Ironbark (50 page)

Before Caleb could answer, the sound of children's laughter drew him to the window. Gabriel and Murphy were chasing each other around a bush until they collided and collapsed laughing in a heap in Nerida's lap. Keziah could not fail to notice how Caleb's expression softened as he watched Gabriel's every move. She was conscious that this was the first time Caleb had ever seen her son.
His
son.

‘So this is Gabriel Stanley,' he said softly. ‘My son and heir. The child that Trooper Kenwood's report assured me never existed. What a fine little chap. You've done well, Keziah. No mistaking the Morgan features.'

Seeing Caleb so openly moved at the sight of the boy caused Keziah to feel a flash of empathy.

Caleb suddenly faltered and leaned on the back of the carver's chair for support.

‘It's nothing. The heat,' he lied. Making an effort to regain his composure, he mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief. Keziah flinched at the sight of the hated Morgan family crest, the symbol of their power, embroidered on the corner.

She placed a jug of water on the table beside her crystal glasses. ‘You are unwell. Sit down. I will make you some herbal tea.'

Caleb nodded in gratitude. He sank down, exhausted, and curled one leg over the arm of the chair in that familiar boyish habit she remembered from the Morgan library. Keziah took down a sealed jar containing the prized wood betony she had grown in her herb garden for the use of convalescing patients. She brewed an infusion of the dark pink flowers and green leaves and placed it before him.

Caleb looked at it curiously. ‘I say, is this tea?'

‘Trust me. Drink it down. Our herbs have magical healing properties known to my people before the Roman Empire, when we were in Egypt. It will heal you in body and mind.'

She reminded herself she must never be seen to weaken. Caleb had once used his charm to break down her defences. His attempt to milk her sympathy this time was no less dangerous.

‘I am sorry for your suffering,' she said firmly. ‘But it changes nothing. I would die before I allowed you to take Gabriel away from me and return him to your so-called Morgan heritage. I am more than capable of supporting my child. Gabriel and I want no part of your fame and fortune. Now or ever.'

She placed Joseph Bloom's legal document on the table. ‘And if you want to fight it out in court this proves Gabriel was a foundling I adopted.'

Caleb appeared to be overcome with frustration. ‘That's a ruse! Does it mean nothing to you that I travelled more than eighteen thousand miles to search for you? When I offered you my protection in England – I meant it. I made our lawyer release my inheritance from my mother. I planned to take you to North America. I returned
home triumphant to find you had left without a trace.'

He waved his hands in exasperation. ‘Can't you see? Everything I have done in this godforsaken country has been to win your respect. Prove to you I'm no idle remittance man. I always knew I'd find you again! There's nothing to stop me now. Your Gypsy de facto is dead and forgotten.'

Gem forgotten!
Keziah flinched. Private grief was not to be shared with this
gaujo
.

Caleb continued. ‘I also know that your convict husband deserted you to live in Sydney Town and study art. So you're free now. You loved me once – you still do and you know it! Why play games with me and reject my love and my protection?'

‘Play games with you!' Keziah's rage exploded. ‘How dare you say that after the diabolical trap you and your father set me!'

Caleb looked bewildered. ‘What trap? What on earth are you talking about? Why did you break your promise and run away from me?'

‘What did you expect?' she screamed. ‘Did you think you could bribe a Romani woman with silver to breed a child with you? That I'd sign over Gabriel to your father to be Sophie's little plaything in between her draughts of laudanum?'

Keziah tried to read his face.
From the look of him any fool would think this comes as a revelation.
‘Don't pretend you didn't know!'

‘This is monstrous. I loved you. You cannot think I'd be party to such infamy.' He threw up his hands in despair. ‘My God, that's why you ran off and hid Gabriel from me.'

‘What better reason is there?'

For minutes they continued to stare at each other. A silence only broken by the ticking of the clock, the children's distant laughter, the high-pitched squawking of cockatoos.

The realisation that she might have misjudged Caleb confused Keziah. If she was no longer consumed by her hatred of Caleb would it leave a strange, gaping hole in her life?
No! I will never
forgive John Morgan's evil plan as long as I live!

