumped unconscious in his arms.

The whole house rose as one with loud cries of encouragement as the great Othello was carried from the stage. Isabel did not know how long she sat there, isolated from everything around her, until Silas drew her into his arms, softly assuring her.

‘I am here, Isabel. Another actor is to take Othello's place.'

Isabel was ignited by anger. ‘No one can
ever
take Edmund Kean's place!'

The de Rolland townhouse faced a central park that was kept locked for the sole use by the residents of the terraced villas that surrounded it. Isabel desperately wanted to sit there alone with her thoughts but Silas dismissed the idea as absurd.

The oil lamps were alight in the entrance hall both the butler and old Agnes waited to attend to their needs. Silas ushered Isabel into an elegant small room in which supper had been prepared for them. He dismissed the butler then told Agnes that her mistress had no further need of her. But stubborn Agnes acknowledged no authority except Godfrey de Rolland and looked to Isabel to take her cue.

Isabel countered Silas's order. ‘Please prepare yourself for bed, Agnes. I will be up in a moment. You can
be sure
I'll call in to say good night.'

Left alone with Silas, Isabel watched him intently as he closed the door then poured champagne for them. She drank in silence, trying to divorce herself from the tragic final image of Edmund Kean's face.

I must not appear vulnerable, tonight of all nights.

Silas took the chair close to her and looked searchingly at her before speaking.

‘I would not have had this unhappy ending occur for the world, Isabel.'

She was instantly on guard. She drained her glass to give herself courage but chose her words with care. ‘Are you referring to Edmund Kean's temporary exit from the stage? Or my permanent departure from England?'

Silas's eyes narrowed as if he was for once unsure how to gauge her true feelings. ‘The actor's debauched history has brought about his own downfall, whereas—'

‘Mine has not?' she said quickly. ‘Come, Cousin, I may be young and naive but I am not entirely stupid. This arranged marriage is an act of Divine providence. It restored the family coffers and settled that awkward question, “What on earth do we do with poor Isabel?”'

‘You surprise me, Isabel. You sound bitter. Yet you showed no emotion when the offer of marriage was put to you.'

‘What choice did I have? The decision was
fait accompli
. New carriages, lavish entertainment, your Grand Tour of Europe. Don't lie to me! The marriage contracts were already signed by you and Uncle Godfrey, weren't they?'

Silas didn't flinch from her anger but leant closer and held her arms fast to restrain her. ‘If you want the truth you must hear the
whole
truth.'

Isabel was thrown off guard by his expression of tenderness. She had a sudden rush of memory of the night she had seen Silas for the first time, when she was nine years old and sitting in her nightdress, hidden at the top of the marble staircase awaiting the return of the family hero.

Cousin Silas entered the hall, tall, blond and handsome, resplendent in his cavalry officer's uniform. He handed his cloak to the butler.

Isabel felt her breath sucked from her body, awed by the god-like creature who fixed his eyes on her as he sprang up the stairs and sat on a lower step to bring their eyes level.

‘So you are my little orphan Isabel come to live with us. I am your kinsman, Silas. I had great affection for your mother, Alizon. I promise to love and protect you like a brother.'

Isabel nodded, unable to speak. His gaze held her as he bent over her hand and kissed the fingertips just as if she were a grown lady.

‘I shall be your champion. Always. But one day when you are all grown up I shall ask you to marry me.'

She gasped with surprise when he whispered, ‘Will your answer be “yes”
, ma petite cousine?'

The magic of the moment was shattered when Isabel turned to see the figure in evening dress standing in the doorway of the assembly
room. Uncle Godfrey frowned, an uncertain expression on his face as he curtly reminded Silas their guests were waiting.

Isabel closed her eyes to blot out that memory but was shaken by Silas's perception. He had always been able to read her thoughts.

‘I pressured Godfrey for your hand in marriage before you reached the age of consent. He refused. Claimed our blood was too close. I would have defied him and waited for you but your fall from grace and your crime of infanticide made that impossible. Even then I forgave you. Surely you must know I have always loved you, Isabel.'

‘Stop! You must not speak of such things. Cousin Martha—'

‘She is dying. Everyone knows it – even Martha.'

‘No!'

‘The physician predicts she won't outlive the spring.' Silas's expression frightened her. ‘Look at me, Isabel. This arranged marriage isn't the end of the world. Do this for the family – for me. Go through with this wedding to that convict's son. It will only be for one year. When your marriage fails, as it must, those Colonial rascals will have no chance to reclaim the money in the contract. When I'm free I'll come to the Colony to claim you.'

Free? He means when Martha dies.

‘I can't believe you're saying this!'

‘There's method in my madness. I'll rescue you, bring you home to England. We'll have the world at our feet. A life of luxury. And you will at last belong to me.
Only
to me.'

‘Aren't you forgetting something?' Isabel said coldly. ‘No doubt my husband will expect me to bear him a child.'

Silas watched her reaction as he toyed idly with a cushion. ‘There's a solution to every problem. A pillow can snuff out a life in seconds. Shakespeare made it seem so easy.'

Isabel felt her blood run cold.
He means Othello smothered Desdemona.

‘Why does that idea shock you, Isabel? You've already solved that little problem once before.' The statement was calmly delivered.