Ghost Gum Valley (70 page)

‘Hell and damnation, it's finally died on me.'

He told himself only fools believed in omens but he was reminded that the clocks of William Shakespeare and Edmund Kean had each stopped at the hour of their death.

‘Well, this watch didn't stop when von Starbold died, so why now? Is it a warning of my death?'

Having laboured bareheaded out of doors all day installing Mingaletta's new water tank and a windmill to pump water for his future stock, it came as no surprise to find he had copped a heavy dose of the sun. His head ached, he was bad-tempered and hungry for a decent meal. He had built his mounting anger into a reason to avoid Isabel for days, yet felt an irrational sense of irritation when she was not in the nursery on his return.

If I can't trust her, who can I trust?

After shedding working clobber that was rank with mud and sweat, he washed and changed into a clean shirt and trousers then sat at the nursery desk to examine the watch, trying to recall Josiah Mendoza's exact instructions on how to repair different timepieces.

Marmaduke had never needed to open this watch. It had never faltered. The back cover of the gold case was blank but he was surprised to find the inside contained layers of small circles of paper. Each one was printed with the name and date of the watchmaker who had serviced or repaired it, making it a virtual history of the watch's travels. Marmaduke felt curious as he pieced the sequence in order. The most recent receipt was from a known watchmaker in George Street, Sydney and dated 1825.

The year of our duel – and von Starbold's death.

Traced backwards in chronological order the receipts indicated watchmakers who had examined the watch in London in 1821, the same year von Starbold had sailed to Van Diemen's Land. The previous one was dated 1818, Belfast.

Was he stationed there as a soldier attached to a British regiment?

A receipt written in what Marmaduke recognised was Dutch, showed it had been repaired in the Cape Colony in 1808. The earliest, written in German and dated 1805, was signed by a watchmaker in a Hessian village.

I remember him talking nostalgically about that place, maybe his family home.

The removal of this final receipt revealed the heart of the lid. It was engraved with a miniature coat of arms bearing the unmistakeable outline of an eagle. Marmaduke turned the watch full circle to read the engraved inscription written around the internal rim. Inscribed in High German script, the words ran into each other so there was no clear beginning or end, just two minute leaves linking the two phrases to form a continuous circle.

He read it as written, inscribed words that were instantly translated in his head. On the other half of the circle was his name.

Klaus von Starbold. For my son in all but name...

The spoken words seemed to hang suspended in the air, waiting for confirmation. ‘That suggests at least one of von Starbold's colourful tales was true. He told me his father was a nobleman who fell in love with a struggling young actress but because of his arranged marriage to a woman of his own rank, he never acknowledged his lover's child as his own son – Klaus von Starbold, or whatever his actress mother's true name was.'

Marmaduke gripped the watch as he realised its significance.

‘No wonder this watch was important to the bastard. Yeah,
bastard
's literally true. This watch was von Starbold's only proof of paternity, the gift from the father who never publicly acknowledged him.'

Despite his long-held hatred of the man, Marmaduke felt moved by the discovery, a feeling soon overtaken by a blinding headache. He saw in his mind the circle of German words whirling faster and faster until they merged together and lost all meaning. In urgent need of fresh air he found himself staggering along the portrait gallery and down the servants' stairs, the watch gripped in his hand.

His head ached so badly that when he passed Isabel in the hallway he looked straight through her until jolted by her words.

‘Marmaduke, what's the matter? You look ill.'

‘Tired, nothing more. I need to be by myself.'

Marmaduke headed straight for Queenie's cottage, instinctively reaching out for his old nanny to cure the inexplicable pain in his head in the same way he had done as a child when he was hurt or troubled.

It seemed as if Queenie had been expecting him. The kettle was on the hob, freshly baked buttered scones and biscuits on a plate.

He sat beside her and gripped the long-fingered brown hands that had tenderly cared for him since the hour of his birth.

‘Queenie, I need you to tell me the truth. Have I been burnt up with hatred all my life for the wrong reasons? I don't know where to begin. I've discovered information about von Starbold's family in his watch that doesn't quite make sense.'

‘Where's Isabel? She should be here,' Queenie said.

‘I'm the one who killed him. I have a right to know.'

Queenie opened her mouth to answer but a rap on the door cut across her words.

Marmaduke looked up in frustration at the sight of Isabel framed in the doorway, her face pale and strained. She clasped a shawl around her shoulders like a shield against the cold though the night air was warm. Marmaduke knew she was there as a gesture of defiance against his rejection of her.

‘I told you I wanted to be alone, girl.' His voice sounded sharper than he intended. ‘Please go.'

Isabel shook her head. ‘I can't leave you, Marmaduke.'

‘God damn it, will you never do as I tell you?'

‘No! You need me now more than ever!'

Queenie's hand sliced through the air to sever their argument.

‘Hush! This is my house, you are my guests. Sit over there, Isabel. Don't say another word – either of you! But what I have to say concerns you both, Marmaduke.'

He held his aching head in his hands but watched her intently, recording in his mind every nuance in Queenie's voice, every subtle change of expression in her eyes, every gesture of those fine hands. He trusted Queenie as he had never trusted any other woman.

‘I'm counting on you to tell me the truth and nothing but the truth.'

‘You deserve that.' She began softly, ‘Miranda left Mingaletta as your inheritance. But she also left in my care a box and charged me not to hand it over to you until such time as you loved a woman and had won her love in full measure. Is that now the truth for both of you?'

Marmaduke felt himself subjected to that piercing stare that had seen through all his childish lies.

‘I speak for myself. You know how I feel, Queenie. I don't need to spell it out.'

He felt the chill in Isabel's voice as she ignored him and spoke directly to Queenie.

