The Lace Balcony (17 page)

Mungo was unable to withhold his words. ‘Let's hope
his
memories of him remain unsullied.'

Sandy Gordon looked Mungo directly in the eye. ‘After Logan's state funeral I must see my kin safely on board a ship home to Ireland. I'll nae return to Moreton Bay. My work here is done.'

Mungo felt hollow. ‘Working for you is the one good thing that happened to me here, Sir.'

‘Aye, that's also true for me. It is time you called me Sandy in public.' The doctor's handshake was warm and surprisingly strong for an invalid.

Mungo grasped the hand that had been his lifeline. ‘I'm honoured, Sandy.'

The doctor was unable to conceal a smile. ‘Aye, so am I – Mungo Quayle!'

Mungo's jaw dropped. ‘Jesus. When did you find out?'

‘I put two and two together. Clues in L'Estrange's correspondence. And I finally tracked down this letter.' He handed him an envelope
from his pocket. ‘It seems it was delivered to another O'Connor who was gone in the head poor fellow. Sorry I had to read this one – on orders, ye ken.'

Mungo wanted to question him further but his friend was already hurrying to board the
Isabella.
He did not break his stride but called back over his shoulder.

‘Who knows, perhaps we'll meet again in Sydney Town, lad.'

Mungo stood watching the
Isabella
sail away until it shrank to a pinprick on the horizon.
I've just lost the only friend I've ever had at Moreton Bay . . . if I don't count the ghosts . . . and my golden girl . . .

He read the letter:

Dear Sean O'Connor,

This is my tenth letter to Moreton Bay kindly written by the hand of young Master L'Estrange. I mark off each day on the calendar with a prayer for your safe return.

You will be pleased to know I rescued an injured baby 'possum. He is brave, full of cheek and has survived against all odds. Naturally I named him Mungo.

I order you not to lose heart and to draw strength from your Viking ancestors.

God be with thee. Your father lives for the day of Mungo's return.

Signed,

Jane Quayle (her mark)

The letter achieved what floggings and solitary confinement had failed to do to Sean O'Connor. He cried.

Vianna's encore of her risqué French song, delivered with disarming innocence, was greeted by a wild burst of applause from Severin's gentlemen gamblers. She gave an elegant gesture of acknowledgment to Guido her accompanist, who bowed to the audience in synchronisation with her deep curtsey.

She ran her eye over the men below her, all well-heeled, and well fuelled with champagne and vintage port from Severin's cellar. As usual, under cover of the noisy response, she and Guido wore fixed smiles as they spoke through their teeth without noticeably moving their lips.

‘Is that ghastly politician here tonight?'

‘Drunk as a skunk. Must you dine with him?'

‘Only over Severin's dead body.'

Guido smothered his high-pitched giggle.

Vianna left the stage blowing gentle kisses to the audience, then picked up her skirts and headed straight for the staircase leading to her private chambers.

Severin intercepted her. ‘I have arranged for you to have a private supper with Humphreys, m'dear. He needs your expert touch to smooth his ruffled feathers. He's lost a fortune at faro this week.'

Vianna decoded his words – she knew only too well what her expert touch involved. ‘You must find some other way to pacify him. Why not arrange for him to win for once?'

‘But Vianna, that would be highly unethical,' Severin said with mock indignation.

‘I have a sick headache. I shall take supper alone with Wanda.'

They both knew it was a lie, but she kissed his cheek and hurried upstairs.

In her sitting room she hurriedly shed her theatrical gown onto the floor, wrapped her naked body in a silk negligee and sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing a cold chicken supper with Wanda as eager as two schoolgirls at a midnight feast.

‘Is the carriage organised? How clever of you to worm out of the new coachman the location of Daisy's school. Are you sure he didn't suspect the ruse?'

‘Sam's a Currency Lad from the country. He simply thought I was interested because of its Aboriginal name. Goulouga is several hours drive by coach so we must leave at dawn.'

‘Wonderful. Don't let me sleep in!'

