Ironbark (59 page)

Daniel automatically looked in the empty pocket of his waistcoat that had held the watch he had pawned. Although he had enough funds to redeem it, he had other more pressing needs. Where he would sleep tonight was a problem he trusted the day ahead would resolve. Hopefully some fellow art student would give him a corner to doss down in. What mattered right now was his meeting with Mrs Hamberton. What the hell was he to do for art supplies?

He took from his pocket a month-old letter from Keziah and re-read the final lines to bolster his self-confidence. It was a comforting link with home. Ironbark. Jake.

Stay strong, Daniel.

The world will recognise your god-given gifts as an artist, as all your Ironbark friends do.

For the past year and a half we have been travelling in our wonderful
vardo.
Jake has given me back my Romani life. We never know where tomorrow's road will lead us, so there is no way for you to write to us yet. Remember, Daniel, we can't help who we love. Forgive me, it took me time to understand.

Once your wife but always your friend, Keziah

Daniel felt his eyes grow misty but not from self-pity. He had left Ironbark believing his life would be easier away from Jake, among men of his own kind, but he was realising the bonds of friendship with his Ironbark family were far stronger than lust.

‘We were strange bedfellows, Keziah,' he said softly. ‘But you accept me as I am.'

Facing Dix's handiwork, he squared his shoulders to cover his humiliation and crossed the road to salvage what he could, picking through the debris to rescue broken paintbrushes, a pencil and one undamaged sheet of art paper. He couldn't bear to look at Jake's faceless body. The slashed canvases were beyond repair. He walked to the public water pump to wash his face then set off at a brisk pace to cover the two miles to Woolloomooloo Hill above the bay.

• • • 

Ushered by the housemaid into the Hamberton residence, Daniel was acutely conscious of his down-at-heel appearance. He felt embarrassed to hear his stomach rumble and was ashamed of his pathetic art materials. But he steeled himself and prepared to be treated with the same cool indifference that Charlotte Jonstone had always shown him.

He entered Mrs Hamberton's personal sitting room to find her seated with her back to him, gazing out across the harbour. He was struck by the restrained elegance of the Georgian furniture. To his
surprise he saw an easel set up beside an open box of oil paints and a pot holding a variety of brushes. The easel held a large canvas primed for painting.

But it was the subject herself that most intrigued him.
The light is perfect. Let's hope I can do the lady justice.

Mrs Hamberton was tall and slender. No longer young, she retained an undeniable vestige of youthful beauty in the coronet of fair hair streaked with silver at the temples. The faint lifelines that etched her face were more interesting to Daniel than the blank canvas of youth.

He wondered why she seemed so intent on putting him at ease when she was clearly a born lady. He had never met her before, yet somehow he felt she knew him. She had prepared everything for him, even a choice of gowns draped across chairs, showing him the same respect an important artist might expect. Yet Daniel knew Jonstone must have briefed her on the full details of his convict history. Was Mrs Hamberton an eccentric English aristocrat? A true lover of the arts? Or did she have some hidden agenda?

She crossed the room and extended her hand gracefully.

‘Welcome, Mr Browne. Your work has been highly recommended by our mutual friend, Julian Jonstone. As you can see he has ordered everything for you. I trust these paints and brushes are to your satisfaction. If you require anything else please advise me.'

Daniel was speechless.
She's treating me almost like an equal. Yet surely she knows it's not long since ‘our mutual friend's' overseer had the power to have me flogged. And did!

She gestured for him to take a seat and Daniel was offered morning tea, which he gratefully accepted. Although initially short of words, he soon felt himself drawn within her charming aura.

‘I will leave the choice of props and decor to you, Mr Browne, but I hope you will humour me by choosing one of these gowns for the portrait. It is intended for my husband's study and he favours me in blue.'

