‘Why?’
‘Why? Maybe to remind people if they do very bad stuff they might end up on the gallows.’
Toby watched as the boys tossed the giant ragdoll high in the air to land with a shower of gold sparks on the pinnacle of the bonfire.
‘But if bad people are hanged they can’t learn to be good. Why don’t they just send them to prison for a bit – then let them go home again?’ Toby whispered confidentially, ‘Like you.’
Mam’s right. You can’t keep bad news under wraps for long.
‘That’s a good question, Toby. I wish everyone thought the way you do.’ He was quick to change the subject. ‘Hey, look at those boys lighting Catherine Wheels.’
Mungo held tightly to Toby’s legs hanging over his shoulders as he pushed through the crowd. He felt unaccountably edgy, sensing an undercurrent of hostility growing around them. It would only take one false move for the mob’s mood to turn ugly and start a brawl or a stampede.
Its high time Vianna and Jane joined us. My damned fault. I should have waited for them.
Toby spotted them from his vantage point straddled on Mungo’s shoulders. ‘Hey! Here we are!’ the boy waved to them so frantically Mungo held his legs tight to keep him balanced.
Mungo’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his beautiful woman, her cloud of hair flying behind her as she ran towards him. But why was she flanked by Felix and Sandy, with Jane rushing anxiously at her heels? He was startled by Vianna’s expression, the same on all three faces – was it fear, confusion or anger? Something was very wrong.
Felix bounded up to him in giant strides. Vianna flung herself at Mungo, her face drained and anxious. ‘Boadicea’s been stolen. The thief attacked Jane when she tried to stop him.’
Felix cut across her. ‘Father’s driven straight to the Watch House to report it and post a reward. Give the word and I’ll search for him.’
Toby now stood within the circle of their bodies, his upturned face anxiously watching each agitated face as they offered ideas, apologies, support.
Jane described the horse thief. ‘Dark, swarthy, built like a bear.’
Felix jumped in. ‘He must have had the stables under surveillance. Knew the men were gone. And exactly what he’d find – a part-Arabian. Took the risk, given horse theft is a hanging offence.’
‘No! It wasn’t from greed,’ Vianna cried in despair. ‘This has Severin’s signature all over it. He wouldn’t risk being hanged himself.’
Mungo said the name at the same moment as she did. ‘Blewitt. I’ll see them both hanged. And if The Finisher doesn’t do the job, I will!’
Felix argued calmly for a search plan. Mungo took control. ‘Sandy, take Toby and the women home. Vianna, you are to stay with Jane for safety.’
When Vianna refused to leave his side Mungo began to shout at her, but suddenly spun around. Toby was nowhere in sight. ‘Jesus Christ, where’s the kid gone? That’s all I need!’
Mungo charged off and the others splintered in different directions, running in circles around the bonfires, calling Toby’s name.
Fighting down his panic, Mungo sensed a strange shift in the atmosphere. A short distance away, standing apart from the crowd, was a small lone figure, Toby. He was looking up at someone concealed in the darkness behind the giant trunk of a Port Jackson fig tree. Toby kept nodding his head seriously, as if absorbing every word said to him. Then he suddenly bolted and headed straight for Mungo, stumbling into his arms.
‘Didn’t I tell you to stick by me? Who the hell were you talking to?’
‘A man. He gave me a message for you. He said your horse is down there.’
Toby pointed to the dense darkness where the bush formed a barrier with the gully far below. Mungo ran to the tree. The messenger was gone.
He gripped the boy’s shoulders. ‘Good boy, Toby. But this is serious, think hard. What exactly did this man say?’
‘He said you’ll find Boadicea by the creek.’
‘He called Boadicea by name, right? Did he say who took her there?’
Toby shook his head, pulling Mungo by the hand. ‘Hurry!’
‘Wait. What did he look like? Was he big, like a bear?’
‘No, like Doctor. A nice man. Sort of shiny.’
‘Shiny? How?’
