Ghost Gum Valley (61 page)

‘It is not for me to judge you, Miranda. My own past is far from spotless. But the man who loved you most is suffering terribly. If you have the power to haunt his house, as Queenie and the servants say you do, I ask your soul to show some compassion to Garnet.'

Isabel pulled out the weeds that had grown since her last visit and arranged the fresh flowers in the stone urn.

Ever since that extraordinary act of love with Marmaduke when she had cried for the first time in her life, Isabel had lost her fear of many things. She now felt it was quite possible that God might be listening to her, so she decided to pray as an act of faith.

‘Please God, let Miranda's soul rest in peace. And bring peace to the living souls in the house. Comfort Garnet so that he will no longer feel the need to punish himself. Thy will be done, Lord, not mine. And bring Marmaduke safely home to me.'

On her return to where her mare was tethered she passed the public right of way that cut across the Gamble estate, granting access to any villagers who wanted to tend the graves of the pioneers buried in Garnet's family graveyard.

At the far end of this lane where it joined the road to the village, Isabel noticed a stationary carriage. Even at that distance the elegant
lines proclaimed it was a fashionable carriage; it was drawn by a pair of greys. The livery-clad driver had alighted to stretch his legs and smoke a pipe. Who in that backwater village owned a carriage as fine as this?

The graveyard was empty except for its staggered rows of tombstones but Isabel's throat constricted with fear at the sight of a gentleman's top hat resting on a raised marble tombstone. A hat tied with a black chiffon streamer of mourning. Beside it lay a gold and ebony walking stick.

Her heart raced with sickening speed. From behind the wall of Garnet's mausoleum emerged the tall figure of a gentleman of rank dressed in mourning regalia, a black armband on the sleeve of his tailcoat.

The sun shone on his light brown hair and his smiling face but Isabel gave a shudder of dread.

‘What are you doing here, Silas?' she demanded.

‘Waiting for you,
ma petite cousine.
I was told in the village it is your custom to visit here each Friday. What else would I be doing in this God-forsaken hole?' His laugh was light and careless. ‘I promised I would come to rescue you. Did you doubt it?'

Rescue me.
Isabel took a step backwards, relieved that her horse was tethered only a few feet away ready for her to take flight. The mare gave a whinny as if to reassure her of its presence.

‘You have no right to come here, Silas. This is private property,' she stammered.

‘Not so, cousin. Even local rustics have right of way to honour their dead. Why are you so surprised to see me? The letter I placed in your cabin trunk made it clear—'

‘I chose not to open it. I have no wish to see you again. Ever.'

There was an expression of hurt on Silas's face that might have convinced a stranger.

‘But Isabel, I have travelled thirteen thousand miles on an appallingly uncomfortable vessel to honour my promise to you. And bring you Uncle Godfrey's sad news.'

‘Uncle Godfrey? Tell me, what's wrong. Now!'

‘Not so hasty, cousin. What became of the fine de Rolland manners you were taught? Tut, tut. Don't tell me that Emancipist's son has
reduced you to the level of a Colonial wench in less than a year?'

Isabel clenched her damp palms, determined not to play by the rules of his game.

Silas is toying with me, confident that his charm is his birthright. What people said is true. He does look like a taller male version of me – enough to be mistaken for my brother. I must avoid looking directly at his eyes. Marmaduke, why aren't you here when I need you?

Despite her panic she managed to answer coolly. ‘I see you are in full mourning. For Martha? Not for Uncle Godfrey? He was well when I left London. Be so good as to deliver his message – then leave.'

Silas flipped the tails of his tailcoat and seated himself beside his hat on the tombstone as casually as if he were an invited guest at a tea party. His eyes were laughing, their power momentarily softened. Silas looked able to live outside of time. He never seemed to have aged beyond his early thirties, except for the fine pencil-thin lines on either side of his mouth.

Don't look at his mouth, don't remember his kisses.

Silas was sure of himself. ‘Impetuous as ever, sweet girl, a rush of questions before a man has time to answer them. It indicates the confused mind of a little English schoolgirl. You have not yet learnt, Isabel.
Ce qui n'est pas clair n'est pas français
.'

