The Lace Balcony (47 page)

‘I'm game if you are,' Felix said, but didn't wait for an answer. ‘That's the first fist fight we've had since –'

‘The night before Will and I were arrested. When I told you my get-rich plan with Will had crashed and our company had hit the wall. Couldn't keep it afloat for love nor money. You quoted something from the Bible. That did it. I slugged you. You refused to fight back.'

Felix was nursing his jaw but he forced himself to say the words. ‘I never hit a man when he's down. But I could have held my tongue. It was no time to spout platitudes. The Exclusives were after your blood. The law made you a sacrificial lamb. I didn't want to see you hanged. But I hated you – for being a hero in Father's eyes. He was right. I was wrong. It's damned late coming, but – I'm sorry.'

Mungo nodded, surprised by the acknowledgment.

They shambled back towards Great Rockingham Street, dragging their feet and labouring with every breath.

Mungo stopped in his tracks in front of the house. Felix propped on the gate.

‘Look, Mungo, there's no point in upsetting Father. He clings to the hope we might end up friends one day. And there's no call for Mother to know – or Jane, eh?'

‘Agreed. I suggest our story is we went to a public house after the ball to drink His Majesty's health and –'

Felix gratefully seized on the excuse. ‘Yes! And we got caught in the middle of a brawl between Royalists and Irish Republicans!

‘Perfect,' Mungo agreed.

He wasn't sure which of them offered their hand first, but they shook hands on it. Both removed their boots and began to ascend the stairs like tired old men.

As they reached the landing where the staircase divided into two, Mungo parted company with him, heading towards his bed in the old schoolroom. Felix took the stairs to the bridge.

Mungo turned around as if on an afterthought. ‘Vianna can remain in the loft for now. But you might as well know the truth. She's all yours – I don't want her anymore.'

‘Neither do I.' said Felix. ‘You're welcome to her.'

Mungo had no need to read Felix's expression to know he would clench his teeth after Mungo delivered his parting shot.

‘I reckon that makes both of us liars, eh, brother?'

The wonderful smell of soda bread baking in Jane's oven created an illusion of domestic harmony that to Vianna was bitterly ironic, given her fall from grace at the Governor's ball.

My life is a disaster. Mungo moved heaven and earth for me to attend the Governor's ball – but I betrayed him.

She stood defeated at the side entrance to Jane's cabin, watching the woman who had befriended her bustling as usual to prepare breakfast for her as well as herbal remedies for Kentigern L'Estrange.

‘Good morning, Jane. I only came to thank you for helping me dress for the ball last night. No mother could have done more for me.'

Jane's grey eyes never missed a trick. ‘My pleasure, lass. I want to hear all the details. But why are you carting that carpet bag so early in the day?'

‘I'm leaving. It's best for everyone. I let your son down badly last night. I disgraced myself. At least that's what Mungo believes. But he's right about one thing – I can never be other than what I am.'

Furious that she was unable to stem the tears that threatened to overflow, she headed for the alleyway.

‘Wait! You can't go traipsing off on an empty stomach – or Mungo will read me the riot act. You don't want me to cop the blame, do you? Sit yourself down, girl, and eat, while you tell me what caused the sky to fall.'

Vianna poured out her heart, sparing herself no blame and ensuring that Mungo emerged from the sorry tale the hero he was. With a final sniff she began to eat hungrily, then obediently downed the herbal infusion Jane prepared for her.

‘I've no proof this works for a champagne headache, but I'm told it cures hangovers after whisky, ale and all manner of grog, so it can do you no harm.'

‘Why are you so kind to me? I don't deserve it after the way I behaved.'

‘It isn't the end of the world. You're only human. Champagne rocked your judgment. Don't flog yourself because you flirted with a powerful man who's in a position to trace your little sister. Mungo will come to see reason, I guarantee it, lass.'

Vianna felt her shame dissolving under the warmth of Manx common sense but she was determined to be honest.

‘I don't want to mislead you, Jane. Mungo is a wonderful man, but I'm not the right woman for him.'

