Ghost Gum Valley (24 page)

What truly saddened Marmaduke about Isabel's story was the manner of her babe's conception. No star-crossed love affair, no
single night of pleasure. Isabel clearly had no memory of how she had come by the child. Did amnesia conceal a traumatic experience? He recalled the venom in her words, ‘I told him it was better off dead!'

Marmaduke realised with a sense of shock that although Isabel was technically a fallen woman, in terms of her sexual experience she was indeed, though he baulked at the word, a virgin.

On the point of climbing into his carriage and prodding Thomas awake, Marmaduke paused to look up at the second-storey window of Isabel's chambers.

The curtain was drawn back. Her pinched little face, free of its mask, was looking directly at him. He flipped back his cape, doffed his top hat and made a deep bow.

Isabel responded with a timid wave of the hand and an expression so wistful Marmaduke felt a pang of guilt.

She loves theatre so much she was distraught at the memory of Edmund Kean's last performance on stage. I must take her to the Theatre Royal one night.

He felt loath to depart while Isabel remained watching him. ‘She keeps saying she hates men. But “the lady doth protest
too
much, methinks”.'

Thomas sat bolt upright, embarrassed to be caught napping. ‘What's that, sir – Marmaduke?'

‘Nothing, Thomas. Just thinking out loud. It's off to the Theatre Royal and I'll need you to return for me later. Expect a very long night, Thomas.'

‘He's like a chameleon,' Isabel said to herself as she watched Marmaduke depart in his fine carriage. One day he looked and acted like a Colonial yokel with
nouveau riche
pretensions. Tonight he cut such a handsome figure she suspected he would not look out of place among the crème of London society.
Not that I've had much experience of that!

Resting her head against the window frame she admired the extraordinary expanse of star-filled sky above the row of new buildings lining the street, beyond it the impressive church towers and sandstone public buildings. It hardly seemed credible that Sydney
Town had grown to this state of Georgian elegance since the First Fleet arrived less than half a century earlier.

Isabel patted her stomach, grateful for the unaccustomed pleasure of a belly filled with fine food. She enjoyed the champagne's magical transformation of her mind and body. Unused to drinking alcohol, she had imbibed more in the past twenty-four hours than she had during the rest of her life. The sensation gave her an idea as to why some men indulged in the practice to the point of ruin.

Relieved to be free to sleep alone in her luxurious chambers she blew out the candles, shed her fine new clothes and crawled under the bedcovers. She was so emotionally exhausted that she waved aside her customary prayers. ‘Sorry, Lord, I'll say twice as many tomorrow.'

On the point of giving herself up to the pleasant haze of sleep she heard her slurred voice holding a dual conversation with herself as if with a trusted old friend.

‘You realise what you've done, don't you, Isabel? You've agreed to marry a man who is totally insane.'

‘Yes, I know. But it's only for a year or so. And at least I'll have money to keep Aunt Elisabeth safe when she arrives...and my little Rose Alba will never go barefoot again...'

Chapter 16

Garnet Gamble rode towards the plains that stretched to the mountains on the western horizon. This wasn't legally his land according to the documents that defined the boundaries of Bloodwood and Mingaletta but he would brook no arguments from any man or the law. This was all his land by right of occupation. He knew to the headcount how many of his cattle and sheep grazed there. Heaven help any duffers who tried to steal them. Despite the law he had ordered his ticket-of-leave boundary-riders to carry firearms and be ready to fire at any bolter on sight.

Today, armed as usual, Garnet surveyed his realm and the endless expanse of blue sky above him with an ambiguous sense of pleasure. His ultimate plan for his empire was about to come to fruition but he was still in the dark about the exact details thanks to Marmaduke's bloody-mindedness.

In recent months he had been preoccupied with thoughts about the God whom he had divorced from his mind since the day of Miranda's funeral. Was this an omen that his days on earth were numbered? He had begun to suspect he was not immortal.

Hell, I'm only five-and-forty. I've got another thirty years or more. The world's my oyster now I've got that profligate son of mine cornered to breed the next generation of Gambles. The boy will thank me one day. All the riches in the world can't replace a son. But I'll be damned if I let Marmaduke know that, the ungrateful whelp.

He stiffened at sight of the lone horseman galloping towards him across the plain. Garnet's hand moved to the pistol in his belt. The rider waved his hat with both hands to signal he wasn't armed but drew rein just out of range of Garnet's pistol and hollered.

‘It's me, Hooley, sir. The mail rider's horse went lame. Here's your mail.'

Garnet didn't recognise Hooley's face but then he would be hard pressed to identify every man jack on his estate. ‘Right, give 'em over. Back to work with you.'

Garnet turned his horse's head for home. He saw the ecclesiastical seal on one letter. A son's wedding day gave a man a fresh lease of life – it promised grandsons.

He remembered the words of a fellow convict on the
Fortune
. Chained together at night they had made an odd couple, he a rugged sixteen-year-old and Josiah Mendoza, a haggard old Hebrew who feared the ship's bullies but kept a fatherly eye on him. They never discussed their sentences, guilt or innocence but Garnet called to mind Josiah's words one night when the old man was in philosophical mood.

‘I am descended from a long line of respected merchants but I regret I failed to live up to the good name I inherited.'

‘At least you know who your ancestors were.' Garnet added quickly, ‘No shame of my Mam's, but I don't know for sure who my father was.'

The old Jew nodded sagely. ‘Our Talmud describes men like me who fail to build on the merits of our ancestors. We're called Vinegar Son from Wine. The
reverse is a man who
has
improved on the record of his ancestors. He's called Wine Son from Vinegar.'

‘Too late for me to change. Transportation has marked me for life.'

