The Lace Balcony (63 page)

‘I couldn't stop the brute! God help me, I tried – he threw me into the gutter.'

Vianna followed the direction of her eyes. The stable doors were wide open. The broken padlock hung on the latch. The stables were empty.

Even as Vianna cried out wildly in denial, she knew the truth.

Severin's ultimate revenge on Mungo – and me. Blewitt hasn't just stolen Boadicea – he'll destroy her.

As night fell a ring of fires encircled the Surry Hills. The common was alive with six bonfires, built in a circle as if for some pagan ritual. Their wild yellow and red flames danced, forming shadows that distorted the faces of the crowd clustered around each burning pyre.

To Mungo many of these faces seemed to have leapt straight out of Augustus Earle's sketches of colonial convicts and old lags that the artist portrayed as a race somewhere between human beings and heavy-jawed Neanderthals.

Mungo was half-amused, half-wary of the fact that milling around them was a high proportion of once-and-future criminals, thieves, pickpockets and no doubt the occasional murderer.
But who am I to talk?

The gentry were conspicuously absent. This down-at-heel mob was either drunk on grog or a rare taste of freedom and exhilarated by the flames of the bonfires. Despite the boisterous drinking and dancing, Mungo sensed an underlying tension that made him uneasy. He hoisted Toby up onto his shoulders, not only to give the lad a clear view of the spectacle, but to keep him safe from drunks and bullies. Severin's tactics were never far from his mind.
Any bloke who lays a hand on Toby will be dead meat.

‘Hey, Toby! Look at those rockets. Have you ever seen such a sight?'

‘It's like magic!' Toby said in awe. But a moment later he asked anxiously, ‘Can rockets hurt birds flying in the sky?'

‘Not a chance. Australian birds are too fast and clever to get in their way.'

Toby's excited squeals and his tight clasp of Mungo's head told him all he really needed to know about the boy. There were odd times when he thought he caught a flash of Toby's resemblance to Kentigern, once even a faint likeness to Mrs Less.
I don't give a damn whether the kid's father is Felix, me or some other bloke Maria was seeing. Toby's my mate. He can stick with me as long as he's happy.
I may not be the best father figure in the world, but I'm better than nothing.

Whether or not they were linked by blood, one way or the other, Mungo realised he shared a bond with the kid that he did with no other L'Estrange.
We're both native born Currency Lads.

Looking at the crowd around him he admitted that wasn't always a recommendation.
If these are the founding fathers of a new nation, heaven help Australia. Half of them are drunk, unwashed, and a few would sell their grandmothers for a bottle of rum. But I should talk. I'm only being abstemious tonight to set Toby a good example.

His reverie was broken by Toby's anxious question. ‘Is that a dead man?'

Toby pointed to the urchins carrying a man's body in a macabre funeral procession. The limp white calico effigy wore a ragged blue uniform and its painted moon-face looked suspiciously like Governor Darling.

How the hell do I explain an effigy to a kid pushing six?

‘Don't worry mate, that isn't a real man. It's stuffed with straw like a scarecrow. My Mam used to make them for Guy Fawkes bonfires for Felix and me as kids.'

‘Why?'

‘Why? Maybe to remind people if they do very bad stuff they might end up on the gallows.'

Toby watched as the boys tossed the giant ragdoll high in the air to land with a shower of gold sparks on the pinnacle of the bonfire.

‘But if bad people are hanged they can't learn to be good. Why don't they just send them to prison for a bit – then let them go home again?' Toby whispered confidentially, ‘Like
you.
'

Mam's right. You can't keep bad news under wraps for long.

‘That's a good question, Toby. I wish everyone thought the way you do.' He was quick to change the subject. ‘Hey, look at those boys lighting Catherine Wheels.'

Mungo held tightly to Toby's legs hanging over his shoulders as he pushed through the crowd. He felt unaccountably edgy, sensing an undercurrent of hostility growing around them. It would only take one false move for the mob's mood to turn ugly and start a brawl or a stampede.

Its high time Vianna and Jane joined us. My damned fault. I should have waited for them.

Toby spotted them from his vantage point straddled on Mungo's shoulders. ‘Hey! Here we are!' the boy waved to them so frantically Mungo held his legs tight to keep him balanced.

