‘May I see it?’
‘Not yet. I need more time – in many ways, Felix.’
‘I understand,’ he sighed. ‘Forgive me for pressuring you.’
She gently suggested she had sewing to do for Jane – a polite lie.
As he began to submerge down the ladder she asked casually, ‘If you should see Molly would you ask her to spare me some time from her school studies?’
Felix agreed. She heard the depth of his sigh as he descended the ladder.
• • •
Molly did not come directly to her and did not arrive alone. Dressed as if she was fast outgrowing her clothes but giving little thought to her appearance, Molly hurried down the path beckoning a small boy to follow her. Cap in hand, the child lagged behind her, clearly awed by the exotic garden.
Brilliantly coloured parrots swept above his head from branch to branch. Squawking in triumph, they sucked honey from the yellow floral globes of late blooming Banksias, leaving the boy open-mouthed and enchanted by birds that took no more notice of him than if he were some odd specimen in the animal kingdom.
Half amused, half irritated by the boy’s dawdling, Molly seemed pressed for time. Her face was flushed and strands of brown hair escaped from beneath her white cap. She tugged the boy behind her and disappeared from Vianna’s sight.
A knock sounded on Jane Quayle’s door. Intrigued by the pint-sized visitor, Vianna slid down the ladder to watch them enter Jane’s cottage. The door was open and Jane invited them in.
‘This lad came to the front door of the house, bold as you please,’ Molly told Jane. ‘Says he’s a messenger boy and has a letter from a Mrs Navarro to deliver to Mr Mungo Quayle. I told him he was out on the Master’s business, but the lad won’t budge an inch – or hand over the letter. Planted himself on the doorstep, he did. So I brought him to you.’
‘Thanks, Molly, I’ll take care of it,’ Jane told the girl. ‘You can go back and help your mother.’
In passing Vianna, Molly whispered, ‘I’ll see you later.’ Then hurried down the garden path.
Who’s Mrs Navarro and what is she to Mungo? While eavesdropping in the walkway outside Jane’s door, Vianna strained to hear her crisp but kindly words.
‘Well, lad, Mr Mungo Quayle is expected back later in the day. I’m his Mam. Can I deliver the letter myself?’
The boy shook his head, his eyes grave. ‘Mrs Navarro says I must do it. To his face. Or she won’t give me no farthing.’
‘I see. Well, we can’t have you out of pocket. You’d best sit down by the fire and have a glass of milk, still warm from the cow. And I’d be valuing your opinion of my chocolate cake – that is, if messenger lads are allowed to eat on the job?’
The boy eyed the cake, fighting temptation. He looked at the empty chair beside him. ‘My friend is hungry. I’ll share half of mine, Missus.’
‘No need, lad. I’ll cut another piece for your friend,’ Jane said firmly.
Vianna glimpsed the boy slurping down the milk, followed by his murmurs of appreciation as he devoured the cake. Poor little mite. He’s hungry, but proud and wily enough to invent an imaginary friend.
Jane had a smile in her voice. ‘Still considering your verdict, are you, lad? Well, sometimes it takes a second slice to be sure if it’s a good cake or no. So here, help yourself to another piece – and another for your friend.’
That did the trick. The boy volunteered his life in between mouthfuls. ‘I sleep in Mrs Navarro’s back shed . . . I eat in Elsie’s kitchen . . . I run messages for people. Some gimme a farthing.’
Vianna, in need of diversion, knocked on Jane’s door and pretended to withdraw due to good manners. ‘Sorry, Jane, I didn’t realise you had company.’
‘Come in and join us. Your poor eyes need a rest, judging by the sound of that chalk scratching on your slate all morning. High time for a cup of tea and cake.’
Jane introduced them. ‘This young man has a good business head on his shoulders. He’s waiting to deliver an important message to Mr Mungo Quayle,’ Jane said with respect. And his name is . . . ?’
‘Toby, missus.’
‘Hello Toby.’
‘I know you, lady,’ he said. You’ve got a flash carriage. White horses. You gave me all your money outa your purse.’
Jane was startled, Vianna embarrassed about this link with her former life.
‘Of course. I remember you. But the carriage and horses were sold long ago. I’m living here, for a while. Do you go to school, Toby?
