The Lace Balcony (40 page)

Mungo felt a surge of anger.
Trust Severin to welsh on keeping a little girl fed and clothed. And for two years the mongrel kept Vianna in the dark about her fate.

Mungo examined his list, taken from the most recent census, 1828. There were 134 licensed inns and public houses in Sydney Town alone. No doubt there were twice as many unlicensed shanties. He crossed off the names of watering holes where he had already quizzed the publicans and staff about Daisy Byron. Many other
names remained. Meanwhile Mrs Less was in contact with the Parramatta Female Factory and other refuges in case Daisy had ended up being abandoned on the streets.

It's time to convince Vianna that I'm dead serious about bringing Daisy to live with us. Whether the kid is really her sister or her own child, who cares? Vianna loves her. That's all that matters.

As he watched puffballs of high-flying clouds pierce the blue expanse of sky, for the first time in his life Mungo faced the prospect of what it would mean to father a child. As a youthful client of Maria's, he had learned how to decrease the odds of unwanted offspring. The irony was that he was now desperate to make Vianna pregnant. A babe would anchor her to him.

But first I've got to get her into bed! I never imagined I'd volunteer to father a kid. But I'd give Vianna a dozen if she wanted them. Hell, I'd swim to New Zealand if it made that girl happy.
A sudden thought occurred to him.
Hey, having kids takes money!

His imagination was ripe with ideas to make his fortune, mentally jumping from colony to colony with plans involving land, mining, trading, shares and bank loans. And a fool proof scheme he promised himself he would put to his father . . .

•  •  •

Vianna was anxious about her first ever visit to a physician. Dr Gordon's receptionist was a tiny matron who scowled over the top of her spectacles, but her voice was gentle when she advised, ‘Your turn after Miss Quayle.'

Vianna noticed the doctor's oddly nervous greeting of Jane, ‘Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Quayle. Do be seated.'

His door was left ajar. Jane's words filtered through to her.
It's almost as if she wants me to hear
.

‘I am in your debt Doctor . . . taking my son under your wing . . . saved his life. . . . the servants told me . . . many nights since his return . . . witnessed it myself . . . terrible nightmares . . . yelling like he's in agony . . . being flogged . . . afraid of something . . . calls out Patrick Logan's name . . . next morning remembers nothing . . . or so he says . . .'

Mungo.
Vianna's heart sank. She could not distinguish the doctor's replies but his counsel must have reassured Jane because she thanked him warmly before rejoining Vianna.

Jane squeezed her hand. ‘He's a good man. Speak freely.
Nothing
shocks him.'

Vianna paused in the doorway but Jane's nod encouraged her to proceed, so she pushed aside her anxiety about her visit to this man who was Mungo's hero. Dr Gordon rose and politely gestured for her to take the seat opposite him. His quiet voice had undertones of a Scottish burr which sounded oddly familiar.

‘I understand you were referred to me by Miss Jane Quayle, an excellent lady of great common sense and an impressive knowledge of herbs.'

Vianna was aware Jane had offered him herbal remedies, prompted by Mungo.

‘Yes, Doctor. Otherwise I would not have come. ‘I have never in my life been to a physician. Jane told me that anything I say to you will be treated in the strictest confidence – like talking to a priest in the confessional.' She added nervously, ‘Whatever that means. I've no experience of that either.'

The smile in his eyes was reassuring. ‘Aye, that's so, Miss Francis – except I have no authority to give my patients absolution for any real or perceived confessions. I simply treat human bodies. That does not grant me the right to sit in judgment on their lives. I've made my own fair share of mistakes – though none, I hasten to add, that have adversely affected the lives of my patients. So rest assured, whatever is said in this room, remains in this room.'

Vianna stammered her thanks.

‘I understand from your medical history that you are twenty-four years old, in apparent excellent health. And have never suffered any broken bones or diseases other than a mild attack of cow pox as a child – which no doubt accounts for your excellent, unscarred complexion. And that you have never been delivered of a child, or to your knowledge conceived one. Is that correct?'

