Ghost Gum Valley (40 page)

‘Thank God, you're alive!' Marmaduke lost control. It wasn't an act of lust or love. A brief primitive coupling that shocked him. Proving to each other that they had cheated death.

Marmaduke carried her inside the deep cave, lit a fire and gently stripped her unresisting body of its wet underclothing. He bundled
her into a nightgown and his own woollen socks to warm her feet then added layers of his flannel shirt and vest, towelled her hair, rolled her in the blanket and bundled her close to the fire. He attempted to hold her in his arms to warm her, but she appeared to have withdrawn into a space where he could not follow.

Oh my God, does she remember what just happened? What do I do? How can I explain what I don't understand myself?
It's all so unreal.

Marmaduke felt his throat constrict when he saw Isabel was staring at him with that strangely withdrawn expression he had seen the night she had walked in her sleep.

Is she really with me? Or somewhere else?

‘They can't drown witches,' she said, then closed her eyes as if to blot out the world.

‘Brandy straight,' he ordered, ready to block any resistance.

She offered none. She drank it down, only half aware of him. In the role of a gentle but firm father he coaxed her, spooning into her mouth the thick soup he heated over the fire.

‘How do you feel?'

‘I thought you'd left me to die. Saved yourself. I didn't blame you. I was only afraid of dying with you on my conscience. I lied to you.'

He handed her another tumbler of brandy. ‘You don't owe me a thing, little one. You're alive, that's all that counts.'

‘I thought I could never trust any man alive. But if I had died Rose Alba would be lost forever...'

Is she talking to me? Or in her sleep? Rose Alba. Old fashioned white roses.

Marmaduke sat near her, careful not to touch her – and waited.

Isabel stared into the fire. He listened intently to the broken phrases that reminded him of some lost child, afraid of the dark, afraid of strangers, afraid of death and afraid of life. He kept the brandy flowing, determined not to break the flow of images that might lead him to the truth. Isabel no longer acknowledged him but she was breathing, warm and alive and, for now, that was all that mattered to him.

Marmaduke controlled his urge to ask questions. Her fragmented words were divorced from sequential time and place. Instinct told
him,
do nothing, say nothing.
God willing she'll sense my protection. I'll never let anyone hurt you again, Isabel.

Piece by piece he put together her dislocated story. His mind was a battlefield, torn between two conflicting emotions. His desire to protect the child-Isabel that was trapped inside her. And his hatred for the man who had scarred her life.

By nightfall Marmaduke believed he knew the truth. Isabel, the lonely little girl dominated by the kinsman she loved and trusted. How easily a man with a manipulative mind had convinced a sensitive small child she was cursed, the spawn of a witch. Isabel's child's mind believed him. That she was so evil she would destroy any man who loved her – except Silas! And this man's power over her was so strong Isabel still believed the lie.

Marmaduke had thought he was shockproof until now. Isabel's childhood fear of drowning now made horrific sense to him.

Trial by water! When she was a small child Silas put her through the same diabolical test the Inquisiters practised for centuries. An accused witch was proven innocent if she drowned, guilty if she survived! Jesus Christ, the man's a monster.

Marmaduke finally could not restrain himself. He broke the spell, reached out and held her hand.

‘Listen to me! You were an innocent child – he was an adult. An evil man. You think God doesn't know that?'

Isabel seemed to be vaguely aware of him but too weary to argue. She shook her head. ‘Silas was right. You know why?' Her voice dropped to a whisper as she made her confession.

Exhausted she turned her face away and fell instantly into a deep sleep. Marmaduke kept the fire stoked. He felt an unexpected jolt of tenderness mixed with rage as he watched over her, the delicate sleeping face framed by the ragged hair he had hacked to set her free.

He could not sleep, haunted by Isabel's whispered confession. The words she had said as a child when she believed she was drowning. ‘I forfeited God's forgiveness forever. You see, I wanted to live so badly I prayed to
the Devil
to save me – and he
did
.'

The words made Marmaduke's blood run cold.

She believes it was Silas who saved her. The Devil in human form.

Marmaduke now knew with cold certainty what Isabel had wiped from her memory, the root cause of her sleepwalking sickness. He saw in Isabel's sleeping face the thirteen-year-old girl who had had no conscious memory of how she came by the child. She had fled to the Gypsies in the woods to give birth. Branded herself in the eyes of her family with the crime of infanticide rather than reveal the truth. That she had hidden the babe to protect it from Silas de Rolland.

The face of the beloved cousin was unknown to him but Marmaduke had formed a vivid picture of the man through Isabel's words. He imagined that Silas was now facing him at the mouth of the cave.

You stole Isabel's innocence, her childhood. But I'll die before I let you claim the rest of her life.

Chapter 27

‘That damned Merlin's Mechanical Chair – where the hell have you hidden it?'

Garnet's voice was so loud it ricocheted off the walls right down the length of the east wing. It gave him a sense of pleasure to know that at least his voice was as strong as ever and could still trigger the response of rattled servants' footsteps that responded to him like scurrying mice.

Three of the convict ‘Marys' appeared at either ends of the corridor. Black Mary, Red Mary and Spotty Mary, the girl with skin like a speckled hen – each was still young enough and newly assigned enough to panic when he bellowed his commands. In contrast, Bridget always took her time to respond, playing on her unspoken status in the relationship with her Master. But lazy as she was Garnet knew she could be counted on to boss the other assigned lasses into doing
her
share of the work. Bridget had her uses. Not least, she was the sharpest of his informers.

Bridget was last to arrive with her usual swaying of the hips. ‘You called,
sir
?'

