The inference was obvious. ‘Will you lead me in the dance, James?’
‘I will lead you anywhere you wish to go, m’dear. But this time on my terms.’
• • •
They danced the quadrille eyeing each other intently but engaged in inconsequential remarks about the decorations, the music, and the climate, to which they agreed the English needed time to acclimatise. Dalby volunteered casually the information he had acquired a new townhouse near St Phillips’s Church.
Vianna had no doubt it was a prelude to a very serious conversation. At the end of the second set he bowed to her. ‘It would be wise to allow me to escort you into supper. No one will challenge your identity in my company. Besides I have news concerning our mutual friend.’
Vianna gave a nod of consent, but her earlier joy now had a bitter edge.
Even at the highest levels of society I can never escape Severin.
Music was always balm to her soul and she gave herself up to dancing, flirting and drinking champagne whenever it was on offer. What did it matter what happened to her tonight? Who she offended or whose heart she broke? She knew she would never again have social access to these Exclusives or this vice-regal level of society. This was her one precious moment, given to her by Mungo. She was determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from the evening – and face reality tomorrow.
When the music ended, champagne flute in hand, she made her way to the musical grotto to compliment the musicians during a short break in the dancing. It was not the done thing, but she did not care.
‘Madame Francis! How beautiful you are!’
‘Guido! No one can play like you – your music is irresistible.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘but tonight I am Miss Fanny Byron.’ She turned to his fellow musicians. ‘My congratulations, gentlemen. You make me want to dance all night.’
Before Guido could reply, Dalby’s firm grasp on her elbow steered her to a seat in a sheltered corner of the garden.
‘Stay here, and do not move until my return.’ The military tone was one he had not used on her before.
Vianna looked across the lawn, illuminated by lanterns whose glow diminished into velvety darkness as the lawn tapered downhill towards the harbour, shimmering in the moonlight. Was it a mere trick of the eye or was that a figure moving in the shadows? She caught a flash of silver metal. Then all was darkness again.
Dalby returned with a plate of refreshments and a glass of champagne.
‘Calm yourself, m’dear. We have serious matters to discuss.’
Feeling like an admonished child, Vianna tried to regain her dignity.
‘I suspect, James, that you alone know where Severin has gone?’
‘Of course. Quite frankly my friend was humiliated by the act of trickery which stripped him of his whole world – and you with it. The man does not tolerate treachery. You’d be wise to remember the cause of his arrival in the Colony. A murder in the guise of a duel. He left behind two graves. The enemy who eloped with his mistress – and the mistress herself. Suicide they called it.’
Vianna had never wanted to face the truth of Severin’s history. Dalby’s words suggested Severin’s actions were a dangerous precedent to her own abduction at the hands of Mungo.
She reached out and touched his arm, intent on winning him to her cause. ‘I need your help, James. I have more than one reason close to my heart. Where is Severin?’
‘Where you would expect. He came straight to me at Regency Park.’
Vianna was not sure which emotion was uppermost, relief or fear. ‘I should have guessed. You have been his ally since his arrival in the Colony.’
‘I don’t condone all aspects of his life but I will not betray him. I invited you to turn to me if ever you were in trouble. That option is no longer quite so clear.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ Vianna said quietly. ‘A gentlemen’s code of honour.’
‘If you need money and wish to live discreetly, perhaps we could arrange . . . ?’ He left the question open.
So he’s not above a private arrangement with me, unknown to Severin.
‘Thank you, I am presently well protected.’
‘Heed my advice, Vianna. L’Estrange signed the contract with Severin to be your protector. It would be decidedly unhealthy for another man to lay claim to you.’
Vianna decided to press her case. ‘Will you help me, James? Only Severin knows where my sister Daisy is. I’m desperate to find her.’
‘How desperate, Vianna?’
She did not hesitate. ‘Total surrender – to the man who leads me to her.’
Dalby took her in a hungry embrace. She gave herself up to his mouth, his hands exploring her flesh. She rewarded him with murmurs of passion that she had learned from Severin would excite a man to make any wild promise she chose.
As soon as she felt that she had him, she broke free from his embrace.
‘We must be discreet, James. Or word could get back to Severin.’
‘Of course. I lost control for a moment. My life with Jeannie – is difficult for a man. You understand?’
‘Of course, she said softly, but she had no wish to understand. There was no time for sympathy for anyone else.
Dalby took his leave of her, making rash promises she only half heard.
Seated alone in the garden she looked across at the distant dark outline of the northern shore and the ink-blue sky lit up by Felix’s Milky Way. Diamond bright, Venus seemed to mock her.
It was then she saw the shadow move between the trees. The figure headed straight towards her with hands flexed like a pugilist ready to fight to the death.
Mungo confronted her, his face expressionless, his voice cold. ‘We’re leaving. Now. Move!’
He took her arm, forcing her to double her steps to keep up with him.
‘I can explain, Mungo, it isn’t what you think. That man’s the key to Daisy.’
He bundled her into the carriage. His icy contempt stunned her.
‘Not one more lying, cheating word out of you. Do you hear me? Not one!’
Vianna reached out to touch him but he brushed her hand aside and leapt up onto the driver’s seat. The whip cracked and Boadicea charged off into the night.
Her final glimpse of Government House was the end of a fairytale, the garden lit by lanterns swinging in the breeze, the sound of Guido’s musicians playing a lovely Viennese waltz that she knew she would never dance.
This final bittersweet image was shattered by the sight of Felix cursing as he charged towards them across the lawn.
