Ghost Gum Valley (33 page)

‘I stand corrected,' he said amiably. ‘It's nice to know we at least have one love in common – Shakespeare.'

That evening Marmaduke ordered dinner to be sent to her room but left her to her own devices. Isabel checked the door between their adjoining rooms, satisfied that the key was on her side of the lock. Marmaduke no doubt would spend the evening in the saloon drinking, talking politics with the local settlers and championing Governor Bourke's radical policies.

Isabel eyed the locked trunks in frustration – Marmaduke held the keys. Exploration of her new trousseau, made by Madame Hortense, would have to wait. She curled up on the bed to read the backlog of English newspapers, surprised by the weight of evidence that time in the Northern Hemisphere had not stood still. Wars, assassinations,
revolutions, famines, royal births, deaths and marriages were covered by lurid headlines and often by a style of bombastic, jingoistic journalism far removed from normal speech. One minute Isabel felt a wave of nostalgia for Home, the next emotionally divorced from events that were some four months old by the time they arrived here and by now could well be reversed.

From the Colony's newspapers she absorbed every detail of blood-thirsty murder trials, a notice of Rupert Grantham's accusation of libel, bushrangers' bail-ups of homesteads and lone travellers and the Government
Gazette
's accounts of Governor Bourke's battle to implement new statutes in the face of opposition from the Exclusives faction.

There were columns of advertisements for everything from China tea to thoroughbred horses, dates of auctions of newly arrived cargo that Isabel now knew was often English stolen property. She looked wistfully at the list of shipping arrivals, hoping that if her contract worked out, it would one day list a ship bearing Aunt Elisabeth and Rose Alba.

Alerted by the
Sydney Herald
's account of the daring exploits of a bushranger active in the Bloodwood locality, Isabel hurried downstairs to the men's saloon where Marmaduke sat in his shirtsleeves, drinking with Thomas and two rough, loud-mouthed Colonials. Marmaduke looked as much at ease as if he'd known them all his life.

She was struck by the thought that though he placed heavy demands on Thomas's time he did not draw the traditional line between master and servant.

At the sight of her Marmaduke sprang up and steered her out into the corridor.

‘This saloon is strictly for blokes. Not one of your sleepy English villages where the farmers have known each other since 1066. Some of these old lags haven't set eyes on a white woman in months. They're tanked up with enough grog to float the Royal Navy. When they fancy a girl they don't take “no” for an answer. Understand me?'

‘Perfectly.' Isabel was inwardly shaken but thrust the newspaper at him.

‘I thought your father might be in danger.'

Marmaduke frowned as he scanned the report. ‘Yeah. That sounds like Paddy Whickett, the bloke who's sworn vengeance on
all landowners who've brutalised their convicts. So that makes my father a likely candidate. I only hope I reach Garnet in time to get the deeds to Mingaletta signed.'

Marmaduke ignored her shocked reaction. ‘I'll join you upstairs in a minute. There are things you need to know about Garnet before we hit Bloodwood.'

It was a full hour before he entered her bedchamber wearing a sheepish expression and nursing a bottle of wine. He was far from drunk but wine had made him friendly.

‘I just cleaned up at cards. A Royal Flush won me a prize bull. He'll come in handy to service a mob of cows when I stock Mingaletta.'

Isabel refused his offer of wine and took the lead. ‘So what's the mystery? I know next to nothing about your family. If you expect me to give a convincing performance as your adoring bride, I need to know what kind of audience I'm playing to.'

Marmaduke helped himself to a drink. ‘Righto, Garnet Gamble in a nutshell. He's a born bully, seasoned womaniser, crooked businessman, feared tyrant hated by his assigned men. And, in terms of the law, he's as devious as Machiavelli.' He added wryly, ‘And that's Garnet's
good
side.'

‘Surely you're biased. I'm not a child. I need to know how your father will react when he realises my family cheated him, sending him tainted goods?'

Marmaduke didn't bother to offer a polite denial. ‘Don't worry. To Garnet you're the genuine blue-blooded article, that's all that matters to a man desperate for acceptance by the Quality. His CP – conditional pardon – means he can never return to the Mother England that chucked him out. But didn't your family warn you about Garnet's history?'

‘They told
me
nothing. Except it was my role to preserve the family honour. For Heaven's sake, Marmaduke, I have the right to know. I told you the truth about
my
shame!'

He took a swig of his wine. ‘The truth is Garnet Gamble is quite mad.'

‘Oh, is that all?' she said relieved. ‘The British aristocracy's rife with it. Uncle Godfrey's friend is an earl whose poodles dine off gold plates at his banquet table.'

‘No. Garnet's not one of your amusing eccentrics beloved by the English. He suffers periodic fits of violent insanity. If he wasn't the second richest man in the Colony, free to buy protection, he'd be carted off to a lunatic asylum and they'd throw away the key.'

Isabel felt faint. ‘I don't believe you.'

‘You will soon enough. Garnet's not the only entrepreneur in the Colony whose condition is tolerated. No doubt you've heard of John Macarthur? One of our most powerful “pure merinos”, the man many said was responsible for Governor Bligh being removed from office. Y'know, William Bligh of the
Bounty
Mutiny fame? Macarthur's imbalance was common knowledge for years but it didn't prevent his election to the Legislative Council. Until finally Governor Bourke was pressured to remove him on the grounds that Macarthur had been “pronounced a lunatic and there was little hope of his restoration”.'