‘You took your time! I'm holding you responsible for finding that damned Merlin chair before sunset. I haven't used it for a year since I broke my ankle but it must be stored somewhere. Cost me a fortune to import it. This place is falling apart. Fordham's slacking. If I don't get all the assigned men back into line nobody will. You lot! First one of you to find my Merlin wheelchair contraption gets a half day off!'

‘Yes, sir,' ‘Indeed, sir,' came in a flurry of accents as they fled in different directions. In contrast Bridget stood her ground.

‘It's being where you left it, sir. You presented it to the Catholic priest last winter because he was suffering the gout. He's had your Irish assigned men praying for you at Mass ever since, he has.'

Embarrassed by his lapse of memory Garnet stomped off down the path with Amaru chortling on his shoulder. His eye was caught by two figures seated in the shade of a tree.

Rhys Powell and Elise sat on separate benches but their heads were close together as Rhys bent over the book in Elise's lap and underlined a phrase with one finger. She nodded like an obedient child and began to mouth the words, darting anxious looks at Rhys to seek his approval. Both were clearly unaware of being observed.

Garnet grudgingly gave a silent nod of approval. His shy young Welsh secretary was clearly doing his utmost to make his master's mistress literate but Garnet was not fool enough to show Elise open encouragement. The woman expected to be rewarded financially for every favour she did, in bed or out of it. He considered she was overpaid as it was.

On second thoughts, Garnet wondered who else could be relied on to keep his dark secret when he felt that terrible need taking hold of him, blotting out all reason, except for the desire to inflict pain. No one but Elise. Now more than ever these increasing episodes must remain their shared secret. He was determined that Isabel as the new mistress of Bloodwood Hall would not discover his secret life and be repelled by him.

He looked up at the sky and sent up a mental challenge.

If you are there, do the decent thing and grant me time to see Marmaduke and his bride settled here and my dynasty safe in their hands. Before I go the way of old Macarthur.

Fired by the sudden suspicion that Marmaduke might have played a monumental trick on him, Garnet let out a roar across the garden that caused Rhys Powell to jump to his feet and Elise to drop her primer. Garnet noted that today her gown was surprisingly demure, a modesty scarf covered the expanse of white flesh she usually flaunted in the presence of men.

He did not stop to speak but Amaru acknowledged them with a litany of cheerful encouragements. ‘That's the way to do it! That's the way to do it!'

When Garnet reached Queenie's cottage she opened the door, wearing a purple sari and her traditional haughty expression.

Garnet stared her out. ‘I need your help,' he said quietly. ‘Your promise.'

The expression in Queenie's black eyes was instantly on guard. He realised he had finally succeeded in throwing her off balance but he took no joy in the discovery.

‘What is this? Blackmail?' she asked.

‘Call it a compromise. Ever since the day I married Miranda she insisted her half-sister must live here in my original old cottage under my protection. I have kept my word, even though you've shown me nothing but antagonism.'

‘Mutual contempt,' she said acidly.

‘In all these years you and I shared only one good thing. Our concern for Marmaduke.'

Queenie snorted in derision. ‘Liar. You've put that poor lad through Hell ever since he was in swaddling clothes. Nothing he ever did was right in your eyes. You broke his heart when you caused his mother to die from your neglect. Then on his wedding day—'

‘Tell me something I don't know!' he shouted. ‘Don't you understand, woman, I would cut off both my legs with a hacksaw if I could change the past!'

The raw passion in his voice stunned them both. Queenie pulled the veil of her sari around her head and watched him with a new look in her eyes, as if uncertain how to evaluate the change in him.

‘Don't tell me you're growing soft in your old age,' she said warily.

‘No chance of that. But it's not too late for us to save the lad. Cut him free from the legacy of hate inside him that will destroy him. I want only one thing. To live long enough to see Marmaduke take his rightful place in the world. Learn to trust himself. Learn to
love.
'

‘Trust? Love? Did you think you could buy all that for him? By an arranged marriage with a de Rolland bride? You must be mad.'

‘Don't you see? I was desperate. For years I've kept tabs on him. Despite his wild living he refused to court young girls. He abhorred the idea of marriage.'

‘After Elise jilted him,' she said sharply.

‘All right! But there was never any proof he'd even slept with a woman. He never laid a hand on Elise.'

‘Just proves his good taste! He's not like
you.
Bedding everything in petticoats.'

Garnet clenched his teeth, knowing his anger would not win Queenie to his cause.

‘Listen, Queenie, believe one thing of me. Ever since Marmaduke was a little chap I could see what was inside him and tried to curb
it. He's intelligent and gifted but also impulsive, headstrong, undisciplined, lazy. He's inherited the worst traits of his mother.' He forced himself to say the painful words. ‘Yes, yes, and his father!'

The weight of the silence that hung between them was so leaden Garnet didn't know what words to choose to exact from Queenie the promise he desperately needed. She leant forwards in her chair and watched him like a hawk.

‘What do you want of me, Garnet? I promise nothing, except I will hear you out. But only for Marmaduke's sake.'

‘The moment I sign over Mingaletta to Marmaduke he'll turn his back on me.'

‘You'll lose your control over him!'

‘I'll lose
my
son
! His bride is my one hope of keeping a link with him. Isabel is very young, inexperienced and charming. She appears to be devoted to him. But I have reason to believe she carries scars from her childhood. She's proved her loyalty to the de Rolland family. But I
must
know. Is she true of heart? Will she stick by my boy for better and worse? Or is she here purely out of honour? Does she have her eye on my fortune? You've talked to her. Tell me the truth. I
trust your judgement
.' He gave a sharp laugh. ‘Do you know what it cost me to admit that?'