Rhys glanced in embarrassment at his battered boots. ‘Mine were stolen.’
‘Sit down and don’t be a bigger fool than Elise made us both. We’re in the same boat.’
Rhys Powell guardedly resumed his seat. Garnet stared at him with narrowed eyes. ‘I’m offering you two choices to get yourself out of this mess.’
‘I want no favours.’
‘I never give ’em. You’ll pay in kind. My first offer is this. You can write yourself an excellent character and I’ll sign it. And I’ll pay your ship’s passage to the Swan River Colony in Western Australia on condition you take Elise with you and guarantee she never returns to Bloodwood Hall.’
‘Even if Elise agreed, I would refuse. I will not marry a thief and a liar.’
‘Then you’ve only got one choice left – or starve. I will arrange to pay that conniving woman to leave town and never return. And as from today you will resume your duties and handle my financial affairs at the increased salary I promised you when you started. You’ve worked better for me than the dishonest buggers who preceded you. So think it through. Fast. If you return to work here it will put a gag on all the gossip in the locality. What do you say?’
Rhys shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I can’t believe you’re willing to give me another chance, sir.’
‘Neither can I. I must be touched in the head. There’s no need to go back to the inn; I’ll send Davey for your things and pay your tab.’
‘Nothing to pay, sir. I was sleeping in the bush – when I wasn’t in custody.’
‘Then it’s all settled. Back to work with you before I change my mind.’
Rhys Powell seemed to have grown perceptibly taller on his exit than when he arrived.
Garnet held the stolen navratan necklace so that the gems sparkled in the light. He was moved by the unexpected manner of its return. The memory of the night he had given it to Miranda came vividly to mind – that night early in their marriage when he believed Miranda was growing to love him.
The evening was hot and languid, the house silent as he had dismissed the servants on their return from the ball at neighbouring Penkivil Park. Miranda sat opposite him and they drank a final glass of champagne. Garnet felt a surge of jealousy mixed with pride of possession.
‘You were the belle of the ball but you know that full well. You had that arrogant American ship’s captain eating out of your hand.’
‘Arrogant? I thought the captain was charming in that courtly way of Southern gentlemen. So few men in the Colony have mastered the art of flirting.’ She cast him a teasing glance over the rim of her goblet. ‘Are you tired, Garnet?’
He made no answer, just watched her gloriously wanton smile as she unfastened the clasp of his gift, the Indian navratan necklace. She entwined the gems between her fingers in a delicate, snake-like movement.
‘This must have cost a small fortune, Garnet. You do spoil me.’
Garnet felt his muscles tighten as Miranda slipped her gown from her shoulders, allowing it to fall in a flimsy white pool at her feet, arching her foot to step free of it. She dangled the necklace from one hand as she crossed to the door, covered only by the sheer film of the slip that clung to her body, damp with the heat.
Pausing in the doorway she said the words softly as if on an afterthought. ‘I love this necklace so much that I’m willing to pay the price. Anything you want...’
For once Garnet hesitated as he noted the growing curve of her belly. ‘Are you sure it’s safe? I don’t want to hurt the little one.’
Her answer was a beckoning of the hand. ‘You won’t. He was conceived in love.’
Garnet followed her up the stairs and took her at her word.
The nine-gem necklace was cool to the touch in his hand. He could sense Miranda’s presence in the room.
‘I know you’re here, my love. Are you happy now? Thanks to that sad young Welshman your beloved necklace has found its way home again – for Marmaduke’s bride.’
There was no sound but the ticking of the clock, but he caught the lingering trace of Miranda’s rose perfume as if she had just that moment left the room.
Was this a further sign of his growing madness? Garnet did not care.
Chapter 45
Marmaduke had barely managed five hours sleep since his arrival at the Princess Alexandrina to prepare for his jury service at the trial of Rex versus Leech and Barrenwood.
He had transferred Aunt Elisabeth and Rose Alba to Garnet’s family suite and made sure they had every aid necessary to speed their recovery. His most enjoyable hours were those he spent at the child’s bedside, amusing her with stories of his own invention about bush animals and birds, telling her about Amaru, the talking sulphur-crested cockatoo who mimicked the puppets in Punch and Judy shows. He spoke lovingly about Isabel, the new family member Rose Alba was eager to meet, but he avoided defining the child’s exact relationship to her. Aunt Elisabeth had been cloudy on that subject.