Finally Caleb capitulated. He sprang to his feet and faced her resolutely. ‘You've done nothing wrong. I believe you. Gypsy or not, you are no liar.'

Keziah stiffened at this familiar forked
gaujo
compliment that praised her while at the same time it insulted her people.

To her great surprise Caleb knelt on bended knee like a romantic actor in a play.

‘Keziah Stanley, will you do me the great honour to be the wife of my heart? To live with me and be my love and raise our son together?'

‘Stop mocking me!'

Caleb rose and touched her face, a gesture of contrition rather than seduction.

‘My offer stands. I will give you and Gabriel everything you want. A fine house of your own, a respected place in society. If you'll only allow me to love you!'

He brought her hand to his lips. She caught a note in his voice she had never heard before.

‘I promise you my father will never lay his hands on our son! I intend to stay here and carve out a great future. This country offers more adventure than a man can pack into a single lifetime. Here I'm free of Father's expectations.'

His eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Why should I return home to gamble on cards or horses, when there's a whole continent to gamble with my life! Thousands of acres going begging in all these colonies. Vast tracts of land up north beyond Moreton Bay and in Australia Felix and right across to the west coast, just waiting for a man of vision to claim. And tame it!'

‘You a
farmer
?' she asked. The idea was ludicrous, but he did not detect her sarcasm.

‘Trust me, Keziah. I know how to make you happy. Our son will have the best English education. We'll live in two worlds. With my
name you'll be a fine lady. No one will dare look down on my wife.' He added carelessly, ‘No need to know you're half Gypsy.'

Keziah bristled at this backhanded comment but Caleb did not notice.

‘What better life can any man offer you?'

His smile looked confident, but Keziah thought that perhaps it also came from his heart.

Caleb's eyes narrowed. ‘Unless – is there someone else you love?'

When she could not answer, he nodded. ‘So there is. Will
he
marry you?'

‘No. It's not like that.'

She saw the jealousy in his eyes, but he controlled it and pressed on.

‘Be honest. Do you have the right to deny our son the life I can give you? We owe it to Gabriel to put things right for him.'

‘Stop it, Caleb. I can't think straight.'

‘Yes, m'dear. Nothing is quite what it seemed to be one hour ago.'

The truth of these words stung her as her thoughts raced through the recent revelations. If indeed Caleb had played no role in John Morgan's plan, did she still have the right to deny Gabriel the chance to know his own father? She had been witness to how a similar denial had almost destroyed Jake Andersen. Was she no better than Jenny?

Gem was lost to her forever. Daniel had chosen art as his mistress. Jake's heart was in thrall to Jenny. Keziah tried to salvage remnants of her independence and pride. She assured herself she had no need of any man in her life, but what of little Gabriel's needs? Not yet four years old and he had already attached himself to two father figures, Jake and Daniel, and lost them both.

Caleb was watching her like a gambler weighing the odds.

‘Tomorrow I would like to escort you and Gabriel to the German Brass Band concert in Goulburn. It would give Gabriel the opportunity to meet me.'

She hesitated, confused and exhausted. ‘You may meet Gabriel but for now only as a friend. His life has already been full of confused loyalties.'

Caleb bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Till tomorrow.'

Keziah closed the door behind him, emotionally drained. Through the window she saw Nerida instructing the boys how to be warriors, turning them sideways to diminish their small bodies' target size behind their bark shields as they aimed reed ‘spears' at each other.

At the hour of Gabriel's birth she had vowed By Her Father's Hand to give him the best possible life, but to do this must she forever abandon her Romani heritage?

Her head ached as Caleb's words echoed in her mind.
‘We owe it to Gabriel to put things right for him.'

Mi-duvel! Am I meant to take the fork in the road that leads to Caleb Morgan?