‘Not me. No money. And no time, Miss. I have a kip of an afternoon. I stay awake at night – like a soldier on duty,’ he said as if well-schooled in the phrase.
‘Why is that, Toby?’ Vianna asked gently.
‘We’ve got a new girl working at night. If a gentleman beats her I run to the Watch House and fetch the constable.’
Vianna and Jane exchanged a glance. ‘I’m sure you’re a great help, Toby.’ She added casually, ‘Do you know Mr Quayle well?’
‘I know his horse. Mr Quayle let me ride her last week.’
Last week? So Mungo’s visiting a brothel already?
Jane threw Vianna a sidelong glance of caution. ‘I’ve a fine pot of mutton stew on the stove, Toby, and freshly baked soda bread. Just the thing for a growing lad. Sit yourself down while you’re waiting for Mr Quayle’s return, eh?’
While Toby hungrily tucked into the meal, Vianna followed Jane into the skillion to conduct a whispered conversation.
‘Are you thinking, what I’m thinking, Jane?’
‘Aye, the poor mite is a foot soldier in the world’s oldest profession.’
‘Can’t we help him in some way?’
‘Not unless the madam of the house tosses him out. Boys like Toby are useful child slaves, running at their beck and call. They often get booted into the street when it costs too much to feed them. Poor little devils.’
Vianna went back into the cottage and watched Toby use the bread to mop up the gravy of Jane’s stew. ‘I hope we’ll meet again, Toby. When you deliver your message to Mungo Quayle, would you please tell him I couldn’t wait. I’ll talk to him later.’
• • •
Vianna drove the pony cart with more confidence than expertise. Seated beside her, Molly tilted the parasol over Vianna until the strong breeze off the harbour threatened to turn it inside out, so she folded it. She was conscious Molly had her under scrutiny.
‘All the servants are curious. Which is your alias? Fanny or Vianna?’
Oh dear. I guess it had to happen sooner or later.
‘Vianna is my stage name. But actresses attract gossip. So out of respect for the L’Estrange family, I’m known here as Fanny – my name as a child.’
Molly thought that over. ‘Makes sense. Don’t worry, you can trust me.’
I hope that’s true, Molly.
Molly eyed her handling of the cart but finally asked tactfully, ‘Ever driven a cart before, Fanny?
‘Only once, in the bush. but if I can learn to read and write, what’s a pony cart between friends?’
‘Where are we going today, Fanny?’
‘First, to ask for an appointment. It’s a secret, Molly.’
She drew the pony cart to a halt in front of the imposing façade of Entally House and handed the reins to Molly.
‘If I’m in luck they’ll see me now. If not I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do I look respectable?’ she asked, adjusting her bonnet and gloves.
‘You look beautiful, as always,’ Molly said wistfully.
Vianna rang the bell and handed the letter to the butler, giving him her name.
‘Is Madam expecting you, Miss Byron?’
‘No, but she’ll want to see me when she reads this letter,’ Vianna said firmly.
Ushered inside, she took a seat in the hall. The clock face seemed to move incredibly slowly but at last she was shown into what looked like an office.
At the far end seated behind a desk was a plump, middle-aged matron in a modest s
ilk dress and lace cap. She peered at Vianna over the spectacles on the edge of her nose, then reread the letter that Vianna had carefully copied out several times until it was free of ink stains.
‘So you wish to work for me in some capacity do you, lass?’ she asked in a voice that Fanny recognised retained strong traces of her Lancashire origins.
This is my chance to sell myself before I get turfed out.
‘I do indeed, Mrs Reiby. I can sew and make ladies’ clothes. And I can adapt French fashions to suit the Colony’s climate. I used to be a lady’s maid. My reading and writing get better by the hour. And I’ve bought some sketches of gowns, if you’d care to see them.’
Mary Reiby glanced at them. ‘I have many business interests, but I import fashions – I don’t employ dressmakers. What made you come to me?’
Vianna felt desperate. ‘A gentleman friend told me that you turned your life around when you were a young girl, and worked hard to win everyone’s respect. And well, I don’t have your business head, but I badly want to learn – to be like you.’
