‘Bond?’ his father asked.
‘No, she came free. But she fell into the hands of a very bad man. I intend to rescue her. That is why I have come to seek your help. I thought you might have sympathy for my dilemma because . . .’
His father’s hand twirled in rapid circles to make Felix get to the point.
‘Father, I have already made this young woman an offer. I beg your permission to install her on one of our properties, perhaps in the country – but not too far away for me to visit her. A place where no one will know her – reputation. Where she can live modestly, attend church and begin to build a new, respectable life.’
‘Mistress, eh?’ His father’s eyes narrowed but his tone revealed no hostility.
‘Yes, Father. But I confess, in time, if she is contrite about her past . . . perhaps one day I could consider an offer of marriage? There are many precedents in the Colony. Your friend Captain John Piper married his mistress, a convict’s daughter – look how happy they are, with a dozen or more children. And Esther Abrahams was Lieutenant-Colonel George Johnston’s mistress and mother of his children before Governor Macquarie insisted they marry so that she would be acceptable to dine at Government House and –’
‘Yes, yes. Ancient history. What – stops you?’
‘Nothing. Except if Mother –’
Kentigern’s snort of contempt was unmistakable. ‘Are you man or mouse?’
Felix flushed with embarrassment. ‘I am indeed my own man, Father. But I could never bring a bride here to the family home, against Mother’s will.’
Agitated, Kentigern began to climb out of bed but refused Felix’s assistance.
‘Crawford!’ he demanded and pulled the bell rope.
‘Father, the problem is I need your signature to be my guarantor on the contract to be her protector – in the hope of setting her free from her employer, the Honourable Montague Severin.
‘That mongrel! Downstairs!’ He inscribed his finger in the air to illustrate he would sign the document in his office, to sanction Felix’s plan.
Felix wanted to hug his father but he felt awkward, uncertain if his gesture would be welcome. Mungo wouldn’t hesitate – but he’s sure of Father’s love.
‘Thank you, Father. I promise you will never regret your decision. I shall be very discreet. The family name will in no way be tarnished.’
‘Bugger that!’ Kentigern’s tone was earthy, unmistakable. ‘Just – love – her.’
Felix almost fell through the door in relief. Nothing remains but to rescue my Venus. I know she greatly admires me – she said so! I can offer Severin the moon – now I have Father’s blessing!
The document duly signed, Felix returned to his bedchamber to change, ready to escort his mother to an unfamiliar address and collect her two hours later. She had refused to reveal the reason for her uncharacteristically mysterious behaviour, stating only that all would be revealed in due course.
A glance around his bedchamber confirmed subtle signs that yet again it had been disturbed in his absence. He could not fault whoever had serviced his rooms, they were immaculately clean and tidy. Except for one thing. His copy of Christian Carl Ludwig Rümker’s notes about his rediscovery of Encke’s Comet lay open just as Felix had left it – except for a tell-tale mark. One corner of the page was earmarked.
• • •
Jane Quayle was lying asleep on the sofa when Mungo slipped inside her cottage after breakfast. It saddened him to note that the faint lines around her eyes and mouth were growing more marked. For the first time he realised how much she must have suffered during his years at Moreton Bay, being unable to read and write, unable to hear any news of him. It was widely known hundreds of convicts had died there during Logan’s regime. She must have lived in dread her only son had been counted amongst the death toll.
Mungo sat facing her, eager to accomplish his mission yet unwilling to disturb her. She smiled in her sleep as if her dream was a pleasant place to be.
I’ve been a rotten son, Mam. But I swear I’ll make it up to you. When I make my fortune I’ll see you want for nothing.
Deciding that the cards had not fallen as he had hoped, he finally rose to leave her. The small sound of his departure roused her with a start.
‘Well,’ she said crisply. ‘That’ll teach me to leave my door open. You could have been a thief. Hungry, are you? I’ve been baking, so you’ll not go away with an empty stomach.’
‘I never say no to your cooking, Mam. But I’ve come to ask you a favour.’
