The Lace Balcony (33 page)

Vianna's face was wet with tears. ‘That proves you were there at his hanging! It doesn't prove it was
you
I kissed.'

‘Those years at Moreton Bay I nearly went crazy in solitary. I saw your face, talked to you, the girl who was waiting for me. That beautiful lie kept me alive!'

Vianna faltered. ‘I'm truly sorry you suffered, but that doesn't prove –'

‘Don't you see, Fanny? That's why I came back to find you.'

‘Fanny? I never told you that. Only Will knew my name . . . ?'

‘I
was
Will – for that brief half hour we shared in gaol.' Mungo took a step closer. ‘There's one way to prove if I'm lying. Kiss me – just as you kissed Will.'

Mungo held his wrists together as if they were manacled. He leaned towards her, loving her with his eyes. The moment she gently kissed his cheek, Mungo turned his head so that he caught her mouth and held it in a long unbroken kiss, hungry yet romantic – his eyes wide open.

Vianna opened her mouth to his kiss – then gasped. ‘My God, it
was
you!'

Mungo drew the gown from her shoulders and she guided his face to kiss her neck, her breasts. When she allowed her robe to fall open, Mungo wanted to take her right there and then. He drew her down onto the bed.

‘Mungo, I can't! Blewitt will kill you if he finds us!'

Jesus, why do women choose the wrong time to be sane and sensible?

‘I don't care – you're worth dying for,' he said into the curve of her breast.

‘It's too late, Mungo. I have agreed to accept a wealthy protector.'

Mungo held her face between his hands. ‘All right, I lied to you. I'm not rich yet. But I'm a free man. I own my own house. I have enough money to keep us both. If you marry me, Severin won't have any power over you. And little Daisy can live with us.'

‘Daisy! So that's how you knew her name. I only told Will.'

‘
Me
,' he corrected.

‘I'll never forget your offer, Mungo, but it's come too late.' She gestured to the erotic paintings, the courtesan's bed. ‘This is where I belong. I'm not Fanny, the lady's maid anymore. I'm what Severin has made me – a high-priced whore.'

Mungo was alarmed by the cold defeat in her voice. She remained in his arms but he sensed she was surely slipping away from him.

‘I refuse to accept that. We'll build a new life together – bury the past.'

He was shocked by the bitterness in her laugh. ‘Poor lad, you don't understand my world. Severin holds all the winning cards. He not only controls my life – but Daisy's. I can never escape him – without losing her.'

She instinctively drew away from him at the sound of the front door closing.

‘Blewitt! You must go –
now!
' She pressed him towards the balcony.

‘I'll go. But I promise I'll find a way to set you free.'

‘You're a free man now, Mungo. No man can ever set me free.'

‘No? You just watch me!'

Mungo climbed down into the darkness of the garden. Cloaked in the black shadows of the street, he cast one final look at her. Vianna's face was blank, like an unfinished portrait, framed by a cloud of golden hair fanned by the wind. Her soft voice carried clearly on the breeze.

‘I'll never forget you, Mungo Quayle,' she said sadly. Then she was gone.

A man emerged from the shadows, staring in the same direction that he was – at Severin House.

Will Eden shook his head in warning. ‘Be careful, cock.'

‘Yeah, Fanny said those same words to you just before you were hanged. Only the name has changed.'

Forcing her way through the crowd gathered around the gallows at Hangman's Hill, Vianna was overwhelmed by a nameless sense of fear. Each step she took seemed to carry a leaden weight.

Familiar, silent faces stared fixedly at the Finisher in his black tailcoat and top hat – Felix, Wanda, Major Dalby and gamblers from Severin House.

Why are they all here? Where is Mungo?

She felt paralysed by the sudden realisation history was repeating itself. She was being forced to watch this execution – just as she had watched Will Eden die.

‘Who's being hanged today?' a voice whispered in her ear.

Unable to speak, Vianna heard another voice answer, ‘No one that matters.'

The Finisher was ready to do business. His back, turned towards the crowd, obscured the identity of the prisoner as he placed the noose around the victim's neck.