‘What is not clear, is not French,' she translated. ‘Your French accent always was appalling, Silas. That quotation is amusing but doesn't apply to me. I see things very clearly now. As Heraclitus said, “You can't step twice into the same river.” I'm no longer your little creature, Silas. I am my own woman. My husband has changed me. Genuine love can do that. That's a joy you're never likely to experience.'

Silas gave a wistful smile. ‘You choose to forget, Isabel. The joy of arousing your love was mine. But my desire to take you in marriage was denied me by your guardian.'

‘I now understand why Uncle Godfrey sent me here. To protect me from you. Deliver his news or I'll leave you to your own company to deliver a graveyard elegy to Martha.'

‘How sharp your tongue has grown. I quite like the change in you, cousin. Docility in a woman becomes cloying over time. As poor Martha proved.' Silas gestured to his mourning weeds and sighed. ‘I
must wear this public tribute to her dear memory for a year. Society demands it.'

Martha loved you with her whole heart. I must refuse to take the bait in her defence – that's just what he wants me to do.

‘I don't believe Uncle Godfrey would use you as a courier when he could write to me directly,' she challenged.

‘That's physically impossible, alas. He has suffered a stroke. Mentally he's quite recovered but his hands are crippled, unable to hold a pen. Your guardian is quite dependent on me.'

‘No longer my legal guardian. I am a married woman. I owe obedience to none but my husband.'

‘Why be faithful to a philandering husband?' Silas looked startled. ‘Forgive me, I see you don't know.'

‘You know nothing of him!'

‘On the contrary, I encountered him recently early one morning in the villa of the actress Josepha St John, where he slept the night with her. I understand from her that you two have a most accommodating marriage. If you don't believe me, ask your husband.'

‘My marriage is no concern of yours. Give me Uncle Godfrey's message or leave!'

Silas's tone was languid. ‘Godfrey wants you to understand that when you wish to end this sham marriage he will welcome you home to resume your rightful place in English Society. He will arrange a divorce. It takes some time, of course, an act of parliament. But what impediment is that to a de Rolland? All is in readiness. Our berths are booked on the first available vessel bound for home. I have only to confirm the date of our departure. On our return to England, when my period of mourning has passed, we will marry. As it was always meant to be.'

‘No! None of that will ever happen, but I will write to Uncle Godfrey myself to thank him for his concern for my welfare.'

Isabel turned away to avoid direct contact with those green eyes that seemed to be a mirror image of her own – except that in Silas's eyes she could find no trace of a soul.

‘I'll save you the trouble,
ma petite cousine
.'

Isabel was quick to regain control. ‘No. I have no need of you to mistranslate my feelings, Silas. You've already done enough harm
in the past as a witness. Garnet Gamble is forever banished from England due to your fabricated evidence at his trial.'

The smile was gone, his tone dangerously polite. ‘Ah, so you've turned your coat, Isabel. You prefer to take the word of a thieving agricultural labourer and convicted felon against the word of your de Rolland kinsman.'

‘Garnet Gamble has never lied to me.
You
have never told me the truth.'

Silas rose with outstretched arms, his palms open in supplication. ‘The truth is I love you. You are my blood. Flesh of my flesh. You were always destined to be with me. Only me.'

‘Don't dare take one step closer.'

Isabel's hands were shaking as she warded him off, determined to divert his attention. ‘Tell me the
whole
truth for once. How did Martha die?'

Silas removed the ebony cane from the top of the grave and idly fingered the gilt knob, fashioned in the shape of a mythical winged creature. There was something about the way he stroked the dragon-like bird's head that made Isabel shudder.

‘Martha. Ah, now thereby hangs a tale. I am afraid it will break your heart.'

‘My heart was broken as a child. I survived. My husband made me whole again.' There was a catch in her voice. ‘Did Martha die at peace? I must at least know that.'

His words were soft but hit their target. ‘Of course, you share my guilt.'

Damn him. He knows exactly how to stab his finger in old wounds that never heal.

