Ghost Gum Valley

by Johanna Nicholls

  ‘Rose Alba told me about her exciting journey along the highway with Edwin. A toll man stopped their carriage and everyone had to give him their money,’ he said significantly.

  Isabel looked bewildered. ‘But there isn’t any toll house.’

  ‘Yes, there is dear,’ Marmaduke corrected politely. ‘You know the toll man, Mr Bolter. He wears a handkerchief across his face!’

  Isabel turned pale. ‘Oh, my goodness, that Mr Bolter!’

  ‘Yes,’ the child said helpfully, ‘and Mr Edwin even had to hand over his gold watch to pay the toll!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Marmaduke added firmly. ‘But all’s well that end’s well.’

  Rose Alba explored the other room where she was to sleep. Isabel was trembling, so Marmaduke crossed to her and folded her in his arms.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be afraid of – the kid loves you already.’

  ‘But I don’t know what to say to her! I’ve rehearsed the words for years but I can’t remember them.’

  Marmaduke cupped her face in his hands. ‘I taught you how to overcome your fear of water. I taught you how to make love – even how to cry. You don’t need me to teach you this. It’s all inside you, Isabel. Just open your heart to her – that’s how you won me.’

  He spun around at the door and gave her the thumbs-up sign of total confidence. ‘You can do it, girl. I know you can.’

  Out in the corridor Marmaduke pressed himself against the wall and listened for the words he hoped would come.

  He heard Isabel say softly, ‘I have been waiting to meet you again. I do hope you will be happy here, Rose Alba.’

  ‘Oh yes, I will, Sister. I saw a kangaroo in your garden. Can I play with him?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But it’s a mama kangaroo. The baby in her pouch is called a joey.’

  There was a little silence. ‘What would you like me to call you? Are you really my sister? My aunt? Or my cousin? Aunt Elisabeth said you would tell me one day.’

  There was no reply so Rose Alba covered the silence. ‘When I was a little girl Aunt Elisabeth told me when I grew bigger you might ask me to live with you. I’m four and a half now. Is that big enough?’

  Marmaduke heard the cry in Isabel’s voice.

  ‘Rose Alba, I want you to live with us for ever and ever. Please, may I have a hug?’

  Marmaduke sighed with relief when he heard Rose Alba’s whisper.

  ‘Are they happy tears? I’d give you my handkerchief, but I lost it when I swam across the creek on Dangar’s back.’

  ‘What happened?!’

  ‘The bridge fell down. Uncle Marmaduke swam beside me all the way so I was quite safe.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Isabel, ‘he’s rather good at that!’

  Marmaduke finally knew it was safe to leave when he heard the lovely sound of two little girls laughing together.

  Chapter 54

  Isabel had one overwhelming fear that she refused to express in words in case she gave it energy and made it reality. This was the safety of those she loved deeply, Marmaduke, Rose Alba and the little one who was the constant companion inside her body.

  Starved for years of the opportunity to release her maternal instincts, in the two days since Rose Alba’s arrival at Bloodwood Hall she had watched the child with hungry eyes, trying to store in her mind every word, every expression and gesture as the little girl explored with wonder the new world of the mansion, the garden full of exotic plants, birds and animals.

  Isabel understood her enchantment. From an isolated hamlet Rose Alba had been set down in the Garden of Eden.

  Isabel knew that Marmaduke’s air of secrecy involved measures for their protection. He had been careful to define the child’s boundaries. Rose Alba was free to wander anywhere in the house but must not go outside into the garden without him or Isabel to accompany her. Isabel knew that Marmaduke had alerted every house servant about the need to guard the child’s safety and had instructed Murray Robertson to brief their assigned men to be on the look out for the appearance of strangers on the estate. All were given descriptions of Silas de Rolland and the pugilist Cooper, the man with the metal nose.

  But Isabel knew these measures were not foolproof. The anonymous envelopes containing the white roses had increased but no one admitted seeing them delivered. Someone at Bloodwood Hall must be in the pay of Silas.

  Isabel was touched to see that the child had instantly adopted her new grandfather and fetched Garnet anything he wanted, placed a footstool at his feet unprompted, and sat beside him, wide-eyed at the cleverness of Amaru, the magical cockatoo who talked with a human voice.