She finished lamely. ‘I have to start somewhere. The bottom rung of the ladder will do if you’ll give me a chance.’
Mary Reiby’s round face broke into a smile. ‘I suspect you’ll climb that ladder, Fanny Byron. And I wish I could help you on your way, but I am only days away from sailing with my granddaughter to England to launch her into society.’
Vianna’s heart sank. ‘Well, thank you anyway for seeing me, Mrs Reiby. May I wish you a safe passage.’
Mrs Reiby nodded, returning the sketches. ‘Your designs show promise, Fanny. I’ll pass on to you a wise piece of advice that dear Mr Reiby gave me when we first met. He told me: “It’s a man’s world, Mary, and the road to the top of the mountain is longer and harder for a woman to climb than a man. But elbow your way in, girl, keep smiling and never compromise, no matter how many times you get rebuffed. You’ll reach the top of the mountain in the end.”’
Mary Reiby sighed. ‘And I did. I only wish my husband was alive to share it.’
Vianna walked out into the glare of sunlight, disappointed but not defeated.
Elbow my way in and keep smiling. I must show a brave face for Molly’s sake.
‘How did it go?’ Molly asked curiously.
‘Wonderfully. I’m going to see Mrs Mary Reiby when she returns from England. Meanwhile there are other big decisions I must face.’
‘Yes, indeed. It must be nice to have two handsome young men competing to be your champion.’
Vianna caught the wistful note in her voice. ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly. It’s a bit complicated, Molly. But your turn will soon come. You’ll have a string of beaux lined up to court you. You must be old enough to marry, with your mother’s consent?’
‘Yes, I’m fourteen. Same age as Ma when she married. A fat lot of good it did her. But what choice was there? I was already on the way.’
‘I’m sorry your mother had a hard life, Molly. But one good thing came out of a bad marriage. You. You’re very bright and pretty. You Currency Lasses are a new breed. You don’t stand in awe of anyone. And you, Molly Baker, are special. You read and write well. You work hard and you’re nobody’s fool. The world is your oyster. Just make sure you fall in love with a decent man.’
‘I did,’ Molly gave a heartfelt sigh.
Vianna’s throat constricted. ‘You and Mungo Quayle get along very well.’
Molly smiled. ‘Any girl would. Who could help it?’
Does that mean Mungo has won her heart? I wouldn’t put it past him.
Molly seemed to paint a brave smile on her face. ‘The servants take bets Mungo will beat Felix at getting you into bed. Sorry!’ Molly looked stricken. ‘Don’t be cross, Fanny. That’s as close as assigned servants ever come to romance. Me, too!’
Vianna turned the pony cart back into the traffic. ‘Nonsense, I’ll teach you a few tricks, how to fix your hair, when to talk and when to hang on a man’s words. How to tease men and make them want you, without actually giving them what they want.’
Molly looked startled. ‘How do you know all that stuff?’
‘I used to be – used to have a lady’s maid. I could transform you into a fine young lady, just like that.’ Vianna snapped her fingers.
Molly’s laugh had a bitter edge. ‘Can you imagine what people would say? Me, a convict’s daughter. A Fallen Woman to boot.’
Molly’s face turned pink as if trapped by her careless words.
So some likely lad has already seduced her. Yet she’s naïve about men. I’m not quite sure what I’ve stumbled upon here. I’d best tread carefully.
They were silenced by the sight of an elegant woman being helped into a carriage by a young man. His hair obscured his face when he kissed the older woman’s hand in a gallant gesture of farewell – and was rewarded by her intimate smile.
‘Don’t look back!’ Vianna flicked the whip and quickened the pony’s pace.
Molly could hardly contain herself. ‘Mrs L’Estrange! What on earth is she doing with that young man?’
‘I don’t know, Molly, but promise me you’ll never breathe a word to anyone.’
Molly covered her mouth in horror. ‘So you think she’s having an affair?’
‘If she is, it’s strictly her business. Who could blame her? Not me. Men get away with it. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.’
Vianna pulled up around the corner in front of a public house, where a sign swung over the door painted with a rampant red dragon.
‘Not here! That’s where Father used to work,’ Molly cried.
