Ghost Gum Valley (9 page)

Isabel tried to hand it to her but Martha waved it away. ‘My pin money is little enough – the contents diminish without my knowledge. Buy yourself a gift in Paris.'

Isabel gasped at the contents. ‘I can't! It's all you have.'

‘Take it to please me. And wear my grey travelling ensemble to London. It is two years old but I've scarcely worn it. And, Isabel, I want you to remember something. One day in the future you will fall in love with a man—'

‘Never, I
promise
you. I hate—' Isabel stopped short of saying ‘Silas' just in time to replace it with, ‘the whole idea of marriage.' Although the words were said in panic she did not doubt they were true. ‘But Uncle Godfrey has arranged a marriage for me. There's no love in it. Just duty. It's my chance to atone for the crime I committed.'

‘I see.' Martha grew quiet but held Isabel's hand as if searching for the right words.

‘The de Rollands consider that romance is quite separate from the marriage contract. Falling in love is exciting, Isabel, but
learning
to love a man is far richer. It takes time and courage.'

Martha's breathing sounded like a clock that was winding down. ‘One day you
will
have the courage to love a man of your own. When you open your heart to him, remember I shall be with you. Like a guardian angel watching over you.'

‘Stop it! You're going to be well again. But Silas must order that stupid quack to stop bleeding you. Look how poor Lord Byron's physicians killed him in Greece with constant bleeding. Martha, you only need rest, fresh air, healthy food and time to grow strong again.'

Martha's short laugh turned into a hacking cough.

Isabel's voice rose in desperation. ‘An old Romani gypsy's caravan is back in the woods. Her herbal magic cures everything. I'll go to her. I
will
make you well again! I will!'

Martha's smile was tolerant, close to angelic. ‘That's why I love you, Isabel. I simply accept whatever life brings me. But you have the courage to defy God's will!'

A few minutes later Martha closed her eyes and the rhythm of her breathing indicated she had fallen into a deep sleep.

From the foot of the stairs Isabel heard Agnes anxiously calling her name. To avoid her she ran in the opposite direction, to the kitchen pantry. Unnoticed she filled a wicker basket with a freshly baked loaf, a fine ball of cheese and a large kipper. No doubt Cook would accuse some innocent kitchen maid of theft but Isabel chose to block the thought.

There's only so much guilt I can carry. I'm weighed down with it already.

She added herbs from the kitchen garden and, taking care not to be observed, headed for the woods, clutching her basket. Reaching the drystone wall, she hitched up her skirt and clambered over the stile. The woods soon swallowed the house from sight and she could breathe more easily.

Isabel closed her mind to the memory of that night she had come as a stranger to the gypsy's caravan and had received solace in the old healer's hands. There was no sight of the Romani encampment. This year their caravans must have moved on early. Disappointed that she was unable to gain help for Martha, she crossed the fields that led to the isolated hamlet.

Arriving at the old stone cottage Isabel found the woman seated by the back door, patching linen and resignedly shooing random hens from her vegetable patch. Isabel knew she was not yet fifty but her grey-streaked hair and worn face had aged her since last autumn.

During her rare, clandestine visits Isabel never ceased to be saddened that the widow was reduced to eking out a pitiful existence by taking in washing and mending. She bore little resemblance to the portrait of young Elisabeth de Rolland stored in the basement of de Rolland Park, banished from sight along with its subject, who in the eyes of her family had betrayed her class by running off to marry a common mariner. Even after he died young at sea, Elisabeth remained ostracised.

Isabel handed her the basket of little luxuries and apologised for her long absence.

‘You know how they keep me closeted, Aunt.'

‘The de Rollands fear history will repeat itself.' At Isabel's startled look, she added quickly, ‘I refer to my own wayward past. May I offer you tea, my dear?'

‘There isn't time, Aunt. I came to say goodbye. I must leave for London tomorrow.'

‘I wish you a safe journey. How goes my brother?' Elisabeth asked stiffly. ‘Not that I expect he'd acknowledge my existence after all these years. But rumours reach me even in this hamlet. I hear that he's a hair's breadth from debtors' prison.'

‘Rest assured Uncle Godfrey is well and the family fortunes restored. I cannot stay long. I only came to tell you he has arranged for me to marry into the family of a wealthy Emancipist in New South Wales.'

Elisabeth was shocked. ‘The Penal Colony!'

‘Yes. I don't know how this will affect my financial situation.' Isabel raised her hand. ‘But I swear by hook or by crook I'll find some way to take care of you!'

‘I'll survive. You can only do what is possible. To be born a woman is to be born powerless.' She reached out and clasped Isabel's hand. ‘But New South Wales is the other side of the world. Promise you'll write to me!'

‘Do you think I could leave you behind? You must follow me later. Meanwhile...'

Isabel handed her the money purse but despite her aunt's surprise at the weight of it, she was once and always a gentlewoman so did not count the contents.

‘I shall send you my address and money for your passage as soon as I'm able. But, of course, the colonial family must never know about my past.'

Elisabeth's tone was wistful. ‘No doubt your marriage is for the best. There was no future for you here. But I can't imagine what it must be like to leave England forever!'