This morning when describing Isabel and Bloodwood Hall, the big country house where she was going to live, the wide-eyed little girl asked wistfully, ‘Do you think the lady Isabel will like me?’
‘Like you? Sweetheart, you’re just what the doctor ordered,’ Marmaduke said reassuringly but saw that he had only increased her concern.
‘Oh dear, does she have a bad fever like us? Will she get better?’
‘Don’t worry, Isabel’s as healthy as a horse. I just meant that Isabel has wanted you to live with her for a long, long time.’
That anxious exchange brought home to Marmaduke that he was totally unused to the company of children. From now on he must always be on guard in her presence, not only to eliminate his swearing but to be mindful that small children interpreted everything adults say quite literally.
Shit! What a responsibility. I’ll have to watch every damned word that comes out of my mouth.
Visiting Mendoza’s store he was relieved to find his silent partner was returned to full health and vigour and cautiously pleased by the recent upturn in their business.
Josiah handed him a brooch he had saved for Marmaduke’s inspection before putting it for sale in the window.
‘This just arrived on the transport Blenheim in a parcel sent to me from a pawnbroker in Cork.’ Josiah added carefully, ‘It has no known provenance but I have no specific reason to believe it was stolen.’
Marmaduke examined the exquisite cameo and instantly recognised it was inspired by the profile of the celebrated beauty, the notorious Lady Emma Hamilton, who was the great love of Lord Horatio Nelson’s life.
‘Jos! It’s perfect for Isabel! She’s so damned sensitive about her nose. I told her Emma Hamilton made the retroussé nose fashionable. Thanks, mate, if it’s all right by you I’ll take this in lieu of my share of the profits.’
Josiah gestured his approval but betrayed a sense of relief that this item would not be placed on sale in the window. Marmaduke knew that although the old man had recovered physically from the violent attack on him, he had remained wary of harassment from the traps ever since the false claim about Isabel’s ‘stolen’ tiara.
Josiah nodded. ‘The Neapolitan artist who modelled this cameo was a contemporary of Lady Hamilton. It seems the lady won all men’s hearts.’
‘Yeah. Except for damned British politicians.’ Marmaduke’s mood suddenly darkened. ‘I’ll never forgive Whitehall. Nelson was a national hero. They give him a splendid state funeral, erected statues and named towns after him all over the British Empire, but the bastards never honoured the one thing Horatio asked when he lay dying after the Battle of Trafalgar. He Willed the care of Emma and their babe to the nation. The nation refused to pay her a pension. Emma Hamilton never got so much as a penny. She died destitute. So much for honouring a hero’s dying words.’
Marmaduke pocketed the cameo, Isabel’s face vividly in his mind.
On his return to his hotel suite for a belated meal, Marmaduke checked The Sydney Herald for details of tomorrow’s mur
der trial. His eye was caught by the announcement of the forthcoming Theatre Royal’s Benefit Night for Josepha St John, stating that the Colony is saddened by the news that the American Nightingale will soon sail to Rio de Janeiro for a theatrical tour of South America.
Caught off guard, Marmaduke decided to arrange for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered with a note expressing his hope she would allow him to call on her. He was aware it was often the custom for actors to have a number of ‘final’ benefit nights before they retired or left town, but he could not take the risk of Josepha departing from his life without seeing her again. They had never formally said goodbye.
His mood brightened when Edwin called in to discuss the imminent trial.
Marmaduke had heard the rumours. ‘It’s said James Leech has a history of violence – gaoled for attacking a previous assigned master. It seems he’s fast becoming a hero in the eyes of the convict population. That’s hard to stomach when Rupert publicly championed Emancipist causes in the Australian and any other newspaper that would give him space.’
Edwin nodded. ‘That’s a prime example of Colonial sympathy for the underdog taken too far. Leech escaped from a George’s River iron-gang just days before Grantham’s death.’ He hesitated. ‘The talk in legal circles is that certain aspects of this trial may have been arranged. But I am sure you appreciate that for ethical reasons I am unable to elaborate further. I have no proof.’