As Mungo drove off at top speed, Vianna turned back to catch sight of Felix, wild-eyed as he leapt up onto the box seat of the L’Estrange carriage. He grabbed the whip from the coachman and yelled out to the horses, ‘Catch that bastard Mungo, or I’ll pack you off to the knackery!’
Vianna flinched. Dear God, forgive me. This is no one’s fault but mine.
• • •
Felix didn’t spare the horses. Barely moments behind his quarry, he drew up at Little Rockingham Street in time to see Mungo pulling Vianna by the hand down the alleyway to the side door of the stables. The bastard’s going to take her to bed!
Felix took his stand at the mouth of the alley, legs planted wide, hands pumping, filled with the rush of bloodlust. He was beyond all reason, all compromise. Blind instinct told him he must fight Mungo until the bitter end – Last Man Standing.
Clearly distressed, Vianna glanced between them, reluctant to go inside.
‘Please, Mungo, let me explain, I was desperate to –’
‘Save your story for some other gullible fool. Go to bed!’
Felix heard his own voice, none too steady, call out Mungo’s name. ‘You! We must talk. Now!’
‘Talk, eh?’ Mungo replied laconically. ‘I had something else in mind.’
Vianna grabbed Mungo’s arm to restrain him. ‘No! I don’t want to cause any more bad blood between brothers.’
Mungo’s laugh was la
ced with sarcasm. ‘You? Don’t kid yourself. This showdown’s been brewing since the cradle. Mind your own business – go to bed!’
Without ceremony he bundled her inside and slammed the door behind her.
The brothers faced each other at each end of the alley, their eyes locked. Two enemy soldiers confronting the battle they were born to fight.
Mungo broke the silence. ‘Just say the word. Where and when?’
Felix was more than ready for him. ‘Down by the creek. Now!’
• • •
Dying beams of moonlight cast grey shadows across their faces as they circled each other, two tall young men, blond hair matted with sweat, white shirts stained with dirt, blood and grass stains, as they grappled and wrestled each other.
Mungo and Felix fought desperately to gain the edge of supremacy as their bodies locked together, rolling downhill towards the stream. No one was present to witness their duel other than a drunken old lag sleeping under a gumtree.
Two hours passed in slogging, swearing, taunting each other, as they fought in traditional no-holds-barred style, wrestling, boxing, head butting – every pugilist’s dirty trick. Mungo suspected that to any passing farmer’s cart, he and Felix must look like a violent, exhausted mirror image of each other.
They fought on instinct. When one punched the other to the ground, the aggressor was barely able to stand upright. Turn and turn about they crawled back up onto their feet, staggering towards each other to throw yet another punch. Each time Mungo was upright he prayed that his would be the knockout blow to finish off his half-brother. Clearly Felix had the same goal. Neither had much hope of landing it.
As the sun struggled to rise, Mungo remembered as a child his mother describing it as ‘the sun climbing out of its bed in the Pacific Ocean’. The thought triggered flashes of his boyhood fights with Felix. Win or lose, Jane Quayle always forced him to swallow a foul-tasting herbal drink to wash out his violent temper. No doubt that dose would be ready for him on his return home. If I live that long.
Throwing his weight into a wild haymaker punch that would have felled an ox if it had hit its target, he only succeeded in grazing Felix’s hair. Mungo sagged down onto one knee, breathing painfully to fill his lungs with enough air to buy time. Felix was already on his knees, his swollen fists bunched together like some drunk in an attitude of prayer. He staggered to his feet yet again.
Mungo glared at his half-brother’s bruised and bloodied face, vaguely aware his own must look no better, and that both were sustained only by the certain knowledge that their enmity was a lifelong pact.
Mungo managed to voice the thought out loud. ‘We’ve got one thing in common, Felix. Enemies till death do us part.’
‘Or until you see the light.’
‘Climb down off your soapbox. Start fighting like man,’ Mungo taunted him as he aimed a punch. Instead Felix’s barn house swing knocked him to the ground.
Mungo was on all fours, each breath as painful as a knife piercing his throat. He had a sudden, uneasy sensation that they were no longer alone. He turned his head.
The shadowy figure leaned against the bulbous trunk of a massive Port Jackson fig tree. Moonlight etched his face, his knowing smile and the glint of laughter in his eyes. William Eden appeared to be thoroughly entertained by the sorry spectacle.
‘Easy for you to laugh. You’re not on the receiving end,’ Mungo directed the words in Will’s direction.
Felix turned his head in the same direction but clearly saw nothing except the tree.
Embarrassed to be caught talking to a ghost, Mungo raised himself to his feet, resigned to the fact that Felix, like an image in a mirror, would replicate the move. And he did.
William Eden applauded warmly but the sound of his clapping hands was silent. Piss off, Will. You’re a distraction I don’t need right now.
Will gave a cheery salute – and disappeared.
Mungo and Felix staggered towards each other. Barely able to stand, they collided, forced to prop each other up or fall down.
Mungo spat out a mouthful of blood. ‘How about I give you another boxing lesson tomorrow? You sure as hell need one.’
Felix began to roar a denial but Mungo held up his hands to ward off his words. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Felix. It bloody well hurts my gut.’
‘No chance I’ll throw in the towel.’ Felix added without much hope, ‘Will you?’
‘Can’t. Haven’t got enough energy to chuck a towel at you.’
A gurgle sounded in Felix’s throat that just might have been a laugh.
‘How about we go the final round after breakfast?’ Mungo asked like a small boy who is all too ready to fall into bed.
‘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?’
Chapter 32
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 wha
t 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.’
The Lace Balcony Page 35