Wanda added a touch wistfully. ‘I wish I knew what Goulouga means. Father taught me Latin and French, but mother died before I learned her native tongue. My father really loved her. He never took up with another woman.'

Vianna touched the girl's shoulder in sympathy. ‘He must have loved you too, Wanda, to educate you as he would a son. I am so blessed to have you to read to me.'

‘Shall I read you another chapter of
Pride and Prejudice?'

‘Oh, yes. Do you think Lizzie will ever accept Mr D'Arcy?'

‘I've read it before, Vianna. But I don't want to spoil the ending for you.'

‘You couldn't spoil it. But just one chapter. I must get as much sleep as I can. I want to look my best tomorrow. I wonder if Daisy will recognise me.' She added anxiously, ‘Sam does know that Severin and Blewitt mustn't get wind of our plan?'

‘I put money in Sam's pocket,' Wanda said sagely.

‘Bless you, Wanda.' Vianna impulsively kissed the girl's cheek and slipped under the sheets, soon a captive of the novel being read to her.

. . . If only real life was like that. I've been paid to kiss many men . . . but no man ever kissed me . . . like Will Eden did . . . I can hardly remember what he looked like. But I'll remember his kiss on my deathbed . . .

•  •  •

It was dark as pitch when Vianna awoke in fright, trapped in the vestige of a nightmare that caused her heart to lurch sickeningly. A witch-like crone had taunted her, ‘You'll end up working for your protector as an ageing madam, guiding young prostitutes in the tricks of your trade. How else can you support yourself? You're fit for
nothing.
Some Venus! You'll be on the streets of The Rocks, selling your body to strangers – for the price of a grog . . . Don't say I didn't warn you!'

Covered in sweat, Vianna broke free from the nightmare when Wanda's voice recalled her to reality. ‘Sam's waiting, Vianna. We must hurry.'

Wanda laced her into the modest dark dress Vianna had borrowed from her, then studied her reflection in the mirrors.

She ripped a lush bouquet of flowers from the bonnet, leaving a serviceable black straw shape that would protect her from the sun. Black lace mittens, a lace parasol and a plain black shawl completed the ensemble.

‘Tell me the truth, Wanda. How do I look?'

‘Sad. Like a real widow, Vianna.'

‘Perfect! Let's not waste a minute. Join me in the carriage – but first collect the box with Daisy's dress from Severin's office. Now I can deliver it to her myself.'

Shoes in hand Vianna navigated the back stairs in stockinged feet so as not to wake the house. When she nervously licked her lips she fancied there was a strange taste in her mouth.
So that's what liberation tastes like!

The carriage was waiting at the rear of the stables, screened from the house, the horses primed and ready to depart. Sam sat with his tricorn hat tilted on the back of his head, brushing his liveried jacket. She gave him a conspiratorial wink.

‘Don't worry. You'll be covered with red dust before we reach the toll gates.'

Without waiting to be assisted she lifted her skirts and climbed inside the carriage. ‘Be ready to depart the minute Wanda joins us.'

Blinds were down at all the windows.
Dammit. What's keeping her?

She checked her reticule, dismayed by the realisation that from force of habit she had not thought to bring any money.
Why wasn't I brave enough to steal some from Severin's wall safe? Too late to try. Whenever I've stumbled on the combination he's changed it.

Vianna was irritated by her own cowardice. Then her heart lurched at the sound of heavy boots on cobblestones. The carriage door was flung open to reveal Severin, dressed in a style fit to dine with Governor Darling. Without a word he seated himself opposite her and tapped the gilded head of his cane against the roof, his signal to depart.

‘No doubt you're delighted to have my company on your long journey, Vianna,' he said with the barest note of mockery.

‘But I only intended –' Vianna stopped herself in time from involving Wanda.

‘I gave your maid the day off. My servants are paid to be loyal to
me
, Vianna. In any case I'm best equipped to protect you in the event we're bailed up by bushrangers en route to Goulouga,' he said, patting the pistol beneath his great coat.

‘I intended to tell you, Severin.'

