Ironbark (58 page)

Keziah tried to think of fresh ways to forge a motherly bond with Pearl, plaiting the child's hair with ribbons to make her feel pretty. She was suddenly overcome by an acute sense of sadness when a jagged wave of pain shot through her belly. Had her body betrayed her once again? Her mouth dried with fear as she slipped her hand between her thighs.

‘Jake, you must leave me alone.' She screened herself from his eyes. ‘I'm bleeding.'

‘Don't be silly. It's natural. I'll get clean rags for you.'

‘No, Jake. I'm losing a baby.'

His face was blank with shock. ‘Why in heaven's name didn't you tell me last night? I would have been more careful with you.'

‘Don't be angry. It's nobody's fault, just nature's way.' She kept her voice low so as not to alarm the children. ‘I didn't want to tell you yet. I wanted to hold on to you any way I could.'

She couldn't even cry.

For a moment Jake looked helpless then he made a move towards the horses. ‘I'll fetch a doctor for you.'

‘No. They can't do anything. Time must take its course. It's far too early.'

He knelt by her side and gripped her hand. ‘Tell me what to do and I'll do it. You can count on me.'

‘I know.' Her voice broke. ‘I'm so sorry, Jake, I can't stop the bleeding, but fetch the valerian from my box. At least that will help me sleep.'

‘And?'

‘Can you keep the children happy?'

Jake nodded. A few moments later she heard his cheerful directions to them as if nothing was wrong.

‘Listen you two. Put your sunhats on. I want to see a pile of kindling before the sun burns the skin off you. Pearl, you make sure Gabriel doesn't fall in the creek.'

Gabriel let out a bellow of hurt male pride. Jake silenced it. ‘Gabriel, you make sure
Pearl
doesn't fall in the creek. If you drown you'll miss your swimming lesson tomorrow. Today you can read me a story but keep it quiet. Mama's tired.'

Jake came back and carried Keziah into the
vardo
. Slipping in and out of consciousness, she tried to garner her energy, willing her blood to stop flowing from her womb. Long ago she had lost Gem's babe. And then she had lost Gem. She desperately needed this babe to bind Jake to her forever. No matter what lay ahead.

She stirred at the sound of the children singing the alphabet. Gabriel piped up as he scratched his chalk across his slate, ‘Papa, how do you spell “kangaroo”?'

‘Easy. R-O-O.'

Keziah managed a faint smile as she slipped between the folds of sleep and pain.

The first stars were out when she heard Jake bedding the children beneath the wagon.

Without a word he lay beside her. Not as a husband, not as a lover, but as her mate watching over her. He stroked her hair as his scratchy voice sang
The Wild Colonial Boy
under his breath. His idea of a lullaby.

When Keziah woke in the night she saw that Jake had fallen asleep with one leg contorted in an awkward position against the wall as if even in his sleep he was trying to avoid waking her. One hand was entwined in her hair. The fingers of his other hand were splayed across her belly to protect the babe inside her.

It was at that precise moment Keziah realised she really understood the meaning of true love.

As soon as she woke in the morning Jake brought her strips of linen and a bowl of water. ‘I'll sponge you, change your linen and wash everything in the creek.'

‘No, Jake, no! A man must never see a Romani woman's blood. It is powerful magic!
It will bring you bad luck!
'

Jake cut across her rising note of hysteria. ‘You know I've always respected your weird Romani laws, but right now I'm the only doc you've got. What's happening to you is more important than seeing a bit of blood. I'll take my chances on what
baxt
wants to chuck at me.'

Lying alone and exhausted while Jake went to the creek, Keziah saw in the doorway the filmy outline of a tiny girl with dark hair. The child gazed at her for several seconds then flickered in and out of the light, growing fainter each time until finally she disappeared.

Keziah cried in her heart but no tears fell. She knew it was all over.

She was alone when contractions delivered the tiny foetus. Inside her head she heard the echo of Patronella's curse.
‘You will bury the child of your heart.'

On Jake's return her voice was flat and dry. ‘Bring me that clean
bowl and my floral silk scarf. Dig a hole beside the black wattle tree, then come back.'

