Ghost Gum Valley (25 page)

Rhys Powell cleared his throat. ‘I notice this list includes a well-known Emancipist and his wife. Is that a mistake or your intention, sir?'

Garnet glared at him. ‘I don't make mistakes! Samuel Terry is the Worshipful Master of my Masonic Lodge.'

His decision to invite his rival had been a battle. For years Sam Terry had surpassed him, acknowledged as the wealthiest man in the Colony, a status far above even the landed Exclusives. Despite his affluence Terry continued to live and work with his wife in a modest dwelling in Sydney Town.

‘Although the man is a benefactor to every charity, holds a seat on
the Board of the Bank of New South Wales and mixes in business daily with the top gentlemen of the Colony, Terry's never invited to their homes. None of his offspring has ‘married up' into their ranks.'

Isabel de Rolland was Garnet's trump card. At last he had outflanked his arch-rival.

Garnet dictated a sharp set of directions to Marmaduke at the Princess Alexandrina, demanding his son's immediate return with Isabel to Bloodwood Hall to be married.

His secretary jumped to attention when Garnet strode off to the dining room.

Elise was waiting for him in her accustomed place. Garnet took his seat at the head of the table and frowned in response to Bridget's overly familiar attitude as she served him. In contrast the servant's manner to Elise was barely civil.

Elise knew better than to chatter when he was in one of his moods but her curiosity finally overcame her better judgement. Her pretty pout came into full play.

‘I'm always left in the dark, Garnet. Has the
bride
ship arrived yet?'

‘Safe and sound. And my future daughter is very beautiful,' Garnet said, convinced this was the case by her miniature portrait. ‘It's time you climbed down off your high horse, madam. Isabel will soon be mistress of this house!'

‘As if I could forget,' she sighed.

When Bridget served him from the tureen of vegetables she bent so close to his shoulder her ripe breasts were an obvious invitation.

Just because I've tumbled the girl there's no call for her to forget her place.

Elise looked petulant as she picked at the roast mutton on her plate. ‘Is the bride going to wear Miranda's wedding gown?'

‘No. One from Paris. I sent her family a small fortune to cover her trousseau. I want Isabel to turn the ladies of Quality green with envy. Just like you fare right now, Elise!'

His mistress squirmed in her chair, embarrassed by the smirk on Bridget's face.

‘Could we talk alone, please, Garnet?'

‘We
are
alone.'

Elise jerked her head in Bridget's direction. Garnet took his cue and gave Bridget a dismissive wave. ‘I'll ring if I want anything.'

‘Certainly, sir. Whenever you
need
me.' The Irish girl cast a glance of triumph at Elise before she closed the door behind her.

Elise sniffed into her handkerchief, a habit Garnet found tiresome.

‘How can you humiliate me in front of the servants, Garnet? I only wanted to ask if you'll allow me to choose a fashionable new gown for the wedding. I don't want to be put in the shade by Marmaduke's bride as if I were some poor relative.'

‘You're not even
that
, girl. Besides, you've got plenty of gowns you've never even worn. While we're on the subject, brush up on your etiquette. You'll be playing hostess at the wedding banquet to introduce Marmaduke's bride to the very best people in the county. We'll entertain 'em here – right after the ceremony in my chapel.'

‘Is that wise, Garnet? You surely know how sensitive poor Marmaduke would be about that chapel.'

‘My son has no choice. If he wants Mingaletta bad enough he'll do it my way.'

He lit a cigar without bothering to withdraw to the smoking room.

‘You'd best realise, Elise. Life's going to change on every level when Isabel Gamble is mistress of Bloodwood Hall. You are going to have to play second fiddle.'

‘You promised me you'd marry me when I'm with child. I'll hold you to that!'

Garnet gave a curt laugh. ‘You've been threatening to fall for years. God knows I've done my part to deliver the goods. Produce a babe and I'll have you churched.'

‘How cruel you are. I don't know why I put up with you.'

Garnet leant across the table and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. ‘Because I pay you far better than you deserve to play your part whenever I am
in need
.'

