Ironbark (10 page)

The bridge led to a man-made island crowned by a garden folly; a small pagan temple built of moss-veined marble with fluted columns supporting the dome. This provided perfect shelter for a table surrounded on three sides by a curved stone seat.

She halted in awe.
Mi-duvel!
It was even more beautiful than Caleb said it was.

A bare-breasted maiden swathed in a Grecian robe stood half screened by trees. The marble hunting dog at the statue's heels was so life-like that Keziah fancied she heard him baying.

When she entered the temple folly she said a quick prayer to whatever god it honoured before she confronted her dilemma. Despite her
Puri Dai's
warning she had allowed herself to become enmeshed in the spider's web of the
gaujo
world.

Week by week she had grown lax about the practice of her Romani
traditions. When washing her clothes she neglected to separate those for the upper half from the lower half. She went willingly to attend household
gaujo
prayers but for days forgot her Romani prayers. She made weak excuses – too tired after working long hours or practising her reading at night. Now she faced reality. She had been seduced by a soft bed, food cooked for her, the promise of decent wages. Her real problem was that her joy in learning to read was entangled with her covert friendship with Caleb.

She lingered, dreamily watching the dying light draw a cloak of shadows across the garden.

Seated at the feet of the moonlit statue, she spelt out the letters on the pedestal. A-R-T-E-M-I-S. The Greek goddess of hunting and the moon.

Politely she spoke to the marble face. ‘Forgive me but I have my own beliefs.'

Keziah prayed to
Shon
, the spirit of the moon. ‘Please lead me to my love. To Gem.'

She closed her eyes and returned to the precious memory of their wedding night.

The sound of tin kettles beaten by drunken guests outside their
vardo
had died away. They were alone. Keziah was surprised to discover that Gem's boyish bravado as a lover had evaporated. He was so nervous she knew she must draw on her woman's instinct.

‘We will teach each other, my Rom,' she whispered. ‘Show me how I can make you love me forever. Nothing can go wrong, my Gem. Nothing!'

Both apologised for their own clumsiness but were quick to praise the other, until they discovered the magic of their bodies and caught the rhythm that united them.

Eyes shut tight Keziah relived Gem's lovemaking, the wild swing between his gentleness and his passion that could flare up into jealousy. But she felt crushed by the weight of his seven-year sentence. Would their love stand the test of time and vast distance?

‘Oh my love, do not forget me,' she whispered as heat flooded her body.

‘How could any man forget you, Keziah?'

Caleb approached her with a half-smile, carrying champagne and two glasses. He had dressed with care but as always the cowlick on the crown of his head refused to lie flat.

‘I knew I'd find you here. This is to celebrate. I finally succeeded in being sent down from Cambridge. Kicked out. Do you still plan to sail to Botany Bay?'

Confused, Keziah nodded. ‘Very soon.'

She felt naked, as if caught in the act of love with Gem she had been remembering.

‘So this is goodbye, Keziah.' Caleb poured the champagne then touched his glass to hers. ‘To your happy reunion with Gem.'

‘You are very generous, Caleb.'

‘A gentleman knows when to accept defeat. May I borrow a John Donne sonnet? From my heart to yours.'

Keziah's eyes were misty as he reached the final words:

‘… But since this god produced a destiny

And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be;

I must love her, that loves not me—'

‘Stop it, Caleb!' she begged.

‘Can you find it in your heart to kiss me goodbye?' he asked softly. ‘Just a kiss between two friends? Nothing more, I promise you. A kiss to remember each other?'

On impulse Keziah leant towards him. If Caleb felt passion he kept it clothed in gentleness. His lips played with her mouth, softly lulling her into submission. When Keziah closed her eyes she saw Gem's smiling face but it was Caleb's voice that whispered, ‘Keziah. What have you done to me?'

Her cry was swallowed in the whirlpool of his kiss. In her turmoil she allowed herself to glimpse the hunger in his eyes. A fatal mistake.
She felt the answering heat in her body.

Her need for Gem struggled with Caleb's soft, hungry desire.