‘It seems Marmaduke has run out of dead poets to quote. Well, I'm not afraid to speak my
own
words. I never knew what love was until this man used every trick in the book to worm his way into my heart, but right now I wish I'd never set eyes on him!'

‘I guess both your statements will have to pass muster for love,' Queenie said wryly.

She stretched out her hand and stroked the lid of a plain ebony box that was like a travelling writing case but was not as ornate as the one he remembered his mother using.

‘Will that box tell me what I need to know? Did I kill my mother's rapist or her lover?'

Queenie folded her hands in her lap and spoke in the serious voice of a storyteller.

‘Marmaduke, your memories of that terrible night you found your mother in the cellar of Mingaletta are accurate – as much as truth
could be understood by a boy of sixteen. But truth, like a prism, has many faces. I ask you to look at the truth through my eyes. Don't interrupt me. It is painful for me to re-live it.'

Queenie took a deep breath. ‘All her life I was your mother's shadow. As a child I had every reason to be jealous of the younger half-sister whose Irish mother had died giving birth to her. Miranda was unlike me in every way. White, beautiful, loved, spoilt by her father – and legitimate, but from the moment baby Miranda curled her hand around my finger I had no room in my heart for envy. We grew up like twin souls. We shared lessons with governesses. I shared all your mother's secrets. Her love for you, Marmaduke. Her years of unhappiness because of Garnet's obsessive passion.

‘One day, as was our custom, Miranda asked me to accompany her to the ruins of Mingaletta. The only room intact, the cellar, was her sanctuary. But this time was different. She needed to be alone to make an important decision. “No need to keep guard, Queenie,” she said. “I'm perfectly safe here. It would please me if you'd gather some bush flowers and place them on our father's grave. I'll call you when I'm ready to return to the house.”

‘I tended the Colonel's grave then waited, concealed in the bush for her to call me. It was a hot day. I fell asleep. I woke up, shocked by the sound of a woman's cries. Miranda!

‘I ran to the cellar door and was about to fling it open when I heard a man's deep voice. The Hessian tutor! His anger was controlled but Miranda's cries grew wilder.

‘I remember every word they said. Miranda cried out, “No! You can't do this to me. I forbid it!”

‘“You have no choice, Miranda. The die is cast,” he said.

“You have a contract to teach Marmaduke – on my terms!”

‘He told her, “I have done so to the best of my ability. I shall leave tonight. I shall leave Marmaduke a note of explanation, some kindly lie. He is a young man of honour.”

‘I heard von Starbold say, “
Gott in Himmel!
I refuse to spend another day under Garnet Gamble's roof. I depart tonight. Leave him! Come with me!”

‘“You know I can't. Not now!” Miranda said.

‘“Then this is to remember me when I am gone!”' There was no
mistaking the sounds of what was happening between them,' Queenie said.

‘I was unable to think, unable to act. I ran away when I saw you riding up, Marmaduke. I saw the confusion on your face when you saw the open padlock...and you entered the cellar...'

Queenie's fingers fluttered like the wings of a bird then dropped into her lap.

‘You were just a boy, Marmaduke. You had no way of understanding what you saw.'

Marmaduke leapt to his feet in denial. ‘It was rape! I heard Mother scream, “No, No!”'

Queenie gave a deep sigh. ‘I also heard that. But moments before you rode up in search of her I heard Miranda cry out, “No, no! Klaus
, don't leave me
!”'

The silence in the cabin hung so heavily that Marmaduke had trouble breathing. Inside his head he had been once again sixteen years old, shocked by the carnal images before him. His mother, his tutor – naked. He finally found the courage to say the words that would alter the past forever.

‘So, I didn't kill her rapist – I murdered her lover. How she must have hated me!'

Queenie grabbed hold of him. ‘No, my boy, Miranda understood you were trying to protect her. So did Klaus.'

Marmaduke gripped hold of Queenie's shoulders. ‘The moment I shot him we both knew he was mortally wounded. I brought him here to your cabin to die. Mother told me you prepared his body for burial. Don't spare me, Queenie. Was he delirious? Did he say anything before he died? Was it in German or English? I must know!'

Queenie nodded. ‘Miranda never left his side the final hours of his life. His last words were, “You must live for the babe!” He died in Miranda's arms.'

Marmaduke warded off Isabel's attempts to touch him. He was beyond all comfort.

‘You mean von Starbold knew Mother was with child –
his
child?'

Queenie gave a reluctant nod. ‘He was desperate for her to run away with him.'

Marmaduke's laugh was cynical, a shield for his pain. ‘But content to leave me a
kindly note of explanation
. How noble of him. But Mother chose to stay. Why? For my sake? Or for the sake of the coming babe?'

‘I must leave Miranda to explain the rest of the story. Here is her diary.
Read
it. The box? It holds something that was precious to her. She begged me to make it for you. In the hope that one day you'd understand – and not condemn her.'

Like a dreamer trapped in a bizarre nightmare, Marmaduke opened the lid and felt sickened by the contents. A man's face that was totally lifelike except it was pure white. The eyes were closed.

Marmaduke stared at the death mask of Klaus von Starbold. The face seemed to smile back at him.

Marmaduke flashed along the track towards the house propelled by an invisible force.

He was aware of Isabel at his heels. The distance between them increased as he cut across the convicts' courtyard, blind and deaf to all but his objective. Garnet Gamble.

He gripped the diary. He had just read random extracts. Some were passionate, playful or ambiguous – all vividly evoked his mother's voice. The dates of her diary entries shuffled in his mind as he tried to form a cohesive sequence linked to the dates inside the gold watch. Dates that clearly intersected in Sydney Town in 1821.