Mungo's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his beautiful woman, her cloud of hair flying behind her as she ran towards him. But why was she flanked by Felix and Sandy, with Jane rushing anxiously at her heels? He was startled by Vianna's expression, the same on all three faces – was it fear, confusion or anger? Something was very wrong.

Felix bounded up to him in giant strides. Vianna flung herself at Mungo, her face drained and anxious. ‘Boadicea's been stolen. The thief attacked Jane when she tried to stop him.'

Felix cut across her. ‘Father's driven straight to the Watch House to report it and post a reward. Give the word and I'll search for him.'

Toby now stood within the circle of their bodies, his upturned face anxiously watching each agitated face as they offered ideas, apologies, support.

Jane described the horse thief. ‘Dark, swarthy, built like a bear.'

Felix jumped in. ‘He must have had the stables under surveillance. Knew the men were gone. And exactly what he'd find – a part-Arabian. Took the risk, given horse theft is a hanging offence.'

‘No! It wasn't from greed,' Vianna cried in despair. ‘This has Severin's signature all over it. He wouldn't risk being hanged himself.'

Mungo said the name at the same moment as she did. ‘
Blewitt.
I'll see them both hanged. And if The Finisher doesn't do the job,
I will!
'

Felix argued calmly for a search plan. Mungo took control. ‘Sandy, take Toby and the women home. Vianna, you are to stay with Jane for safety.'

When Vianna refused to leave his side Mungo began to shout at her, but suddenly spun around. Toby was nowhere in sight. ‘Jesus Christ, where's the kid gone? That's all I need!'

Mungo charged off and the others splintered in different directions, running in circles around the bonfires, calling Toby's name.

Fighting down his panic, Mungo sensed a strange shift in the atmosphere. A short distance away, standing apart from the crowd,
was a small lone figure,
Toby
. He was looking up at someone concealed in the darkness behind the giant trunk of a Port Jackson fig tree. Toby kept nodding his head seriously, as if absorbing every word said to him. Then he suddenly bolted and headed straight for Mungo, stumbling into his arms.

‘Didn't I tell you to stick by me? Who the hell were you talking to?'

‘A man. He gave me a message for you. He said your horse is down there.'

Toby pointed to the dense darkness where the bush formed a barrier with the gully far below. Mungo ran to the tree. The messenger was gone.

He gripped the boy's shoulders. ‘Good boy, Toby. But this is serious, think hard. What exactly did this man say?'

‘He said you'll find Boadicea by the creek.'

‘He called Boadicea by name, right? Did he say who took her there?'

Toby shook his head, pulling Mungo by the hand. ‘Hurry!'

‘Wait. What did he look like? Was he big, like a bear?'

‘No, like Doctor. A nice man. Sort of shiny.'

‘Shiny? How?'

‘His shoes shone in the dark. And his face and scarf. But Mungo, the shiny man said to hurry or we'll be too late.'

The shiny man. Will Eden.

‘Don't worry, Toby. That man is my friend. You take the ladies home. I'll find Boadicea, I promise.'

Jane took Toby under her wing but Vianna was defiant.

‘I'm not leaving you, Mungo. This is all
my
fault. Blewitt does Severin's dirty work – he's dangerous.'

‘Do as you're told, for God's sake,' Mungo shouted. ‘It's
me
he wants, not you!'

Mungo hurtled down the hillside, deeper into the darkness, fighting his way through the bush, his mind splintered between chaotic images of past and present danger. His breath came in laboured chunks that almost choked him. He rolled down the steep bank and staggered to his feet, grazed and bleeding, dead sure he was close to something malevolent that he was afraid to face. But there was no choice. He pushed on, drawing closer to it.

And then he heard the sound. Surrounded by a shroud of grey mist, a break in the dense blanket of darkness, he heard a terrified whinny.
Boadicea.
He saw the black horse rear up, pawing the air, as Blewitt raised his whip and struck her head. Her eyes rolled in terror. A film the colour of blood blinded Mungo's sight. As he lunged towards the man, reality shattered. He was suddenly trapped outside of time – hell-bent on murder . . .

