Ghost Gum Valley (31 page)

She shrugged. ‘You're a man, aren't you?'

Jolted by the underlying note of bitter acceptance he wanted to leave her on a positive note. ‘A good commander never lies to his allies. Good night, soldier, sleep well.'

Making a hasty bow Marmaduke returned to his own chambers to bathe and change into evening clothes. If he was in luck he would time his arrival to catch the last act of
The Merchant of Venice
and Portia's famous ‘quality of mercy' speech. Josepha would be none the wiser. He knew the play by heart but was it Colley Cibber's modern adaptation tonight or Shakespeare's original text?

The Bard was a genius but Cibber was a crowd-pleaser. If I were King I'd forbid anyone to rewrite Shakespeare. Goethe's translations are more faithful to Will's plays in German than Cibber's are in English.

A half hour later, dressed in immaculate evening dress and opera cape Marmaduke was satisfied he passed muster except for his usual cock-eyed attempt to tie his neck linen. He hesitated in passing Isabel's room. The door was ajar.

A loud clap of thunder followed by flashes of forked lightning revealed a candle burning beside her bed. The rooms were empty. Marmaduke fought down his frustration. Had the silly girl bolted again in fear of the storm? Or was it fear of him?

He strode off in search of her. Through the window at the end of the corridor rapid flashes of sheet lightning slashed the darkness. He heard the sound before he saw the source of it. The low moaning of a voice that sounded more ghostly than real. A flash of lightning revealed a misty, wraith-like figure at the far end. The hair on his arms bristled. He stood perfectly still as it moved towards him.

It was then he saw its face.
Isabel.
She was moaning softly and making repeated movements as if in the act of washing her hands. Reminded of Lady Macbeth's sleepwalking scene he realised with a start how close this was to the truth. He was chilled by the expression in Isabel's eyes. The pupils were dilated but she appeared to be locked in another world, oblivious to his existence even when she passed directly in front of him.

Marmaduke tried to decide fast. He had read somewhere that it could be dangerous to awaken a sleepwalker suddenly. He pressed himself into the shadows of the wall and gently pushed open the door of her room. A wedge of light fell across the carpet. As if drawn to the light Isabel entered her room, continuing to wring her hands and muttering broken phrases.

He caught the words ‘Silas' and ‘Martha' then the stream of words became clearer as she sank to her knees by the bedside and appeared to be holding an unseen bundle in her arms. Marmaduke pressed himself against the wall out of range of her line of vision in case she woke suddenly from her nightmare.

Her voice became clearer but the words made little sense. Was this purely a dream or was she replaying a scene from her past?

‘God forgive me, if Thou canst find it in Thy heart to forgive a witch?' She looked down at her hands and said quite clearly, ‘So beautiful. How can something so innocent come out of such evil?'

Every muscle in his body was taut as he studied her every gesture and expression, sensing she was unknowingly offering clues to the cause of her tormented soul. Her eyes were wide open but blind to everything outside her dream world. Like a fragile insect trapped inside a piece of amber.

What was it she believed she concealed in her hands? He felt the transference of her terror as she cowered and looked around her.
Then she smiled at her empty hands and with a look that stunned him by its tenderness, she untied the drawstring of her nightgown and, slipping her hand inside it, she bent over and offered her childlike breast with a gesture of such sweetness Marmaduke caught his breath.

‘There, there little one. Don't cry. Mama will take care of you. I'll find a safe place to hide you, I promise. Cousin Silas will never hurt
you
.'

She gently rocked the imaginary bundle, softly singing snatches of a lullaby.

Shocked by the painful intimacy of the scene Marmaduke was unable to avert his eyes from her face. He felt like an intruder yet was grateful to witness the source of her pain.

When she climbed into bed she rested the invisible bundle beside her and closed her eyes. He waited until her breathing became so regular he was convinced she had fallen into a normal pattern of sleep. Safe to emerge from the shadows, he moved to her bedside.

Isabel's face was now peaceful. Marmaduke sat on the side of her bed, aware that his plans for the night were in chaos. There was no possible way to send Josepha a message to explain his absence on the night she needed him most. He dared not leave Isabel alone in this state. The glorious night of lust he had planned had been turned on its head.

