The Lace Balcony

by Johanna Nicholls

  ‘Don’t you know I would do anything to bring her back to you? I didn’t have the heart to tell you. I’m not a monster, you know.’

  Her voice sounded strange, unrelated to her. ‘You lost all trace of her? How hard did you try, Severin? No, I don’t believe you. Even you couldn’t be so heartless to hide the truth from me – for three years! You know how I’ve been living in hope of the day I could have her live with me.’

  He shrugged sadly. ‘I was afraid if you knew the truth – you’d leave me.’

  God help me. That has the ring of truth!

  It was Severin’s gentle resignation that caused her to crack. He gently stroked her hair. ‘I will try to find any trace of her grave, Vianna. That at least would be some comfort, my love.’

  Vianna stared at him, trying to deny the words that seemed to scatter in her mind like confetti in the wind. Until in a sudden surge of anger, she slapped the false, sad expression from his face.

  Blinded by rage, she did not even care that she had just made a terrible blunder. Pain heightened Severin’s lust. She tried to push him away. Took a step towards the door but faltered. She saw Severin glance at her champagne glass with an apologetic shrug, ‘Yes, my dear!’

  The oriental carpet seemed to falter beneath her feet, stretching, growing in size, changing to colours that bedazzled her. The door panels rippled, floating under water like the cabin of a sinking ship . . .

  Severin’s smiling mouth was growing wider, his teeth now slightly pointed like the mouth of a handsome wolf . . . he was laughing softly as she fell headlong into his arms . . . she heard him whispering in her ear as he lifted her onto the bed . . .

  ‘Sweet dreams, Vianna . . . champagne and gentle white laudanum are just what we need to make this a night to remember . . . we can do anything our imagination desires . . .’

  • • •

  The night had lost all dimension in time and space . . . the hours bled into each other along veins of darkness and candlelight . . . sounds magnified, distorted . . . textures shape-shifting, at a master’s sleight of hand.

  Vianna lay naked and unresisting across the bed. Severin’s body smelled of wine, incense, pomade, sweat and something else beyond her experience . . . he loomed over her, smiling, teasing, practising on her body whatever pleased him, using her, degrading her . . . all in the name of his undying love . . . a word that from his lips sounded like some foreign obscenity.

  In time that she could not measure, he grew frustrated at her lack of response. Smacked her face back and forth, his large, heavy dress ring cutting her cheek so that she tasted the trail of blood running down between her lips. Physical pain came in waves that he promised would heighten her senses – pleasure that never came . . . pain was only a fragment compared to the disgust she felt when he whispered words of tenderness.

  ‘Forgive me if I hurt you . . . you’ve been a bad girl . . . I’ll make it up to you . . .’

  On her gradual return to consciousness she saw Severin on all fours, bent over her, strapped to his thighs a silver phallus that he thrust into her so violently that she passed out . . . Much later she found herself pinned under the weight of his body, exhausted in sleep. Unable to move, she tried to lose herself in the starry night sky to escape the hours until dawn . . .

  • • •

  Was it the sound of the cock crowing . . . or was it Wanda who woke her? The girl’s luminous dark eyes were expressionless, like a stranger, when she stood guard over Severin’s body as he lay across the bed in a stupor, wine trickling from his open mouth.

  Vianna obeyed her like a child, grabbed hold of her clothes, her boots in hand as she stumbled barefoot down the stairs. Wanda locked the door of Severin’s bedchamber behind them.

  At the front entrance Wanda hugged her briefly then pushed her out the door with the warning. ‘Run and keep running!’

  Vianna’s face was so bruised she could barely form the words. ‘You’re not safe here with him. Come with me.’

  Wanda shook her head. ‘Severin wouldn’t dare touch me. I’m under James Dalby’s Protection. He’s kind to me. I’m kind to his wife, Jeannie. I could do a lot worse. Now go, I beg you.’

  Vianna picked up her boots and ran across the little grass island of Charlotte Place. The clock on the castellated tower of St Phillips’s Church struck seven. Church bells began to peel to invite the faithful to worship.

  Vianna ran – and kept on running wherever the road led her . . .