‘His shoes shone in the dark. And his face and scarf. But Mungo, the shiny man said to hurry or we’ll be too late.’
The shiny man. Will Eden.
‘Don’t worry, Toby. That man is my friend. You take the ladies home. I’ll find Boadicea, I promise.’
Jane took Toby under her wing but Vianna was defiant.
‘I’m not leaving you, Mungo. This is all my fault. Blewitt does Severin’s dirty work – he’s dangerous.’
‘Do as you’re told, for God’s sake,’ Mungo shouted. ‘It’s me he wants, not you!’
Mungo hurtled down the hillside, deeper into the darkness, fighting his way through the bush, his mind splintered between chaotic images of past and present danger. His breath came in laboured chunks that almost choked him. He rolled down the steep bank and staggered to his feet, grazed and bleeding, dead sure he was close to something malevolent that he was afraid to face. But there was no choice. He pushed on, drawing closer to it.
And then he heard the sound. Surrounded by a shroud of grey mist, a break in the dense blanket of darkness, he heard a terrified whinny. Boadicea. He saw the black horse rear up, pawing the air, as Blewitt raised his whip and struck her head. Her eyes rolled in terror. A film the colour of blood blinded Mungo’s sight. As he lunged towards the man, reality shattered. He was suddenly trapped outside of time – hell-bent on murder . . .
Red . . . black . . . nothing but fragments . . . He smelled the stagnant creek, the bulrushes choking the life from it . . . A man’s groans, a rank smell . . . the wounded horse . . . trapped in the swamp, the open sores of stab wounds on its ebony hide . . . Choking with rage, Mungo plunged into the thick mire of the creek, trapped by the mud, unable to move . . . desperate to keep the horse’s head above the mud, repeating the words to reassure it . . . struggling to break free as the mud sucked them even deeper . . . He fought off the mosquitoes that were driving the horse crazy . . . heard the horse’s dying breath, his own laboured breathing . . . sweating, struggling as blackness swamped him . . . He knew but refused to accept . . . it was already too late . . . he couldn’t cheat death . . .
• • •
Mungo looked up into Felix’s inverted face above him. Felt his limp, heavy body being dragged up the steep incline of the bank. Suddenly aware of Felix’s gasps of reassurance and his unwanted intervention, Mungo tried to fight him off, his weakness overcome by a final desperate surge of energy . . . He heard his own shouts of denial, that sounded like the guttural cries of a stranger, ‘Let me go!’ He refused to abandon Boadicea, fighting like crazy until Felix’s greater strength overcame him, pinning him to the ground.
Felix kept repeating, ‘It’s all right, Mungo. Boadicea’s safe. You saved her. She’s got a bad whip mark, but I promise you, she’ll be fine.’
Mungo was in shock. Violent images remained before his eyes. ‘No, she’s trapped! I’ve got to get her out!’
‘No! Listen to me! You set Boadicea free. Pulled her clear of the mud. But you were exhausted. You panicked, kept on fighting.’
Mungo closed his eyes and by a great effort of will, tried to stop the ground from heaving beneath his body.
Sandy helped Mungo to his feet. ‘Aye, come lad, let’s take Boadicea home. It’s all over now. You went half-crazy when ye saw Blewitt whipping her. He drew his knife on ye . . . so you drew yours.’
Mungo was suddenly alert. ‘Where is the mongrel? Did he get away?’
He struggled, ready to charge back into the gully, but their combined strength held him back. Then he saw Boudicea before him, injured but able to walk.
‘Blewitt got what was coming to him,’ Sandy said matter-of-factly. ‘It’s all over now, lad.’
‘I wish I could say ye did. But he bolted from a losing fight.’
Felix said with a note of finality, ‘Blewitt was alive. We are your witnesses.’
Mungo walked beside Boadicea. They think they know what happened. Only I know. Boadicea was in the creek. Trapped in the mud just like Logan’s horse . . . now there’s no going back. No road forward.
