Barnett asked pointedly, ‘Your wife will accompany you to see Madame St John?’
Marmaduke interpreted his warning glance to mean you are now a married man!
‘I will on Isabel’s return to Sydney. My bride’s an ardent theatre-lover and Edmund Kean’s most loyal champion. I suspect she knows all Shakespeare’s female roles by heart.’
‘Does she indeed? Perhaps we could tempt her to favour us with a scene or two? Heaven knows I need young actresses capable of playing Juliet and Rosalind credibly in the eyes of the Quality. Currency Lasses are best suited to bawdy wenches and broad comedy.’
Marmaduke hesitated before making his request. ‘I am in need of a favour myself.’
‘Name it, my friend.’
‘You know my life has been less than exemplary, Barnett. And that I killed a man in a duel. But I believe a man can change himself, become a better man if he is really serious. I know you are so respected in the world of Freemasonry that two Masonic Lodges attended the laying of the Theatre Royal’s foundation stone. I was in the crowd!’
Barnett Levey sighed, ‘What a day that was. Everything seemed possible.’
Marmaduke pressed on. ‘My father Garnet Gamble is a very proud Mason but I don’t wish to ask my father any favours. Would you consider nominating me for membership to your lodge?’
‘You surprise me, Marmaduke, I thought you had no interest in the craft.’
‘I’ve had a major change of heart on many levels. It may be hard to believe but I’ve turned over a new leaf. To be accepted as a Freemason confers a public seal of approval. I ask this favour not to please my father. And the Exclusives can go hang. Isabel’s opinion of me is all that matters. I’m embarrassed to say it – I want her to look up to me.’
Barnett Levey shook his hand. ‘It will be a pleasure, Marmaduke. Consider it done!’
Marmaduke stepped back into the heat and bustle of George Street where a gentleman’s carriage was forced to veer from the path of a bullock train. Marmaduke enjoyed the scene. The gentleman was furious, but no man alive could outswear a bullocky.
He climbed back into the landau and mentally ran through the list of things he needed to accomplish before his return home: his interview with the Worshipful Master of Lodge 266; his consultation with an architect about his plans for Mingaletta; Edwin’s drafting of his Will; a visit to his bank to set up an account for Isabel’s quarterly ‘salary’; and special advice from his partner Mendoza.
The most uncertain outcome of all was his meeting tonight with Josepha. Next year she planned to sail for New York and tour the Americas from British Canada as far south as Argentina. He remembered her seductive words whispered on their last night in bed together. ‘Darling, come with me as my manager. It will be the adventure of a lifetime.’
Marmaduke felt a momentary loss of buoyancy.
What if Isabel rejects me? Keeps to the terms of our contract, takes the money and sails out of my life? An American tour in the arms of Josepha is tempting compensation.
‘Shut up! And put your plans in action!’
Marmaduke had not realised he had said the words out loud until he saw Thomas’s startled expression.
‘Not you, Thomas. Just thinking out loud. Next stop, Mendoza’s Store.’
Through the wrought-iron bars guarding the jewellery store window Marmaduke saw the single light illuminating the corner bench where Josiah sat hunched over his work. Marmaduke ignored the sign on the door that read, ‘Closed until Monday.’ He repeatedly knocked until the old man looked up in annoyance, squinted in recognition and unbolted enough locks to impress the Bank of England.
‘G’day to you, Jos. You make me feel guilty as hell seeing you hard at work on a Friday afternoon, given I haven’t pulled my weight for weeks. I reckon that’s what honeymoons do to a bloke. No excuses. Sorry I haven’t been in contact.’
‘No apology needed. I must complete an urgent repair before sundown. So you and your bride have returned from your honeymoon?’
‘No, just me. Isabel’s keeping Garnet company until he hands over my inheritance.’
Mendoza nodded. ‘The land given you by your mother of Blessed Memory. But you are here to discuss something urgent, yes? You wish to check our books?’
‘Nah. I’d trust you with my bottom dollar. Tell me, is this as valuable as I think it is?’
Marmaduke handed across the velvet box and watched Josiah’s reaction.