  • • •

  The town water pump in the centre of the market place produced a thin trickle of water from the Tank Stream. Vianna used what little strength she had to pump the handle and hold her head under it, feeling the blessed relief of cold water stinging her bruised face. She had a desperate urge to wash her body free of Severin’s degradation, but the Tank Stream was muddy, running scantily after the drought . . . an absurd, hazy thought came to her that anyone caught bathing in public would be arrested.

  She had barely enough energy and sense of direction to make her way through the streets . . . numb and uncaring that well-dressed church-goers shied from her path . . . that men leered at her . . . A drunken marine from some foreign navy whose words were alien but his coin an unmistakable invitation, offered it brazenly . . .

  Church bells rang all over Sydney Town. She followed blindly the swooping patterns of scarlet, green and purple parrots . . . hoping like a lost child that somehow these rosellas would lead her home . . . wherever that was . . .

  At last she recognised the sign swinging over the doorway of a shanty that never closed except on Sunday. The sign of The Jolly Roger showed the head of a pirate, his black tricorn hat above a red scarf and gold earring, leering down at all who entered.

  Vianna looked into the pirate’s single blue eye, its twin hidden by an eye patch, and said sincerely, ‘Thank you!’ knowing she was within range of Little Rockingham Street.

  She had barely knocked on the door of the house she recognised before she collapsed on the doorstep. Jane Quayle flung open the door, gasped and led her inside.

  Jane asked no questions. Without a word she gave her a herbal drink, then closed the door of the room where Toby lay sleeping. She gently stripped off Vianna’s clothes, her face tight and expressionless as she bathed her face, covering her bruises with herbal balm.

  When Jane began to uncover the lower part of her body to bathe her, Vianna instinctively covered her hairless mound of Venus, averting her eyes in shame and horror.

  Jane spoke for the first time. ‘Tell me one thing, girl. Did you invite the man who did this to you?’

  Vianna’s wild cry of denial sounded like a wounded animal. She gripped Jane’s arm with her last remaining strength. ‘I swear on my life, I did not willingly lay with the man who did this. Mungo must never know! Promise me, promise me!’

  Jane looked at her coolly. ‘You have my solemn promise. Not just for your sake. Mungo would kill the man who did this to you. And swing for it.’

  At last Vianna’s tears came, soft, bitter, drained of all hope.

  ‘Thank you from my heart. But I can’t lie to you. I can’t marry Mungo. He’s a good man – he deserves far better than me.’

  Jane’s voice softened. ‘That’s tomorrow’s problem, girl. I’ll help you up the ladder to your own bed. Stay there and don’t dare move. I’ll bring food to you and tend your wounds. I won’t let anyone near you – until at least your face is healed. Come now, before Toby wakes.’

  Jane tried to support her, but there was hardly a part of Vianna’s body that was not painful, so Jane followed her rung by rung up the ladder and eased her into bed.

  Jane returned with a strange-smelling herbal drink and asked the question matter-of-factly. ‘Tell me the truth, girl. Have you any reason to believe you might be with child to Mungo?’

  Vianna vehemently shook her head.

  ‘Then drink this down in one unbroken draft,’ she said and padded towels around Vianna’s naked thighs. ‘You may bleed hea
vily. Or not. But one thing is certain. You’ll not be with child. No woman should be forced to bear a babe conceived in rape.’

  Jane darkened the room then disappeared down the ladder and locked the door behind her.

  Vianna’s eyes burned with salty tears and she turned her face to the wall. She accepted the bitter truth. She would never bear a child – now or ever. As she fell asleep she clung to her last faint hope.

  Severin . . . was he lying . . . or telling the truth? Is Daisy alive . . . or lying in some unmarked grave? Severin is a proven liar . . . so why should I believe him now? Yet one thing held the ring of truth . . . if I had known Daisy had died three years ago, I would have left him . . .

  Chapter 38

  ‘Nothing short of my own funeral will keep me away from Father’s birthday celebration. I’ll be there if I have to crawl downstairs on my hands and knees, Mutti. I’ll be damned if I’ll allow Mungo to make the speeches – that’s my role!’