Jake was dog-tired but his mind was lucid as he rode Horatio on the final stretch of the long trek south towards Melbourne Town. The route was uninhabited for such long stretches he had lived off roadside damper and tea. When he finally reached the heart of the town he was surprised how it had mushroomed since his previous visit. The wide thoroughfare of Collins Street was lined with elegant buildings that gave it an air of distinction. Jake knew the free settlers looked down their noses at Sydney Town because they had rejected a convict population and would only accept some British ‘exiles'.

When Jake sighted a newly built inn, he remembered just how thirsty he was. The balcony was hung with red, white and blue bunting and the French tricolour flag, with the date 14 July printed on a banner below the words
‘Vive La Belle France'
, whatever that meant.

Dismounting to allow Horatio to drink at a horse trough, he went inside to order an Albion Ale and not surprisingly discovered the publican was a Frog. The friendly Frenchman gave him a complimentary glass of French wine and explained that France's National Day celebrated the anniversary of the Paris mob's storming of the Bastille.

‘I'll drink to that,' said Jake. The date seemed like a good omen. He would like to think today would be the final day of reckoning for the Conte Francesco della Lorenzo. The French Revolution had dispatched thousands of aristocrats. Jake Andersen only wanted to rid the world of one. He reminded himself he needed to get his priorities straight.

Today would see the culmination of the long, bitter years of his search. He had three things uppermost in his mind. Jenny, Pearl and the mongrel who'd stolen his wife and child. Jake knew exactly what he wanted. Justice and revenge. To find Pearl and assure the child he loved her and would never desert her. To bring Jenny to her knees, one way or another. If necessary he was armed with Rogers's report if she tried to thwart him. His ultimate taste of revenge would be to dispatch the conte to hell, but first he had to stake his claim to Pearl.

No point swinging on the gallows for murder if Pearl remained neglected while Jenny was kept by some other wealthy protector.

On the far side of Melbourne Town, Jake rechecked the map Benjamin Rogers had marked with a cross on the banks of the River Yarra Yarra. But nothing had prepared him for the sight of the conte's residence. Jake whistled through his teeth.
Flash? Jesus, Yankee. You weren't half joking!

The mansion known as the Palazzo was grand enough even for Jenny's taste. It was an ornate mass of marble columns, balconies, turrets and stained-glass windows, set in a sweep of landscaped gardens dotted with statues of Greek goddesses.

The place was a palace. Yet months ago Rogers had told Jake the conte's financial empire was rocky. How cockeyed the whole colonial class system was. One minute the Quality were riding the boom. The next minute big landowners couldn't sell off their land or stock for love nor money. Jake remembered the governor's repeated warnings that excessive speculation, a huge extension of credit and the drought would trigger a financial slump.
Yeah, but who bloody listened?

Jake looked at the Palazzo.
The bankers may be panicking, but it sure looks like the bloody conte is still riding high.

Jake scanned the upper-storey windows, wondering which of them was little Pearl's bedroom. He was reminded of how, from the time she could walk, she used to run up the garden path with Flash in her arms the moment she spotted his return home.

Grimly amused by the ludicrous contrast between the luxury of the Palazzo and his own mud-stained, shaggy Currency appearance, he rode up the circular carriageway, dismounted before the elaborate
portico and casually slung Horatio's reins across the head of a rampant stone lion guarding the front steps.

At the thought of his first encounter with the mongrel who stole his wife, Jake's hand tightened over the small muff pistol inside his jacket. Today the pistol was ready to earn its keep, but Jake reminded himself his first priority was Pearl.

Holding the gift-wrapped German porcelain doll for Pearl that had cost him a small fortune, Jake rapped on the door with a brass door-knocker shaped like the head of a goddess. An arch-looking English butler opened the door.

‘Tell the contessa Jake is here. She'll want to see me.'

He was ushered into an opulent drawing room with a view of the river from French windows framed by swags of drapery. The room was larger than many a working man's whole cottage and was stuffed with enough paintings and statues to fill a museum.

Jenny made her entrance down the circular staircase. Jake steeled himself against the impact of her beauty. Memory had failed him. She was even more gorgeous than the face that haunted his dreams. An exotic robe embroidered with a bird of paradise clung to the contours of her body.