‘It was nothing important, Mrs L’Estrange,’ Mungo assured her. ‘You know how hotheaded we colonials are about political issues involving Governor Darling.’
Felix picked up his cue with alacrity. ‘I shall be glad to pay your respects to Mrs Darling at the ball this evening, Mutti. Pity you are unable to attend.’
‘Indeed, but needs must,’ she said obliquely. ‘I am required to confirm details for your father’s birthday dinner. I trust it will come as a pleasant surprise.’
Her averted eyes did not fool Mungo for a moment. This is a blind. Mrs Less is up to her neck in something she’s desperate to conceal.
Mungo kept up his own subterfuge. ‘Well Felix, I’ll continue to brief you later about my journey to your father’s timber mills in the Illawarra. And perhaps you’d care to enlighten me about your own recent experiences,’ he said, a sly reference to Felix’s clandestine activities at Mookaboola.
Their fracas had broken out when each confronted the other about their clandestine activities involving Vianna. Felix had been outraged about the Illawarra bivouac undertaken during his absence, but at this moment he was more intent on avoiding his mother’s censure.
‘We’ll talk later, Mungo.’ Felix’s eyes glinted green with anger. ‘Excuse me, Mother. I must prepare for my visit to the Observatory – the telescope is first class.’
He bowed to his mother and sailed from the room.
It was Mungo’s turn to feel trounced. Molly Baker had confided her excitement that Felix had asked her to act as Vianna’s chaperone on this trip to the Observatory.
Mungo switched his energies to his own plans, as yet unknown to Vianna.
In the smoking room he found his father engaged in conversation with Sandy Gordon, in what appeared to be a social rather than professional visit. They had slipped into a relaxed, first-name relationship, except in public.
‘Consider yourself blessed you never married, Sandy. Children can cause as much grief as pleasure.’
‘I dinna have one foot in the grave, yet, Kentigern. It’s not too late for me to take a good woman to wife.’
‘There’s said to be a beauty stashed away under Mungo’s roof. You’d be doing us all a favour if you took her off my hands. She’s like Helen of Troy – two rival factions fighting over her. No good can come of it!’ he said morosely.
Sandy gave a throaty cough, ‘I suspect I know the lass to whom ye refer. The less said from me on that score, the better.’
Mungo gave a discreet cough from the doorway.
‘Ah, here comes trouble,’ Kentigern said with a reluctant smile. ‘What is it you be wanting, lad?’
‘To ask a favour, Sir. Felix will of course be travelling in the family carriage to the Governor’s Ball – alone. Mrs L’Estrange has the chaise at her disposal.’
‘No business of mine. Free to do as she pleases,’ he said gruffly.
Mungo cleared his throat. ‘With your permission, Sir. I’d like to borrow the old carriage that’s just been repaired. One night only. No coachman needed. I’ll be driving it myself. I’ll polish it up and you have my word I’ll return it in better condition than it is now.’
‘That wouldn’t be too hard. Cracked leather upholstery. Cobwebs.’ His father eyed him keenly. ‘True reason? A girl?’
‘You can count on it. I am my father’s son, Sir.’ Mungo said politely and drew a begrudging hoot at his daring response.
‘Why not? Felix will be driven by Old Crawford. Of course Felix hates social occasions of any kind – but he’s an eligible catch for the matchmakers. Tonight’s ball may be the last of the season. Darling’s got his marching orders – gone come December. Good riddance!’
Despite his wife’s close relationship with Mrs Darling, the patriarch sided with W.C. Wentworth’s Australian newspaper, the voice for many highly critical of Darling’s term as Governor, jubilant he had been recalled to England.
He added grumpily, ‘If I had my way you’d have been invited, lad.’
Mungo was touched by this unexpected sign of his father’s unrealistic expectations.
‘I don’t need the Guv’s seal of approval, Sir. I’d rather make love than dance.’
‘Bon chance!’ his father said and waved him away in good humour. ‘Spare me the details. All’s fair in love and war, but I refuse to act as the referee!’