‘Almost, Doctor. That is, I feel foolish in saying this – but I do not know if I have ever fallen with child.' She placed on his desk the small green bottle and the note from Wanda. ‘I have been a woman in keeping. My work as an entertainer did not allow me to take time from work. My protector took care that I should not fall . . .' She gestured helplessly to the bottle.

He examined the label. ‘So he administered this to you regularly?'

‘Every month for the three years I was under his protection. I have had no trouble – or bleeding. I am ashamed to say I was ignorant of the process – other than that it would prevent me conceiving a babe.'

‘You did not want children?'

‘No, at least not with Severin. I did not love him – but I grew dependent on his protection. Now that he is gone from my life I must face up to my own stupidity.'

‘To need a man's protection is not an act of stupidity, Miss Francis. The world we live in is designed by men for their own advantage. It is only a flaw if a woman continues to make the same mistake once she is given the chance to free herself.'

Vianna felt as if his words were sinking deep inside her.
He understands everything. And he does not treat me like a whore.

‘At what age did you experience your first menses – your monthly bleeding?'

Vianna stammered the truth. ‘I have never bled. My stepmother put me into service to a courtesan when I was twelve. My mistress gave all her servants medication each month. None of us fell pregnant.'

He nodded sagely. ‘Aye, thank you, lass, for being frank. It is a great help to me. Now, what is it ye wish to know? Is it safe to continue using this medication? Or are there other safer ways to avoid falling with child? Or do ye wish to be examined on the chance you are already with child?'

Vianna faltered. ‘I want the answers to all those questions. I know nothing about medical things. Does this physic prevent a babe – or actually kill it in the womb? Why was I so stupid? I never asked what was happening inside my own body. I don't want to remain ignorant for the rest of my life.'

‘Aye, spoken by an intelligent woman,' he said firmly. ‘So let's begin your education.'

Vianna listened attentively as he outlined the properties in medications of this nature, and other methods used to suppress female fertility. He advised against their continued use if she wished to bear future children.

‘There are no statistics about those courtesans and prostitutes who fail to bear children. Whether their infertility is due to age, frequent use of preventative physic or medical abortions, is open to debate.'

He added with a shake of the head, ‘Physicians, like clerics, are a mite quick to argue that their theories are correct and that every contrary one is wrong. I can only suggest the range of possibilities that science has not yet proven.'

Vianna listened intently to his words, free of the usual euphemisms. His manner gave her the courage to ask questions without embarrassment.

‘Since I stopped taking this physic several months ago, I have had no signs of bleeding. Is it possible I'm already with child?'

He gave her a penetrating glance. ‘I need to ask a few frank questions. I trust they will nae distress or embarrass ye.'

Vianna felt her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Please continue. I want the truth.'

‘May I ask if ye find connection unsatisfactory for you or your partner? You would not be the first woman to fake enjoyment to please her lover.'

My God where's this leading?
Vianna forced herself to meet his eyes.

‘I've been trained in the arts of a courtesan, Doctor – the art of convincing a man he is a superb lover. I convinced my protector – but my own pleasure was often counterfeit. Until in recent months I met a young man – with him there's no need for pretence.'

He studied her kindly. ‘Was connection ever very painful for you?'

Images flooded her mind of her earliest memories in bed with a man, the clumsy attempts at intercourse, the excruciating pain, the lodger's frustration, the failure he blamed on her . . . the advent of Severin in her life, his demands that she fulfil his needs with what proved frequent, painful intercourse. Finally the ‘toy' Severin had instructed her to use each day when alone – a procedure he promised would increase his pleasure . . .

Now, reassured by the doctor's awareness of this device, it was a relief to withhold nothing. She described it as rather like riding a bicycle, uncomfortable but not painful.

‘Severin told me to increase the size of the insertions over a period of months. Until he was satisfied I gave him maximum pleasure.' She added wryly, ‘My training was complete. But it did not come with a manual about the dangers of falling in love. I only discovered that with – this other young man.'

‘I take it this young man wishes to marry ye?'