When the hangman turned to face the crowd there was a roar of outrage as he revealed the prisoner, ‘It's a child!'

‘
It's Daisy!
Vianna ran towards her, screaming in terror. Daisy's eyes stared at her in mute appeal, a little angel, resigned to her fate . . . as The Finisher raised the white hood . . . covered her head . . .

‘No, not her! Take me instead!' Even as she screamed in denial, Vianna saw the hangman's face. He wasn't The Finisher. It was Severin, smiling at her in triumph.

Darkness was broken by the flickering light of a candle.

Wanda was shaking her awake. ‘It's all right, I'm here. It's just a bad dream!'

‘Oh God, Wanda, it was so
real.
Daisy must be in terrible danger.'

‘Describe it to me in detail, Vianna. That will break the dream's hold over you.'

Soaked in sweat, Vianna clung to her, desperate to escape the vivid images. Gradually the calming words, the shafts of sunlight streaming
through the windows, began to dispel the vivid images. Wanda convinced her that the nightmare was not a premonition, no more than a reflection of her fears about tonight's final performance in
The Transit of Venus,
and Severin's pressure on her to choose the protector of his choice.

‘But no matter which man is chosen, Daisy's fate remains in Severin's hands.'

‘Don't give up without a fight, Vianna. We'll go to
Goulouga
together.'

Vianna hugged her, comforted in the belief that Wanda was her ally, despite Severin having beaten the girl to reveal their previous plan to visit Daisy.

‘Meanwhile I must continue to play Severin's game. There's a rehearsal downstairs but I don't even know what I'm portraying tonight. What costume to wear or how to dress my hair, or put on my brunette wig, or the powdered Madame de Pompadour wig.' She gave a resigned sigh. ‘Whatever the role it's some consolation to know Severin reinstated Guido to play for me'.

Wanda laced her into the scarlet gown that always gave her confidence and she hurried downstairs.

Severin was in his office, an early glass of wine in hand, languidly reading an English newspaper.

‘Well, France is in a sorry mess again – or was, three months ago. Another uprising by the working classes. But it's not all doom and disaster. The Frogs have formed a French Foreign Legion to control their colonial possessions in Africa. Belgium's split from the Netherlands and Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg was elected King of the Belgians'. He turned to her with an air of amusement, ‘You can't say I don't keep you informed, m'dear.'

Vianna blushed at his obvious jibe that her knowledge of world events was confined to the caricatures and lampoons published for the illiterate. She remembered one showing the late Emperor, curl on forehead, hand tucked inside his jacket, as a prisoner on the island of St Helena. What was more relevant to her world was that the popular card game Nap, or Napoleon, had caused Jean-Baptiste's gambling debts to Severin – the direct cause of her notoriety.

With a swish of her skirts she seated herself opposite him,
determined to hold her ground. ‘It's time we discussed the List, Severin. I do have the casting vote.'

‘If
I agree with your choice,' he said mildly. ‘There are four top contenders and an outsider or two.'

‘If Humphries is on the list you can delete his name,' she said icily.

‘Perhaps, but not before he has lost heavily at faro tonight – as I assure you he shall do. One of the four is the Exclusive who dabbles in politics and rejoices in the nickname Georgie Porgy.'

‘The nursery rhyme's Georgie Porgy kissed the girls and made them cry. Does that mean he's heavy-handed with women?'

‘I'll keep him in line, m'dear.' Severin ticked off the remaining names. ‘There's a late starter, an older gentleman recently arrived in the Colony. His contract arrived today with an impressive seal. He's in the Governor's entourage.'

Vianna no longer clung to the hope that the wild card in the pack, Mungo Quayle had a chance.
All he could offer me was a wedding ring. He's the feckless kind of romantic who'd saddle a wife with a parcel of brats and she'd be forced to take in washing to keep food on the table. Not me!

‘Well, if the old goat doesn't have two heads I may have to choose him. Who else?'

Severin eyed her curiously. ‘That naïve star-gazer Felix L'Estrange's original offer was not as high as others, but his father's later bid on his son's behalf agreed to top any offer made by Porgy, suggesting a political enmity that's to our advantage.'