She said a Romani blessing for the soul of the babe whose time had not yet come. She knotted her scarf to cover the bowl, removed her gold earrings and handed them to Jake on his return.

‘Bury these with her. And say your
gaujo
prayer. I've said mine.'

Jake said nothing. But Keziah knew he was wearing his grief inside.

Drained of all emotion, Keziah fell into a deep sleep, her head resting on the pillow of Jake's arm. For once she was unafraid of what tomorrow might bring.

• • • 

For two weeks Jake cooked their meals, insisting she must rest. One night Keziah was woken in the darkness by an acute wave of nausea. Caught between sorrow and confusion, she was shocked to feel a wild surge of hope. Against all odds had a twin soul survived the quickening? Had one little soul given up its place to its brother? She clung to Jake as he slept but decided not to tell him until she was certain.

All through the night she whispered the Romani prayer for healing.
Please God, stand up for me and make me well.

She sent up her silent plea from the highest point her soul could reach.
Mi-duvel, I beg you, let me give life to Jake's child.

Daniel Browne was light of heart as he carried a bottle of Hunter Valley wine under his arm, turning the corner into Elizabeth Street on his way home.

On his arrival in Sydney Town, a fellow artist, Dix, had given him free bed and board at his fine townhouse overlooking Hyde Park. Daniel appreciated the generous invitation but did not feel unduly guilty, knowing Dix lived off his family inheritance and was unaffected by the Depression. Daniel had soon realised that Dix's friendship had a price tag, but it seemed a price worth paying. He had never seen a house as richly decorated as this one, overflowing with foreign memorabilia and antiques that Dix had gathered during his grand tour of Europe. The attic was Daniel's private domain. It offered perfect northern light to paint, abundant room to stow his canvases and a comfortable bed. His portrait of Jake hung on the wall. Nothing else mattered to him.

He let himself in the front door and ran up the stairs two at a time to the first floor. Today he was elated on two counts. Julian Jonstone had recommended his work to a prominent government official, who had just paid Daniel for his portrait. He had also been commissioned to paint a beautiful lady of the Quality.

Bursting into the drawing room he playfully called out, ‘Anyone home?' He expected Dix would be waiting for his return, concocting some exotic dish in the kitchen. Dix always played cook as a distraction whenever his own painting was giving him trouble – an occurrence that had increased in recent months.

‘Hey, Dix, where are you hiding? I've got great news!'

‘You called, Danny boy?' Dix emerged from the bedroom, pale and puffy-eyed. He tied the cord of his brocade dressing gown around his plump waistline. He looked distinctly out of sorts.

‘You're home early, Danny boy. I understood your meeting was at four.'

‘It was, but a messenger arrived early this morning when you were getting your beauty sleep. My interview was set up two hours earlier.'

Daniel helped himself to two crystal goblets and poured some wine.

‘This is to celebrate! Thank God I've finished that politician's portrait. I've seen more attractive heads on merino rams. Still he was happy with it and paid quite well. Nice to know the Depression has left some of the landed gentry with plenty of money.'

Dix made no comment. Daniel gave an expansive wave of his hand.

‘Now for my really great news. Through Jonstone I've been commissioned to paint a beautiful woman – the wife of Alfred Hamberton. I'm to have my first sitting with her tomorrow morning at their townhouse at Woolloomooloo Hill. Hamberton's newly arrived from Home, appointed a magistrate by the governor. It seems their wives are close friends. You know how these things work!'

Daniel kicked off his boots and spread himself out on the striped Regency lounge.

‘Let's drink to my patron, God bless him. He's promised me my own exhibition next year.' Daniel laughed joyously. ‘I'm so happy I could kiss Jonstone's boots.'

Without comment Dix sampled the wine. ‘Just so long as said patron doesn't expect you to kiss his arse.'

Daniel was suddenly alert. He had grown used to living with Dix's mood swings, which fluctuated between generosity and jealousy. Daniel suspected the reasons were complex. Dix was a decade his senior, but had not yet made his mark as an artist. He had grown envious that Daniel had attracted a patron as important as Jonstone, the governor's
friend, and never missed an opportunity to remind Daniel this patronage originated when Daniel was a convict.

Despite this undercurrent of artistic rivalry Daniel had expected a warmer reception.