Isabel summoned up her courage to ask the question she trusted no one else to answer. ‘You know that since childhood I have sometimes caught glimpses of the Other. Those beings who seem to talk to me in my head – and then dissolve like smoke in front of my eyes. Well, now everything's changed. I saw a real flesh and blood man leap to his death from the parapet. But he wasn't real. It was a ghost.'

Elisabeth's hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God, my brother Henri!'

‘Yes. I'm sorry to shock you, Aunt. Cousin Silas has seen him, too. Silas believes his mother and mine, two sisters, came from a line of witches. I've just discovered a document stating Mother was accused of witchcraft and murder. Is that true?'

‘A scurrilous lie. Alizon and her sister used herbs to heal illness. I never saw signs of any attraction to the black arts – except from Henri – and Silas.' She hastily turned the subject to her beloved lost garden. ‘I suppose the roses were beautiful this year?'

‘Old Fletcher is bent double with ague but he tends your knot garden with great care. Especially your white roses.' Isabel hesitated. ‘How is our own Rose Alba
?'

‘Growing more beautiful each year. Come, see for yourself.'

Isabel rose on the edge of panic. ‘No! I must return. Or I'll be missed.'

There is only so much pain I can bear. I feel that I'm leaving my heart behind.

Aunt Elisabeth took her firmly by the hand and drew her to the room in which she slept. The little girl lay asleep in her cot, her heart-shaped face framed by a circle of blonde curls, her eyelashes like tiny fans on her pale cheeks.

Isabel caught her breath. ‘She reminds me of what that ancient Pope Gregory said when he saw blonde Anglo-Saxon children in a slave market. “Not Angles, but Angels.”'

‘An angel, indeed, sweet of nature. But it's
au revoir
, not goodbye,' Aunt Elisabeth said firmly to banish her own tears. ‘Now hurry back.'

Dry-eyed Isabel kissed her Aunt's tear-stained cheek and heavy of heart hurriedly retraced her steps through the fields.

Isabel found Agnes busily packing her freshly laundered clothing and airing Martha's grey travelling ensemble to remove the smell of the lavender that kept moths at bay.

‘Where have you been, lamb? I've been looking all over for you. The coach for London passes early in the morning. I'm to accompany you to the Master's townhouse and stay with you until your ship sails. That's something, eh?'

‘I regret if I have made life difficult for you, Agnes. Please don't worry that I'll run away. I must say goodbye to Cousin Martha, despite the ban on my visits.'

Too late. The drawbridge to the sickroom was already raised. Isabel reached the door of Martha's room only to be blocked by the emerging figure of Cousin Silas. He gently assured Isabel she could see Martha on her return from London and Paris.

Isabel was tired of all the deceitful family games. ‘When did you plan to tell me that Paris is now in New South Wales, Cousin? And that the marriage contract is already signed.'

Silas spun around, his face the mask of a stranger. Would his eyes take on that strange expression that had frightened her as a child? She felt so anxious she almost forgot to breathe. But when Silas spoke she was surprised by the tenderness in his voice.

‘Do you honestly believe I was party to this plan? Have you forgotten how I forgave you for your disgrace?
Ma petite cousine
, don't you know that I love you as no other man will ever love you?'

‘You must not speak to me like this. It isn't right,' she stammered.

His expression was more sad than angry. ‘How strange to hear you take the high moral ground – after the heinous crime you committed. My silence made me your partner in crime. Must I lie to protect you again?
'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You can tell
me
the truth, Isabel. An infant's corpse has been found buried in the woods. Was it the bastard of some drudge who gave birth there? Or was it
your
bastard?'

Isabel's mouth dried fear. Would this unexpected discovery cause Silas to probe deeper into her self-confessed crime of infanticide?

Which lie is the safest? How can I protect Rose Alba's fate from the family's control?

Despite her fear of the powerful aura that surrounded Silas, she met his eyes.

‘Mine. What's more I'd do it again.'

Silas gave a sigh of resignation. ‘May God forgive you, Isabel.'

‘God might. But I shall never forgive
him,
whoever he was.'

‘You depart at dawn for London,' he said. ‘Uncle Godfrey insists I remain at Martha's bedside. So this is the last time we'll be alone.'

Silas moved towards her. Isabel felt drawn to him as surely as if a magnet linked her soul to his. With a great effort of will she made a swift curtsey then backed towards the door.

‘Don't worry, Cousin,' she stammered. ‘Family honour has been preserved – in public. In a few weeks you'll be free of me forever.'

‘No, Isabel. We will never be free of each other. That is your destiny.'

CHAPTER 6

Sydney Town, Penal Colony of New South Wales, February 1833

‘Will Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow – when
you
are the lover I must leave, my sweet lady.'

Marmaduke said the words gently. Naked and damp with sweat he looked down at her as she lay like a full-blown rose, her plump body creamy pale in the moonlight that filtered through the milky screen of the roof of the glasshouse. When she stirred and looked up at him with that soft dreamy expression of fulfilment, he felt rewarded for his patience during the weeks of their liaison. He had awakened her to her true nature.

‘You are a special man, my dear. I shall never forget you. But as this is our last time, can't you stay a little longer?' She almost said his name but Marmaduke's warning look reminded her it was taboo.

‘I know. No names. You're quite right. I agreed to your rules for the sake of discretion. And you did warn me we would share great pleasure with no love involved.'