Vianna felt a wave of relief.
Felix is young, attractive, gentle and already in love with me. I could do much worse than be bored by astronomy.

Severin wavered. ‘The problem is young L'Estrange wishes to install you on a family estate in the wilds of the bush. I prefer you remain under my care – to ensure your
protection
, as I have always done.'

He ran a finger tenderly along her cheek as if the gesture was sufficient apology for having previously slapped her face.

Vianna backed away. ‘I shall inform you of my choice later tonight. First I want to know what my
public
performance involves tonight.'

‘Of course. I shall join you in the ballroom directly.'

She passed Blewitt on the stairs. ‘I understand you detected a card sharp the other night?'

‘If Quayle shows his face again . . .' Blewitt drew his finger across his throat.

As she hurried downstairs she grew wistful at the thought.
So Mungo
did
try to make a bid for me. I suppose even born liars occasionally tell the truth.
'

The stage was empty except for an outsized fan-shaped shell at the centre of the massive
faux
picture frame. Her entrance was greeted by the sound of a magic flute and the joyous sight of the flautist. She embraced him warmly.

‘Guido! Some wishes do come true. I prayed for your return. But what am I to portray tonight, do you know?'

Severin saved him the answer. ‘The ultimate art of illusion.' He unveiled the painting on the easel. ‘Botticelli's masterpiece. No one in the world could portray his vision of Venus as superbly as you shall tonight. You see the amazing resemblance? She has your face, your wondrous hair, your expression of dreamy innocence. You are the perfect reincarnation of Botticelli's painting – the ‘Birth of Venus'.

The words dried in her throat. ‘But this Venus is completely naked.'

‘Of course,' he said reasonably. ‘Venus is being born out of the sea. No one is born wearing clothes. Anyway, they would only obscure her divine beauty.'

Vianna stammered with rage. ‘I can't believe it. Not even you! You can't make me do this. I refuse to stand stark naked on stage for all those men to gawk at me! Do you hear me, Severin? I refuse! I refuse!'

‘Calm down, Vianna, it's not what you think. Botticelli's Venus,' he said reverently, ‘is
classical art.
Every gentleman will realise the significance and be in awe of its artistic merit. The imaginative lighting I've planned will be so discreet that it will give the
impression
of nakedness. My dear, your hair will fall so as to cover most of your body. You see? It will be nothing more than a
perfect illusion.
'

‘Illusion like hell! I'd be as naked as the day I was born! I won't do it!'

‘Vianna,
trust me –
'

‘
Trust
you? That's a word liars use!' Vianna had no idea what she was going to say next until the words poured from her mouth. ‘You promised Jean-Baptiste's portrait would never be shown in public, yet it was, and Sydney went berserk at the sight of one single nipple. Now you want to expose my whole body in the flesh! What next? Will gentlemen pay to see me ravaged on stage?'

Severin looked genuinely shocked. ‘Vianna, how could you think that of me?'

‘Easily, Severin. There's no bottom to the pit you dug for me. It all happened gradually, step by step, a game that got out of control.'

He tried to restrain her but she pushed past him.

‘If your gentlemen are hungry for classical art, they can visit an art gallery. My body's not for public display. It's all over, Severin. Find yourself another courtesan to jump through your hoops!'

Severin's acquiescence confused her. ‘You are a free woman, Vianna.'

He allowed her to reach the door to grant her the illusion of victory. ‘But remember, if I go to prison, chances are you'll never see Daisy again. I didn't want to distress you with the truth. She's no longer at
Goulouga.
Unknown to me, when there was some mistake about her fees, they placed her in foster care.'

‘No! They can't do that without my permission. Where is she?'

‘Working in service to a man and his wife. I'll find her of course, but it will take time.' He added quietly, ‘Let's hope it's not an abuse of child labour. She might have run away. No little girl is safe on the streets of Sydney Town . . .'

Vianna was cold with horror.
Daisy is only six. But there are little ones living on the streets of The Rocks, forced to sell their bodies for food. I must buy time. I'm sure Severin knows the truth about where she is. What price is my modesty? Daisy is all that matters.