Elise's sudden spark of fire surprised him. ‘How is Marmaduke's high-born bride going to react to your dark little secret?'

‘She'll never know. Because I pay you for your discretion, remember?'

Elise's voice rose in anger. ‘Well, don't ask me to protect
her
if
she's one of those who claim they can see the resident ghost. I have never.'

Garnet seized the chance to bait her. ‘No, but she's seen
you.
I've seen her standing at the foot of the bed in her nightgown, pointing at you lying in
her
bed. Take care, m'dear. Miranda never forgives anyone.'

Elise burst into tears and fled from the room.

Garnet called after her. ‘No point in locking your door against her, Elise. Ghosts don't recognise man-made boundaries. They walk through walls!'

He listened to Elise's footsteps retreating to the east wing. The slammed door of Miranda's bed chamber cut off the sound of Elise's sobs. Garnet felt a small twinge of guilt.
Why did
I lie? Miranda's shade has never shown herself to me – if only she would.

Restless now that he no longer had anyone around on whom to vent his anger, Garnet stubbed out his cigar. Elise would sulk for the rest of the night.

He pulled the bellrope for Bridget.

Chapter 17

Fear swamped Isabel, covering her, blinding her, paralysing her. Fear blocked all other emotions, hate, love, everything except one primitive instinct – the will to survive. The lake was her enemy, sucking at her skirts and petticoats, turning them to leaden weights as it began to drag her down to its depths. She flayed her arms in a desperate attempt to break its power.

Forcing her head above the surface she took frantic gulps of air before the lake drew her down to its dark depths.
No! Guilty. Innocent. I don't care. I want to live!

She sank again, clawing at the water. Any moment her mouth would be forced open to swallow water.

Where is God?
She looked up towards the fragile shimmer of light on the surface and saw the distorted reflection of a man's face.
His face?

Isabel awoke drenched in sweat. For one moment she believed she was dead. Then the dream images dissolved as the room took shape and forced her back to reality.

I'm here! Alive! The lake rejected me. Silas, all of them, are thousands of miles away. I'm safe.

Isabel hurtled naked from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. She slathered cool water over her face to banish the images of the nightmare. She ran a warm bath and soaped her body with a sea sponge, taking comfort from the sensual pleasure of water and perfumed soap – until sharply reminded that poor Greek boys risked drowning, diving to sell these sponges for a pittance to foreign tourists.
Drowning. Will the memory ever leave me?

After emerging from the bathroom, she began to dress herself in a fresh set of lawn underclothes. A pair of assigned housemaids who looked about twelve years old entered the room. The girl who had the complexion of a speckled brown egg spoke with an accent that married Cockney with what Isabel's ear already identified as a Currency drawl. The other girl's brogue was so heavy it needed an interpreter.

Isabel smiled her thanks for the breakfast they brought her but declined their offer to assist her with dressing. After years of being laced into a constricting corset by old Agnes Isabel felt genuinely free fastening her new day dresses down the front in contrast to the back-laced gowns worn by upper-class ladies as visual proof they had a maid to dress them.

The housemaids chirped like sparrows as they opened the curtains, sending streams of sunlight flooding the room. As they left Isabel caught the Cockney's aside to the other girl.

‘I reckon she don't get much shut-eye with young Master Gamble in her bed!'

Little do they know!
Isabel attacked the food with relish, relieved she had no need to disguise her hunger with the required public display of table manners.

The fruit was so colourful and exotic it might have been plucked from the Garden of Eden. She was reminded of Adam and Eve's easy life before The Fall, when fruit had dropped at their feet, before they ate from the Tree of Knowledge and God banished them.

‘Reminds me of my own fall.' She added wistfully, ‘I only wish I had some romantic memory of what I'd done to deserve it.'

In the days since Marmaduke's extraordinary proposal he had not abandoned her. He regularly brought her books on loan from the new Gentleman's Reading Room, which denied membership to the lower classes and women of all ranks. Each day she devoured the novels of Jane Austen and Sir Walter Scott and was absorbed in reading about the Quaker Elizabeth Fry's work to reform the conditions of English prisons, hospitals and lunatic asylums.