Caleb's whisper was in her mouth. ‘Yes! You belong to
me
now.'

She was lost.

• • •

Keziah awoke at dawn to find herself naked in her bed, lying in a tangle of sweaty sheets. Caleb lay asleep beside her, his head on her shoulder, one hand cupped around her breast.

Keziah felt hot and feverish. Her mind desperately fought to break free from the memories of the night before. She was overwhelmed with despair.

Her shame was heightened by a prickling sensation of fear when a shadow moved in the corner and Mrs Wills slipped out the door.

Keziah shook Caleb awake in panic. ‘You must leave at once!'

Refreshed by sleep Caleb's lust was clearly undiminished but Keziah pulled the sheet across to shield her body from his eyes. ‘Go at once!'

Half awake, his speech was slurred. ‘You look hot. Do you have a fever? Should I send someone to attend you?'

She reacted in fright. ‘No! Do you think I want the whole world to know what I have done? Just leave me!'

Dressing in haste Caleb whispered from the doorway, ‘Gad, you are beautiful! I'll come back to you later.'

Keziah lay staring at the ceiling. Tears rolled down her face mingling with the sweat that oozed from every pore.

All day she felt like a lost boat tossed about in a stormy sea as she moved fitfully between feverish sleep and the greater pain of waking in the increasing darkness, forced to remember what she had done. Vaguely she recalled hearing a housemaid's comment as the girl peered around the door. ‘Stanley be proper poorly. No use to us tonight.'

From downstairs came the sound of running feet, anxious questions and sharp orders.

Every servant would be on duty for tonight's ball. No one would have a moment to waste on her.

There was a knock on the door and Caleb entered, a dashing figure in evening dress, a gilded mask pushed up above his forehead. He held a tray with two wine glasses and a plate of delicacies. Keziah was disturbed to see the tray also carried a herbal posy in a silver filigree holder. At its heart was a single red tulip. She knew these tussie mussies were all the rage, sent by suitors to fashionable young ladies to convey the hidden ‘language of love'.

The smile in Caleb's eyes told her he was aware a red tulip was a declaration of love.

‘Your servant, Ma'am,' he said with a flourish. ‘The wine will help you sleep. It is my fault you caught a fever. Robbed you of all sleep last night.'

‘Everything is
my
fault! I have no head for wine. And you are just a man after all.'

He seemed disconcerted by her honesty then melted by her despair. ‘Don't cry.'

Keziah pushed her wild mane of hair from her face. She waved him away.

‘Go dance with the heiresses your father lined up for you.'

‘Truth is I'd rather be here with you.'

‘That is a sweet lie,' she said despondently. ‘Please go.'

He agreed but told her he must return briefly to Cambridge then to Manchester to pressure the family lawyer into releasing his inheritance from his mother. He kept saying he had big plans for them but wouldn't elaborate. One moment he appeared cocksure, the next serious. He made her promise to wait for his return.

‘Keziah, please understand I can't give you what you deserve. Father would cut me off without a penny if I married a Gypsy. But upon my honour you can depend upon my protection. I'll take care of you. No one can stop me loving you. Not even you!'

Caleb held her face in his hands and kissed her as if she were a princess.

‘I leave at dawn – all the sooner to speed my return to you.' With that he was gone.

It was then that Keziah saw it – the tiny velvet bag beside the tussie mussie. She loosened the drawstring. Out spilled a trail of golden sovereigns.

She shuddered with horror as she recalled Patronella's prediction.
‘Before the death of summer, when the moon's eclipse falls in your sign, you will earn money on your back.'

The eclipse was only weeks away. Patronella's vile words had come true. This money was payment for services rendered. Keziah realised she was no better than her mother, Stella the Whore.

She stared at the sovereigns, chilled by another terrible thought. At thirteen when her first bleeding proved that she had become a woman, her
Puri Dai
had taught her how to read the phases of the moon to predict the fertile peak of her cycle. Desperate to conceive Gem's child Keziah had dreaded the arrival of her bleeding each month. Now she prayed fervently for the sight of it to prove she was
not
with child to Caleb Morgan. All she had ever wanted was to be reunited with Gem but now she had committed adultery. Had this changed the course of her whole life?