Red . . . black . . . nothing but fragments . . . He smelled the stagnant creek, the bulrushes choking the life from it . . . A man's groans, a rank smell . . . the wounded horse . . . trapped in the swamp, the open sores of stab wounds on its ebony hide . . . Choking with rage, Mungo plunged into the thick mire of the creek, trapped by the mud, unable to move . . . desperate to keep the horse's head above the mud, repeating the words to reassure it . . . struggling to break free as the mud sucked them even deeper . . . He fought off the mosquitoes that were driving the horse crazy . . . heard the horse's dying breath, his own laboured breathing . . . sweating, struggling as blackness swamped him . . . He knew but refused to accept . . . it was already too late . . . he couldn't cheat death . . .

•  •  •

Mungo looked up into Felix's inverted face above him. Felt his limp, heavy body being dragged up the steep incline of the bank. Suddenly aware of Felix's gasps of reassurance and his unwanted intervention, Mungo tried to fight him off, his weakness overcome by a final desperate surge of energy . . . He heard his own shouts of denial, that sounded like the guttural cries of a stranger, ‘Let me go!' He refused to abandon Boadicea, fighting like crazy until Felix's greater strength overcame him, pinning him to the ground.

Felix kept repeating, ‘It's all right, Mungo. Boadicea's safe. You saved her. She's got a bad whip mark, but I promise you, she'll be fine.'

Mungo was in shock. Violent images remained before his eyes. ‘No, she's trapped! I've got to get her out!'

‘No! Listen to me! You set Boadicea free. Pulled her clear of the mud. But you were exhausted. You panicked, kept on fighting.'

Mungo closed his eyes and by a great effort of will, tried to stop the ground from heaving beneath his body.

Sandy helped Mungo to his feet. ‘Aye, come lad, let's take Boadicea home. It's all over now. You went half-crazy when ye saw Blewitt whipping her. He drew his knife on ye . . . so you drew yours.'

Mungo was suddenly alert. ‘Where is the mongrel? Did he get away?'

He struggled, ready to charge back into the gully, but their combined strength held him back. Then he saw Boudicea before him, injured but able to walk.

‘Blewitt got what was coming to him,' Sandy said matter-of-factly. ‘It's all over now, lad.'

‘I killed him, didn't I.' It was not a question.

‘I wish I could say ye did. But he bolted from a losing fight.'

Felix said with a note of finality, ‘Blewitt was alive. We are your witnesses.'

Mungo walked beside Boadicea.
They think they know what happened. Only I know. Boadicea was in the creek. Trapped in the mud just like Logan's horse . . . now there's no going back. No road forward.

The deserted common lay under a thick pall of stagnant smoke that carried the smell of ashes and the smoking embers of dead and dying bonfires. Mungo rested his hand on Boadicea's neck as the mare walked with an awkward, jerking gait towards Rockingham Hall.

Felix and Sandy brought up the rear in silence. Until Mungo turned to Felix, in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘Vianna's all yours, mate. I don't want her. But if you're the man I think you are, you'll do the right thing and marry the girl. You can give her the life she needs.'

Felix averted his eyes, too surprised to answer.

When they reached the entrance gate Sandy reassured Mungo.

‘I'll deal with Boadicea's wound. She'll be fine. It's all over now, lad.'

‘That's just it, Sandy. It will never be over. Now I know it was murder.'

‘It was nothing of the kind, lad. You're suffering from shock. You went half-crazy, slugged Blewitt like a punching bag. It was pure self-defence. Felix and I will swear to that on a stack of Bibles. Blewitt fell on his own knife, while attempting to run from a losing fight. If he dies from his wounds, ye did
not
murder him.'

‘Not Blewitt. The moment I saw Boadicea rearing in terror in the creek – it began to come back to me. Moreton Bay. The day before they found Logan's body. That's why he haunts me, Sandy. I'm the one who killed Logan.'

‘Hush, lad. Go upstairs to bed. There's nothing more you can do tonight. We'll talk it through in the morning.'

•  •  •

At dawn Mungo placed two letters under his mother's front door. His brief note of farewell to her apologised for letting her down. He asked her to care for Toby.

His note to Vianna consisted of three lines:

It's all over. I'm no good to you or any woman. I must face up to what I have done. Felix is the right man for you. Go to him. Allow him to love you. The rest will follow in time.