Ghost Gum Valley (45 page)

The arrival of Isabel on Marmaduke's arm caused Garnet's heart to race with pride. Isabel looked enchanting in a bare-shouldered turquoise gown with huge belled sleeves. Her complexion glowed in the candlelight. He noted there was something unusual about the way her hair was threaded by a rope of pearls, a single lock trailing down her naked shoulder in a way that made her look innocently coquettish.

He welcomed Isabel with a kiss on the cheek and an audible aside. ‘Don't hesitate to draw Elise's attention to anything that's amiss. Her knowledge of etiquette is limited.'

He noticed Isabel flush but put that down to upper-class modesty.

Garnet escorted her into the dining room then gestured to Rhys Powell and Queenie to take their seats on either side of Elise at the far end of the table. He directed the newlyweds to be seated at his left and right hand and steered the conversation with gusto.

Garnet noted the unfashionable tan Marmaduke had gained during his bivouac in Ghost Gum Valley. The informant he had paid to ride out and check on the couple had reported back that they were living off the land and Marmaduke had taught his bride bush skills, even how to crack a stock whip like a drover.

Intrigued, Garnet wanted to hear Isabel's account. ‘So how was your first bivouac together, young lovers?'

Isabel responded with charm and enthusiasm, praising Marmaduke for giving her ‘the most romantic honeymoon adventure any bride ever had'.

Garnet nodded tolerantly but he wasn't fooled. He knew from every nuance of his son's face, every quicksilver change of mood that Marmaduke was hiding his true feelings.

The lad's a fool to try to out-trick me. I'm the puppet master –
I
pull the strings. Damned if I know what's wrong with him, but I'll dig out the dirt before the moon turns over.

Garnet dominated the conversation but nothing worth noting escaped him. For Isabel's amusement he held forth about the Colony's most powerful men, ignoring Marmaduke's raised eyebrow in response to the impression he was trying to create for Isabel that he was on intimate terms with them.

‘Take William Charles Wentworth, a powerful barrister and major landholder. He's the acknowledged son of Dr D'Arcy Wentworth and a convict lass transported on the
Neptune.
WC sees himself as the champion of the rights of Emancipists. Way too radical for my taste.'

Marmaduke rose to the bait. ‘You've certainly changed your tune since you stepped ashore from the
Fortune,
Garnet.
The
Australian
is the first independent newspaper in the Colony, a desperately needed advocate for many things including trial by jury.' He sent a dangerously quiet challenge to his father. ‘Would you dare argue with that, Garnet?'

Garnet quickly turned the conversation back to John Macarthur's mental decline.

‘Poor old chap. You'll hear his enemies ridicule him as “John Bodice the Bligh Killer”. But mark my words, Isabel, history will remember him as the man who put the Australian Agricultural Company and Australian merino wool on the world stage!'

Elise ventured a sly comment. ‘Samuel Terry's certainly earned his title of “The Botany Bay Rothschild”. Terry's not only a leading...' She stumbled over the word philanthropist but quickly amended it. ‘...donor to every Sydney charity. He and his wife Rosetta live most modestly but he's enormously generous to
everyone he loves
.'

That conniving woman's going to push me too far one day. Does she think I don't know what she's up to?
Garnet was determined to put her back in her box. ‘Terry's
wife
Rosetta deserves their success. That woman's worked at his side in business for their entire marriage. I wouldn't fault his good wife's
loyalty
to him.'

Elise's dead-white face flushed with revenge. ‘People say Terry's the largest landholder in the Colony after Wentworth. They say he has ninety thousand rural acres under his control but that can't be right, can it, Garnet? That's more than the size of some English counties.'

Garnet was nettled by the injustice of his rival's greater wealth.

‘It sticks in my craw. If you take the 1828 census at face value Terry only declared some twenty-seven thousand acres, but add the eight thousand held by his superintendent at Bathurst plus other estates held in his children's names and God only knows what the true tally is by now. What's more Terry was granted thousands of choice acres by three successive governors. Why not me?'

‘You've not done too badly, Garnet,' Marmaduke said, languidly twirling the stem of his wineglass.

‘Apart from a small initial grant from Macquarie I've clawed my way up the entrepreneurial ladder by my own efforts!' He glared around the table to defy any argument.

