Don’t look at his mouth, don’t remember his kisses.
Silas was sure of himself. ‘Impetuous as ever, sweet girl, a rush of questions before a man has time to answer them. It indicates the confused mind of a little English schoolgirl. You have not yet learnt, Isabel. Ce qui n’est pas clair n’est pas français.’
‘What is not clear, is not French,’ she translated. ‘Your French accent always was appalling, Silas. That quotation is amusing but doesn’t apply to me. I see things very clearly now. As Heraclitus said, “You can’t step twice into the same river.” I’m no longer your little creature, Silas. I am my own woman. My husband has changed me. Genuine love can do that. That’s a joy you’re never likely to experience.’
Silas gave a wistful smile. ‘You choose to forget, Isabel. The joy of arousing your love was mine. But my desire to take you in marriage was denied me by your guardian.’
‘I now understand why Uncle Godfrey sent me here. To protect me from you. Deliver his news or I’ll leave you to your own company to deliver a graveyard elegy to Martha.’
‘How sharp your tongue has grown. I quite like the change in you, cousin. Docility in a woman becomes cloying over time. As poor Martha proved.’ Silas gestured to his mourning weeds and sighed. ‘I must wear this public tribute to her dear memory for a year. Society demands it.’
Martha loved you with her whole heart. I must refuse to take the bait in her defence – that’s just what he wants me to do.
‘I don’t believe Uncle Godfrey would use you as a courier when he could write to me directly,’ she challenged.
‘That’s physically impossible, alas. He has suffered a stroke. Mentally he’s quite recovered but his hands are crippled, unable to hold a pen. Your guardian is quite dependent on me.’
‘No longer my legal guardian. I am a married woman. I owe obedience to none but my husband.’
‘Why be faithful to a philandering husband?’ Silas looked startled. ‘Forgive me, I see you don’t know.’
‘You know nothing of him!’
‘On the contrary, I encountered him recently early one morning in the villa of the actress Josepha St John, where he slept the night with her. I understand from her that you two have a most accommodating marriage. If you don’t believe me, ask your husband.’
‘My marriage is no concern of yours. Give me Uncle Godfrey’s message or leave!’
Silas’s tone was languid. ‘Godfrey wants you to understand that when you wish to end this sham marriage he will welcome you home to resume your rightful place in English Society. He will arrange a divorce. It takes some time, of course, an act of parliament. But what impediment is that to a de Rolland? All is in readiness. Our berths are booked on the first available vessel bound for home. I have only to confirm the date of our departure. On our return to England, when my period of mourning has passed, we will marry. As it was always meant to be.’
‘No! None of that will ever happen, but I will write to Uncle Godfrey myself to thank him for his concern for my welfare.’
Isabel turned away to avoid direct contact with those green eyes that seemed to be a mirror image of her own – except that in Silas’s eyes she could find no trace of a soul.
‘I’ll save you the trouble, ma petite cousine.’
Isabel was quick to regain control. ‘No. I have no need of you to mistranslate my feelings, Silas. You’ve already done enough harm in the past as a witness. Garnet Gamble is forever banished from England due to your fabricated evidence at his trial.’
The smile was gone, his tone dangerously polite. ‘Ah, so you’ve turned your coat, Isabel. You prefer to take the word of a thieving agricultural labourer and convicted felon against the word of your de Rolland kinsman.’
‘Garnet Gamble has never lied to me. You have never told me the truth.’
Silas rose with outstretched arms, his palms open in supplication. ‘The truth is I love you. You are my blood. Flesh of my flesh. You were always destined to be with me. Only me.’
‘Don’t dare take one step closer.’
Isabel’s hands were shaking as she warded him off, determined to divert his attention. ‘Tell me the whole truth for once. How did Martha die?’
Silas removed the ebony cane from the top of the grave and idly fingered the gilt knob, fashioned in the shape of a mythical winged creature. There was something about the way he stroked the dragon-like bird’s head that made Isabel shudder.
‘Martha. Ah, now thereby hangs a tale. I am afraid it will break your heart.’