‘Carry your own guilt. Just tell me she did not die alone?'

Silas hesitated. As if it was a habit of his he began turning the head of the gold wyvern knob that screwed into the cane. The flesh across his cheekbones was taut, the lines around his mouth deepened. Isabel was afraid that at any moment she would be looking into the eyes of a stranger, the transformation she had learned to fear as a child.

‘Martha knew she was dying before you sailed from England. The leeches could do nothing for her. We all knew it. You alone refused to face the truth, Isabel. Martha wanted you to sail away happy in
the false hope she would recover.' Silas gave her a glance of great sadness. ‘My wife trusted you – the truth would have destroyed her.'

Isabel felt a wave of panic as splintered images of the past flickered before her eyes.
Please God, don't let me remember what I did. I must hang on to Marmaduke's words. Whatever happened, I was only a child – Silas was an adult. I must keep Marmaduke's face in front of me. Marmaduke is real!

‘Go on,' she managed to say coldly.

‘You remember our last night together in London? When Edmund Kean gave us
Othello
?'

‘What has that to do with Martha?' she snapped.

‘I was haunted by the scene Kean never managed to play that night. The scene where Othello smothers Desdemona with a pillow.'

Isabel felt herself rock on the balls of her feet. Her hand reached out but there was nothing on which to steady herself. Unable to move, she dug her fingernails into her hands. As long as she could feel pain she could cling to reality.

Silas's voice was sad as he unscrewed the knob of the cane and held it in the palm of his hand. ‘You have no idea how Martha suffered, Isabel. It was painful for those who loved her to watch her fight for each breath. Believe me I did what I could to relieve her suffering.'

From the top of the cane he removed a small phial.

‘Do you recall this smell, cousin? A little like frankincense, they tell me, an ancient, aromatic aroma laced with spices to make it palatable. Wonderfully effective for a thousand remedies is laudanum.'

Oh God, this isn't happening. Marmaduke – your eyes, your mouth, your words. Don't leave me!

To Isabel is seemed Silas spoke in the protective, comforting voice of a loving husband Martha had deserved but never known. ‘This gentle white powder took away Martha's pain, enough to keep her calm and still. I swear she understood. She watched me, her eyes wide open as I held the pillow. I said, “Goodbye, Martha.” And I ended her suffering.'

Silas raised the cane to his nose and inhaled the laudanum as another man would smell a rose.

‘This little device served me well. The fresh bottle of laudanum by her bedside was discovered next morning untouched. The doctor's
verdict was that the night nurse had accidentally given Martha an overly strong dose of laudanum, causing Martha to roll over in her sleep and smother in her pillow.'

Isabel felt the rising nausea that she remembered was a prelude to fainting. She stepped backwards, edging towards the waiting mare.

Silas was instantly at her side, his arm around her waist pressing her body against him. She felt the heat of his breath as he whispered the words in her ear.

‘It was the right thing to do. From now on we need never feel another moment of guilt. Don't you see? We ended Martha's suffering. It was a kindness. We are free from all impediments. The de Rolland debts are wiped out. Once again we live in luxury. The world is ours, Isabel. We will never be parted again!'

Silas's kiss covered her mouth. Isabel closed her eyes to break contact with those green eyes. She had a vivid image of herself as a young child.

Alone in the darkness of her bedchamber she stirred from sleep. Aware of Silas's face in the shadows. He looked strangely excited as he bent over her, she felt his cool hand slip beneath her nightgown... caressing her body, between her thighs as if it was his right.

Isabel found herself drowning beneath this new kind of kiss – a terrible but exciting kiss that sucked air from her body, blocking her words. She had no power in her body except to move her eyes, searching the wall, the pattern of wallpaper in desperation, trying to escape into the curlicues of the wallpaper, to lose herself so completely that no one would ever find her again.

Isabel was screaming silently inside her head now – as she had as a child. She tried desperately to free herself from Silas's kiss by an act of will.

In her mind she saw Marmaduke's dark eyes watching her. Heard the echo of his words: ‘You had no choice as a child. Now you have. Say you want
me
, my darling!'