‘But you’ll be there in court to see British justice is seen to be done?’
Edwin looked bleak. ‘I’d planned to attend as a private citizen but I have received an invitation I cannot refuse. The public hanging of a lad whose case I defended – and lost.’
Marmaduke spoke without thinking. ‘And he wants you to see him drop?’
Edwin sighed. ‘I offered him my abject apology. My failure to gain him a stay of execution weighs heavily on me. He’s barely twenty.’
‘Forgive me. Poor little bugger. What was he up for?’
‘He escaped from irons at Moreton Bay. He was a second offender. As I departed his cell last night the lad told me, “Cheer up, Mr Bentleigh. Hanging’s more fun than serving seven years on Norfolk Island.”’
Marmaduke felt sobered by the gallows humour that was not uncommon from prisoners facing the scaffold. Norfolk Island’s penal system was notorious for its cruelty. Death was often seen as a preferred alterative to transportation there. Marmaduke understood how depressed his friend was whenever he lost a client to the Finisher.
Edwin seemed relieved to answer questions about tomorrow’s trial.
‘The case is to be heard before Francis Forbes, our first Chief Justice. In my opinion he’s the perfect choice. But his attitude has shocked some of the legal fraternity. He believes the law here shouldn’t be hide-bound by British tradition. So he refuses to wear the full-bottomed wig – he sits on the bench bare-headed. He’s derided by some as “the Roundhead”, a reference to Oliver Cromwell’s Republicans.’
Marmaduke grinned. ‘Sounds like a decent bloke – for a judge.’
Edwin let that pass. ‘British justice ultimately lies in the hands of the jury. Twelve men will decide the fate of Leech and Barrenwood. Whether those two young men live or die. And you, my friend, are one of the twelve.’
Marmaduke arrived at the Supreme Court dressed in sober black in respect of his civic duty. He had barely taken his seat in the jury box when he began to feel trapped. Sweat trickled down his forehead and under his stiff collar. All the windows were closed and the air was stifling. The courtroom was filled to overflowing with spectators and it was clear Leech and Barrenwood had attracted a vocal faction of once-and-future convicts. The majority were so rough and belligerent they looked as if they had just been landed from a convict transport. The smell in the room was rank, like a soup of beer, tobacco, garlic and unwashed bodies.
Marmaduke glanced around at his fellow jurors. Twelve Good Men and True. All apparently sober and upstanding citizens. Whether they were Old Lags or Came Free, they had one thing in common. All were substantial landowners. Land was the ultimate stamp of respectability. Marmaduke had joined their ranks thanks to Mingaletta, but how ironical for him to be sitting here in judgement – a killer who had been found Not Guilty of murder.
As he studied the two prisoners standing in the dock Marmaduke tried to banish the gut reaction to the lurid newspaper accounts of Rupert Grantham’s murder. Both looked like ordinary young boys. James Leech, a former London mariner, was a head taller than the pale and weedy Will Barrenwood, a former chimney-sweep. The pair had been transported on the same convict ship.
Marmaduke’s eye was repeatedly drawn to Leech’s handsome face, flawed by a heavy jaw and fleshy sensual mouth. He radiated an aura of leadership – yet also a sense of suppressed rage.
The opening words were read out. ‘James Leech and Will Barrenwood stand indicted for that they, not having the fear of God before their eyes, but being moved and instigated by the Devil...did shoot one Rupert Grantham, inflicting on his left breast a mortal wound, of which he then and there died.’
Both prisoners pleaded Not Guilty, Leech in a voice of authority.
Marmaduke remembered Edwin’s covert warning that some aspects of the case might have been ‘arranged’. His suspicions were aroused when the legal status of the prisoners’ barrister was challenged. The court was told his name would be erased from the list of Barristers of the Court – after the trial.
Surely all prisoners are entitled to proper counsel. The charge is murder – not picking pockets. This isn’t a kangaroo court.