Without a word Mendoza lowered the canvas blind to block them from sight of pedestrians. He crossed over to the light at his bench, secured his magnifying eye-glass in place and examined the tiara front and back, link by link, gem by gem, then gently released the section that served independently as a brooch with a perfect pearl at its heart.
He turned to Marmaduke and said sharply, ‘Who stole this?’
Marmaduke gave a surprised laugh. ‘It’s that good, is it? It’s so old and dusty I wasn’t quite sure if some of it was paste.’
‘It certainly is not good,’ Mendoza said firmly. ‘It is perfect. Again I ask for the truth? Who stole it for you?’
‘Hey, hang on a minute, mate. I might turn a blind eye to a gem’s exact provenance from time to time but I’m no jewel thief. I’ve never seen anything like this except maybe in a portrait of some European monarch. I thought you’d enjoy taking a gander at it, not accuse me of being an underworld fence!’
‘I warn you it is most dangerous to possess this rare, beautiful thing. It is so old its value is beyond calculation. Return it to wherever it came from at once. No questions asked.’
‘Stop worrying. It was Willed to Isabel by her cousin – their family goes back to Willie the Conqueror. If you don’t believe me, ask Edwin Bentleigh, he’s got a copy of the Will. But what got you so riled up?’
‘A visit by the traps. They are quizzing every jeweller, auctioneer and known fence in the Colony about a tiara stolen from a grand house in England. This fits the exact description. There’s a reward for the conviction of the thief. With my record if I come under suspicion I’ll be sent to Moreton Bay in chains.’
‘Hey, Jos, you must be joking.’
‘No man jokes about Moreton Bay! You were born free. I am a convicted thief. Years ago I neglected to check the ownership of a broken clock I bought from a desperate woman. That decision cost me fourteen years in chains in Van Diemen’s Land. Do you think I’m such a fool I will invite a second sentence?’
‘Righto. I understand. But I’m not going to hand over this tiara for the traps’ inspection. Chances are it would disappear without trace. Isabel won’t care about its monetary value but she loved the cousin who left it to her. I’m going to see she gets this.’
Mendoza shook his head. ‘And put yourself in danger of carrying stolen goods? No. Your father was transported for the theft of a garnet ring. Imagine what the law would do to you – this is a thousand times more valuable. It is too valuable to secure in our wall safe in the store. I will lock it away in my other secret safe beneath the floor.’
Mendoza jerked his head towards his living quarters behind the store.
‘But what if the traps do return? I’d be putting you in danger. I won’t allow that.’
‘I only survived transportation on the Fortune because your father protected me. Tonight I pay my debt to him. I will guard this tiara for your wife until Mr Bentleigh establishes your legal ownership with the police.’
As Marmaduke hurried down the cobblestone lane towards the Princess Alexandrina Hotel, his mind kept returning to the question of the tiara and the traps’ claim it was stolen. Despite the legality of Martha’s Will someone in the de Rolland family must be laying claim to the tiara and the perfect pearl at its heart. Marmaduke was struck by the thought that another piece of jewellery, a garnet ring, had caused Garnet’s downfall at the hands of that same family. Was history repeating itself?
He was reassured that the tiara was in safe hands. Right now he must dress for this evening’s Benefit Performance at the Theatre Ro
yal before facing his own performance with the tempestuous Josepha St John. He sensed that this evening would be no ordinary farewell.
At the end of the concert, Thomas drove Marmaduke to the elegant new townhouse that had been leased by an admirer of the Yankee Nightingale.
Marmaduke knew he had no right to judge Josepha’s decisions but he could not prevent a reaction that was not quite jealousy but seemed to be a twinge of nostalgia. Despite the terms of his contract with Isabel that he would continue his bachelor lifestyle, he had not lain with another woman since the night before his marriage. He had not known then that night was the last time he and Josepha would make love. They had never said goodbye.
Unused to sexual abstinence Marmaduke felt confused by conflicting memories. In the forefront of his mind he saw Isabel’s sweet, heart-shaped face, those haunting green eyes. Yet he also remembered every curve of Josepha’s generous, voluptuous body – and remembered how very good they had been together.