She swung her feet to the floor and eyed him warily. ‘You’re not in trouble again?’
‘Not unless you count being nutty about the most beautiful girl in the world.’
‘Found another one already, have you? I thought your golden girl was too good to last. What was her name? Fanny?’
‘Same girl,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure she wants to love me too.’
‘Wants to love you? What on earth’s stopping her?’ she snapped. ‘Don’t tell me she’s already married. I’ll have none of that under my roof.’
‘No, Mam. But it’s a bit complicated.’
She shook her finger at him and gave him a dose of the plain speaking that Mungo had always admired in her.
‘It’s bad enough to have a mother like me – in God’s eyes an adulteress. I want something better for my son. A good woman who belongs only to you and gives you legitimate children.’
‘In a sense she is married – to me. Remember I explained about the day we met in prison – the exchange of scarves made it a common law marriage.’
‘Huh! That’s just the underworld code. It won’t give your babes a legal name. Or put a roof over your bride’s head, neither.’
‘But I now have my own roof, Mam. She’ll be your new neighbour. Father gave me the deeds to the stables next to this cottage.’
‘He never did! You’re joshing me?’
‘It’s all signed, sealed and delivered. I plan to make it into a snug little cottage – the mirror image of yours. I can turn it into two rooms up and two down.’
His mother was sizing him up. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re dead serious about this Fanny girl.’
I’d best not explain that Fanny now goes by the name of Vianna. Mam’s confused enough as it is – and who could blame her?
‘If I clean the place out, chuck out the groom’s old stuff, will you help me make it fit for her? I have money coming to me when Father pays my next wages.’
Mungo gave her the pleading look that had always worked in his favour when he was a small boy. ‘Meanwhile may I borrow your spare bed and some bed linen until I can afford to furnish it properly for her?’
Jane Quayle was already on her feet. ‘If your Fanny isn’t too finicky, she’ll be comfortable, I’ll see to that. I’ve more than enough spare pots and pans and crockery. I’ll sew curtains for her and I’ll finish the patchwork quilt I’ve been making. I’d best make a list and get started right away. How much time do I have?’
‘I aim to bring her here after she – finishes work on Saturday night.’
‘I’ll say this for you. You don’t waste time picking daisies when you find the woman you want to bed. You’re your father all over.’
Mungo caught her in a bear hug. ‘I knew I could count on you, Mam. I know you’ll love my girl.’
‘Just as long as she loves you and plays square with you – she’s fine by me. Whatever she’s done in the past is dead and buried. Mind you, I insist on checking her out before you get churched. There’s many a turn in the wedding march, as they say.’
He paused at the door. ‘You’re always saying that. What does it mean?’
‘Manx weddings are open to all and sundry. The band plays The Black and the Grey and leads the wedding procession around the exterior of the church three times before the bride and groom enter to be married.’
‘Are you saying it’s a warning? That I can make plans to marry but it might not happen? Well, that’s on
e of your superstitions I’m going to prove wrong. I’ll bring my bride here by hook or by crook!’
Mungo strode off to the stables and unleashed his pent-up energy by tossing rubbish and broken equestrian equipment out into Little Rockingham Street. He worked all day, cleaning and scrubbing. In a silent act of contrition for her dire warning that the wedding would never happen, his mother joined him, armed with a tureen of Manx rabbit stew and potatoes smothered with onion sauce and served with brown soda bread so moist it melted in his mouth. With it came a pot of tea and a miniature bottle.
‘The dram of whisky is to give you courage, son – not that you need it, I’m sure.’
They had no sooner made her Manx fishermen’s toast, ‘Life to man and death to fish,’ than Jane Quayle was up a ladder measuring the windows for curtains.
Mungo grinned when she began to sing a jolly old song she had learned as a child and in turn taught him . . . ‘She’s for knitting and sewing and scraping potatoes, and you should be glad to catch the like . . .’
Mungo joined in the words knowing the song was her peace offering.
When she turned on the ladder to smile down at him, Mungo had a lump in his throat. His mother’s lightness of heart transformed her into a young girl again.
