Ghost Gum Valley Excerpt

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I wanted to share this excerpt from the upcoming Australian saga Ghost Gum Valley by Johanna Nicholls with you all. It really peaked my interest! 

Isabel woke up as a stranger in a strange room. She was alarmed by the thought she may have been sleepwalking again. Unwanted memories flashed through her mind.One minute I was seated on the wharf, a perfect lady, even if I was dressed as a boy. All I did was try to stop two drunken mariners molesting a young girl. Then one said something odd – ‘Put your dukes up, ya queer’. The next moment he punched me in the eye.Isabel gingerly fingered the puffy flesh around her eye, overcome by the shame of being frog-marched to the Watch House by two hefty constables with the Yankee whalers and the girl she now knew to be a prostitute. Afraid her voice would betray her gender she had refused to answer questions. She smiled at the thought of the policeman’s odd expression on finding lady’s unmentionables in her carpetbag. Being dressed as a boy gave me a wonderful sense of freedom. If I lived as a boy then I’d be safe from men. I’d never have to marry! Sitting upright in bed she was horrified to discover she was naked.‘Who undressed me? Please God, tell me I didn't spend the night with him?’She had only one clear impression of Marmaduke Gamble. Arrogance! She felt humiliated by the way his nose had twitched in distaste at the rank smell of her and the memory now made her desperate to bathe. But how?The elegance of this unknown room surprised her. The Regency fabrics and furniture would not have looked out of place in Uncle Godfrey’s London villa. But there was no sign of a washbasin and jug. How uncivilised: don’t these Colonials ever wash?Isabel sprang from bed to discover her carpetbag was missing. So where were her clothes?Tentatively peering around the door to an adjoining room, she squealed with delight – a bathroom with splendid modern plumbing and elegant brass fittings! She shied away from the mirror to avoid the reflection of her beaten face, but immediately ran a bath, exclaiming in ecstasy over the bars of perfumed soap, the first since the Susan set sail.What luxury! She washed her hair twice to free it from the matted combination of sweat, grime and saltwater accumulated during the voyage. After ducking beneath her bathwater like one of the playful dolphins that had raced beside the Susan, she scrubbed her body until her skin glowed pink. She now felt courageous enough to examine her bruised face in the mirror.Maybe it wouldn't be such fun to be a boy. I’d always be on the wrong end of a fight.She carefully washed the dried blood from her lips and bathed her swollen eye in cold water until she could almost peer out of the slit.Clean, shining hair restored a degree of dignity. To be dirty was the most demoralising thing in the world. How degraded women prisoners must feel being unable to bathe for months on a convict vessel.With no clothes to wear she improvised by pulling a sheet from the bed and winding it around her body in a makeshift sari. Examining a brand new silver-backed hand mirror, brush and comb set, she discovered they were engraved with the initials I.A.G. Beside them was a card that read, Welcome to Australia. Forgive me jumping the gun in adding the G for Gamble. I trust you are comfortable in my new hotel. It was signed Garnet Gamble in a different hand from that of the rest of the note.At least Marmaduke’s father has some kindly instincts, ‘Colonial barbarian’ or not.Now she felt ready to tackle breakfast from the tray that must have been left for her while she slept. A wine decanter was an odd substitute for a water jug but the warmth of the wine coursed through her body to give her Dutch courage.These Colonials must drink wine as liberally as the French. But I have a raging thirst so who am I to quibble?Startled by the heavy knock at the door she hastily secured her ‘sari’, seated herself on a winged armchair and hastily swallowed the last mouthful of breakfast.The key turned in the lock and Marmaduke Gamble strode into the room.No longer diminished by fear or hunger and fortified by fine wine, Isabel had her first chance to evaluate by daylight the man to whom she had been sold.The reality of Marmaduke Gamble totally appalled her. There he stood nominally English, but clearly a hybrid version. One of the new species called Currency Lads, he did not fit into any of the categories of the English class system she had known all her life.It took her only ten seconds to reach her verdict of him and feel insulted. He had not made the slightest attempt to create a good impression on his English bride. Tall and long-limbed, he stood planted in the centre of the room wearing moleskin trousers tucked into mud-stained thigh-high boots. In place of a gentleman’s stock was a crumpled neckerchief. The width of his shoulders was accentuated by a red shirt open at the throat, revealing the hair on his chest. He wore a suede waistcoat and a fl ashy silver-buckled belt. His coat jacket was hooked by one finger and slung over his shoulder. She noted his flamboyant ruby ring. And the final insult – he did not bother to remove his broad-brimmed hat.Piercing dark eyes stared back at her from a rugged face tanned by the sun and when he turned his head Isabel was startled by the long mane of hair that hung like a horse’s tail halfway down his back – wavy dark brown hair that caught the light.Damn him, his hair’s more luxuriant than any woman’s.She was shocked by his hands. He’s clearly never done a day’s work in his life. And that ruby ring belongs in an Indian bazaar. His manners are uncouth. He didn't even bother to say good morning. I’ll be damned if I’ll curtsey to him in this bed sheet.Isabel refused to be intimidated by the direct, challenging stare that no English gentleman would ever direct at a lady.When at last he spoke his deep voice had an odd accent, like a lazy version of their common mother tongue.‘So that’s the real colour of your hair,’ he said. ‘Quite an improvement. I see you’ve discovered the bathroom. I didn't want to disturb you by sending up a housemaid to help you dress.’ He gestured to the sheet. ‘That the latest Paris mode, is it?’

Sounds intriguing, right?! Ghost Gum Valley is described as a sweeping saga, set in colonial Sydney in the 1830’s, tells a story of unlikely love between two delightful characters. I don't usually read Australian historical fiction, but I'm rather looking forward to this one. I'll definitely be picking it up the next time I visit a book store or my local library!
(Excerpt from Simon & Schuster)