Ironbark (40 page)

The veranda was cordoned off with a sign marked ‘Quarantine'. No barrier was going to prevent Keziah from practising her Romani herbal medicine.

When the assigned housekeeper, Janet Macgregor, opened the door she looked formidable. Keziah had heard the gossip about her criminal history but when she saw the woman's face was lined with weariness from weeks of nursing the doctor, Keziah felt an instant bond of sympathy.

‘Sign says “Quarantine”,' Janet said crisply.

‘I'm Saranna Plews, Ironbark's schoolteacher. May I speak with the doctor? My cart is loaded with boxes for him. And Jake Andersen asked me to deliver a personal message.'

‘Second door, top of the stairs,' said Janet and began unloading boxes from the cart.

Under her shawl Keziah concealed the bottle of whisky sent by Jake, mindful of his warning that the Wesleyan housekeeper would pour the Demon Drink down the sink before Leslie Ross even had a chance to read the label.

Keziah hurried upstairs, casting a wary eye out for a
mulo
, but she relaxed when she entered the sick room as it was free of any ghostly vibrations. Sunlight poured through the attic window across a cheerful patchwork quilt.

Dr Leslie Ross was in bed, propped against pillows, his hair freshly combed, his beard trimmed. Keziah saw that he had lost considerable weight and his breathing was laboured, but his ingrained Highland hospitality was undiminished.

‘Kind of you to call, lassie,' he stuttered. ‘So you're the schoolteacher Jake holds in such high esteem. We meet at last.'

‘You are the hero of Ironbark, Doctor. I'm mindful of your convalescence, so I'll be brief. Jake sends you this whisky with instructions to use it liberally to help the medicine go down. I've delivered fruit, vegetables, eggs and a side of lamb from your grateful Ironbark patients. And I'm instructed to tell you
not
to return to work till you're fit and well.'

‘My thanks to one and all, but I'm quite recovered. Besides, there's nay another surgeon for miles around.'

Keziah held up her hand to halt his excuse. ‘At Jake's request I've brought you special herbs to make an infusion. It's a Romani cure that never fails.' She hastily added, ‘A wise old Gypsy taught me. Taken four times daily it will greatly ease the congestion in your lungs. Forgive me if this advice sounds impertinent.'

He shook his head in admiration. ‘Lass, you have all the efficiency of an admiral of the fleet. Tell Janet to brew the herbs to your instructions. I'll take my medicine like a man!'

As she hurried downstairs to instruct Janet about the herbs, Keziah gave a heartfelt sigh of relief. Murderer or victim, whichever
mulo
had given this house its frightening reputation was long gone.

Hobson's cart was much lighter after delivering its cargo of food. When Keziah drove it around the carriage-turning circle, she halted beside a weeping willow tree to look across the expanse of neglected old garden. Although the sun was shining brightly, she shivered with cold. An anxious thought crossed her mind. What if she was also going down with the virulent disease? She would endanger Gabriel, Murphy and all her schoolchildren.

It was then she saw the doctor's new labourer. A few yards away a young man stood beside a dilapidated stone well. His shaven head and ragged slop clothing clearly placed him as a convict. Sad dark eyes stared back at her from his gaunt face. Keziah waved to him, comforted by the thought that this lad had been assigned to a humane master. No doubt as soon as Dr Ross was on his feet he would have this lad's leg-irons removed.

The youth watched her in silence then lifted the wooden cover from the well and tossed something down. Seconds later she heard a splash as the object hit the water.

Keziah was just about to drive off when she realised something was very wrong. His leg-irons had disappeared. And then she saw the reason. His
whole body
was slowly dissolving before her eyes.

Cold with terror she cracked the whip and sent the horse and cart charging erratically for the road.
Mi-duvel! It's Padraic. Why won't those damned
mulos
ever leave me alone?

• • •

Daniel Browne was seated in Keziah's carver's chair, eating the hearty breakfast she had cooked for him.

He had been granted a convict pass to attend chapel for the reading of the first banns. Keziah was thankful he must return to Gideon Park by nightfall. Meanwhile Romani hospitality bound her to suffer his arrogance.