‘My heart was broken as a child. I survived. My husband made me whole again.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘Did Martha die at peace? I must at least know that.’
His words were soft but hit their target. ‘Of course, you share my guilt.’
Damn him. He knows exactly how to stab his finger in old wounds that never heal.
‘Carry your own guilt. Just tell me she did not die alone?’
Silas hesitated. As if it was a habit of his he began turning the head of the gold wyvern knob that screwed into the cane. The flesh across his cheekbones was taut, the lines around his mouth deepened. Isabel was afraid that at any moment she would be looking into the eyes of a stranger, the transformation she had learned to fear as a child.
‘Martha knew she was dying before you sailed from England. The leeches could do nothing for her. We all knew it. You alone refused to face the truth, Isabel. Martha wanted you to sail away happy in the false hope she would recover.’ Silas gave her a glance of great sadness. ‘My wife trusted you – the truth would have destroyed her.’
Isabel felt a wave of panic as splintered images of the past flickered before her eyes. Please God, don’t let me remember what I did. I must hang on to Marmaduke’s words. Whatever happened, I was only a child – Silas was an adult. I must keep Marmaduke’s face in front of me. Marmaduke is real!
‘Go on,’ she managed to say coldly.
‘You remember our last night together in London? When Edmund Kean gave us Othello?’
‘What has that to do with Martha?’ she snapped.
‘I was haunted by the scene Kean never managed to play that night. The scene where Othello smothers Desdemona with a pillow.’
Isabel felt herself rock on the balls of her feet. Her hand reached out but there was nothing on which to steady herself. Unable to move, she dug her fingernails into her hands. As long as she could feel pain she could cling to reality.
Silas’s voice was sad as he unscrewed the knob of the cane and held it in the palm of his hand. ‘You have no idea how Martha suffered, Isabel. It was painful for those who loved her to watch her fight for each breath. Believe me I did what I could to relieve her suffering.’
From the top of the cane he removed a small phial.
‘Do you recall this smell, cousin? A little like frankincense, they tell me, an ancient, aromatic aroma laced with spices to make it palatable. Wonderfully effective for a thousand remedies is laudanum.’
Oh God, this isn’t happening. Marmaduke – your eyes, your mouth, your words. Don’t leave me!
To Isabel is seemed Silas spoke in the protective, comforting voice of a loving husband Martha had deserved but never known. ‘This gentle white powder took away Martha’s pain, enough to keep her calm and still. I swear she understood. She watched me, her eyes wide open as I held the pillow. I said, “Goodbye, Martha.” And I ended her suffering.’
Silas raised the cane to his nose and inhaled the laudanum as another man would smell a rose.
‘This little device served me well. The fresh bottle of laudanum by her bedside was discovered next morning untouched. The doctor’s verdict was that the night nurse had accidentally given Martha an overly strong dose of laudanum, causing Martha to roll over in her sleep and smother in her pillow.’
Isabel felt the rising nausea that she remembered was a prelude to fainting. She stepped backwards, edging towards the waiting mare.
Silas was instantly at her side, his arm aroun
d her waist pressing her body against him. She felt the heat of his breath as he whispered the words in her ear.
‘It was the right thing to do. From now on we need never feel another moment of guilt. Don’t you see? We ended Martha’s suffering. It was a kindness. We are free from all impediments. The de Rolland debts are wiped out. Once again we live in luxury. The world is ours, Isabel. We will never be parted again!’
Silas’s kiss covered her mouth. Isabel closed her eyes to break contact with those green eyes. She had a vivid image of herself as a young child.
Alone in the darkness of her bedchamber she stirred from sleep. Aware of Silas’s face in the shadows. He looked strangely excited as he bent over her, she felt his cool hand slip beneath her nightgown... caressing her body, between her thighs as if it was his right.
Isabel found herself drowning beneath this new kind of kiss – a terrible but exciting kiss that sucked air from her body, blocking her words. She had no power in her body except to move her eyes, searching the wall, the pattern of wallpaper in desperation, trying to escape into the curlicues of the wallpaper, to lose herself so completely that no one would ever find her again.