• • •
Mungo wasted no time. The wheelwright had done a fine job and the new wheels were in place. During the remainder of the day Mungo cleaned and polished the exterior of the old carriage and although unable to restore the cracked leather upholstery, he disguised it with one of his mother’s hand-made quilts. With a tin of gold paint and not without a touch of irony, he touched up the scratches on the L’Estrange family crest, There but for the grace of God go I.
He stood back to admire the end result of his labours. ‘All ship shape and Bristol fashion. And now, “a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.”’
He took Boadicea aside and coaxed her into volunteering for the job.
‘I know you’re a cut above this kind of work, Boadicea. But it’s only for one night. I’ll have your coat shining fit to rival the sun. And no doubt the lady will reward you – and maybe reward me too, if I’m in luck.’
Tucked under his arm was an old tricorn hat borrowed from Crawford, a legacy of the old man’s service in England as a coachman before he was transported. On those nights he chose to act as coachman he now wore smart new L’Estrange livery.
Only Jane Quayle was privy to Mungo’s plans for the night of the ball. Seated now at her kitchen table in his shirt sleeves, covered with dust and smelling of polish and turpentine, Mungo drained her teapot and helped himself liberally to her Manx chocolate cake. Feeling buoyed up, he checked the agenda for the evening with his mother.
‘As soon as Vianna returns with Felix from the Observatory, he’ll head for the west wing to dress for the ball. That gives Vianna time to bathe and do whatever women do to their hair. You’ve pressed her ballgown?’
‘Been ready since dawn,’ his mother said calmly. ‘And the hot water’s playing on the stove ready for her bath. I’ve checked her dancing slippers don’t have holes in the soles though they’re so paper thin they probably will by the end of the ball. Your evening clothes are pressed and hanging in the schoolroom ready for you to change. Vianna will bathe and dress here. Relax. Everything is going to plan.’
‘Bless you, Mam. You could organise a whole battalion.’
Mungo tried to read her mind. Although Vianna had studied her lessons diligently each day, she had acted strangely since the day at Sandy’s surgery. Their close encounter with the Tiger Snake had bonded them more closely together – but since her return she had reclaimed the former distance between them. Did his mother know the cause? Females always close ranks when it involves secret women’s business.
His mother was brusque but reassuring. ‘The one thing that remains is for you to include Vianna in your plans. Beats me why you’ve kept her in the dark.’
Mungo was evasive. ‘Didn’t want Felix to get wind of it. You know him. He’d be appalled by the idea of her fronting up at Government House.’
‘How do you aim to smuggle her past the guards?’
‘Open sesame!’ he said, producing the invitation with a flourish. ‘The handwriting of her name and the Guv’s is perfect – if I do say so myself.’
Jane’s smile froze. ‘You forged his name? They’ll clap you in irons!’
‘Not a chance, Mam. But even if I did get nicked, it would be worth it. Vianna believes she’s beyond the pale. That society will never accept her. That’s why I’ve set up this whole thing. The Governor’s Ball will prove to her she’s as good as any toffee-nosed heiress.’
‘But you’re her coachman. You won’t be free to dance with her. Felix will!’
‘Yes, but Vianna will see that I’m the man who makes things happen. I change the future, rewrite history. Felix would never be game to pull off a stun
t like this.’
‘No, but Felix will never end up in Moreton Bay,’ she snapped.
Mungo held back a note of exasperation. ‘Don’t back out on me now, Mam. ‘Win or lose her, I’m playing my final cards.’
Jane ruffled his hair. ‘You’re such a dodger, lad. You just might pull it off.’
• • •
Mungo observed their arrival from his mother’s window. Felix was nothing if not punctual. The L’Estrange carriage drew up on the hour of five sharp at the entrance to the Little Rockingham Street alley, and Felix escorted Vianna to the side entrance to the stables. Her duty done, Molly returned to the main house.
Mungo pressed himself against the kitchen wall, his knuckles white, listening to Vianna’s words of thanks to Felix.
‘A most fascinating afternoon. You talked so knowledgably about the stars and – nebulae, is that the word? Even the Governor’s Astronomer Mr Duncan was greatly impressed by your expertise – as I was.’
Mungo gritted his teeth. You’ve been trained well, Vianna. Know just how to bolster a man’s ego.
