Ghost Gum Valley (3 page)

He steered a mildly protesting Edwin out the door and bundled him into the carriage, quoting lightly, ‘“The play's the thing to catch the conscience of the King!”'

Beneath the surface of his changed mood, Marmaduke examined his options.

Unlike the Prince of Denmark I'm not indecisive. If push comes to shove I won't baulk at murder. They say the second time a man kills is so much easier than the first.

Chapter 2

De Rolland Park, Gloucestershire, England, December 1832

‘Do I
really
have to wear this awful corset, Agnes?' Isabel groaned, holding onto the bedpost as Agnes laced her so tight she could hardly breathe. ‘It's not as if I need this. I'm built like a boy. I wonder if I shall ever have any curves.'

‘Keep still, lamb, and I'll have you all trussed up in a minute. You're seventeen – you can't run around like a tomboy, it ain't seemly.'

‘What's the point? I'm not allowed to go into the village nor attend church. Nobody ever sets eyes on me except you, the other servants and occasionally the family. I haven't even been allowed upstairs to visit Cousin Martha in her sickbed. I might as well be in Newgate Prison.'

‘Don't say such things, even in jest,' Agnes said quickly. ‘You must not dwell on the past. Your sleepwalking sickness was to blame, not you, dearie.'

Isabel sighed, ‘“What's done is done and cannot be undone.”' Her hand flew to her face in horror. ‘My God, I just quoted from
The Scottish Play
– that's bad luck!'

Realising she had broken the theatrical taboo against quoting from
Macbeth
in a dressing-room, Isabel flung a shawl around her shoulders and broke free from the bedchamber she had been forced to share with Agnes for the past three years. She bolted along the long, winding corridors with Agnes racing after her, begging her to stop.

On reaching the kitchen herb garden she turned around three times and spat into the garden, watched in horror by Agnes.

‘Have you gone out of your mind, Isabel?'

‘No, that's what actors must do to reverse their bad luck if they quote lines from Shakespeare's
The Scottish Play
. You see they call it that to avoid saying its true title.'

Agnes looked thunderstruck. ‘But you're not an actress! You're a born lady, a de Rolland!'

‘Yes, unfortunately. But I would far rather be an actress. And I don't want to tempt fate to bring me any more bad luck than it has already wished on me.' Her mood was suddenly serious but she pushed past images from her mind.

‘Come indoors, lamb, or you'll catch your death of cold,' Agnes said, gently shepherding her inside. ‘Your guardian wants to see you at three o'clock sharp and we must have you looking presentable.'

Back in the chamber, Isabel sat impatiently while Agnes dressed her hair with side curls. A pretty blue ribbon was small compensation for her scuffed shoes and the hand-me-down jacket and skirt that she had outgrown over the past two years and now needed to tug down to cover her ankles. New clothes never came Isabel's way – one small sign of the severely straightened circumstances into which the grand de Rolland ancestral home had been sinking for several years, sucked down by the quicksand of extravagance and gambling.

With an hour to spare before her encounter with her guardian, Godfrey de Rolland, Isabel insisted they go to the library, the one communal room in the great house that she was free to enter. She had continued her studies there alone following the departure of her governess – another luxury the family no longer chose to afford.

Isabel knew exactly how she would spend this precious hour. For years Cousin Silas had forbidden her access to their ancestral family tree, claiming it was for her own protection. Why? What was the dark secret involving her? This question had gnawed at her curiosity until yesterday during Silas's absence in London. She had chanced on a rare encounter with her guardian, as he paused on the landing of the staircase, frowning as he read some papers that she recognised by their red seal as legal documents.

Seizing her chance Isabel had made a hasty curtsey. ‘You know how much I love history, Uncle Godfrey. Is there any reason why Cousin Silas says I may not study our de Rolland family tree?'

Godfrey de Rolland peered at her over the rim of his pince-nez as if weighing his words. ‘Silas considers himself the Keeper of the Seal. Like his father, Silas sees darkness and evil where others do not. In medieval Spain my brother Henri would have gloried in the role of
Inquisitor. I think, Isabel, you are now sensible enough to understand that all old families have their share of secrets. Heroes or villains, none of us is perfect. You have my permission to peruse the document but remember it is ancient and fragile. Handle with care, what?'