  Now as she trailed through the house behind Rose Alba, Isabel felt oddly uneasy when the child stopped at the far end of the picture gallery in front of the portrait that most fascinated her. Miranda.

  ‘She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?’ Isabel said. ‘That’s Uncle Marmaduke’s mother.’

  ‘Indeed yes, Sister.’ Rose Alba cocked her head on one side. ‘But not quite as lovely as she really is. Her eyes are kinder. A bit sad. Why doesn’t she eat with us?’

  ‘Eat with us?’ Isabel felt conscious of the chilly aura that was almost tangible at this end of the galley. ‘What do you mean? Marmaduke’s mother isn’t with us anymore.’

  My God, what does she know about death?

  ‘Yes, she is. I met her yesterday in the garden. When you sat in the summerhouse and fell asleep. This lady told me she taught Amaru to speak.’

  ‘Garnet must have told you that, dear. You’re mistaken.’

  Rose Alba politely shook her head. ‘She showed me the birdcage. She said a bad man poisoned all her little birds. He lives at Penkivil Park and I must never speak to him.’

  Isabel felt faint and steadied herself against the wall. No one had ever linked Silas’s name to the disappearance of those budgerigars. Garnet had only said someone had forgotten to close the aviary door. She distracted the child from Miranda and suggested they hurry downstairs and join everyone for breakfast. But her thoughts were in turmoil.

  Rose Alba can see the Other! She’s inherited it from me – and, God forbid, from Silas.

  ‘Today is a day you’ll never forget, Rose Alba. We’ve planned a special surprise for you,’ Marmaduke told the child at the breakfast table where the whole family was gathered in company with Edwin and Rhys. As usual they were was serving themselves breakfast from the dishes on the sideboard, so the conversation was relaxed, free from the eavesdropping of servants.

  ‘Do you know what the surprise is?’ Rose Alba whispered to Isabel.

  Isabel nodded. ‘Yes, but my lips are sealed, darling.’

  Rose Alba looked in turn at Garnet, Edwin, Queenie and Rhys Powell but realised by their expressions they were all sworn to secrecy.

  ‘I will tell you one thing,’ Isabel confided, ‘it begins at noon – that’s when both hands on the clock are together at the top. And it would please Queenie if you wore that lovely new party frock that she made for you.’

  Rose Alba nodded happily and Isabel had no doubt that as soon as breakfast was over she would seek out Bridget and the three Marys and try to learn the secret.

  But she also suspected Marmaduke’s surprise was a blind for something else. His air of innocence was so convincing Isabel knew he must be lying.

  Marmaduke felt edgy as he surveyed the scene. He had initiated an idea to welcome the child to her new home – a garden party at which everyone, including the house servants, would be dressed in makeshift fancy dress. He had taken out of storage the small theatre and puppets for the Punch and Judy shows Miranda had performed for him and which he had loved as a child.

  The puppets’ faces and limbs were in good condition but the clothes were moth-eaten and dusty so he had co-opted Queenie and Bridget to sew fresh costumes for them.

  No other children lived on the estate but for the past two days Rose Alba had introduced herself to all the servants, the gardeners, blacksmiths and carpenters. Her questions about their work had be
en so genuinely interested that she had won a coterie of admirers among the transportees, who had either been forced to leave families behind them, or knew they had little chance of having children of their own in a colony that was so short of women.

  Marmaduke knew how much the child loved to sing so he had planned for the Punch and Judy performance to be followed by a concert. He strode around the garden where the new pianoforte had been placed beside a small raised terrace that would serve as a stage.

  He listened anxiously as Rhys Powell tuned the instrument. Isabel, albeit a gifted actress, was not noted for her singing so she would accompany the performers.

  ‘I know you have perfect pitch, Rhys, but this instrument must be tuned to top professional standard worthy of the world famous guest artiste I’ve invited to perform here. No doubt you’ve read about the celebrated Josepha St John, who Barnett Levey brought to the Colony?

  Rhys looked flustered when Marmaduke announced the name.