Marmaduke had no desire to relinquish his freedom as a bachelor yet he was overcome by a strange sense of disorientation.

I feel as if I've just stepped out of my body and into another man's life.

Chapter 22

‘God damn it, where the hell is everyone? Not a lazy bastard in sight.' Garnet raised his voice. ‘I've got a bloody good mind to boot out the lot of you, send you back to the gutter where you belong!'

Standing at the foot of the staircase Garnet's bellow of rage reverberated around the marble entrance hall, a sound quickly followed by shattering china after his angry gesture sent the giant Ming dynasty vase flying off its pedestal to disintegrate in all directions. Hundreds of years old, it now lay in shards at his feet.

‘Never liked the bloody thing, Chinese junk covered with cracks. I'm damned if I know why they cost a fortune,' he mumbled then resumed his roar. ‘Powell! Elise! Bridget! Red Mary, Black Mary, whatever your names are. Get here on the double! That's an order!'

Running footsteps approached from all directions, upstairs and down. Much to his surprise and chagrin the first to arrive was Queenie, who wasn't even his to command.

She tossed one end of her sari over her shoulder and her penetrating coal-black eyes eyed him with silent contempt.

‘What are
you
doing here, old woman?' he demanded. ‘I didn't send for
you.
'

‘Who else isn't afraid to tell you the unpalatable truth?'

Suddenly curious, Garnet lowered his voice, ‘What do you mean? What do you know that my informants don't?'

‘That young Marmaduke has refused to marry at St James's Church the bride you imported for him. He's left Sydney Town.'

‘You know nothing!' he said bluffing. ‘My informants have kept tabs on every move that boy's made since his return to the Colony. All of them. My coachman Thomas, that Froggy dressmaker Madame Hortense, my Sydney accountant, Princess Alexandrina's housekeeper and a shipmate who's now high up in the police force.'

Queenie smiled knowingly at the euphemism ‘shipmate'. Everyone knew that old lags who kept their noses clean were often appointed
police constables and were usually no more corrupt than men who came free.

Garnet blustered on. ‘The only one I can't pay to inform on Marmaduke is Edwin Bentleigh. I'd sack the bastard for disloyalty to
me
if he wasn't the only honest advocate in town.' He finally conceded defeat. ‘All right, who was
your
source?'

Queenie narrowed her eyes in triumph. ‘
Miranda.
She told me Marmaduke's on his way back here with Isabel.'

Garnet felt his gut wrench. ‘So Miranda came to you again, did she? Not to me. You won't be happy until you dance on my grave, will you, old woman?'

Queenie did not deny it.

Garnet tried to save face. ‘Anyway, I knew all that. I was just going to announce my change of plans. The wedding will be here in my chapel. I'm putting you in charge of the ceremony. I want the chapel perfect, polished to a shine. Make sure the blacksmith fixes that damned bell. And tell the priest he's to wear robes fit for a coronation.'

Queenie had the final word as she turned to leave. ‘You're deluding yourself if you think Marmaduke will toe the line and marry there. If you want the chapel restored, get your mistress to do it. She must be good at
something
.'

Garnet knew the insult was deliberately timed because Elise had just appeared in the doorway beside Rhys Powell.

Several assigned servant girls hung at the fringe of the vestibule but Bridget was the only one who openly smirked at Queenie's barbed comment.

Garnet's secretary hurried to his side, carrying an armful of books, with a flushed and anxious Elise at his heels. Garnet was uncomfortably aware of the way his mistress watched him like a hawk, afraid he was building up to another manic episode. Although this surveillance was one of her paid duties, the anxiety in her eyes irritated him.

Anyone would think the bitch cared about me.

‘Where the hell have you been, Powell? I gave you instructions to teach Elise the alphabet and write her name, not to read the bible from cover to cover.'

Elise looked so stricken Garnet instantly regretted humiliating her in front of the servants. It was his secretary who jumped to her rescue.

‘Miss Elise is an avid pupil, sir. I am delighted by her progress and feel sure you will take pride in her accomplishments.'

