Ghost Gum Valley (69 page)

‘Of course.
Shaving's
the first priority after a long absence from a bride. We dine at seven. Don't be late.'

‘I make no promises, Garnet.'

The moment they were alone in the corridor Marmaduke gripped her hand and quickened his pace to take the stairs. Passing Miranda's portrait on the way to the nursery he gave a perfunctory nod.

Isabel was overcome by curiosity. ‘I must congratulate you on becoming a Master Mason, Marmaduke, but like Garnet I was surprised by the range of your experiences in the Outback. I understood you'd spent most of those absent years in London and on the Continent.'

Catching his subtle shift of expression, she broke free and stood, arms akimbo.

‘Did you
really
have all those adventurous around Australia?'

Marmaduke looked like a hurt puppy. ‘Would I lie to you, Isabel?'

‘You certainly would if you could get away with it! The truth and nothing but!'

‘Well, I did
visit
those places. And one day I hitched a ride on a bullock train. That's how I learnt to swear like a bullocky.'

‘So how
did
you earn your ship's passage to England?'

‘This and that. Mostly cards. That's how I financed my half of Mendoza's store.'

Isabel shook her head in amused disbelief. ‘You're unbelievable. So most of what you said to the Government men was a Colonial tall tale?'

‘Yeah. Went down pretty well, eh? Had you and Garnet fooled. You see, being Mingaletta's new master, I had to win the men's respect fast.'

They had reached the nursery and Marmaduke was shedding his clothes with more speed than seduction. Isabel refused to allow the subject to drop.

‘I'll bet you don't even know where to begin to shear a sheep, do you?'

‘Well, I can tell the head from the daggy end. Don't worry, I'll pay a top shearer to give me lessons on the quiet. That's what makes us Currency Lads different from your British gentlemen. We excel at bullshit. You'll soon get the hang of it, Isabel.'

‘I never know when you're telling the truth or lying through your teeth.'

Isabel had kicked off her shoes and was stripped down to her petticoats but Marmaduke was miles ahead of her. He sponged his body, rubbed himself dry and tossed the towel to the far side of the room. His dark, lazy voice sent shivers down her spine.

‘I don't want to be guilty of grazing that creamy English flesh of yours. I'll shave – if you're willing to wait for me.'

Isabel tried to sound equally careless. ‘Tomorrow morning will do.'

She lit the candle in the darkening room and felt herself flush with anticipation as Marmaduke stretched his body to its full height in a pretense of weariness then flipped back the bedcovers. Lying naked on his back he was more than ready for her. He beckoned her imperiously like a sultan bestowing his royal body on a harem favourite.

Isabel decided it was time to bite the bullet. Now or never. Share two secrets.

‘Marmaduke, first there's something I need to tell you. While you were away... '

But it was too late. Marmaduke borrowed the lines she recognised John Milton had written in a religious context but which Marmaduke now made his own to seduce her.

‘Take me to you, Isabel. Imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor chaste – except you ravish me...'

Isabel finally fell asleep wondering if making love to Marmaduke was a case of mutual conquest – or mutual surrender?

Isabel had hoped day would dawn like every other day before the weeks of Marmaduke's absence in Sydney Town. The first trace of the pink picaninny dawn and the infectious sound of kookaburras' laughter was their cue to begin the day with a pattern of lovemaking that was fresh and frantic. They snatched time against the clock as
if Marmaduke was a mariner whose vessel was scheduled to sail on the tide. The reality was he needed to depart early to rally his team of carpenters on the house he was building at Mingaletta.

This morning the moment she opened her eyes she sensed her world had changed.

Marmaduke stood leaning in the open French doorway, dressed in work clothes, observing her with that familiar expression that made her guilty before she knew the cause.

‘What's wrong, Marmaduke? Were you going to leave without waking me?'

‘As a matter of interest when were you intending to tell me?'

Does he mean Silas? Elise? Or the other secret?

‘There's so much to tell you, darling, I hardly know were to begin.'

‘Let me help you.' His eyes were cold. ‘It slipped your mind to tell me you are with child. Did you truly think I wouldn't notice the shape of a naked woman's belly?'

‘I forgot you were a connoisseur of the female body,' she snapped, clutching at anger like a shield to prevent her tears flowing.

‘You forgot something else. The only thing I asked of you. To be my ally. And never lie to me.'

He strode towards her, gesticulating in anger.

‘Don't you know I love every inch of your body? And haven't I always given you everything you asked of me? But I have damned good reason to avoid fathering children. Why do you think I wanted to bring Rose Alba to live here with us? So at least
you
wouldn't be deprived of a child. Why the hell didn't you tell me earlier? Now it's too late.'

Her eyes filled with angry tears. ‘That's
why
I didn't tell you. I wanted it to live!'

‘Well, there's nothing for it but to wait and get through this somehow. You're my only concern. I insist you rest each day. Eat healthily and have someone to attend you night and day. I'll send for a physician to examine you. And tell Queenie.'

‘She knows.' Isabel instantly regretted her careless words.

‘And Garnet too?'

‘He guessed.'