She turned to look at Molly’s pretty, snub-nosed profile, her tremulous smile and stubborn little chin – but the girl’s hands were clenched in tight balls, a vivid reminder of her terror of her father that day in the garden.
Jos Baker was bounding across the road towards them.
‘Don’t worry, Molly, he won’t dare attack you while I’m around.’
The stubborn pony wouldn’t budge. She flicked it with the end of her reins.
Baker blocked their path. He gripped Molly’s shoulder.
‘Molly, love, how about a kiss for your old dad?’
His eyes were bleary, his mouth loose. Molly was rigid with fright. Vianna’s voice was loud enough for passers-by to turn their heads. ‘Let go of Molly, or I’ll call a constable, you bully!’
‘I know you! Severin’s whore. The Sydney Venus. Come down in the world by the looks of you. Well you ain’t putting my daughter on the game!’
Vianna swung her parasol high in the air and brought it crashing down on Baker’s head, wielding it like a meat cleaver until he yelled and stumbled. The pony chose that moment to charge, so that the wheels bumped over his legs. Baker’s howls of outrage didn’t fade until they had turned the corner.
Molly was stunned. ‘You’re such a lady. I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘Neither did I!’ Vianna answered. They looked at the shattered spikes of the parasol and suddenly burst out into peals of laughter that brought tears with them.
Vianna drove the battered old cart in the same style she would drive a phaeton, aware of the gentlemen who stopped to observe her progress and doff their hats.
‘Tomorrow I’m going to give you a lesson in fixing your hair. And we’ll make you a new dress. You’re not a child anymore, Molly. Men are beginning to notice you.’
‘Only one man counts, Fanny. Do you think I’d have a chance with him if I looked like a lady, like you, instead of a schoolgirl?’
Vianna felt a sudden, sharp twinge of jealousy. ‘I’m sure of it, Molly.’
Chapter 36
The short-lived dusk was fast darkening to a coal-grey wash stained by scarlet on the horizon by the time Mungo returned to Great Rockingham Street. He felt Sandy had given him a reprieve not from death but from facing the dark side of his nature – that he was capable of murder. He had shared his fears with the one man he was sure he could trust. Sandy
was more than a physician, he was a friend for all seasons.
Will my memories of those two blank days return spontaneously? Time is running out.
He assumed his light-hearted mask when it was Molly who greeted him at the front door instead of the housekeeper or Old Crawford.
‘What are you doing here, Molly?’
‘Mrs L’Estrange’s new housekeeper was caught in the cellar, full as a boot, so she’s been packed back to The Factory. Old Crawford’s not himself today. He thinks he’s a chef and he’s driving Ma crazy in the kitchen. So I’m filling in for a bit.’
‘You’ve done something clever with your hair.’
‘You like it? Fanny’s taken me under her wing. Whoops, I nearly forgot. The Mistress wants to see you right away, it’s important,’ she said.
Mungo found Albruna L’Estrange in her sitting room. To his surprise, she rang the bell for tea. That’s a turn up for the books. She’s almost treating me like one of the family. And she looks different somehow. Younger, more alive. What’s up?
Over the sort of afternoon tea usually reserved for guests, Albruna complimented him on his progress working for the family, before coming to the point. ‘There are two matters I am wishing to discuss with you, Mungo. The first concerns your search for the child. The dead end at Goulouga was most disappointing. We must explore all other avenues. Here is the name and address of a clerk at the Law Courts, with whom I have had contact in my work with destitute women and children. Morris has agreed to contact us about future court cases involving any girls around Daisy’s age – no matter what name is listed.’
‘Thank you, Mrs L’Estrange. I’m most grateful for your help – so is her sister.’
‘Your search must seem like looking for the needle in the haystack, but you and I have one thing in common. We never give up on a cause.’ She hesitated. ‘I understand this child is connected with that young woman – your house guest? Fanny?’
Is she fishing for information because she suspects Felix is involved with her, or because she hopes Fanny is my woman? Whatever the case, I’d best throw in a grain of truth to make the story ring true.
‘You’re quite right. Daisy is the stepsister of my guest, Fanny Byron, a young lady, new to the Colony. She was forced to leave her position when her master made improper advances to her.’
The Lace Balcony Page 39