Isabel was screaming silently inside her head now – as she had as a child. She tried desperately to free herself from Silas’s kiss by an act of will.
In her mind she saw Marmaduke’s dark eyes watching her. Heard the echo of his words: ‘You had no choice as a child. Now you have. Say you want me, my darling!’
Isabel’s felt her body flooded with white-hot energy. Her hand clawed Silas’s face, drawing deep rivulets of blood down his cheek. As she broke free and ran to the mare she felt sickened by the thought that fragments of his skin must lie beneath her fingernails.
Overwhelmed by the horror of the way Silas had extinguished Martha’s life, she did not doubt that Martha had died in terror, aware that Silas was about to smother her and unable to call for help. The long-buried memory of what Silas had done to her as a child triggered an even greater fear. What would happen should Silas ever discover Rose Alba’s existence?
It took moments for Isabel to register reality – Silas’s face, shocked by her violence. As she hoisted herself into the saddle he lunged towards her. His eyes were the eyes of that stranger. Her mare was so nervous it reared in fright. Isabel clung to its neck to prevent herself being thrown down at Silas’s feet.
‘You stole my innocence. Blighted my childhood, cousin. I will not allow you to ruin the rest of my life. It’s mine, do you hear me? Mine!’
It chilled her to see Silas smile. She had left four thin scars on his cheek – her own personal brand on him. He did not seem to feel any pain, only excitement.
Silas shook his head in denial. ‘No! Our lives will run parallel for the moment, Isabel. I have taken a lease on Penkivil Park, only a few miles away. I am your neighbour. Next time we meet, Isabel, you will come to me.’
Those strange green eyes were so sure of their power over her.
Isabel clung to the horse’s mane and dug her heels into its flanks. She prayed that her mare knew the way home to Bloodwood Hall because right now she was blind to everything around her, her mind filled with the terrifying images her memory had suppressed for years.
...as a child lying naked in the priest’s hole...drowsy...unable to move...the crucifix upside down on the altar...a man wearing the mask of the Horned god...its green eyes...the eyes of Silas...
Isabel ran through the house, ignoring the open-mouthed expressions of the servant girls she passed. She found Garnet sitting alone on the terrace, a half empty jug of gin and lime juice on a table beside him. His brooding expression quickly changed to welcome as she burst out onto the terrace.
‘Garnet, something terrible and yet wonderful has happened. I have just recovered lost memories from my childhood. I know it makes no sense but yes, terrible, yet wonderful. For the first time in my life I am truly free.’
Unable to control her joy, she flung her arms wide and whirled in the circle of an impromptu dance before she sank into the planter’s chair facing him.
‘Free, m’dear? Not from Marmaduke, I trust?’
She gave in to a peal of laughter. ‘Not Marmaduke! He is the one I must thank for my freedom. I’m broken away from the sins of the past, Garnet. Do you know what that means? I feel light-headed. Young in the way I never felt as a child. For the first time in my life, I truly belong to myself!’
Garnet poured two glasses of gin and lime juice and handed one to her.
‘Here drink this, it’ll steady your nerves, girl. And mine!’
Isabel accepted the glass trying to contain her laughter. She knew she was on the verge of hysteria and couldn’t control the pitch of her voice, but she did not care.
‘Let’s drink to the future. To Marmaduke’s safe return and to all of us, freedom from the past!’
And then she began laughing and crying at the same time.
Garnet needed no second invitation. They clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one unbroken measure.
Isabel leapt to her feet and brought the chessboard to the table, brushing aside his bundle of business papers as if they were as unimportant as old confetti.
‘Today I choose to be on the Duke of Wellington’s side. But stand warned, Garnet, at long last I am going to beat Napoleon Bonaparte.’
Garnet’s eyes were brimming with merriment. ‘And about time too. Do you think I don’t know when a clever young lady is allowing an older man to win?’
Isabel gasped in surprise until, recognising Garnet’s true delight, she joined his laughter and the wonderful new feeling of closeness that she felt must be the bond a daughter shared with a loved father.