‘But you're the right woman for
Felix,
eh?' Jane's said sharply. ‘Felix can say “Open Sesame” to his inheritance. But Mungo's fortune is still a dream in his head. No one would blame you for backing a thoroughbred against a wild brumby.'

‘Oh, it's not simply a matter of money, Jane. It's complicated.'

‘Rubbish, it's dead simple. Who do you love? Felix or Mungo – or that scoundrel who used you to fleece the Quality?'

Before Vianna could form a truthful answer, Molly spoke from the doorway.

‘Good morning. I come bearing gifts and messages!'

Vianna accepted the flowers and note from Felix, Jane accepted the bottle of fine L'Estrange wine, courtesy of the Master's cellar. No word at all from Mungo.

‘Out with it, Molly,' Jane demanded. ‘Or the gossip will burst your boiler.'

‘Early this morning young master Felix fought a “last man standing” fight with Mungo down by the creek. You should see them, both black and blue – I hardly recognised them.'

‘Who won?' Jane said complacently, already packing a basket with her herbs.

‘It's hard to tell. Felix's face was the colours of the rainbow when he took his mother to church. Mungo looked like a pirate with an eye patch when he rode off in the opposite direction.'

‘Not to a church, I'll be bound. To the nearest sly shanty, more like,' Jane said resignedly. ‘So who's in residence this morning?'

‘None but the Master and Old Crawford. All the servants are attending church – or so they say. I'm helping Ma cook the Sunday roast.'

‘You'd best be off with you. Thanks for the sad tidings,' she added ruefully.

Molly skipped down the path, clearly energised by the dramatic fight.

Vianna thanked Jane for breakfast and reached for her carpetbag.

‘Don't cut off your nose to spite your face, lass. Your job is to find your sister. Stay put until you do. Decide later which man you want in your life. We Manx have a saying, “Take your time. It will come to thee.”'

‘You're so wise, Jane.'

‘Heaven knows I've had time enough to learn after all
my
mistakes. Now, the house is an empty nest Sunday mornings. Come and see how the Other Half lives!'

Vianna's curiosity outweighed her shame.

•  •  •

The entertaining areas of the east wing opened on to each other through a series of heavy oak folding doors. Following on Jane's heels, Vianna entered a breathtaking new world, a genuine blueprint for quality, compared to the theatrical imitation of Severin House.

Jane gave her a brief guided tour, explaining that this was Albruna L'Estrange's half of the twin mansions. Vianna was free to wander at will downstairs but the mistress's private quarters upstairs were strictly forbidden. Meanwhile Jane had arranged to attend to Kentigern's medicinal needs in the Master's wing and would soon leave her to it.

I have a fair idea what
that
entails. I suppose Jane brought me here to stop me bolting in her absence. Or was it to show me the luxury Felix lives in – to tempt me to choose him? Whatever the reason, this house is so full of art and treasures it's like a feast – I could almost eat it!

Jane guided her to a glass cabinet. ‘These rare porcelain pieces were Albruna's dowry. Mr L'Estrange told me their history.' She pointed to an exquisite porcelain flower on a stem of pure gold. ‘Madame de Pompadour had a conservatory full of different porcelain flowers like this, each sprayed with the scent of the real flower! Crazy if you ask me, but kings and nobles can afford to be eccentric.'

She pointed out another piece. ‘This came from the private porcelain factory built by some King called Augustus the Strong. He prized porcelain so much he had his Japanese Palace built entirely of the
stuff, even porcelain tiles on the roof and lining the walls – to house his collection.'

‘Augustus the Strong sounds like a great soldier.'

Jane lowered her voice, though there was none to overhear. ‘The Master told me he earned the name from his prowess in the boudoir, not the battlefield.'

Vianna smothered a laugh.

Jane caught her admiring a Bustelli figurine of Harlequin. ‘Who does he remind you of?'

‘It's the spitting image of Mungo!'

Vianna felt she was walking through a luxurious maze.

‘Imagine what it's like to be surrounded by all this beauty every day of your life,' Vianna said in awe.

‘Felix has from birth,' Jane said enigmatically.