No wonder. It brings out the colour of her eyes. How strange. Violet-blue. Just like Keziah's eyes.
Daniel chose the turquoise silk dress she was already wearing and was delighted to find he was empowered to create ‘the story' within the portrait – the choice of jewellery, chair, background and the pose that not only best complimented her beauty but hopefully would reveal her true character. He remembered reading somewhere that at the heart of beauty there lies a touch of sadness. He fancied he read the truth of those words in this lady's eyes.

Emboldened by her interest in the creative process, Daniel felt free to set the guidelines of time and place for the sittings.

‘I love the quality of Australian sunlight. This light is perfect and the window gives a glimpse of the harbour and the sky. For the sake of continuity of light, ideally I would like to paint you here at the same time of day – whenever you are free. I understand from Mr Hamberton I have limited time to complete the work?'

‘My husband must soon take up his new appointment as a magistrate on the circuit. We will then be based in Goulburn. I regret we have placed your work under an undue time constraint.'

‘I will work night and day on the background details between our sittings.'

Daniel was disconcerted to remember that he no longer had a place to work and sleep. How would he find enough time to honour his hasty promise and achieve high quality?

He felt Mrs Hamberton's eyes studying him.

‘Such a large canvas is surely difficult to move back and forth from your studio. May I suggest it would be more convenient for you to stay here as my husband's house guest for the duration? We have a quiet guest wing where you could work undisturbed if you wish.'

Daniel almost laughed out loud with sheer relief.
My studio? If only she knew how Dix destroyed everything. And I didn't even have a bed tonight.

Mrs Hamberton took his silence as consent. ‘If this arrangement is
to your satisfaction, could I suggest we proceed at once? Please do not feel pressured by time. If the portrait is not completed to your entire satisfaction by our departure date, we would be pleased to have you join us in Goulburn to complete it.'

To
my
entire satisfaction! She's treating me like a master painter.

Sketching the outline, Daniel felt he was floating in a dream down a long corridor where all the doors flew open to light his way ahead. He had nothing to worry about, no decisions beyond the choice of colours to mix for his palette, the placement of ornaments, the perfect shade of flowers to harmonise with the turquoise of her gown, the blue of her eyes.

Time was either his to command or a dimension in which to lose himself at will. He worked with speed and confidence, as if angels guided his brushstrokes. Stepping back from the easel to study his preliminary sketch in oils, he examined the sunlight that streamed through the window. It cast faint shadows across the classic bone structure of the lady's face and heightened her mystery. He felt a surge of excitement. This would be far more than a conventional portrait of a beautiful woman.

Although Mrs Hamberton was pure Quality and treated him in a polite, detached way as he worked, there was no trace of Charlotte Jonstone's condescension. While retaining her pose, she made occasional, casual references to his work and life.

‘Do my questions disturb you, Mr Browne? Please tell me if they do. It is simply that I am new to the colony and have much to learn about the very different way of life down here.'

Disarmed by her deference Daniel felt it was safe to be honest.

‘I regret my experience is limited. As a transportee my world was restricted to Mr Jonstone's estate until I was fortunate to marry and gain my ticket-of-leave.'

‘Quite so. You have done well to build a new life for yourself.' She hesitated. ‘I understand your young wife came free?'

The question startled him. ‘Yes. I owe Saranna a great debt. She understands an artist's compulsion to paint.' He felt discomforted by the thought he had almost slipped and called his wife Keziah.

‘Julian told me Mrs Browne was much valued as a schoolteacher in a remote village.'

‘She was indeed, but she is presently travelling with a friend until I rejoin her.'

Daniel hoped she would not ask him exactly
where
. He could hardly reveal the awkward truth that ‘my wife goes wherever her lover, Jake Andersen, leads her'.

‘You have a child, do you not? A real blessing.' Mrs Hamberton gave a faint sigh.

Conditioned to tread warily on this subject, Daniel delivered his standard statement. ‘We have no children of our own as yet, but my wife adopted a charming little boy who was abandoned at birth. Gabriel Stanley.'

‘Gabriel Stanley,' she repeated. ‘A lovely name.'