Chapter 43
Arriving in Sydney Town Marmaduke felt a surge of conflicting emotions. After the past weeks of sharing with Isabel an oasis of romantic, idyllic serenity, mentally shielded from the outside world, he felt he had been catapulted back into the brutal reality of the Colony – a world of crime, murder, executions. Within days he must give his full attention to hearing the evidence at a murder trial in which the victim was Rupert Grantham, the man whose company he had enjoyed and although he did not know him intimately, he had been glad to call friend.
But Marmaduke’s immediate concern was the ‘special cargo’ Edwin had advised him had arrived – the two people whom he had invited to share his life with Isabel but who had arrived independently under unusual circumstances. He was now responsible for Isabel’s widowed aunt, Elisabeth Ogden née de Rolland, and Rose Alba, a small child reared by her aunt but who Marmaduke was sure was the unacknowledged child of Isabel and her ‘double cousin’ Silas.
I told myself I wanted to become Isabel’s hero but I didn’t realise just how complicated that role would become. I must now simultaneously take responsibility for the lives of two men who may or may not have butchered my friend. Take on the role of de facto stepfather with absolutely no experience of kids. And be prepared to confront Silas de Rolland when he lobs in the Colony.
Soon after Marmaduke’s arrival at the Princess Alexandrina, travel-stained and weary, Edwin came straight from court, in his robes and barrister’s wig, to brief him.
‘I thought it unwise to go into details in my letter to Bloodwood, knowing Garnet’s penchant for reading your mail. And your wish to keep under wraps your plans to bring Isabel’s aunt and the child Rose Alba to the Colony. The true story is rather complex.’
Edwin explained that Elisabeth Ogden had sailed prior to Marmaduke’s invitation on her own initiative. She had paid their ship’s passages to the Colony but their voyage had been broken at Cape Town when they contracted a severe fever. On their arrival at Port Jackson, Edwin had installed the woman and child in a suite at the hotel. As they were both suffering from effects of the fever, he had placed them in the care of Dr William Bland and two hired nurses who cared for them in alternate shifts night and day. The hotel staff had strict instructions that until Marmaduke’s arrival they were to receive
no visitors with the exception of the surgeon and Edwin.
‘I trust I have done as you would have wished, Marmaduke. Both patients are quite debilitated from the fever. Dr Bland assures me they are expected to make a full recovery but must not be moved or indeed travel to the country for some time.’
‘Edwin, you are a gem of a man. Not only are you fighting to save prisoners from the gallows, balancing the needs of your own family – your mother against your bride – but you’ve taken on the responsibility of Isabel’s family of invalids as well.’
Marmaduke enveloped him in an extravagant hug then was startled by a sudden thought. ‘But if you found their names on the ship’s passenger lists that means Silas de Rolland would also be able to find them when he arrives in the Colony.’
‘No. Mrs Ogden had the foresight to book their passage under the assumed name of Jones, and I continued that practice here at the hotel. I gained the impression that the lady regards her nephew Silas with the same degree of contempt that we do.’
‘Does she realise her connection with me – the son of the man who was transported for the so-called theft of her garnet ring?’
Edwin looked embarrassed. ‘I did not feel it I my place to do so. However, Mrs Ogden is aware this hotel is owned by a wealthy entrepreneur named Gamble but she doesn’t appear to have connected him to the young servant called George who served her family nearly three decades ago. I thought I’d best leave you to sort out the delicate web of de Rolland and Gamble family history.’
‘Thanks, Edwin, I look forward to that,’ Marmaduke said dryly.
Edwin returned to what to him was more comfortable legal territory by summarising the known facts of the murder case. The police had only been able to bring James Leech and Will Barrenwood to trial because nineteen-year-old Paul Brown, had turned King’s Evidence.
‘Hell, Edwin, when one of a trio of murderers rats on the other two, their trial promises to have more fireworks than the King’s celebration of Guy Fawkes’ Night.’
Ghost Gum Valley Page 44