Ghost Gum Valley (68 page)

He stood like an actor holding centre stage, the focus of all, bare-headed, unarmed. His white shirt was open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up ready for action. Isabel noticed the slight twitch of fingers that betrayed his nerves and longed to stand at his side. She had never felt more pride in him – or more afraid.

A young lion. Strong, alert. Fully aware of the danger. Challenging Garnet while keeping up the front of solidarity. All these men must know the details of James Leech's crime – and the price he paid on the scaffold. This confrontation could end in bloodshed.

Marmaduke began quietly, choosing down-to-earth language in typical Currency style to hold his audience, his voice projecting clearly to engage their attention.

‘I've called you here together to inform you of changes that affect every man Jack of you and every woman – whether bond, free or holding a ticket.

‘I don't have to tell any of you the Colonial grapevine spreads
wild rumours as well as the odd grain of truth, so it won't come as a surprise that with Garnet Gamble's blessing I've inherited my mother's land. I'll be working Mingaletta myself.' He paused to add significantly, ‘without an overseer.'

Isabel glanced furtively at Garnet's impassive face.

Marmaduke's gone mad! He's waving a red rag at a bull. Garnet hasn't even handed over the deeds yet. Or is that what just occurred in the library?

As Marmaduke continued talking up the crowd he moved deeper into their midst, turning to focus on different faces, an actor intent on involving his whole audience. But the circle around him seemed to be shrinking as men edged closer. Isabel grew tense, reminded of that dramatic scene in
Julius Caesar,
when the Roman senators surrounded Caesar and plunged their knives into him.

Marmaduke seemed oblivious to danger. ‘I return on the wings of change. I doubt if any man, bond or free, would argue that radical improvements to the System are long overdue.'

His gesture invited their response. Their murmured comments were not aggressive but Isabel knew it only needed one violent mind to turn the mood of the crowd.

‘The question is which changes are possible? A wise old Greek once said, “Even God cannot change the past.”'

Isabel rolled her eyes to heaven.
Aristotle! Even in a crisis Marmaduke can't resist quoting from the classics. Now I know just how nervous he is.

‘The past is history,' he said. ‘But every man and woman in this Colony, bond or free, can help alter the future. Begin to build a new life.'

An Irish voice belonging to a wild giant of a man broke through the crowd in open mockery.

‘Easy for him to say. Master's son is not having to serve fourteen years or life!'

Marmaduke seized on the open challenge. ‘Spoken like a true Irishman. You hit the nail on the head. I was born free, the son of an Emancipist – a Currency Lad just like your own sons will be. But at nineteen I left my father's house to do it
my
way. I travelled the land we live in. Learnt to work it, respect its challenges. I've done time
on the West Coast as a drover, a stockman. Been a carpenter's mate, built bush huts from the mighty Murray River to the Swan. I learnt bushcraft from old lags in Moreton Bay and Van Diemen's Land, who weren't above teaching a greenhorn like me. I can brand cattle with the best of them. No shearer would call me a top gun, but I can hold my own in a shearing shed. I drove a bullock team from beyond the Black Stump to South Australia – where else do you think I learnt to swear like a bullocky?'

There was a rumble of reluctant laughter and Isabel sensed the tension was draining from the crowd. Some men were eyeing him as if for the first time.

‘Now you know
my
record. Most men here are serving seven or fourteen years. Whether you copped it guilty or innocent – I can't change that. I don't have to tell you blokes about British law. Grand in theory, rotten at worst and dodgy in practice if you don't have the price of a decent lawyer. But British democracy is all we've got until we Australians invent something better for ourselves, eh?'

He paused to let that idea sink in. ‘Meanwhile you have my word and I speak for Garnet Gamble. From this day onwards every man here who chooses to stay and work Bloodwood Hall and Mingaletta will earn his ticket of leave and be free to work for wages long before his sentence expires.'

Angry voices called from the rear of the crowd. ‘
Choose
to stay?' ‘Fat chance of that!'

‘Three choices! You can bolt. Have a brief taste of freedom before the traps or the Finisher cops you.' Marmaduke looked around him. ‘Yeah. Like James Leech and Will Barrenwood.'