When Jane went to the other wing to visit the Master, Vianna returned her attention to the paintings, intrigued by the portrait of a young man with a leonine shock of blond hair, whom Jane had identified as Kentigern Estrange, painted at the time of his wedding by an unnamed convict artist. Vianna was struck by the significance of the lone portrait – there was no corresponding wedding portrait of his bride.

The portrait's striking resemblance to Mungo and, to a lesser degree, Felix was uncanny.
It's like looking into Mungo's eyes. The same ironic humour – as if to hide the sadness at the heart of him.

Aware she was trespassing, she kept her eye on the grandfather clock, feeling as nervous as if she were exploring holy ground.

It is all so grand, and yet something is missing, something that is in Jane's cottage but absent here . . . a feeling of warmth – of love.

Double doors opened onto a music room where Vianna was drawn to a magnificent rosewood pianoforte she recognised from a London catalogue from John Broadwood and Sons. She had begged Severin to order it for Guido to accompany her. She knew it covered six and a half octaves and had cost at least seventy-five guineas.

Reverently seated on the piano stool, she studied the music sheet. She had not played for many weeks but Guido had taught her well and, after a halting start, she lost herself in playing the haunting melody with growing confidence.

‘You surprise me, young lady. It seems you learned to read music before you learned to read books.'

Startled, Vianna sprang up and curtseyed to the man she recognised from his portrait as Kentigern L'Estrange. In the slight slurring of his words, she heard the trace of the illness she had heard about.

‘Forgive me, Sir, I meant no harm. I haven't played for so long –'

He gave a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘Jane brought you here on my orders. The house is empty, an opportune occasion to speak with the Quayles's house guest.' He cocked a quizzical eyebrow, ‘Alias, Fanny Byron.'

This is no man to be toyed with. Charm will get me nowhere. I'd best play this scene as Felix would say, ‘with a straight bat'. And show no fear.

‘Fanny Byron is no alias, Sir. That is the legal name my father gave me at birth. I have resumed the use of it while a
temporary
guest of the Quayles – to avoid embarrassment to the L'Estrange family. But as
you
are well aware, Sir, I am better known as the notorious Sydney Town Venus, Madame Vianna Francis.'

With one eyebrow raised he gave a grudging nod of acknowledgment, his stare challenging, but not without a touch of admiration.

‘As I suspected – nobody's fool and a woman with spirit.' He gestured her to take the seat opposite him. ‘I can see why my son Felix and young Quayle are at loggerheads, both laying claim to be your protector. What say you?'

‘Their conflict is no wish of mine, Sir. The sooner I am free to leave here, the better for all concerned.'

‘What of the contract on which you made your mark – or someone did on your behalf? Is that all that holds you here? Or is it a more complex matter of the heart?'

‘Love is a luxury no courtesan can afford, Sir.'

‘Don't play games with me, girl. It does not amuse me to have two young men under my roof besotted with the same woman in keeping. In fairness to them, following your so-called abduction, I ordered that you were to be granted time to make your choice. Don't push me too far. You are rapidly running out of time. Make your decision – a mistress to Felix, or a wife to Mungo.'

Vianna made him wait.
Don't push
me
too far. I've been bullied by an expert.

‘And if I do not choose either fate?'

‘Then I shall be forced to take Severin to court on charges of fraud.' He added casually, ‘in which case you would be called to give evidence as his partner in crime.'

Surely this is a bluff. But you never can tell with the Quality. The newspapers are full of lawsuits for defamation and fraud. Everyone is suing everyone else in this crazy colony – even Governor Darling.

Kentigern added with a shrug, ‘It need not come to that. I have a proposition.'

Oh my God, what's coming next? Does he also have designs on my body?

‘I shall pay your passage to England, British Canada, the Cape Colony or where you will. Set you up in a new life. You have my word as a gentleman, you will receive a quarterly remittance to enable you to live in comfort.' He added as an afterthought, ‘Whatever future profession you choose to follow is entirely your decision.'

For a moment she was tempted, but acceptance meant abandoning Daisy.

‘Most generous, Sir,' Vianna said coolly but her hands were shaking at his implied insult about the world's oldest profession. ‘But I cannot accept your offer. To do so would only increase your own long-standing problem.'