‘You keep a generous table. I congratulate myself on my clever choice of a wife.'

‘Don't count your chickens before they're hatched,' Keziah snapped.

‘Come, come,' he teased, an edge of malice in his voice. ‘Marriage to me will give you the best of both worlds. A man to protect you and be your breadwinner. While you keep your independence, your schoolhouse, your good name. What more could a Gypsy thief want?'

‘If you call me a thief again the wedding is off and hang the consequences!'

Gabriel entered and made straight for Daniel, instinctively recognising the addition to the family.

Keziah studied Daniel's attitude to the boy as he guided his hand to cross off another day before the wedding. He gently explained the picture of the snowman on the calendar to a child who had never seen snow.

She wondered anxiously, would Daniel be a decent stepfather? She was reminded of Jake's words, ‘Kids don't ask to be born. They're pawns in the games adults play.'

For Gabriel's sake she tried to sound light-hearted about the fact Daniel would live with them after the wedding. Gabriel offered to share his toys and his bed with him.

Daniel said evenly, ‘What a kind boy. But Mama's boss of the house, eh Mama?'

Keziah gritted her teeth at his barbed joke. Daniel had sworn their marriage would be platonic but Keziah knew the truth. The moment they exchanged
gaujo
vows, legally she would be part of Daniel's ‘goods and chattels'. She refused to answer him.

‘I'll soon be granted my ticket-of-leave thanks to Julian Jonstone and your mate Joseph Bloom. Free to choose who I work for – and
receive wages. Until then I haven't a penny to bless myself. You must pay for the pleasure of buying a husband.'

Keziah flinched. She knew that at Gideon Park Daniel had lost all control over his life. No doubt even the power to inflict hurt was a new experience for him. He clearly enjoyed flexing his muscles as future master of the house. Yet moments later he seemed surprisingly nervous when he handed her a scroll of paper – her wedding present.

Despite her desire to keep the distance between them, Keziah was moved by the sensitive way his portrait captured the intimate bond between mother and child. She thanked him coolly, but was unable to remain quiet when she caught sight of his badly swollen right hand. The backs of the fingers were marked by raw red cuts.

‘This was no accident!'

‘A horsewhip. My overseer caught me sketching this when I was meant to be at my labours.' Daniel shrugged. ‘He's done far worse to others. At least he's never had me flogged.'

Keziah crossed to her pestle and mortar and mixed up a fresh herbal ointment. She tossed off an explanation so as not to make him think that she was softening towards him.

‘My grandmother taught me I must never withhold healing, not even from an enemy.'

The hooded green eyes observed her intently. ‘Am I your enemy?'

‘You are my patient,' she said stiffly. With customary skill she soaked his hands, applied the ointment to his wounds, bandaged them then gave him a pot of the balm.

‘You have healing hands,' Daniel said.

‘Don't mistake my motive. I'd do the same for a dog.'

It was time for Daniel to take his leave, yet he hesitated.

‘Be careful of the man who beat you,' Keziah warned. ‘Your art is a god-given gift. Some people try to destroy what they don't understand.' She forced herself to add, ‘Our portrait is very fine.'

Daniel turned his head, perhaps to mask his pleasure at her
praise. ‘Till next week.'

Keziah closed her door.
I refuse to pity him. If only Jake was here!

Now that the wedding date seemed unavoidable, Keziah asked Nerida to be her bridesmaid.

‘Think of it as a
gubba's
corroboree with singing and dancing. I don't believe in that church business but it will give Daniel his freedom.'

Nerida's decision was final. ‘You make Daniel free. I help you do it proper, that freedom business.'

When it came to freedom, Keziah knew how alien white man's law was to Aboriginal life. For white
gubbas
to take away a human being's freedom was cruelty beyond belief.

That freedom business.
This odd phrase lifted Keziah's spirits. Nerida had turned a dreaded wedding into a celebration to beat the convict authorities.

The day also brought the arrival of Sunny Ah Wei's emporium. ‘We need special help today, Sunny,' Keziah said. ‘Material for wedding clothes.'

Sunny's smile faltered momentarily. ‘Ah! Wedding very good luck! I have special bargains up my sleeve for you. Are you the bride, Missy?' he asked Nerida.