‘Indeed I shall, Uncle. Thank you...'

Now as she waited to be summoned Isabel tried to dismiss her unease about her guardian's opinion of her.
Would Uncle Godfrey consider me sensible if he knew that I was born with the gift – or curse – of being able to see ‘the Other', the presence of departed souls who no one can see but me – and that Silas says is born in witches.

With a feeling of suppressed excitement mixed with trepidation Isabel slipped on the white cotton gloves that must be worn on pain of death when handling rare manuscripts and carefully removed the ancient vellum scroll from the safe.

‘This family tree should prove whether or not I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, Agnes,' Isabel added under her breath, ‘yet another Plantagenet bastard.'

She carefully unfurled it. The de Rolland family tree traced the generations of her ancestors back to 1154 and down to the births, deaths and marriages of the living generations of Uncle Godfrey, his nephew and heir, Silas, married to Martha, and Isabel – the poor relation that Uncle Godfrey had made his ward after the death of her young parents. But did it record the details of her father Walter de Rolland's youthful marriage to Alizon – the mysterious girl no one wanted to remember?

Isabel vividly remembered the first day she had been brought to this Gothic mansion as a five-year-old orphan and was made to watch as the name Alizon de Rolland was struck from the list of family names written in the ancient bible.

Isabel looked across at the faithful old servant who was gazing in awe at the document, even though she was unable to read a word.

‘What's the big secret about my birth? Was I born five months before my parents' marriage – or five months after? Did I miraculously survive a premature birth? Or I was conceived by lovers who couldn't wait for the priest's blessing?'

Agnes looked flustered but Isabel rather liked the idea of a wicked liaison.

‘In or out of wedlock, at least
someone
in this cold-blooded family was conceived in love.' She began at the top of the tree. ‘For generations every de Rolland except my father Walter wedded their cousins to keep the fortune in the family. Even Silas did – although Martha was the heiress when he married her. He was hoisted on his own petard!'

Agnes hid a giggle behind her mittens. ‘Isabel, you do have a naughty tongue!'

The clock in the corridor outside the library chimed the hour, reminding Isabel that, as fond as she was of Agnes, she valued these golden hours of freedom.

Ever since that terrible day three years earlier when she was found wandering in the woods, unable to remember the two missing weeks in her life, Isabel had been forced to eat, walk and sleep with Agnes, a condition laid down by her guardian to avoid the dishonour the public revelation of her crime would bring to the family name.

Even in bed I have no freedom to dream without Agnes spying on me.

Isabel paused as honesty forced her to face the unpalatable truth.
I can hardly blame her for my sleepwalking illness. Agnes is paid to protect me – from myself!
She ran her finger down the scroll, hoping it would reveal the family secrets.
Nobody tells me anything. I'm forced to indulge in subterfuge – or go to my grave dying of curiosity.

The yellowed parchment revealed the complex pattern of genealogical branches that sprang from their founding ancestor, King Henry II, the son of Geoffrey V of Anjou, who established the House of Plantagenet, until in 1399 it split into two branches represented by the White Rose of York and the rival Red Rose of Lancaster, who for generations battled in the War of the Roses for lands and titles stretching from Ireland to Jerusalem. Reverently Isabel touched the name of the last Plantagenet king, Richard III.

‘Shakespeare's play
Richard III
is great drama but it made poor Richard notorious. I never believed he murdered the two little Princes in the Tower of London. I'm sure it was Henry Tudor's dirty work but historians made poor Richard go down in history as the villain – to bolster the Tudors' claim to the throne.'

Agnes nodded sagely. ‘I always thought so, too.'

By the time Isabel reached the present de Rolland generation, she was convinced that, despite Silas's claim to the contrary, their link to the Plantagenet bloodline was indeed via a cadet branch ‘on the wrong side of the blanket'.

‘Do the servants think I'm illegitimate too, Agnes? Is that why I'm treated like the poor relative?'

Agnes looked discomforted so Isabel added, ‘Never mind, I'll soon find out.'