  Seated by her son’s bedside, Albruna L’Estrange tried to hide a smile. ‘You are sounding as if you are almost returned to full health, Felix. A good sign. Do you wish to dictate any letters for me to write on your behalf?’

  ‘Thank you, no. There’s no need.’

  I can hardly dictate to Mother the love letters to Vianna I’m writing in my head. My damned influenza’s kept us apart. I know nothing about her mystery illness.

  ‘I may not approve of all Dr Gordon’s modern methods, but he has achieved good results with your Father’s health – and yours. The influenza epidemic has caused many deaths, so I shall follow his instructions to the letter. You shall remain in bed until he gives you a clean bill of health. No star-gazing – exposure to the night air would impede your convalescence. So. I am leaving you to your astronomy books. It was most kind of Mungo to collect the newspapers for you, yes?’

  Mungo seems to be in mother’s good books these days. I wonder why?

  But he was forced to agree. Within hours of a convict ship’s arrival Mungo had collected a bundle of the latest London newspapers that carried ‘fresh’ news from Britain and the wars in Europe.

  Albruna had decreed Felix was not even to sit at his desk and insisted Mungo must handle Felix’s normal business correspondence until he was well.

  For once it’s a blessing my parents seldom speak. Father would never reveal to her he’s sanctioned the use of Mookaboola for my mistress, but servants’ gossip is a never ending epidemic. And Molly and Vianna are as thick as thieves.

  Conscious of his childhood reputation as a demanding, fractious patient, trying to rule his world from his sickbed, he had asked that his bed be repositioned to face the garden. His eyes were constantly drawn to Vianna’s balcony.

  Forced to be content with Molly acting as their go-between, Felix camouflaged his frustration with a general show of goodwill while waiting for Dr Gordon’s clean bill of health.

  On the point of leaving him, his mother tried to smooth his ruffled feathers. ‘It is most important for you to be your father’s master of ceremonies. He is disappointed that his old friend Captain Piper has returned to Allaway Bank to welcome the arrival of Mary Anne’s ninth, or is it tenth, child – I am losing count,’ she said wistfully.

  Felix was reminded that his mother had miscarried several babes before his birth, but to his knowledge had never conceived a child in the twenty-four years since. Have my parents ever shared a bed since my conception? Or has father been too occupied with Jane Quayle?

  Shocked by his own curiosity, he quickly turned the conversation to the remaining guest list, which now included Magistrate Kennedy and his wife, the witnesses at their wedding, and his father’s new ally and physician, Dr Gordon.

  Albruna said carefully, ‘I shall invite Mungo to bring a young lad who is living with him,’ then cast a swift glance at Felix as if to gauge his reaction.

  How curious. What is Mutti suggesting?

  The reason for the intimate nature of the dinner was unspoken. His father remained self-conscious about his slightly slurred speech and confined his social life to those who understood the problem.

  Following his mother’s departure, a knock on the door of his bedchamber caused Felix to sit upright and hurriedly comb his fingers through the shock of hair on his forehead in readiness to greet Dr Gordon.

  Instead a tousled, curly head peered around the door with a smile like sunshine. Molly entered hugging an armful of books. How odd. The child seems to have grown overnight. Quite passable in a Currency kind of way. No wonder Cockney George has his eye on her.

  Molly chattered as she arranged his favourite mauve Old Damask roses in a vase. She appeared quite comfortable calling him by his given name, as he had instructed her to do, except in his mother’s presence. He reminded himself that although she was Cook’s daughter, Molly was not strictly a servant. Born free, as she had reminded him on more than one occasion.

  Her smile was a touch enigmatic as she handed him two letters. He seized the one with his name neatly inscribed in capital letters, recognising Vianna’s hand.

  Felix tore open the letter with mixed feelings, pleasure at Vianna’s progress and irritation that his half-brother was the inspiration behind her new-found literacy.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said automatically, and then, ‘no, wait here for my response.’

  Felix disguised his joy that this was in a sense the first love letter he had ever received – a thing to be treasured. He explored it for personal references, hidden in case her note was intercepted, touched by the occasional phonetic spelling, proof that no other eyes had corrected it.