There was an ugly silence. Isabel's knees buckled when she saw the same Irish giant was cradling an axe. Had Marmaduke seen him?

He pressed on. ‘Or you can return to Hyde Park convict barracks in Sydney Town and take your chances on being assigned to a master who's better or worse. Or you can choose to remain with us.'

Marmaduke gestured in the direction of the avenue of Bloodwoods. ‘The gates are open. Your choice.'

The red-headed Irish giant had appointed himself spokesman.

‘Ye would be suggesting we stick with the devil we know, Fordham the Flogger? What rum choice is
that
?'

Marmaduke quickly agreed. ‘No choice at all. That's why I called you here to witness
this.
'

At his signal the crowd divided to allow young Davey the ostler to cross to Marmaduke's side leading a stallion loaded with two saddlebags.

An incredulous voice called out, ‘Saints preserve us, that is being Fordham's nag.'

Marmaduke stroked the horse's nose. ‘Right. Fordham is in Bloodwood village. Your overseer has ended his tenure at Bloodwood Hall,' he gestured to his father, ‘on the orders of Garnet Gamble.'

Alarmed, Isabel tightened her grip on Garnet's arm.
Marmaduke's really rubbing salt in the wound.

At a nod from Marmaduke, Davey swung himself up into the saddle.

‘Davey is delivering Fordham's horse to the village. The Flogger's quitting this locality forever. We're got a good bloke ready to step into his shoes.'

Necks craned as Marmaduke beckoned to a figure at the back of the crowd. Isabel smiled with real pleasure when she saw the young man step forwards wearing a cabbage tree straw hat, striped shirt, moleskin trousers and riding boots. He was suntanned and carried himself with confidence but there was no mistaking the old Murray Robertson.

Marmaduke introduced him. ‘Don't let this bloke's youth fool you. He's as tough as they come, descended from a clan of Highland Jacobites – they don't come much tougher than his mob. Murray Robertson's dead straight and gives every man his due. He's in Ford-ham's shoes as from tomorrow. It's Davey's job to make sure the Flogger hits the road tonight.'

Davey was clearly elated to be entrusted with the task. He directed a question at the crowd. ‘Any farewell messages ye want me to deliver to the Flogger?'

A sea of hands was instantly raised in the insulting two-fingered salute, followed by a wave of comments so ribald Isabel bit her lip to conceal her laughter.

Davey rode off to the sound of cheering. Marmaduke took back control of the crowd and spun around with a dramatic sweep of his arms.

‘Fordham's methods of punishment are dead and gone. Murray and I will investigate all claims of abuse – of
any
nature. No woman or lad on this estate will be molested or harassed by
any
man. All of you have the right under the law to go before a magistrate if you have a grievance.' He turned to Garnet. ‘Right, Father?'

Isabel saw from Garnet's clenched jaw that he was inwardly seething, but his voice still had the ring of authority.

‘You heard him! You have the word of the Gambles. Father and son.'

Isabel searched the faces in the crowd trying to assess the range of feelings from guarded disbelief, confusion to a bewildered sense of triumph. She froze when she saw the Irishman cradling the axe move forwards again.

Marmaduke held up his hand for silence. ‘I want every man on this estate to be vigilant about unwelcome guests. That includes a gentleman named Silas de Rolland, who's leased Penkivil Park. He has no business here.'

Isabel's flood of relief came in tandem with her guilt that she had not told Marmaduke of Silas's visit. Too late now. Marmaduke drew her to his side.

What on earth is he going to say now?

‘I understand my wife is well known to you,' he announced on a note of pride.

A young lad was quick to respond. ‘Yeah, it was her what stopped Fordham from flogging Paddy Whickett. She put an end to the lash. No more “red shirts”.'

Marmaduke's question caught them off guard. ‘Which man is our top timber-cutter?'

The crowd pushed forwards the giant, whose arms were tattooed with hearts and anchors.

‘I reckon that'd be me,' he said, nursing his axe.

‘Right,' said Marmaduke. ‘I see you've come ready for work. So you'd be the right bloke to make short work of hacking
that
down for firewood.'

All heads swivelled in the direction of the hated wooden stocks that had been used to punish and humiliate prisoners for years.