‘I feel sure you will do your duty and stand up for every dance tonight. Eligible gentlemen are always needed to play their role so that young ladies are not left without partners,’ Vianna added coolly.
Mungo smiled. Bless her, she’s got that down pat from Jane Austen’s novels.
Felix stammered a response, discomforted by Vianna’s dignified acceptance that she would always be excluded from gatherings of the Exclusives. Mungo was touched by her attempted pretence in telling Felix that she would spend the evening reading a novel – that in truth she was unable to read.
I’ll have you reading Pride and Prejudice before summer’s end, girl.
Felix proceeded down the garden path to the west wing. The moment he was out of sight, Mungo mentally grabbed his ace card and sprang up the ladder. He bowed with the flourish of a courtier. ‘I bring you a special delivery from His Excellency Lieutenant-Governor Ralph Darling.’
She eyed the envelope warily. ‘Is this one of your practical jokes, Mungo? If it isn’t, it must mean I’m ordered to court to face charges for my final performance at Severin House.’
‘Neither. Today is His Majesty King William IV’s birthday.’
‘I’d have been blind not to have noticed. The whole of Sydney Town is covered with red, white and blue bunting, flags flying from every flagpole, cannons firing salutes. I wish our new ‘Sailor King’ well. It’s just that the whole town is celebrating. All I’ve got planned is writing on a slate and going to bed early.’
‘You’re dead wrong, Cinderella. The best is yet to come. Open it.’
She looked at the gilt-edged invitation with growing confusion. ‘What’s this? Fanny? That’s me! What does the rest of it say?’
Mungo stood as close behind her as he dared, one arm around her shoulder, underlining each word with his finger as he read it aloud.
‘The Governor and Mrs Darling request the Pleasure of . . .’ he nudged her, ‘go on, you read it.’
‘Miss Fanny By-ron!’ she said in wonder.
‘Right. Miss Fanny Byron’s company on Saturday the 23rd of April to a ball and supper to celebrate His Majesty’s birthday . . . and it’s signed by Darling himself.’
Vianna bombarded him with questions he had no time to answer before he was suddenly confronted by female logic. ‘How on earth was I invited? And who knows my name was Fanny Byron? . . . What on earth will I wear? And what will I do if gentlemen of Quality recognise me from Severin House?’
‘Hold your horses! My mam has everything in readiness. And as far as Severin’s gamblers are concerned you’ll be formally announced as Miss Fanny Byron by the major-domo as you enter the ballroom and you’ll knock the spots off every female in the room. The gentlemen will fight duels for the chance to dance with you. Like Cinderella, you’ll be the belle of the ball!’
Vianna’s eyes were shining. She wanted to believe him. ‘Will you dance with me? I won’t be frightened if you’re by my side.’
Mungo rested his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, telling himself he must not kiss her – not yet anyway. A lot might happen before dawn.
‘I’ll never forget you said that. Those words will keep me warm while I wait to drive you home.’
‘You mean you’re not invited? That’s not fair! Felix will be there.’
‘That’s Felix’s good fortune. Mine is knowing that you’ll have a story to tell your grandchildren.’
I almost said ‘our grandchildren’. I must be careful to lead her step-by-step.
Vianna suddenly flinched and turned away. ‘And I’ll never forget Mungo Quayle was the man who took me to my first ball.’
‘Right, so hurry downstairs. Mother’s waiting to make you even more beautiful. Hey, why the tears?’
Vianna brushed them aside and forced a smile. ‘I don’t know how you pulled it off. But I suspect you jumped through hoops to give me something impossible. You’re a very nice man, Mungo. Perhaps too nice for your own good.’
‘I’ll try and work that out later. Now off with you, girl. I have to put the final touches to your carriage. Boadicea is taking us there.’
At the bottom of the stairs Vianna paused to look up at him. From his bird’s eye view from the top step, Mungo was momentarily distracted by the enticing glimpse of the valley between her breasts, framed by the lace collar of her gown.
‘One other thing, Mungo. Don’t invitations say that an answer is requested? How could mine be accepted if the Governor’s secretary never even sent me one?’