When Nerida ignored him, Keziah replied instead. ‘No, I am.' She added under her breath, ‘Unfortunately.'

‘Ah,
very
good,' Sunny's smile grew wider.

When Nerida could not look past the red and gold brocade, Sunny prompted. ‘Red very lucky colour for brides in China – bring double happiness, many children.'

Keziah was confused by Nerida's apparent indifference to Sunny.
Is she shy? Does she like him? Or is this a female custom in Wiradjuri courtship?

Sunny took their measurements for the lightning-fast Goulburn tailor at a price so modest Keziah wondered how he existed on such a narrow margin of profit. She moved tactfully away as if to admire a
new line of his kitchenware, to give Sunny the opportunity to talk to Nerida alone. But when Sunny finally departed he looked crestfallen.

‘Nerida, what on earth did you say to upset him?' Keziah asked.

‘I am promised to Wiradjuri man. No China husband me.'

Keziah felt helpless to intervene. Nerida never spoke of the anguish she carried in her soul, but Keziah had heard from Jake that since the Myall Creek massacre many of the Wiradjuri had disappeared like shadows from the land. Dead or alive they were dispossessed.
Just like Gem and me.

That night Keziah was woken by a vivid dream. She sat upright in bed, her heart racing wildly. In the dream she had been passionately kissed by a man she could not identify. He wore a red neckerchief. It was not Daniel Browne. Nor was it Gem.

• • •

At Gideon Park Daniel Browne marked off on the wall the remaining days before the wedding. Saranna Plews's impostor was his escape ticket but he lived in fear that something would happen to prevent it. He slept badly, worked feverishly like an automaton to avoid the overseer who could prevent his departure at the stroke of a pen. Daniel tried to block every emotion and instinct that involved the world around him. The only time he felt safe to have ordinary human feelings was during those secret hours he spent alone in the feverish act of creation. The faces of the people he explored on paper were more alive to him than anyone born of woman.

Today as he strode towards his master's house he carried with pride his latest painting, the commissioned portrait of Charlotte Jonstone.

He
must
recognise how fine it is. I've not only captured his wife's aristocratic features but also that quality of sadness in her eyes – her failure to produce a living male heir.

Daniel assured himself he had taken great pains to please the first lady of the Quality he had ever known. He had posed her in her most flattering rose-coloured gown, seated on a superbly carved armchair she
had told him was a Louis XVI
fauteuil
, and placed her favourite ivory fan on a small Regency table. For hours in his own time he had laboured over the arrangement of her fair curls, the intricate Belgian lace edging her sleeves and décolletage, the lustre of her pearls, the Indian sapphire ring that was a family heirloom.

When he knocked at the servants' entrance he felt sure of success but was crestfallen when the assigned housekeeper told him he was too late. The Jonstones had gone to Bathurst, to another of their estates. She closed the door before he had time to retrieve his painting.

Daniel felt crushed. He had counted on the promised payment. Although he always made light of his poverty to Keziah, he felt humiliated with nothing to bring to the marriage.

After the wedding in Ironbark it'll be a case of out of sight, out of mind. Jonstone will never pay what's due to me.

Returning to the assigned men's quarters Daniel's path was suddenly blocked. Mounted on his coal-black stallion the Devil Himself reminded Daniel of an evil, smiling centaur.

‘Well, fellow m'lad. Quite a neat trick of yours trying to curry favour with Jonstone. Thought you'd concealed your crime. The paper you stole for your pictures months back.'

Daniel felt the sweat beads on his forehead. Fear pushed him beyond caution.

‘I stole nothing, Sir. I've worked off every penny as well you know!'

The Devil Himself seemed to turn that statement over in his mind then added with a look of cunning, ‘Where's your receipt, Browne?'

Daniel's heart raced as the man continued in a friendly tone even more chilling than rage.

‘You deserve a special wedding gift. Something you and your bride will cherish to remind you of your time at Gideon Park. How would twenty lashes suit you?'

Daniel felt his voice rising in panic. ‘I've worked like a dog for you, Sir. I'm no thief. You're answerable to Mr Jonstone. He won't allow it!'