Refusing to be mollified Garnet turned his anger on his servants. ‘What are you gawking at? Back to your duties the lot of you. This house must be in perfect condition from top to bottom for my son's return. Every man Jack of you who falls down on the job gets shunted back to the Female Factory or the Prisoners' Barracks.'

He pointed at little Spotty Mary, who was quacking in her boots. ‘You! Clean up this broken china.'

As Elise passed him at the foot of the stairs she tentatively touched his shoulder and said softly, ‘I'll wait for you in my chamber, Garnet, dear. I must speak with you about a new gown for the wedding. I've nothing
á la mode
for such an important occasion.'

Garnet cut her short. ‘Your job is to transform Miranda's chambers into the bridal suite.'

Elise coloured in embarrassment and lowered her voice. ‘Miranda's room? But that's
my
room, Garnet.'

‘
Was.
Miranda and I spent our honeymoon in that bed. So will Marmaduke. Clear out all your stuff.'

He turned to Powell. ‘You. In my library. There's a fresh pile of mail. One has the Governor's seal. I knew there was no way the powers that be would ignore the arrival of a de Rolland in the Colony.'

Seated behind his desk Garnet weighed the envelope addressed to Miss Isabel de Rolland with a mixture of pleasure and frustration.

‘No doubt it's an invitation, eh? I don't suppose there's any way you can open it without breaking the seal?'

Rhys Powell said stiffly, ‘That's what a wax seal is designed to prevent, sir. To preserve state secrets and communications of a highly personal nature.'

‘I know that!' Garnet snapped. ‘All right. Read the rest of them.'

Edwin Bentleigh had written a polite reminder of Garnet's promise to concede the deeds of Mingaletta on his marriage.

‘The man writes like the proverbial iron fist in the velvet glove,' Garnet grumbled. ‘He continues to refuse to hand over the new papers before I've signed the deeds.'

‘Why not, sir?'

‘Because the man's no fool. He doesn't trust me!'

Rhys Powell looked taken aback. ‘I see. Then how do you wish me to respond, sir?'

‘Tell him he's to get himself down here for the banquet I'm giving for the best people in the county to meet our new bride. God knows Bentleigh's the only respectable friend Marmaduke has. I can't have the whole damned county thinking my son only hobnobs with gamblers, jockeys, libertines, actors and low life.'

The secretary coughed discreetly. ‘Excuse me, sir, but what is the wedding date?'

‘I haven't decided that yet. What's next?'

Rhys Powell read out a number of what Garnet derisively called ‘begging letters' – requests from charities and institutions to which Garnet gave regular generous donations and a few on whose committees Garnet held a seat. He gave the nod to the Quaker Australian School Society.

‘That big-noting philanthropist Sam Terry was elected to their committee so there's no bar to Emancipists there. Double his donation. Let's see if that draws an invitation.'

Garnet didn't hesitate to throw his weight behind plans for the new Sydney College.

‘Keep an eye out for any newspaper reports. I won't support it unless it sticks to its charter to admit lads from poor families who've got the brains to make a go of education. Terry says the shareholders are flooded with applications, some from men who are in a position to
give
charity rather than claim a free education for their sons! Mean bastards!'

Rhys Powell tried to distract him. ‘What a coincidence, sir. Here's a letter to you signed by the Worshipful Master of Lodge 260 – Samuel Terry no less.'

Garnet looked wary. ‘What's he want?'

‘To advise you he'll be pleased to nominate Marmaduke as a member of your lodge.'

‘He will, will he? Write and thank him. In that case you'd best invite him and Rosetta to the banquet as well. They probably won't come, too hell-bent on making money, but it won't lower the tone to have the odd Emancipist amongst the gentry.'

Catching sight of his secretary's expression, Garnet said crisply, ‘Next?'

‘I'm the bearer of bad news, I'm afraid. A death in the family.'

‘Not my lot. They're all long gone.'

‘It's from a Mr Claude Appleby, one of your London lawyers.'

‘An Emancipist's son. Tricky as hell, thank God. So who's snuffed it? If there's any justice it'll be Godfrey de Rolland.'

‘Mr Appleby begs to inform you of the death of Martha de Rolland, Isabel's aunt who it seems was also her cousin.'