She suspects it’s a ruse. Mungo refused to admit he had overlooked that point.
‘What a clever girl you are. The answer is simple. You present your invitation on arrival and they’ll announce you by that name – Miss Fanny Byron. If there’s any humming and ha-ing, carry it off like the born actress you are.’ He mimicked a female falsetto voice. ‘My name is not on your list? There must be some mistake. My acceptance was delivered by courier. My guardian, Lord Hazelnut, has just arrived in the Colony from the Foreign Office.’
Vianna was laughing. ‘You’re outrageous. Do you think that will work?’
‘Absolutely. No one in this colony, even Governor Darling, would risk offending a British title – in case it’s someone Lord Bathurst has sent out from the Foreign Office to check up on them. Remember, Darling is at the fag end of his term as Governor. He’s not going to risk a mistake that could jeopardise his pension.’
‘You make everything sound so plausible, Mungo.’
‘It is,’ he said firmly. No need to remind her that’s what landed me in Moreton Bay. ‘What’s more, you’ll look so irresistible I reckon Governor Darling himself will ask you for the privilege of standing up with you in a cotillion.’
‘I’ll never forget you for this, Mungo Quayle.’
Vianna’s eyes were wistful as she blew him a little kiss then picked up her skirts and crossed the walkway to disappear inside Jane Quayle’s kitchen.
Back in his schoolroom chambers Mungo stripped off the slops he had worn to clean the coach, scrubbed up in a tub of water his mother had left for him and changed into the dark suit and cape that would serve as his livery for the evening.
When he saw Felix stride across the Bridge of Sighs, he waited for the sound of his departure in the family carriage before making his way to harness Boadicea. Mungo gave a satisfied grin as he passed through the walkway and the sound floated down of two excited females talking and laughing together.
Tonight is a night to remember. Anything could happen – and probably will. For any other girl it would be a disaster. But my girl has the guts to pull it off. She’ll bedazzle them.
• • •
The moon bathed Little Rockingham Street with a magical silver coat that transformed the rough edges of the cabins and coach houses lining the long narrow street, only wide enough to allow one carriage to pass along it.
Seated on the traditional coac
hman’s perch, his borrowed gold-braided tricorn hat set at a rakish angle, Mungo whistled a Gaelic air as he waited in the moonlight for Vianna to emerge through the iron gate.
Looking at that prison-like door, Mungo was struck by the irony of the dual purpose of this door and the garden path that connected these servants’ quarters with the twin mansions of the L’Estrange family.
In childhood Mungo had accepted how often the Master trod this path on his nocturnal visits to his mother. Now it was the link between the two halves of his own double life, living as a ‘guest’ in his father’s mansion, but having access to the loft to visit Vianna. History is repeating itself.
The clang of the iron door jolted him from his reverie.
His throat constricted at the sight of her. A princess walked through the gate, his mother close behind her. Mungo was shocked, but entranced by the transformation. The face was Vianna’s face, but the hair was jet black, piled high with random curls falling artlessly to frame an expression that was a delicious blend of wantonness and innocence.
Her bare shoulders and the discreet curve of her breast gleamed in the moonlight that shimmered on the white silk dress. Draped over her arms was a silver-threaded shawl. Long white gloved hands carried a lace fan – and her invitation!
Mungo’s love struggled with a twinge of jealousy at sight of the necklace at her throat – a full circle of diamond flowers each with a pearl at its heart. Was this a love token from Felix?
‘Don’t you know me, Mungo?’ Vianna asked, nervously touching a dark curl. ‘Will I pass muster amongst all those ladies of Quality?’
For once Mungo was bereft of words. The little cleft in her chin reminded him of Francis Bacon’s definition of beauty: ‘There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.’ Dead right, Bacon!’
Finally he turned to his mother. ‘Full marks, Mam.’
Jane recognised his ambiguous reaction and quickly filled the breach.
‘She’ll be a blonde again tomorrow, Mungo, this is just a wig for the night. And the necklace is Vianna’s – delivered by Wanda. The clasp was broken, so I’ve sewn the two ends together.’
The Lace Balcony Page 33