  ‘Indeed I have, sir. I shall do my level best, I will. But are you quite certain the lady shall be performing here today? The village has it that the lady has been engaged to entertain Mr de Rolland’s guests at Penkivil Park tonight.’

  ‘Yeah. So I heard. As a special favour to a friend, I reckon she’ll be here to entertain my new daughter this afternoon.’

  Marmaduke’s show of confidence was fast deflating. There had been no word from Josepha since he delivered his invitation that offered to send the Gamble carriage to wait for her at the gates of Penkivil Park at half eleven this morning in the hope she would be free to honour him with a farewell performance.

  For the child and for me. And to show Isabel she has no need to be jealous. Maybe Josepha never got my note. Or else it’s her idea of payback. Or Silas is manipulating her, too. What the hell, I’ll send Thomas as arranged just in case.

  He glanced up at the French windows of the nursery, where Queenie had been asked to read to Rose Alba as a ploy to keep her occupied and unaware of the preparations for the entertainment.

  I now know how nervous Barnett Levey feels before every performance.

  Marmaduke glanced at his watch, feeling a sense of panic. Only half an hour remained before the scheduled overture for beginners. Virtually every portable chair in the house had been brought into the garden and arranged on three sides of the oval-shaped terrace that would serve as the stage. He had had the carpenters build a light timber proscenium arch from which hung the elaborate green velvet, gold tasseled drapes he had commandeered from a set of dining-room windows. These curtains were so lavish in size that they also acted as wings to conceal the entertainers who were ready to take their cue.

  His final touches were the pots of blooming shrubs that were aligned on either side of the stage and a well-padded piano stool for Isabel’s comfort beside the pianoforte in front of the stage. And although the sun was shining brightly, as a tribute to the theatrical profession he had arranged little oil lamps around the apron of the stage.

  Marmaduke was pleased to see that all the servants who were racing around setting up platters of food and drinks on the trestle table had entered into the mood of the day and wore begged or borrowed finery. Even some of the assigned men, who were already loitering on the edge of the garden, wore paper hats or masks. Some had drawn moustaches and beards on their faces with charcoal. Rhys Powell sported the outfit of a Welsh bard, Murray Robertson was striding about in his full Highland regalia. Edwin, the most conservative member of the party and whose luggage was still in Bloodwood village, appeared wearing a borrowed striped mariner’s jersey, a scarf knotted around his head, and one of Queenie’s hoop earrings – a most unwilling pirate.

  ‘I feel a damned fool, Marmaduke,’ he hissed.

  ‘We all do, Edwin, but Rose Alba will be tickled pink and that’s all that matters.’

  Marmaduke wore the simple, romantic garb of a seventeenth-century Shakespearean actor, his full-sleeved white shirt unlaced at the chest, legs covered by tight breeches, silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes, a velvet cloak folded back over his shoulders, his hair tied back and topped by a velvet cap.

  Edwin stood at this side. Despite his piratical appearance his manner was subtly transformed as if ready to go into court to fight a difficult case.

  ‘This is a lovely way for a father to introduce his newly adopted daughter, but as a matter of interest, is Isabel aware Madame St John is the star of the show?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Marmaduke admitted as he checked the time by his pocket watch. ‘I’m not even sure Josepha will come. But I wanted to give Isabel the chance to hear the greatest singer I’ve ever heard in my life before she leaves New South Wales forever. And for Isabel to see that Josepha’s my friend, nothing more.’

  Edwin sighed in resignation. ‘You might know everything about women, old chap, but I suspect you still have a fair bit to learn about wives.’

  ‘I feel like a dog trying to learn new tricks, mate.’

  Marmaduke was preoccupied as he glanced again at his watch. At the thought of Josepha he plucked a quotation that jumped to mind.

  ‘What’s done cannot be undone.’

  The moment he said the words he froze. ‘Shit! I can’t believe I said that! It’s bad luck to quote from The Scottish Play.’

  ‘Macbeth? But surely that’s merely a superstition for actors.’

  Marmaduke was already outdoors as the antidote to the superstition demanded and he spun around three times on the spot then spat into the garden.