• • •

Three weeks passed. Caleb did not return. Her bleeding did not come. Private agony left Keziah exhausted, only too aware of the housekeeper's hawk-like observation. Each month it was Mrs Wills's self-appointed duty to inspect every unmarried servant girl's ‘rags' to ensure they had not fallen with child. This invasion of privacy disgusted Keziah but others took it for granted, relieved to have escaped the consequences of some furtive tumble in the stables.

Keziah watched the waxing of the moon with growing despair, weighing her options. Two weeks past her due date she panicked and
fled to her attic room. Shutting her eyes to steel herself against the pain, she slashed her arm to fake her menstrual blood. Later Mrs Wills acknowledged the evidence of her rags. Keziah felt a rush of gratitude that her ploy had bought her enough time to collect her quarterly wages next week before fleeing to Liverpool.

Her sense of reprieve was short-lived. That night as she undressed for bed there was a knock on the attic door. Why was Mrs Wills confronting her at this late hour after the servants had bedded down for the night?

The housekeeper's tight smile was even more unnerving than her insults had been.

‘Thought you were clever, Stanley. But I'm up to your Gypsy tricks. Master's ordered you to his study. You won't keep him waiting if you know what's good for you.'

Keziah hastily re-dressed and hurried downstairs, fully prepared for her dismissal.

The room was dimly lit when Keziah entered. Seated at his desk John Morgan did not acknowledge her presence. He had just returned from some social event; his evening clothes were adorned with regimental battle honours. His eyes were concealed in shadow but the lower half of his face was tinged green from the desk lamplight. Keziah was surprised by the faint smile that played at the corner of his mouth when he finally indicated for her to take a seat.

Keziah was on guard. The master had scarcely addressed ten words to her during the months she had lived under his roof.

‘Wills tells me you've been “caught”. Don't fret, child. I am not a man to toss a servant girl onto the street because young Caleb is having his way with her.' His first direct glance was not unkind. ‘Not the first time I've footed the bill when my son's been up to mischief.'

Keziah was humiliated to realise she was just one of a procession of girls who had succumbed to Caleb's charm, but she forced herself to appear dismissive.

‘Your son's business is no concern of mine, Sir.'

‘Come, come. No secrets in this house. Mrs Wills found you two sleeping together months past.' He gave a tolerant shrug. ‘Ah, young blood …'

‘My wages are due. I will leave tomorrow,' she said haughtily, ‘as was my plan.'

‘Ah, but
my
plan is a far better one for you, Keziah.'

She gave an involuntary shudder. Only Caleb called her by her given name when they were alone.

John Morgan measured his words. ‘Now that my son has left Cambridge, my wife and I are agreed he needs a new diversion. You two can continue discreetly to enjoy each other with our blessing. You're a healthy lass. It seems Nature has already provided you with one of her unwanted little problems. But have no fear, you will be very well paid for your trouble.'

He gestured airily to what Keziah could see was a legal document.

‘I shall read this to you. In brief it solves all our problems. What would be a burden to a lass like you will be a great comfort to my dear wife who's eager to have a babe to spoil. Simply make your mark on that dotted line. All your worries end with one stroke of the pen.'

Keziah flinched and realised her hands were clammy. His tone gave the impression he would brook no argument. She must stall long enough to understand the full import of his plan.
And what was Caleb's role in all this?

‘I would prefer to read it myself, Sir.'

His face registered some surprise but he handed her the document. Keziah read the contract slowly, trying to digest the unfamiliar, repetitive phrases and to work out how she could avoid signing it. The cold legal terms spelled out the inescapable truth. The Morgans' lawyer had covered every aspect. She would be domiciled in a nearby village where Caleb would visit her until the delivery of a
living
child. The condition was she must sign away all claims to the babe. Following her signature
she would receive the first instalment of a generous sum to be paid in full after the birth.