‘Have I done something to upset you, Dix? You surely know how grateful I am for your hospitality and your encouragement of my work.'

‘Grateful? You have a funny way of showing it, m'boy. I ask so little of you in return for your being my
permanent
house guest, but lately you prefer to spend time with hangers-on who imbibe at my expense.'

Dix placed himself on the opposite chair as if to signify his hurt feelings.

Daniel tried to pacify him but his voice was cool. ‘If it's a question of me paying my way, Dix, I'd much prefer to do that now that I have the means.'

Dix's voice rose an octave. ‘Do you think you can pay me off for my kindness? Treat me like some old workhorse who's past his prime and can be put out to graze?'

Daniel leapt to his feet. ‘Surely you know I have been a faithful friend!'

Dix gave a snort of disbelief.

‘So, I can see you feel slighted. If you wish me to leave your house, come right out and say so.'

‘Oh, so you're threatening me now you've been taken up by the Quality.' Dix's voice was almost a screech. ‘Well don't expect it to last, Danny boy. We gentry are as fickle as hell.'

Daniel held up his hands in surrender. ‘Today is my celebration. I have no wish to quarrel with you. Allow me to take you out to dine. Any banquet room or restaurant of your choice.'

Before Dix had a chance to reply, the bedroom door flew open. A naked young man emerged, with the kind of muscular body
Michelangelo might have painted. He sauntered across the room to the bathroom.

‘Naughty, naughty,' he said in a mocking tone. ‘Not nice to squabble, children.' He smiled at Daniel over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

Daniel suddenly felt as if the ground had shifted beneath him. He had never seen this youth before. He sank back onto the lounge and stared across at Dix, whose face was flushed with wine.

‘Ah, now I have it,' Daniel said quietly. ‘Attack is the best form of defence. You accuse
me
of disloyalty to cover up your own secret liaison. Tell me, Dix, is your little friend as inexperienced an artist as I was when you first took me under your roof?'

Dix looked smug. ‘His pictures are daubs, but he is very talented where it matters.'

Daniel took his time to digest that news by pretending to examine his wineglass. Then he rose with all the dignity he could muster.

‘I'll leave you both to enjoy your evening. I shall wander down to The Lord Nelson to celebrate with friends I trust will prove happier to share my good fortune.'

He turned at the door. ‘If it is all right with you, Dix, I shall move my things out tomorrow afternoon.'

‘Ingrate!' Dix called after him like a petulant schoolgirl.

The ugly little scene had taken the edge off Daniel's triumph, but he marched off towards The Lord Nelson determined to put on a good front before his fellow students. He expected them to be envious, but knew they'd be only too happy for him to buy their drinks.

A wistful thought crossed Daniel's mind. What a very different reception his news would have been given by his Ironbark friends. Not least by his wife and his best friend, Jake.

• • • 

It was an hour past dawn when Daniel sauntered home towards Hyde Park. Autumn leaves rustled beneath his feet as he paused to admire
the colony's first statue, paid for by the people of New South Wales despite the Depression. Standing before the handsome bronze replica of Sir Richard Bourke as it glinted in the early morning sunlight, Daniel gave the sculptor's work a sincere nod of approval.

Despite his night of carousing Daniel was only mildly drunk. He must wash and change his linen to create a good impression at his first sitting with Mrs Hamberton.

Across the road from Dix's townhouse he stopped dead in his tracks. His few clothes hung from the iron railings. Two blank canvases lay slashed on the ground, surrounded by broken paintbrushes and squashed tubes of oil paints. All his completed paintings were scattered about, splattered with splodges of red paint like bloodstains – except for one. Jake's portrait had been speared by an iron spike on the railing. There was a gaping hole where his face had been. Daniel felt physically ill at the sight, realising Dix had sensed his unspoken love for Jake.

He collapsed onto a bench in Hyde Park and surveyed the carnage as a flock of pigeons pecked at his feet.
What was that saying of Keziah's? If you take the wrong road, it isn't really the wrong road, but the road you were meant to take. Perhaps my Dix era proves the adage, ‘Put not your faith in princes.' From now on I will honour Saranna Plews's dying request and make art my mistress.