Marmaduke laughed at himself but without humour. ‘It seems I'm the last to know! Very well, as my role in your life is no more than provider I'll spend most days and nights at Mingaletta to see the house is made ready for you. Send Davey to fetch me if you need anything.' He hesitated, observing her tears. ‘No doubt you think I'm heartless because I don't want this child. I blame myself for its conception – not you. But you
lied
to me.'

He paused in the doorway. ‘What a fool I was. I trusted you to be my ally. Yet you never told me Cousin Silas had contacted you. I had to hear it from a servant.'

Shocked by his cold manner Isabel watched him through her tears...as he turned away from her and strode from the room. The door closed with a note of finality. Waves of sorrow, anger and despair struggled for dominance.

What's wrong with me? Why won't God ever allow me to be like other women? To bring a babe into the world with joy!

Chapter 49

Marmaduke worked alone on the building site, occasionally conscious of the sounds of church bells, the distant drunken laughter of revelry among the felons, to whom Rhys Powell had issued Christmas cheer in the way of traditional food and drink on the Gambles' instructions.

Since his confrontation with Isabel, Marmaduke had chosen to work and sleep in the shell of the new house for days at a time. Rhys Powell visited him daily and kept him informed of Isabel's progress but Marmaduke continued to banish her from the site. He could not so easily break free from the waves of melancholia that came with the unwanted thoughts of his impending fatherhood.

On the occasions he returned in the dark of night to Bloodwood Hall he showed concern about every detail of Isabel's health, saw to her comfort and joined her for supper in her room, but he chose to sleep in the room adjacent to the nursery, which Queenie always occupied on the nights he was absent.

He presented Isabel with the cameo brooch inspired by Lady Emma Hamilton but he politely countered her protests that she would welcome his company in bed with the excuse that she needed her sleep undisturbed. In truth, he often lay awake listening to the sound of her breathing, forced to remember the trauma of watching his mother die in childbirth.

At dawn he made a hasty departure before she awoke.

Only once was there a slight chink in his dark mood. He frowned at the sight of an envelope addressed only to him. An anonymous invitation deliberately delivered too late for him to attend the Roman Catholic christening of Patrick Sean Cagney – three days after his birth.

Marmaduke hastily calculated the interval between this date and his own final performance in the Cagney glasshouse.
Thank God! that's proof even to Cagney the child is his. How thoughtful of that sweet lady to put my mind at rest.

The black stallion showed unmistakeable signs of restlessness and anxiety as Marmaduke rode from Mingaletta past the graveyard towards Bloodwood Hall, where he had agreed to share a meal with Isabel. The crescent moon seemed placed for artistic effect in a dark blue sky peppered with stars, reminding him of the backdrops painted by Barnett Levey's scene painter William Winstanley whose daughter Eliza Barrett was said to be grooming to play Juliet.

The thought of the creative world of the Theatre Royal aroused bittersweet memories. One half of Marmaduke longed to be involved in theatrical life, touring the world and living the life of a vagabond player. The other half of him was committed to reclaiming his birthright, Mingaletta. Ever since his youth these parallel desires had struggled in an internal duel. He knew it was not feasible to follow one demanding life path without abandoning the other. Building a home for Isabel, Rose Alba and the coming babe was the price of freedom. He tried not to envisage his child, depressed at the idea of what its future might hold.

Aware that Dangar, his new black stallion, kept tossing his head and breaking the rhythm of his gait as if warning him something was wrong, Marmaduke drew rein to scan the silent graveyard and the track that lead to Bloodwood village. Visits by the villagers were rare by day and unlikely at this time of night. His sweeping glance encompassed his father's ornate mausoleum and in the far corner the raised granite plinth ironically dedicated to ‘the welcome stranger' – Klaus von Starbold.

The stallion neighed restlessly, the whites of his eyes rolling.

A sudden thought occurred to Marmaduke. ‘I reckon it's the brumby blood in your veins. You want to run free with the rest of the mob, eh, Dangar? Righto, that's your belated Christmas present.'

Young Davey, the Irish ostler whose freckles multiplied every summer, was waiting for him at the stables, his youthful forehead knotted in a frown befitting an old lag. But unlike other assigned lads, entrenched in their old ways, Davey was eager to learn new tricks.

‘You said to be informing you of unwelcome visitors, Marmaduke. I dunno if this fits the bill, but this morning when I was exercising a new colt I saw a flash carriage stationed at the end of the public right
of way. At my approach the driver seemed to be taking his instructions from a gentleman passenger. He drove off at high speed. Not like a regular mourner from the village.'

‘Did you see their faces?'

‘I did. To be sure it's not likely I'd forget the servant. He had a metal shield on his nose. I didn't get a proper look at the gentleman except he was dressed flash and held a fancy cane. I am believing it was the new resident of Penkivil Park.'

Marmaduke masked his reaction to the descriptions. They tallied with those of Josiah Mendoza and his own memory of that morning in Josepha's villa when she was visited by the protector who had posed as a Frenchman. Marmaduke's frustration lay in his lack of proof. He was itching for Silas to make one false move out in the open.

‘You did right to tell me, Davey. Spread the word among the lads to keep a sharp eye out for him. Tell me the minute you spot either of them.'

On reaching the house Marmaduke checked his pocket watch. The hands were frozen at half past midday.