Josiah shook his head. ‘You have youth on your side. There's time to turn your life around. You can become Wine Son from Vinegar.'

Josiah Mendoza. Thanks to one of his paid informants Garnet knew that Marmaduke had been Mendoza's silent partner in his jewellery store ever since the boy had bolted. But Garnet kept that knowledge to himself. He had failed with Marmaduke. But when he got his hands on a Gamble grandson he would make damned sure he'd grow up to be Wine Son from Vinegar.

The sight of Bloodwood Hall in the distance gave Garnet an upsurge of spirits. Few men in the Colony possessed a grander English country residence and he prided himself he had planned every corner. His knowledge of the interiors of English country houses was limited so to furnish it he had relied on that London arbiter of good taste, Rudolph Ackerman, in the copies of the lavishly illustrated
Repository of the Arts
. With these as his guide and Miranda's fine eye for quality he had imported expensive pieces and outbid competitors at
Sam Lyons's Antique Auctions. All Bloodwood Hall needed now was an aristocratic mistress.

On his arrival home Bridget informed him ‘The Welshman' was waiting for him. Garnet hurried to his library, gave the nervous young man a cursory glance and seated himself behind his desk. Rhys Powell was in his mid-twenties and had the square, manly features, dark hair, grey eyes and stocky build common to the Welsh. His plain tailored jacket had seen better days.

Garnet referred to Father Sibley's previous letter of introduction. ‘It says your guardian gave you a decent education at a church board school where you had two years' experience as a teacher of maths, English and music. On your arrival in the Colony you were reduced to the post of tutor from which you were dismissed.'

The young man stammered, ‘My employment ended by mutual consent not disgrace.'

‘How so?' Garnet demanded.

‘I am a gentleman, sir. My employer treated me as a lower servant. I was forced to eat in the kitchen with his assigned servants. Father Sibley was sensitive to my discomfort and drew my attention to your need for a trusted secretary to help manage your affairs, sir. So here you find me, ready and willing to serve you if you so choose.'

Quiet as he is, this young Taffy is not without balls.

Garnet stared him out. ‘Right. You'll do. If you prove an asset at the end of three months I'll double your quarterly salary. Agreed?'

‘You're most generous, sir.'

‘No, I'm not! You'll earn every penny, Powell. I'm known to be irascible, hot-tempered and nothing if not moody. But I never fire a man without good reason. Above all I demand honesty and loyalty, two commodities that are in damned short supply in this Colony – at all levels of Society.' He tossed the unopened letters across the desk. ‘Enough of this chit-chat. I've mislaid my spectacles. You can begin by reading these to me.'

The letter from Reverend Richard Hill informed him that Marmaduke had cancelled Garnet's booking for the wedding at St James's Church. Garnet was further irritated when Powell baulked at a letter addressed to Marmaduke.

‘My son and heir. Open it.'

‘But Mr Gamble, I cannot in all conscience open another gentleman's mail.'

‘What's the matter with you? Are you a bible-bashing Methodist or what?'

‘I'm a bible-
reading
Wesleyan, sir. That does not entitle me to open another's mail.'

‘Huh! I've no such scruples.' Garnet grabbed the silver letter opener and sliced it open. ‘Now the crime is
mine.
Read it or I'll send you packing without a written character.'

Rhys Powell read it in silence before he spoke. ‘It is of an intensely personal nature, sir. Are you sure you wish me to proceed?'

‘Of course I bloody well do!'

 

‘
To Marmaduke Gamble. By now you will have under your protection my Niece Isabel de Rolland. I can safely presume this Marriage will soon take place because this letter was carried on the
Susan
which brought her to New South Wales.

I address this letter to you, her Future Husband, on the understanding that you will fully Respect the confidence of my disclosure and refrain from sharing the contents with your Father, George Gamble with whom I have no wish to have further contact.
'

 

Garnet thumped his desk in rage. ‘The arrogant bastard! I saved his whole damned family from ruin and he's got the colossal hide to dismiss me as garbage.'

Rhys Powell looked anxious. ‘Would you prefer me to desist, sir?'

‘No! Get to the meat of the sandwich!'

‘The letter continues.'

 

‘
I am not a man designed by Nature to reveal my feelings therefore my Niece may be unaware of the degree of my affection for her. Far from trading her in Marriage as some may interpret our Contract, I chose to send her as far from harm's way as the geographical limits of the Planet allow.

Isabel is a loving child and loyal to a fault. For her own
protection you, as the new Master of her fate, need to know that she suffers periodically from the malady of sleepwalking. Her Physician considers the cause may be repressed memories of an experience for which she is in no way to blame.

For reasons I am not at liberty to disclose, her life in England held no hope for her future happiness. I trust you will treat her with kindness and the proper respect due to her rank and that you will do all in your power to protect her from the criminal influences surrounding her in the last outpost of the British Empire.

 

‘It is signed
Godfrey de Rolland, Esquire
.'

Garnet suppressed his rage while he considered the facts. He decided to withhold this letter from Marmaduke until he knew what was going on. The wedding had been cancelled, yet according to an informant's letter just read to him, Marmaduke and Isabel were both living at his Princess Alexandrina Hotel, which posed a risk to the bride's immaculate reputation given Marmaduke's bad name.

‘The wedding will now take place here in my chapel,' Garnet said firmly. ‘Prepare wedding invitations ready to mail to all on this list. They are the cream of the Quality, the Top Thirteen families in the Colony. The Colonial-Secretary Alexander McLeay may have to decline and Governor Bourke's still in mourning after the death of his wife. But these invitations will let the whole of Sydney Town know that the illustrious de Rolland name is forever linked to Garnet Gamble. Even the most uppity snobs won't dare ostracise
her
.'