Well that’s one woman who’s happy about the idea of me getting married . . . now all I’ve got to do is to convince Vianna.
• • •
Late that evening, under cover of darkness, Mungo rode Boadicea to Severin House, disguised by his half-brother’s long black cloak and black felt hat pulled low over his eyes. Felix would not even notice they were missing. He’d been commandeered into escorting his mother to one of Mrs Darling’s fund-raising dinners.
Out of sight of Severin House Mungo looped the reins over a hitching post and gave his horse a reassuring stroke with the back of his hand.
‘The last time we were here that mongrel Blewitt threatened to cut off my balls. Don’t worry, there’s more than one way to skin a cat – in Severin’s case, a rat.’
The execution of his plan depended on several factors. Mungo had studied every detail of the majestic building outlined against the night sky. Originally built by a wealthy emancipist to outdo the Exclusives’ luxurious townhouses, the layout had dozens of entrances, windows and balconies that could aid – or foil his plan. Plantation shutters concealed the French windows opening onto three-sided verandas on both levels. Light shone through the stained glass fanlight above the classic Georgian entrance where the words Severin House were etched on a scroll.
Cast-iron verandas extended around three sides of the first storey, with iron columns, fine iron lace edging under the eaves, scrolls and embellishments transforming the classical building into a Gothic wedding cake. Mungo absorbed every detail in the hope of finding a chink in its architectural armour to reach his goal – Vianna’s bedchamber.
One by one gamblers exited the house to walk or stagger to their waiting carriages. He recognised the last remaining vehicle as belonging to the entrepreneur Humphries, who was as notorious for his maltreatment of his army of convict labourers as he was for his brutality to women. Mungo burned with anger at the thought of Humphries becoming Vianna’s protector, but his rage increased when the man himself emerged. He had the cocky gait of a man born to rule, but who took his misuse of power for granted.
When his carriage had disappeared, the last house lights were dimmed. Mungo checked the time by his gold watch. Three hours past midnight. His hour had come.
As if she read his mind Vianna emerged at the end of the upper-storey balcony, dressed in a negligee with a shawl draped around her shoulders. Her hair flowed freely to her waist in rivulets of gold that reminded him of his mother’s legends of mermaids. She gazed down into the garden deep in thought, her sigh so heartfelt that Mungo felt his heart beat wildly. Returning inside, she closed the French doors but left the timber shutters open.
Gaming had ended for the night. Mungo agonised over the question: would Severin spend the night in her bed? Only one way to find out.
Entering the garden as light of foot as the gravel would allow, he secreted himself in dense shrubbery close to one of the L-shaped pillars beneath the veranda. How high can I climb before I’m paralysed with vertigo? Only one way to find out.
Wrapping his cloak over his arm he began to scale the iron pillar, the curlicues in the design providing convenient footholds. He promised himself he would not look down, but froze at the sight of Blewitt exiting the house to stroll in the garden, a pipe clenched between his teeth. Mungo gave an audible sigh of relief when the bodyguard lumbered out of sight around the far corner of the house.
On reaching the veranda, he heard a deep male voice coming from the room Vianna had entered. He flattened himself against the wall and heard Vianna’s voice in reply.
‘I choose to sleep alone tonight.’
Severin’s distinctive voice raised the hackles on Mungo’s neck. You manipulative bastard, Severin.
‘I gave you the choice of refusing any man who failed to meet your taste, Vianna. That choice did not apply to me.’ His tone switched to gentle persuasion. ‘Do you realise this might be the last night we are free to take our pleasure – whether or not I am sent to debtors’ prison.’
‘That fact had not escaped me, Severin. But due to circumstances out of your control – I shall now always choose my profession above my personal desires.’
‘And what of your loyalty to me?’ he asked.
Mungo heard the tremor in her voice. ‘I have paid a high price for that loyalty. But the only person who deserves my protection is Daisy. Don’t worry, I shall pleasure whichever man is chosen. I agreed to this contract to keep you out of prison. I also intend to keep you out of my bed.’