Isabel's words were a balm to his pride. ‘Your extraordinary success is all the more to your credit, Garnet. No doubt it springs from your qualities of leadership and determination. You are beholden to no man.'

Garnet laughed out loud. ‘You hear that? For all her youth and beauty our bride has sound British common sense.' He struck his wineglass with his spoon and the wine steward came in haste.

‘So much for your damned mirror!' he said pointedly to Elise.

When a fresh bottle of Hunter Valley claret was brought for his approval, Garnet examined the label but exchanged a silent coded message with Queenie.

Is the love play between the newlyweds genuine?

Garnet looked across at Marmaduke lounging in his chair, more handsome than any errant son had a right to be. He gritted his teeth at the sight of his son's absurdly luxuriant mane of hair, tied back with a ribbon like some eighteenth-century cavalier – to annoy him.

Garnet continued to direct the flow of conversation, all the while watching how Marmaduke, believing himself unobserved, fixed Isabel with that intense, Byronic expression whenever she gave encouragement to Rhys Powell's shy comments.

Why is Marmaduke so jealous? Rhys Powell wouldn't know what to do with a woman in bed. And he's as poor as a church mouse. No catch for any woman.

Garnet noted Elise's flash of envy in her ambiguous compliment about Isabel's gown. And the way the bride expertly deflected it.

‘My dear husband has an acute eye for fashion. I suppose it's all those years he spent in Paris and London.'

Garnet was of two minds, admiration for Isabel's pretty compliment and his irritation towards his son.

What kind of red-blooded man designs ladies' gowns?

But Isabel's dulcet tones reminded him of Miranda – the same high-born accent he had longed to hear grace his house once more.

Leaning towards him, Isabel asked confidentially, ‘Garnet, is it true that you've invited musicians and entertainers to perform at your birthday celebration?'

‘My dearest girl, I have a number of surprises up my sleeve that I've designed primarily to please
you,
my guest of honour.'

Unwilling to be sidelined, Elise chipped in to the conversation. ‘In the atrium there's a
faux
wall that folds back to reveal a charming little stage. Sadly neglected in recent years.'

Garnet was quick to respond in a teasing tone. ‘But which will now return to life, eh Marmaduke? I understand you've become quite a lover of Thespians. If you put as much time into being a gentleman as you do hanging about Barnett Levey's theatre I'd be a happy man.'

He realised he had created an uncomfortable silence. Isabel was blushing.

Marmaduke gave a tight smile. ‘My love of theatre I share with my bride, Garnet.'

Garnet switched his attention to Isabel. ‘I built my own little theatre for the amusement of my beloved wife. Miranda was passionate about amateur theatricals – a traditional pastime of the military, garrisoned in India and elsewhere in the Empire.'

He patted her hand. ‘I understand you play beautifully. It may please you to know I've just secured the finest pianoforte in the Colony at Sam Lyons's auction house for you.'

Flushed with wine, Elise suggested brightly they should all plan to show off their talents as singers, musicians, declaimers of poetry, even as dancers.

Marmaduke gestured to Queenie to draw her into the conversation.

‘I will always remember, Queenie, how you and Mother performed your wonderfully exotic Indian dances? As a child you allowed me to beat my toy drum to accompany you. Would you please dance for us again one day, Queenie? I swear none of you have ever seen a dancer perform with such grace as this lady.'

Queenie smiled but dismissed the idea with an elegant wave of the hand. ‘Too old.'

‘Ageless,' Marmaduke said gallantly as he caught her hand and held it to his lips.

Elise clapped her hands together. ‘Isabel must play the new pianoforte. And Rhys has a fine Welsh tenor voice. That leaves you, Marmaduke. How do you plan to entertain us?'

‘I'll applaud you all with pleasure but count me out, thank you,' Marmaduke said quietly. ‘I never perform in public. I was cured of that as a boy at a fancy dress ball.'

Garnet eyed him keenly.
So, he's never got over his humiliation being invited as a guest to a fancy dress ball where that dragon of a hostess made him serve her guests because he was an Emancipist's son.
Even after all these years Garnet felt a wave of anger at the boy's suffering. He felt a helpless sense of guilt.