The current generation seemed like a last withered branch on the tree. It confirmed that Uncle Godfrey, her guardian and head of the family, had married his cousin. No issue. His only sister Elisabeth had been banished in disgrace after her elopement with a mariner. No issue. The middle brother, Henri, had contracted a marriage with the elder of two Lancastrian sisters who was mistakenly believed to be an heiress. This unhappy union had produced Godfrey's heir, Silas. Godfrey's youngest brother, Isabel's father Walter, had married the younger sister, Alizon, under mysterious circumstances. The date showed he had died of consumption in 1816, the year after Isabel's birth.

Agnes said guardedly, ‘When your father Walter fell in love with Alizon, the more beautiful of the two sisters, his jealous brother Henri tried to block their marriage.'

‘I see. So two de Rolland brothers fathered children to two sisters – which makes Cousin Silas my ‘double cousin', the closest relationship to brother and sister. But what is the awful mystery about
my
birth?'

Isabel grabbed the magnifying glass and read the words in the margin, ‘See Notes' and an arrow pointed to the reverse side. With care she turned the document over.

‘It says Henri accused my mother of killing her sister – by witchcraft.'

Agnes evaded her eyes, a sure sign she knew the story. Isabel was stunned. The date of the Not Proven entry was followed by the date of her parents' wedding. She realised Godfrey de Rolland must have relented and given his consent in time to legitimise her birth. She was born on 8 November 1815 – five months after their marriage.

‘Agnes! That's the mystery no one would tell me. Mother was accused
of witchcraft! Cousin Silas said she was descended from one of the Lancastrian witches burned at the stake. Silas is right!
I am
cursed!'

Isabel felt the library walls spinning rapidly around her. Sick with panic and, overcome by nausea, she felt herself falling into a black whirlpool. Agnes ran to her side.

‘I'm not a bastard, Agnes,' she mumbled, dazed, ‘but I am a witch.'

‘Hush, no more talk of witches. Your mother was a pretty young thing. All she did was give her sister herbal physic when she was ill. Alizon would nay hurt a fly.'

Isabel realised she owed her guardian a threefold debt of gratitude – allowing her to be born legitimate, making her his ward and then standing by her in her own disgrace.

I can't change my ancestors or my own shameful past. But I shall do my utmost to prove to Uncle I'm worthy to bear the de Rolland name.

At the sound of an approaching carriage Isabel hurried with Agnes to the window, where a new phaeton charged down the snow-covered carriageway. Isabel recognised the man's elegant cape and high-crowned hat.

‘How on earth can Cousin Silas afford new carriages and fashionable clothes when we're on the brink of bankruptcy? Only months ago the servants said Uncle Godfrey was so deeply in debt he was about to be carted off to live under The Rules!'

Isabel was horrified by the paradox of the special debtor's prison. It was reserved for gentlemen who lived under guard in a degree of comfort, their food, clothing and rent supplied by friends, but they were unable to leave The Rules until their debts were paid. Had Cousin Silas finally reversed his losses at the gaming table?

‘That's the way of the world, lamb. We servants ain't been paid in two years but fine folk always find money for luxuries.'

When the clock struck three Isabel hastily checked her appearance and flew down the corridor. Outside her guardian's doors she turned to Agnes for reassurance.

‘Uncle hasn't summoned me here since the day they found me in the woods. What have I done wrong? Have I been walking in my sleep again?'

‘No, lamb. You sleep like a babe. Go in with a smile. All will be well.'

This grand room was an oasis of calm. Light streamed through the windows, forming a misty prism that held wisps of cigar smoke.

She made a quick curtsey to Uncle Godfrey, who was seated at his desk, his quill scratching across a letter. He acknowledged her presence with a faint smile.

‘One moment, m'dear. This must be delivered to London today.'

Isabel studied the portraits of five generations of de Rollands that lined the walls. Despite the costumes of different eras, their features appeared to be cut from the same genetic pattern. The male faces were aquiline in youth, chiselled like white marble, becoming veined in middle age. Each face was stamped with the distinctive de Rolland mouth, the lips full and sensual, suggesting they were more venal than passionate, if Isabel could believe the legends about them. Generations of intermarriage gave them such a strong resemblance Isabel thought they could be mistaken for brothers and sisters who were dressed in period costumes for a fancy dress ball.