Isabel was so stunned she felt her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth.

‘But I understood your father is a brilliant entrepreneur.'

Marmaduke shrugged. ‘He is – between times. Why should that surprise you? Poor old George III was totally lucid between his bouts of insanity and much loved by the people, but that didn't prevent his son becoming Regent when His Maj was locked from sight.'

Isabel managed to ask, ‘Exactly how ill is your poor father?'

‘I don't claim Garnet's that far gone yet but there's no known cure and the quacks can't predict just how crazy he'll end up. It's said that Macarthur's insanity is the legacy of Cape fever he picked up in the port of Cape Town years ago. Maybe Garnet also copped a dose of that when he was transported. Who knows? He won't talk about his months on the
Fortune,
a hell ship from the sound of it.' With a note of bitter irony, Marmaduke added, ‘So now you know why I vowed never to marry. No woman will ever give birth to a child of mine. Garnet's dynasty will die with me.'

‘But you're bad, not mad,' she said without thinking. ‘Forgive me. That was cruel.'

‘But accurate. Madness is a matter of degree. I have some of the same symptoms – a violent temper and periodic melancholia. I'm told Garnet appeared to be perfectly sane as a young man when he married
Mother, but it's a progressive disease. I don't intend to live long enough to be locked away. Before I reach that stage...' He pointed his finger like a pistol at his temple and mimed pulling the trigger. ‘Sorry to be blunt. I'll tell you what you need to know for your survival.'

Isabel asked quickly, ‘Survival from your father or from you?'

‘You're in no danger at
my
hands, Isabel. At least not for the brief term of our contract. So let's enjoy life while we can, eh?'

He attempted a short laugh but she saw how his hands twitched with nerves.

‘I should also warn you about Bloodwood Hall. Terrible things have happened there, leaving their imprint on every stone. Some claim the place is haunted. I don't. But for me it harbours nothing but bad memories. We must stay under Garnet's roof until the deeds to Mingaletta are handed over. Not an hour longer. I hate the damned house so much if it were mine I'd burn it to the ground.' On a swift change of mood he added lightly, ‘That's enough true confessions for one night. I reckon I could use another drink. Care to join me?'

This time Isabel readily agreed. When he filled her glass she lightly touched his hand.

‘Marmaduke, I can't pretend to like you. But I want you to know one thing. You're in no danger of betrayal at my hands. I am your ally for as long as it takes.'

Marmaduke looked at her long and hard before he said at last, ‘Thank you, soldier.'

It was late afternoon the following day when Thomas drew the horses to a halt and spoke to Isabel out of the corner of his mouth.

‘The Garnet and Rose is Bloodwood's only safe inn. It's owned by Mr Gamble Senior. Rival shanties would cut your throat for a ha'penny.'

‘Thanks for the reference, Thomas,' Marmaduke said dryly, ‘but there's no need to scare my bride out of her wits.'

Bloodwood Village sat on a rise overlooking Scavengers Creek. Ram-shackle wooden buildings had mushroomed up out of the bush along a single street that dissected the hamlet like the crooked spine of a hunchback. To Isabel, this was civilisation after hours of charging through dense eucalypt forests devoid of any sign of human habitation.

Marmaduke wagged a warning finger. ‘Do me a favour. Don't wander off!'

Before Isabel had time to snap back a reply he stalked off in the direction of the Garnet and Rose. It was clear her father-in-law left his stamp on everything he touched.

Marmaduke returned holding the reins of two horses, one with a lady's sidesaddle, the other with two saddlebags.

‘I want to show you Mingaletta before we confront Garnet. Thomas can stay here and bring the carriage tomorrow. Of course, if you're not up to riding a horse?'

Isabel had little experience with horses but there was no way she was going to appear a helpless female. ‘Why wait? I could go on all night.'

Marmaduke helped her mount the bay mare, positioned her on the lady's side-saddle, checked her stirrups then mounted the stallion carrying their saddlebags and took the lead crossing the bridge across Scavengers Creek.

A few miles on they passed a grand house set a half mile back from the road.

‘That's our nearest neigbour, Penkivil Park,' Marmaduke said laconically. ‘Owner's a military officer. We often got invited there in Mother's day. Now the Gambles are
persona non grata
.'

Over the next half hour as the light faded they followed a narrow zig-zag track crowded by overhanging branches. Isabel cried out in excitement at the sight of a huge lizard she recognised from a drawing. She gasped when it opened its mouth in a ferocious leer.

‘Look, isn't that a goanna?'

Marmaduke barely gave it a glance. ‘Yeah, good tucker. When I was a kid the tribes who passed through Mingaletta roasted goannas under hot coals in pits. It's called lazybed cooking. The blacks took a shine to me. I shared their bush tucker, unknown to Garnet.'

‘Why? Didn't he like them?'

‘Who? The goannas or the blacks?' Marmaduke gave a snort. ‘Neither. Garnet ran the blacks off his land. Mother couldn't prevent that but she threatened to leave him if he fired a shot at them. As for goannas, Garnet was hell-bent on raising me to be a gentleman and in his book gents don't eat bush tucker. But I'm
grateful for what the blacks taught me. If I'm ever lost in the bush I'd never starve.'

He glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘I'd take you camping on a bivouac, teach you how to cook snake and 'roo and eat live witchety grubs but I reckon an English girl wouldn't have the stomach for it.'