‘Liar,' he said with a tolerant smile. ‘No matter. I intended to escort you there one day.' His eye wandered over her. ‘I applaud your genteel disguise. No rouge. No perfume. A puritanical bonnet and gown. Good God, Vianna, if I didn't know you intimately I'd say you could pass muster as a respectable widow.'

Vianna flashed her most charming smile. ‘I am a woman who has learned to play many roles. I am what you made me, Severin – all things to all men.'

His eyes turned icy. ‘Careful, Vianna. What happens at journey's end depends solely on
me
.'

Vianna decided it wise to withdraw into silent observation of the scenery as the coach rocked along a lonely convict-built road pockmarked with potholes. She was unaware of the degree of her anxiety until she noticed traces of blood seeping through the palms of her mittens, caused by her fingernails.

To distract herself she broke the silence. ‘No sign of habitation, no landmarks for miles. No wonder so many travellers lose their way in this country.'

In answer Severin silently gestured to the horizon. Vianna's eyes stang with unshed tears.
I have waited so long for this moment.
The sole building in the landscape was a sandstone Georgian country house set back from the road. Like a theatrical backdrop, a densely forested mountain rose at such close proximity it cast a deep shadow across the lawns.

The house had the fine architectural lines that Governor Macquarie's celebrated architect Francis Greenway might have designed. To pay homage to the climate a vine-shaded terrace surrounded it, with Indian plantation shutters on the French doors. Yet
despite its traditional charm the house conveyed an aura of sadness, a kind of genteel poverty – beautiful, gracious but fallen on hard times. Why? This was an expensive school for children of the Quality. Vianna felt a sudden rush of confusion. Her heart beat rapidly from joy mixed with trepidation.

Severin's instructions were firm. ‘You will ask no questions, do exactly as I say. You must conduct yourself as a widow interested in their work – with no connection to this place. To virtuous women, a courtesan carries the kiss of death.'

Vianna followed him with clenched fists, biting back the words she wanted to hurl at him.
If you don't reveal that I'm a courtesan, I won't reveal you are a rogue who cheats every gambler who crosses his threshold.

When a ruddy-faced assigned servant named Mary advised Severin that the Matron would see him, Vianna rose to follow him but he gestured to her to retain her seat.

Left alone, she was startled by the distant voices of young children singing. Turning quickly to the source of the music she sent her teacup flying across the flagstones. Embarrassed by her clumsiness, she knelt to retrieve the shards, surprised that the china was a cheap copy of a Chinese import.

The convict servant's brusque manner softened. ‘Don't you worry none. We only use this stuff for Sundays and when the priest turns up. Rest of the time the kiddies eat off tin plates and mugs.'

Vianna assumed a polite smile of interest. ‘How many little girls live here?'

‘Changes by the week. But I reckon thirty to forty. Some get sent to new homes. Them's the lucky ones. Less mouths for us to feed.'

Vianna felt chilled. ‘You mean they are all orphans?'

‘That's a polite way of putting it, if ye gets me meaning,' the girl said.

A voice calling her name sent Mary clumping back inside the house, openly grumbling to herself. ‘All right, keep your shirt on.'

The sound of children's voices coming from the far side of the house drew Vianna into the garden to take up a position shielded by the hedge.

Eight little girls of about five years old were playing Blind Man's
Bluff, trying to avoid giving their position away to the blindfolded girl who staggered about with outstretched arms. Each child was dressed in varying shades of heavy brown calico, their garments faded with washing or bleached by the sun. But all wore a clean white pinafore, boots and stockings, their hair either cut short or plaited. She frantically searched their faces as they dodged the blindfolded child.

If only they would keep still long enough for me to see their faces. So many have Anglo-Saxon features and hair streaked blonde by the sun, they could almost come from the same family. ‘Oh, God help me, I can't tell one from the other.'

She jumped in fright when a heavy hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around. Severin pinned her arms to her sides.

‘I instructed you to remain where I left you. There is a good reason.'

She expected his anger but was disconcerted to find him observing the children with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

‘Why, Severin? I've waited years to see her. Talk to her. Hold her. Just once!'

‘No. It is for her own protection. You cannot give her what she needs.'