‘No time like the present,' Marmaduke said.

The woodcutter gave a beatific grin, exposing broken teeth, and turned to cut a swathe through the crowd. He swung his axe over his head. His first blow cut deep into the stocks' framework and drew a unanimous cheer that was repeated with each successive blow until the structure lay like splintered firewood.

Marmaduke slipped his arm around Isabel's shoulder. ‘Before you return to your assigned places, next Friday is free from all work. We'll be turning a few sheep on the spit and draining a few kegs of ale to celebrate the new era on Mingaletta and to welcome Murray Robertson as the new overseer of Bloodwood Hall.'

Isabel knew that no man present was going to respect an overseer until he proved himself to be decent, but as the men filed back to their tasks she was relieved to see most of them appeared to be relaxed. She was suffering a wave of aftershock from the realisation how close Marmaduke had been to an armed convict – and a riot.

When Murray bowed to her, hat in hand, she impulsively embraced him then quickly explained to the Gamble men. ‘This man was a protective brother to me on the voyage out. I'd not have survived without him.'

‘I trust I'll live up to your son's confidence in me, sir,' Murray said to Garnet.

The response was polite but Isabel knew the older Gamble was furious his son had gone behind his back and usurped his power to interview, hire and fire men in his empire.

When Murray was escorted to his new quarters in Fordham's former cabin, Isabel fell into step between the two Gamble men, linking her arms with them to return to the house.

‘I'm so proud of you both. Like father like son. Today is a shining moment in Bloodwood history, isn't it? A fine example for neighbouring estates. I think this calls for our own celebration tonight, don't you, Garnet?'

‘Of course, m'dear.'

Marmaduke's smile now reflected genuine relief. Isabel saw he needed no reminder of the danger of his impromptu performance. He had walked unarmed into mass of hostile felons in whose eyes the executed James Leech was a martyred hero. No doubt a legend had already begun to grow around his name.

Isabel sent up a fervent prayer that Marmaduke's courage had begun to establish his own reputation as a landowner who played fair.

Invited by Garnet to join him for a dram of whisky in his office, Marmaduke hesitated but Isabel quickly included herself in the invitation, sensing her father-in-law was all geared to challenge his son but would not do so in her presence.

Isabel longed to share Marmaduke's urgent bedroom plans but she was determined to prevent Garnet's post mortem about his son's revolutionary tactics.

Father and son drank a toast ‘To the Land, boys, We Live in'. Then as Isabel expected, Garnet began to probe Marmaduke under the thin guise of praise.

‘How industrious of you to fund your Grand Tour of Europe by the sweat of your hands, Marmaduke. I'd no idea you'd led such a colourful working life in the Australian Colonies – from the Swan River to Moreton Bay. Bullocky, shearer, jackeroo and, no doubt, card sharp?'

‘That just goes to show, Garnet, a man can't rely on the accuracy of his spies.'

Garnet's complexion turned puce. ‘Spying on you? No such thing. It was my only way to keep track whether you were alive.' He softened his tone to Isabel, to justify himself. ‘When I first arrived in the Colony it was a rum currency, a monopoly run by the military. Dog eat dog. I don't deny my own business dealings were shady. I took advantage of human weakness – paid men to inform on each other.' He paused. ‘Marmaduke ridicules the whole idea of Freemasonry, but I was inspired by my brother Masons. I strove to become a better man – in the hope of making Miranda proud of me.'

The note of resignation in his voice caused a subtle change in Marmaduke's expression. ‘I reckon your informants have fallen down on the job this time, Garnet. I'm already a Master Mason – in another lodge.'

Garnet looked pleasantly surprised. ‘Are you indeed, m'boy? Well Lodge 260 was good enough for me and Sam Terry, but I hear that new lodge has a number of fine members. Dr Bland and your mate Barnett Levey shifted over to its ranks with Sir John Jamieson.'

Garnet raised his glass and said pointedly, ‘So my son's a Mason at long last. That's the first good news you've given me today! Apart from knowing Leech and Barrenwood danced on the scaffold.'

Marmaduke downed his whisky and on behalf of Isabel took their leave on the excuse he needed to bathe and shave after his journey. He ignored Garnet's innuendo.