Daniel saw that although her eyes remained focused and she held her head at the exact angle he had chosen for the portrait, she no longer seemed to be aware of him.

‘Are you weary from holding that pose, Mrs Hamberton?'

‘Not at all.'

He noted she did not choose to speak again for the remainder of their first sitting.

Her questions about Keziah had awakened in Daniel feelings that he had tried to keep dormant since his arrival in Sydney Town. But now he found he had arrived at a decision.

My knowledge of painting techniques has grown in leaps and bounds in Sydney Town, but I don't need false friends like Dix in my life. Jake, Keziah and Gabriel are the only family I have ever known. When this portrait is finished it's time to go back where I belong. To my true friends. To Ironbark.

Keziah felt a wave of contentment as their
vardo
rolled through the maze of bushland beyond the pale of settlement. Jake was disdainful of maps but she knew they were travelling beyond the officially defined ‘limits of location'. The long drought had at last broken and the grasslands were turning green.

She felt blessed that both children were happy and healthy. Gabriel's snowy mop of curls contrasted with his sun-tanned face and body. The pallid little girl from the convent was growing more confident as she fitted into the unfamiliar pattern of family life. Fast outgrowing her clothes, her mousy hair was tousled by the wind, her eyes fixed on her hero, Jake.

The man who guided their lives had never looked more relaxed. As they drove along he cast secretive smiles at Keziah's belly, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe his luck that, after the first babe miscarried, its tiny twin had managed to hang in there and continued to grow.

Miles from any community they camped by a creek lined with English weeping willows, no doubt planted long ago by some homesick squatter. The homestead's missus was the first white woman they had seen in weeks. Although she gave them a warm welcome, Keziah felt uneasy.

‘Just call me Mary,' the woman said. ‘Nice to have a woman's company. My husband is away on business.' She turned to Jake. ‘I'm sorry I've no money for paid work.'

‘What's money?' Unprompted, Jake chopped a large woodpile for her and then treated the swollen fetlock of Mary's roan mare with Keziah's herbs.

In gratitude Mary invited them to a generous baked supper with cakes for the children. After dark Jake playfully galloped like a horse back to their
vardo
with Gabriel perched on his shoulders and Pearl clinging to his back like a koala.

This left Keziah free to grant Mary's request for a Tarot reading. The past was as clear as a bell, but the future was strangely fractured. Mary asked anxious questions.

‘Will my husband return soon?'

Keziah suspected the truth.
She's lying. She's hiding from him. She hasn't even told us her family name.
So she selected her words with care. ‘Your husband is searching for something – someone he's lost.'

Mary's hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, dear! Go on.'

‘Don't be afraid, Mary. The Tarot can tell you what to expect, but not all the future is written in stone. There is an element of free will.'

‘Tell me true.' Mary asked, ‘Will I ever have a child?'

Keziah hesitated. All that remained of Mary's youth were kindly brown eyes and a smile she covered to disguise a missing tooth. She would soon be beyond childbearing age.

Keziah dealt the cards that helped define the pictures flooding through her mind. ‘Your husband is quite handsome in his way.' She tried to be tactful. ‘Although he didn't
want
to come to the colony, he's done very well for himself. He enjoys good health, but I'm sorry, I can't see any children in his future.'

When she dealt out fresh cards, the magician card was reversed, lying in a pattern that indicated the abuse of power for destructive ends. Keziah was overcome by a wave of nausea. The magician's face dissolved before her eyes into a handsome face of pure evil.

Mi-duvel! It's
his
face – that black-bearded rogue who tried to rape me at the creek. He's Mary's husband! What on earth can I tell her to give her hope for the future?

‘I don't want to upset you, Mary, but a period of upheaval lies ahead of you. When it occurs remember that happiness
will
find you again. I
see a young government man, fair-haired and shy. He has love in his heart, but right now he is very afraid of your husband.'

Keziah's eyes were drawn to the doorway where a little girl in a floral pinafore peeped around at her. Then the little girl's outline turned milky and she faded from sight.