Every afternoon Thomas drove her with Marmaduke in the landau to different parts of the town. Isabel was fascinated by the amazing variations in the exotic scenery and the unique Australian flora and fauna that she had only seen illustrated in botanical books. Her favourite drive provided breathtaking views of the harbour along each curve in the winding road that led to the white lighthouse at South Head, where she watched the arrival and departure of ships from or bound for England, the British Empire and the rest of the world.

Isabel loved the golden sandy beaches in the coves along the harbour foreshores. Angered that people were forbidden to swim
there for most hours of the day, she saw it was a law blissfully ignored by dark, laughing Aboriginal children, who were expert swimmers from an early age.

Whenever they drove past the massive Prisoners' Barracks near Hyde Park, Isabel was struck by the contrast between the impressive Georgian Greek Revival sandstone architecture and the dejected lines of felons who filed from it in leg-irons, guarded by red-coated soldiers.

Today as she waited for Marmaduke to call for her, she wondered if he would ever take her to a performance at the Theatre Royal – it seemed to be his second home. The night before, when leaving for the theatre, he had told her to be ready this morning by half eight.

Now as she checked her appearance in the full-length mirror Isabel was pleased to see her eye had healed sufficiently to make the Venetian mask unnecessary. She had bathed it several times a day with the tea tree oil ‘bush medicine' Marmaduke assured her was an effective treatment known to Aborigines – ‘far better than quacks' patent medicines'.

Dressed to her satisfaction Isabel discovered that the dainty reticule Marmaduke had bought her yesterday contained a number of odd foreign coins used to supplement the English sterling currency stamped with Britannia on one side and backed by profiles of several generations of King Georges. The Hanoverian Royal Family had occupied the British throne for so long that Isabel no longer thought of them as foreign, but she looked with disapproval at the profile of the reigning monarch, His Majesty King William IV. Before he ascended the throne the Duke of Clarence had lived in domestic bliss with his mistress, the actress Dorothy Jordan, and their ten children – until he and all his brothers had been pressured to produce a legitimate heir to the throne. He had given up Mrs Jordan to marry the German princess, his consort Queen Adelaide.

Isabel forced herself to be honest.
I've no right to judge our poor old Sailor King. He was required to do his duty by his family – just as I was. And he did ennoble his illegitimate children, which is more than many of my Plantagenet ancestors did.

When a distant town clock struck nine, past the appointed time Marmaduke was meant to collect her, Isabel marched down the corridor and knocked on his door. A passing housemaid casually informed her, ‘The young Master ain't returned home yet, miss.'

That sounded as if Marmaduke's all night stop-outs came as no surprise to anyone. Isabel felt suddenly liberated, free to explore Sydney Town alone and on foot.

She passed through the foyer twirling her parasol and hurried towards the harbour.

No business of mine what Marmaduke's been up to all night. Just so long as he keeps the money flowing into my purse – and his body out of
my
bed.

The parasol was token protection against the warmth of the winter sun. The colour of the cloudless sky reminded her of de Rolland Park that day as a child when Cousin Silas had held a delphinium to her face and told her, ‘Your eyes are even more beautiful than Nature,
ma petite cousine.'

Isabel felt her throat constrict in anger. Would all these conflicting images from Heaven and Hell never cease to haunt her? She prayed God would keep Martha alive, not only because she loved her, but because Uncle Godfrey would never allow Silas to leave England while his wife was alive.

God never seemed available to listen to
her.
But as the bold sunshine, the swirl of bright colours, foreign accents and sheer vitality of this strange alien land all meshed together, Isabel was enchanted. She gave a little skip of pleasure as she began her solo adventure.

Maybe freedom
is
all in the mind.

George Street was alive with activity, crowded with carriages and pedestrians of every description. The cries of hawkers included an exotic one she'd never heard at home, ‘Ho, all fat Oysters, all fine O!' mingled with foul-mouthed oaths from bullock drivers cracking their long whips in the air.