Isabel knew the story and stretched out her hand to Marmaduke.
‘My darling, how I wish I'd met you as a boy and asked you to dance with me.'

Marmaduke's mouth twisted in amusement. ‘My sweeting, you forget I'm seven years your senior. You'd have been tucked up asleep in your nursery.'

Marmaduke turned to Garnet. ‘Which is my cue to ask you all to excuse us. Isabel is an intrepid traveller but the bivouac was most demanding. We narrowly escaped an accident.'

‘Marmaduke is modest. He saved my life,' said Isabel. ‘I didn't want to upset you.'

Everyone around the table was ready to hear the full details.

‘Oh, do tell all,' Elise demanded.

Marmaduke was firm. ‘Some other time. I bid you all good night.'

He cupped Isabel's elbow and steered her to the door. Queenie silently inclined her head to Garnet and Rhys Powell but ignored Elise and took her own leave.

Garnet smouldered with irritation at their abrupt departure. He gave Elise a dismissive wave and ordered his secretary to join him for cigars and brandy in the smoking room. For the first time that evening Rhys Powell was no longer on guard, freed from the strain of circumnavigating his way around conversations fraught with ambiguity. The young Welshman was clearly sensitive to the minefields but lacked the confidence to deal with them. Garnet almost felt sorry for him.

‘Here, try this Napoleon brandy. It will put hair on your chest, old chap.'

Rhys Powell gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘A fine dinner, sir. I look forward to implementing your plans for your birthday celebration. It promises to be a memorable occasion for you and your son. A most egalitarian young man, if I may say so, sir.'

‘Huh! Egalitarian is a polite way to put it,' said Garnet. ‘He's one of the new breed of pig-headed Currency Lads who think they can break down class barriers that have stood the test of time for centuries in Great Britain.'

‘Perhaps the world is changing, sir,' Rhys Powell observed. ‘But then perhaps I see the British class system differently, given I am a Welshman.'

Garnet gave a short laugh. ‘When the wine is in, the truth is out, eh, Powell?'

His secretary's face flushed scarlet. ‘I assure you, sir, I am far from being inebriated, I only meant—'

‘No matter, lad. Let's just run over the lists before we call it a night. Who is signed, sealed and delivered?'

Rhys Powell ran through the list of invited guests.

Garnet drew on his cigar. ‘What of the musicians?'

‘I've reserved their accommodation at your Garnet and Rose Inn as you ordered, sir.'

‘And what about my star attraction? I can't wait to step onto the stage and announce my coup. What's her name?'

‘Madame Josepha St John.'

‘Yeah, that's her.'

‘The diva will be accompanied by her Italian pianist, Federico. Thomas will transport them from Sydney in your carriage. I presume you wish them to be given the best guest chambers in the east wing, sir?'

‘Do they cohabit?' Garnet asked with interest.

Rhys Powell looked deeply discomforted. ‘I could not presume to ask, sir.'

‘Well, give 'em the option. Bed down Josepha St John and the Eytie in adjoining chambers. I've ordered a canopied bed from Sam Lyons that Boney's Empress Josephine is said to have favoured. Due to arrive here any day. And make sure that new pianoforte is perfectly tuned. Nothing's too much trouble for that Yankee nightingale.'

‘Indeed, I will, sir.'

Garnet wagged a warning finger. ‘Whatever you do, keep Josepha St John under wraps. I can't wait to see the expression on Marmaduke and Isabel's face.'

Chapter 32

Dawn had just broken through a maze of dark clouds that held the promise of an electrical storm before sundown. Already the wind was blowing through the Bloodwood trees as if intent on striping the cloak from Marmaduke's shoulders as he rode down the carriageway towards the wrought-iron gates and the road to Sydney Town.

At the sight of the entwined
GG
, the reverse side of the emblem designed to impress the outside world, Marmaduke was sharply reminded of his feelings that extraordinary evening when he had reversed reality and ‘stepped through the mirror' with Isabel into the Garden of Eden.

He tried to convince himself he had invented the game purely to allay her fears about the male body. To break down the barriers between them. It had not been a preliminary move towards seduction. Yet on the other side of the mirror the unexpected had happened and left him shaken. In the guise of young Adam, stripped of his fig leaf, he had discovered his Eve and was now strangely enchanted by her.