Marmaduke listened intently to each witness, determined to divorce himself from an emotional response to graphic details of the autopsy and his friend’s corpse.
If only I’d ridden out with Rupert that Sunday, he might well be alive today.
Marmaduke was conscious of his dilemma. Weighing against his instinct to avenge Rupert’s death was the reminder that he was now a Mason.
I vowed to see justice done and to uphold the law of the land. So what if these blokes aren’t guilty? What if those wild conspiracy rumors are true and Rupert’s assassination was a plot engineered by powerful enemies?
The Prosecution’s star witness was an eighteen-year-old bolter, Paul Brown, who had accompanied the accused pair but escaped a murder charge by turning King’s Evidence. His nervous testimony drew raucous, angry catcalls from the large sector of partisans supporting their hero James Leech.
Brown described how the trio had been ‘in the bush’, a colloquial term for bushranging. Armed with musket, powder and cutlass, Leech was clearly the trio’s ringleader. Brown was the organ-grinder’s monkey.
Marmaduke grew tense at Brown’s description of the morning of Rupert’s murder. How the trio had ‘amused themselves’ firing at a target on a Red Gum tree.
The court was hushed as Brown recounted his first sighting of Grantham. ‘A gentleman on a white horse rode up to us and dismounted. He asked Leech his name. Leech answered, “I am a man!”’
Leech basked in pride at the murmurs of approval from the rabble faction.
Paul Brown was intent on playing the innocent. ‘Leech told Will Barrenwood to fetch the musket. I tried to talk them out of it. It would be better to receive a Bob, fifty lashes, than risk our lives. The gentleman’s horse was prancing back, terrified. Leech walked up to the gentleman, presented the piece and fired. The gentleman said, “Oh God, I’m killed”. The white horse bolted.’
Marmaduke envisaged the whole murder scene in his mind. He felt icy cold, stunned when Paul Brown continued his litany as if nothing untoward had happened.
‘We were on the run from the traps for five weeks. Crossing a river Barrenwood nearly drowned but Leech swam after him and saved him.’
Leech’s partisans cheered their hero.
Crucial evidence was given by the mounted police constable who had been confronted by Will Barrenwood. ‘I told him to consider himself my prisoner. I then began bouncing him.’<
br />
Marmaduke knew the term bouncing could mean either advised, hustled, tricked, scolded or bullied. He was convinced only half the story was being revealed.
‘Barrenwood pointed to the two men in the bush and warned me Leech would shoot the first man to try to arrest him. When I apprehended Leech and Brown they readily surrendered. Later Barrenwood admitted he knew all about Mr Grantham’s murder and if he had a chance to turn King’s Evidence he would tell all.’
James Leech gave a bellow of rage at this proof his shipmate had betrayed him. Leech’s supporters booed and threw missiles at Barrenwood.
Marmaduke sensed all Hell was about to erupt when James Leech dismissed his barrister. His eyes were feverishly bright as he began to conduct his own defense. Leech stated he had four witnesses willing to testify that he was elsewhere on the day of the murder. His agitation escalated when three of his witnesses failed to appear. His mood grew confident once more when his fourth witness, Patrick Finlay, took the stand.
Finlay avoided all eye contact. His replies to Leech’s questions were tight-lipped. ‘I disremember anything of that day.’
Leech’s eyes narrowed but his tone was determined. ‘Come now, Paddy, you have nothing to fear from your master, Morden. Speak up like a man. No harm can come to you. Were not I and Paul Brown in your company that day?”
Finlay was adamant. ‘I never in my life saw you and Brown together. You were never in my company.’
Leech had a violent change of mood. He whirled around to face the Chief Justice, jury and spectators in turn.
‘You see? He’s afraid to speak the truth on my behalf. No witnesses present in court. No one willing to come forward for me!’
The court was in an uproar. Marmaduke kept his eyes fixed on Leech, trying to gain the key to the young man’s psyche. One of these two is lying. And I wouldn’t trust the King’s Evidence rat as far as I could throw him. I can’t condemn Leech to hang unless I’m bloody sure he’s guilty.
Leech was inciting the spectators to fever pitch. The guards looked ready to spring as the Prosecutor began his emotive summary.
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