Ushered into a drawing room furnished in a theatrical style that would have served admirably as the set for a Doge’s Palace at the Theatre Royal, he was asked to wait.
Looking across the rooftops to the olive green pattern of bushland that stretched down to the foreshores of the harbour, for the first time in his life Marmaduke felt strangely incomplete. The girl who was an annoying English tomboy on her arrival in the Colony had become oddly indispensable. He smiled at the memory of the day he took her to Mendoza’s store and, ever curious, Isabel had asked how pearls were created.
Marmaduke had explained he was no expert on pearls but understood it was a rare chance occurrence in nature. Occasionally a minute grain of sand entered an oyster shell and acted as an irritant, chafing the oyster and causing a perfect pearl to form.
Isabel’s eyes had opened wide at the idea. ‘Just like us! I’m the grit of sand that has to transform you into a pearl. Perhaps that’s why you find me so irritating. That’s my job!’
Now as he gazed down into the darkened street where Thomas nodded asleep on the driver’s seat, Marmaduke laughed aloud at the idea of Isabel as a grit of sand.
He was startled by the sound of Josepha’s voice from the adjacent boudoir. The lady’s maid left her mistress and discreetly disappeared from sight down the corridor.
‘Was that a laugh I heard from you, Marmaduke? How rare. Come here, darling, I am in great need of amusement after tonight’s difficult audience.’
Her voice was rich and velvety with promise and Marmaduke had a fair idea what he would discover when he entered her boudoir. He was right.
On a wide four-poster bed, festooned and draped like a mermaid’s cavern with three shades of turquoise green and blue watermarked silks, Josepha St John lay languidly across the bed, her mass of dark auburn hair uncoiled and trickling in waves down her body – her hair a substitute for the filmy nightgown that left one breast exposed and did little else to conceal the lush proportions of her body.
Marmaduke wanted to sound chivalrous. ‘Goya knew what he was doing when he painted that lady with one breast exposed. It is far more provocative than total nudity. How Goya would have been inspired to paint you as you are tonight. Any artist would. Oh God, if I were only a poet,’ he sighed.
Josepha stretched out a beckoning hand. ‘We have no need of words, you and I.’
Marmaduke chose to seat himself casually on a sofa near the bed.
‘I have never seen you look more devastatingly desirable, Josepha, which makes me a fool in my own eyes because I am here tonight to be totally honest with you.’
‘Honest?’ Her peal of laughter was light and caressing but so practised it was difficult to tell if it was genuine. ‘Honesty is a bourgeois vice totally outside the boundaries of our relationship, darling. Honesty and pure lust were not designed to be good bedfellows.’
‘Nonetheless I must say it. I told you the truth about my arranged marriage. I had every intention and my bride’s full consent to continue to take my pleasures freely outside the bonds of wedlock. But something unexpected has occurred.’
Josepha gave an elegant yawn and her body moved sinuously into an even more inviting position. ‘Don’t tell me, Marmaduke, you have fallen in love. You of all people. How Sydney Town would enjoy spreading that gossip.’
‘Love? Far from it,’ he said quickly. ‘That is totally outside my nature – as it is your own. No, it is simply that I find myself responsible for—’ He was shocked to find he had almost said Isabel’s name and hurriedly back-tracked. ‘I am in a situation I have never before encountered. Despite all natural inclinations to the contrary, I hope to remain your ardent friend,’ he paused, ‘but abstain from the incredible range of pleasures I have shared with you.’
God, I hope that sounded gallant enough. I do want us to remain friends.
Josepha began to play with the ribbon of the lover’s knot that would release the remaining shoulder of her negligee.
‘Marmaduke, you are such a romantic at heart. I have been expecting this, my darling. You were gone so long without a word. But I notice you have returned with a hand naked of a wedding ring.’
Marmaduke faltered. Damnation. Women never miss a trick.
‘A long story. I’ll not bore you with the details, Josepha.’
‘No matter. You and I are above bourgeois sentimentality. But to please me, walk to the window, sweetheart. Look down in the street and tell me what you see.’
The request was so strange Marmaduke sensed there must be some ‘method in her madness’. He did as he was bid.