‘Have you forgotten?’ Severin asked softly. ‘I saved you from a life on the streets of The Rocks, at the mercy of drunken whalers and poxy seamen.’
‘True, but there are men even lower. There’s you, Severin!’
The sound of a resounding slap was followed by a muffled cry. Only the slam of a door and a man’s receding footsteps prevented Mungo breaking down the door.
Vianna was crying softly, not the sound of a broken heart but of total despair. Mungo tapped on the French windows. The crying ceased and the doors opened wide enough for Vianna to emerge. Mungo hated himself for his next move. His hand closed over her mouth and he pressed her back against his chest.
‘Don’t scream. I won’t hurt you!’
Vianna’s response was rapid. She spun around and thrust her knee into his groin with such force he doubled up in pain, trying desperately to keep his groans inaudible.
She froze in the act of hammering him with her fists and hissed in anger.
‘Mungo! What are you doing here? I waited for you. When you didn’t come I was forced to have supper with a horrible man who wanted to do things you wouldn’t believe! Why did you let me down? I was a fool to trust you.’
Excruciating pain made Mungo powerless to speak. He tried to halt her words with one hand. The other gripped his groin as delicately as possible under the circumstances.
‘Please, listen,’ he gasped, horrified by the scarlet slap mark on her cheek.
Nothing would stem the flood of her anger, but she lowered her voice at least. ‘I’m not surprised you have no excuse! Go back the way you came! I don’t care if you have vertigo. Or fall and break your neck. You’re a liar – Severin proved it. If you were the wealthiest man in Sydney I’d rather starve than be kept by you.’
‘Did he hurt you badly, my darling?’ Mungo gently touched her cheek. ‘I’ll kill Severin if he lays another hand on you.’
Her voice broke and she turned away, but Mungo barred her way.
‘I was here as promised. Please let me explain.’
She wavered. ‘You’d best come inside – but only for a moment.’
Mungo took in the erotic décor at a glance and recognised he was in a high-class bordello, a Venus flytrap de
signed by Severin to exploit the girl that Mungo loved – past, present and future. He was desperate. Only a few minutes to convince her that he was her man, or she’d sink into a world from which few women escaped.
His hand over his heart, he vowed, ‘I swear to give you nothing but the truth, so help me God. I was here last night – even winning – until Blewitt accused me of cheating and threw me out. He promised to separate me from my manhood if I returned. Forgive my language, but I must make you understand my life is in your hands – if Severin finds me here.’
‘Severin takes laudanum to help him sleep. But Blewitt patrols the grounds every night like a bloodhound.’ She bit her lip to conceal a smile. ‘Did you cheat?’
‘No – not this time,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t just come here to win money – but in the hope of winning you. You promised to see me alone.’
‘To make me an offer I couldn’t refuse,’ she prompted. ‘I’m waiting!’
Vianna gestured to the sofa and sat beside him. ‘Blewitt could return at any moment. Tell me the whole truth. No lies. Exactly what can you offer me?’
Mungo looked deep into her eyes. This is the moment of truth.
‘The truth covers the biggest lie any man ever told you. I am not who you think I am. I stole another man’s name. Because the first moment I saw you, I lost my head – and my heart to you.’
‘If you’re not Mungo Quayle, who are you?’
‘I am Mungo Quayle. But we didn’t meet for the first time that day my horse was spooked by a snake. We met three years earlier in gaol. Remember the prisoner who introduced himself as William Eden?’
Vianna shook her head in confusion. ‘You knew William Eden?’
‘We were both found guilty of the same crime.’
‘How could you have met me? I was alone with him, except for a turnkey.’
‘Because it was me you talked to. Me you kissed. I borrowed Will’s name and his death sentence – on a wild impulse to gain your sympathy. For me it was love at first sight.’
‘You’re lying! You don’t look anything like him! Young Will was barely my height and thin. You must be over six feet and twice his size.’
The Lace Balcony Page 24