  Edwin looked astounded. ‘Have you gone stark, raving mad?’

  ‘No, mate, that’s what actors do to counteract the bad luck. Klaus von Starbold was an actor. So I’m not taking any chances!’

  ‘Klaus von Starbold? What on earth has he got to do with this?’

  Marmaduke had forgotten Edwin was unaware of his biological discovery.

  ‘Everything, mate. But it’s a long story so I’ll fill you in some other time.’

  Marmaduke was now resigned that Josepha was not going to appear. Everyone was assembled in their seats and the assigned men sprawled on the special tarpaulin for their use when Garnet Gamble made his grand entrance swathed in a linen sheet toga, a wreath of gum leaves around his head like some eccentric Roman senator with Amaru perched on his shoulder. At his side Isabel looked amazingly beautiful in a loose flowing robe, Queenie in a silver-threaded sari and Rose Alba was dressed like a little princess in a muslin dress embroidered with white roses.

  The child led Garnet to the special seat reserved for him in the front row.

  Platters of food were passed around among the assigned men and each was given a mug of ale for the toast to His Majesty, though Marmaduke did not doubt they would need to be refilled at the stage of the toast.

  Isabel’s conclusion of the overture at the pianoforte drew encouraging applause and the curtains were drawn back enough to allow Marmaduke to take centre stage, making a sweeping bow that encompassed his audience as he asked everyone to raise their glasses in a toast to the memory of George Barrington.

  There was an audible murmur of, ‘Who the hell’s Barrington?’

  Marmaduke responded with a smile. ‘An Irishman none of us should ever forget. Barrington is said to have written and spoken the prologue for the first ever theatrical play performed on Australian soil, only one year after the arrival of the First Fleet. The play was Farquhar’s comedy, The Recruiting Officer, performed on the Fourth of June 1789 to celebrate His Majesty King George III’s birthday,’ he said as he looked across at the rows of assigned men, ‘by a cast of convict actors to an audience of marines and assigned men, and attended by Governor Arthur Phillip.

  ‘To quote a couple of lines from what is known as Barrington’s speech: True patriots, all, for be it understood, We left our country for our country’s good.’

  There was a rousing cheer and all mugs of ale were soon emptied.

  After the cheering subsided, Marmaduke bowed deeply to Rose Alba before addressing the whole au
dience.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, today is a special Command Performance to welcome to these shores Miss Rose Alba.’ After the applause he continued. ‘This young lady is my wife Isabel’s half-sister. She has graciously consented to make her home with us at Mingaletta as soon as the carpenters have completed the building repairs.’

  ‘Very soon I hope – I can’t hold on much longer,’ Isabel said intending the words for Marmaduke’s ears but the natural projection of her voice carried it to all present.

  The assigned carpenters, already fuelled by ale, called back, ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Gamble!’

  Marmaduke continued, ‘Rose Alba, the white rose of York, is now our legally adopted daughter and from this day onwards will by law bear the name of Gamble!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ roared Garnet Gamble.

  On his shoulder Amaru squawked in excitement, ‘That’s the way to do it!’

  The applause was punctuated by cheers. Rose Alba had already won all hearts.

  Marmaduke gestured to the closed curtains behind him, ‘And now for the delight of everyone, including those of us who rejoice in Celtic ancestry – which is half the population of New South Wales – may I present “Miss Bridget and Friend”.’

  The curtains parted to a fiddler’s rendition of a lively Irish air to which Bridget danced an Irish jig with great dexterity, her feet tapping furiously, her arms hanging straight to her sides in the style of the dance, and a flash of her ankles and buckled heeled shoes drawing roars of approval from the predominantly Irish male audience as well as a look of surprised admiration from Rhys Powell.

  Next the curtains drew back to reveal a Punch and Judy box theatre on stage, just large enough to hold Marmaduke and Murray Robertson, who had rehearsed the traditional play. The rogue Punch was cheered by the convict element even when he beat up his puppet wife, Judy, and the puppet policeman was booed by the partisan crowd.

  Queenie performed an Indian dance and Marmaduke felt himself transported to the past. When she danced Queenie looked as young as he first remembered her.