‘The street is quiet. Apart from my own carriage placed some distance away for the sake of discretion, there’s only one other stationary carriage. A fine pair of greys. A driver garbed in burgundy livery. I can see the occupant is a man wearing a top hat, an opera cloak and, how odd, his opera glasses are trained in this direction.’
‘Ah, that’s him,’ Josepha said.
Marmaduke asked politely, ‘I presume he is an admirer intimately known to you?’
‘Not yet,’ she said lazily. ‘A most patient nobleman with a delicious French accent. He wants badly to become my protector. I have accepted the use of this townhouse from him. That is all – as yet.’
‘I understand,’ Marmaduke said. ‘You would prefer me to take my leave of you.’
‘On the contrary, darling. He has the traditional Frenchman’s jealousy but his manners are perfect. He will not come to me unless I invite him. He will remain there all night, if I wish it. The answer is in your hands.’
Marmaduke felt his pulse quicken.
She’s playing a scene but does she care one way or the other how it ends?
‘This mysterious Frenchman. He asks nothing of you?’
‘Nothing more than to dance for him – in private.’ She added softly, ‘Salome’s Dance of the Seven Veils. Remember how well I performed it for you?’
Marmaduke said lightly, ‘How could I forget? You would fill Levey’s theatre to overflowing if you gave a public performance.’ He fought to banish the memory of that night he had been her sole audience, lying naked in her bed.
‘My Gentleman Frog is handsome,’ she teased. ‘I am attracted to his generosity but not yet to him. He follows my every movement. I find his carriage parked outside the theatre, my milliner, my hair-dresser and this villa he has placed at my disposal.’
‘The price you must pay for his adoration,’ Marmaduke said. ‘My sweet lady, I know I will hate myself in the morning for my decision, but I recognise I have been outflanked. The hour has come for me to bid you goodnight.’
Marmaduke bowed deeply with a cavalier’s flourish of the hand.
‘Only for tonight.’ Josepha said softly. ‘Our time together is not yet played out. You know it. I know it. A great many exciting changes will reshape our world before my ship sails for New York.’ She rolled over to give him a last glimpse of the woman he had been fool enough to put aside.
She added as an afterthought. ‘You are welcome to bring your
little wife to America with us. As long as she knows her place and understands the demanding needs of a diva.’
Josepha’s voice changed key to take on a pleading note that would melt a diamond. ‘I ask you to do something for me – as my friend.’
Marmaduke waited, unwilling to commit himself.
‘Would you sleep the night here, outside my room? I will feel safer, knowing he is watching my window all night waiting for a sign from me. A sign that I am unwilling to give him – as yet.’
Marmaduke nodded his consent and gently closed the door of her boudoir behind him. He pulled back a velvet drape and looked down into the street. Both carriages were stationary. A faint trace of cigar smoke trailed from the window of the Frenchman’s carriage.
Marmaduke removed his boots and stretched out on the bearskin rug – no sofa was long enough to contain his height. Covering himself with his opera cloak he felt a sense of pride that he had been strong enough to pass his own test, to grow into his new role – a man Isabel might one day learn to trust.
I hope I allowed Josepha to believe she played the game beautifully tonight and saved face. She knows me intimately. But she has no idea she’s met her match in Isabel.
He smiled at the absurd idea of Isabel meekly ‘knowing her place’ and playing second fiddle to the legendary Nightingale as the trio trooped around both American continents in a ménage a trois.
On the point of sleep he was suddenly sobered by the thought.
But what if I can’t even tempt Isabel into a ménage a deux with me?
It was half light when Marmaduke stirred and, feeling his duty accomplished, checked his pocket watch. Half five.
Throwing his cloak over his arm, he was in the act of reaching out to claim his top hat when he was suddenly on guard. He and his mistress were not alone. On the console table beside his hat and gloves was an even more fashionable version of his own – and a cane with a gilt head in the shape of a mythical beast. A wyvern.
He grew tense, ready to charge into Josepha’s room to protect her, but he was stopped by the tinkling sound of her laughter. And Josepha’s American-accented French when she said teasingly, ‘Monsieur, you flatter me.’
Ghost Gum Valley Page 36