She nodded.

‘Aye, and ye might wish to have a child with him.' Dr Gordon nodded sagely. ‘Thank you for your honesty. I will be equally honest. May I request the presence of my partner, Dr Golding, when I examine you?'

Vianna nodded her consent.
Please God let it all be over soon
.

The older surgeon had kindly sad dark eyes in a sharp-featured face. His words were clipped, a curious blend of a Scottish burr masking some European accent. During the examination Vianna kept her eyes closed, unable to decipher their exchange of words. She tried not to think of her body as a corpse.

Later, dressed and seated alone opposite Dr Gordon, she watched him making notes. Finally he regarded her with an expression that made her uneasy.

‘I can assure you, Miss Francis, for better or worse, you are not with child.'

‘What is wrong doctor? Do I have some terrible disease?' she asked lightly.

‘No. You are one of the healthiest young women I've ever seen. You have every chance of living beyond the desired three score years and ten.'

She gave a nervous laugh. ‘But . . . ?'

In answer he took down a volume from his shelves and turned to her, his tone like a sympathetic juryman reluctant to deliver an unwelcome verdict.

‘I am very sorry to be the one to tell you the problem, my dear. I asked Dr Golding to confirm that my diagnosis was correct. Nature rarely makes mistakes, but sometimes when she does, they are irreversible.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You were born with a condition so rare few of us encounter a case in our years of practice. Allow me to assure ye it will not prevent you enjoying perfectly normal intimate relationships. In simple terms, you were born with one female organ that did not develop – your womb.'

‘Are you telling me I can never –?'

‘I wish it were otherwise. You are a normal, healthy woman in
every respect – except this one. Nature has not granted you the ability to give birth to a babe.'

Her voice was dry. ‘So I'm barren.'

‘I am indeed sorry. You must seek the love of children in other ways.'

Vianna stared at him for what seemed a moment outside of time. To distance herself from the words that damned her, she studied the items on his desk as if her life depended on her ability to memorise them. She licked her lips and silently accepted the glass of water he placed in her hands.

‘Just as well I never wanted any children, isn't it, Doctor?' She knew the voice was hers but the words sounded like a stranger's voice outside her body. Only then did she recognise her flippant denial was a lie.

Since childhood she had had a vague dream, whenever she saw women suckling their babes, or when rocking Daisy to sleep in her arms, that some day there would be a special man who would find her, rescue her – and together they would create a child. The fantasy was now no more than an illusion.
I feel numb. No feelings. No tears. No hope. Nothing.

She thanked Dr Gordon for his concern but refused the medication he offered her to calm her and help her sleep.

‘Jane will give me some herbal drink. No offence, Doctor.'

‘None taken, lass,' he said gently.

In the waiting room Jane rose, searching Vianna's face for an answer.

She's wondering whether I'm pregnant to Severin – or to Mungo. How simple the solution would have been. Kill it – or keep it.

‘You were gone so long, Vianna. Is everything all right?'

‘Perfectly. He thinks highly of your knowledge of herbal remedies, Jane.'

Vianna covered their descent downstairs with a barrage of inconsequential chatter, leaving Jane no opening to question her. But the harder she tried to be light-hearted, the more seriously Jane observed her.

Mungo waved his hat from his perch on the driver's seat. His eyes scanned their faces for any sign of trouble.

‘You ladies are fighting fit, I take it?'

‘Your friend considers me a perfect specimen of womanhood,' Vianna said frivolously. ‘Good heavens, how hungry I am. I could eat a horse.'

Mungo gestured to the picnic hamper. ‘Chicken sandwiches, peaches, grapes. And a bottle of wine from the Master's cellar to share his celebration with you, Mam, today being the fourteenth of January, the saint's day of St Kentigern alias St Mungo.'

He leapt down to assist them into the cart. ‘I'm taking you on a tour of Sydney's foreshores along the road that the convicts built to give Mrs Macquarie her favourite view of the harbour. We'll picnic on the stone seat they carved out especially for her under an overhanging rock.'