  Dear Felix,

  Thank you for the lovely Flowers. I am pleased to hear of your progress.

  I trust that you and Mungo will pull together to make your Father’s birthday a success.

  I have a Confeshun to make. I trust you will find it in your Heart to forgive me. In my impatience to learn of Daisy, I visited that Addres at Charlotte Place, believing JD Esquire to be Major James Dalby a Gentleman known to me. I discuved it was a Hoax. I beg you do not contact that source or tell Mungo.

  I am not the same person as when we first met, Felix, but may I always retain your Friendship and value your Kindness.

  Your sincere friend,

  F.

  Felix read the letter twice, trying to convince himself it was a love letter in disguise, but disturbed that without his consent Vianna had risked her safety by visiting a gentleman unaccompanied. Her anxiety to hear news of Daisy was understandable but being bypassed made Felix feel impotent. Why was it important to conceal this hoax from Mungo?

  Felix felt a flash of jealousy, remembering Major James Dalby as the man he had seen with Vianna at the ball. If it hadn’t been Dalby at Charlotte Place, who was behind the hoax?

  He was suddenly aware Molly was eyeing him curiously. ‘I shall dictate a response when I have had time to digest this news, Molly.’

  ‘I shall be glad to help, Felix, if you do it now,’ she said stiffly, ‘but this afternoon I’ll be busy helping Ma prepare for the banquet. Although the guests are few, Mungo says Mrs L’Estrange has planned a menu fit for royalty.’

  Felix felt another wave of irritation. Mungo says this, Mungo says that. ‘How goes my brother? Making himself invaluable to Father in my absence?’

  ‘Hasn’t he been to see you?’ Molly asked in surprise.

  ‘I have no desire for Mungo to succumb to my illness. Scientists claim disease is spread by the miasma around us, but Dr Gordon advises strict cleanliness and isolation to contain contagion.’

  Molly handed him a book. ‘Mungo took out this astrological book from the Gentlemen’s Lending Library – for you.’

  ‘But the rules are that only gentlemen can be members,’ Felix said in surprise.

  ‘You know Mungo. He could talk his way around any rule. He said what you know about the heavens would make an atheist believe in God.’

  ‘Mungo said that? How extraordinary.’

  Molly took a deep
breath and said the words in a rush. ‘That day you escorted us to the Observatory – that wasn’t my first look at the stars.’

  She gestured to the telescope and turned pink with embarrassment.

  Felix was stunned. ‘My God, that was you? And here I’ve been blaming that cheeky Cockney manservant for meddling with it. Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was afraid you’d boot me out of the house. I didn’t mean to get George in trouble.’

  ‘I confess myself astounded. You, of all people.’

  She bridled. ‘What’s so surprising? You wanted to impress Fanny with your knowledge of the stars. Why not me? I can read and write and I’m keen to study.’

  ‘That’s quite different. You’re just a child.’

  Molly’s cheeks burned and she stammered her denial. ‘I am not. I’m pushing fifteen. Free to marry. Free to study anything that interests me. I’m not one of your ladies of Quality, content with the pianoforte, watercolours, embroidery and gossip!’

  My God, the chit has spirit. Yet she’s prickly and close to tears. What on earth have I done to upset her? I should be the one to be annoyed at her duplicity.

  Molly rose with a dignity that disconcerted him. ‘I will gladly help my Mother and the servants tonight. But I won’t always be here to serve you, Felix. I plan to make my own way in the world – I just don’t know exactly what that will be yet.’

  Felix stretched out a hand to detain her. ‘Forgive me, you caught me by surprise. I would be glad to foster your interest in astronomy. Here, take this book and read it at your leisure. Feel free to ask me any questions you don’t understand.’

  Molly accepted the book and without curtseying, left the room.

  Feeling disconcerted that somehow Molly had put him in his place, he turned to the remaining letter and opened it, startled by the contents. ‘Well I’ll be damned!’

  • • •

  In the stables Mungo hoisted the large flat package carefully onto his back, mindful that it was marked Fragile. Toby was ready to assist him by opening doors for him.

  ‘Who’s the present for, Mungo?’