The deserted common lay under a thick pall of stagnant smoke that carried the smell of ashes and the smoking embers of dead and dying bonfires. Mungo rested his hand on Boadicea’s neck as the mare walked with an awkward, jerking gait towards Rockingham Hall.
Felix and Sandy brought up the rear in silence. Until Mungo turned to Felix, in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘Vianna’s all yours, mate. I don’t want her. But if you’re the man I think you are, you’ll do the right thing and marry the girl. You can give her the life she needs.’
Felix averted his eyes, too surprised to answer.
When they reached the entrance gate Sandy reassured Mungo.
‘I’ll deal with Boadicea’s wound. She’ll be fine. It’s all over now, lad.’
‘That’s just it, Sandy. It will never be over. Now I know it was murder.’
‘It was nothing of the kind, lad. You’re suffering from shock. You went half-crazy, slugged Blewitt like a punching bag. It was pure self-defence. Felix and I will swear to that on a stack of Bibles. Blewitt fell on his own knife, while attempting to run from a losing fight. If he dies from his wounds, ye did not murder him.’
‘Not Blewitt. The moment I saw Boadicea rearing in terror in the creek – it began to come back to me. Moreton Bay. The day before they found Logan’s body. That’s why he haunts me, Sandy. I’m the one who killed Logan.’
‘Hush, lad. Go upstairs to bed. There’s nothing more you can do tonight. We’ll talk it through in the morning.’
• • •
At dawn Mungo placed two letters under his mother’s front door. His brief note of farewell to her apologised for letting her down. He asked her to care for Toby.
His note to Vianna consisted of three lines:
It’s all over. I’m no good to you or any woman. I must face up to what I have done. Felix is the right man for you. Go to him. Allow him to love you. The rest will follow in time.
Mungo.
Chapter 44
Felix consulted his gold watch as he had done at increasing intervals for the past two hours. Silent Jack the Waterman was in full verbal flight as the late afternoon shadows darkened the harbour to a dull slate-blue reflection of the sky.
Buffeted by the incoming tide the wherry lay in waiting, loaded with crates and packages of farm implements to be delivered to the scattered properties on the northern shore around Hunters-hill. Tethered on board was the reluctant cow destined for Mookaboola.
‘D’you want to wait any longer, Mister L’Estrange? It’s no skin off my nose but this is costing ye a small fortune.’
‘I’ll say when it is time to depart,’ Felix replied crisply.
Felix assured himself his conscience was clear. Last night had been an extraordinary tangled web, an unwanted revelation of Vianna’s feelings for him – and for Mungo. But she had agreed to honour her contract.
He told himself he could afford to be generous, at least to the degree of being pleased by Boadicea’s safe return. Despite himself he was curious about the cause of Mungo’s capitulation. He played the curious phrases over in his mind.
‘Vianna’s all yours, mate. I don’t want her. But if you’re the man I think you are, you’ll do the right thing and marry the girl. You can give her the life she needs.’
Felix felt a wave of irritation. Mungo was playing the hero, setting Vianna free to accept Felix as second best. When the reverse was true. He prided himself he had spared no expense to ensure Vianna’s happiness. The pregnant cow on board was a gift to her, to provide her not only with a bountiful supply of fresh creamy milk to drink, but also to bathe in, in the traditional way fabled courtesans preserved the perfection of their complexions. He suspected Cleopatra had in fact bathed in ass’s milk, but held fast to the idea of Vianna bathing in milk, a touch of luxury he felt sure would please her.
Felix took another swig of brandy from the silver flask that had become his close companion that afternoon. He had changed his mind about Vianna travelling ahead of him and had arranged for a chaise to bring her here to meet him on the wharf. Last night she had seemed as nervous as he was – but that dramatic chain of events would be enough to unsettle any lady. He had not the slightest doubt she would join him at Mookaboola, but even given a lady’s traditional right to be late, her continued delay had begun to depress him.
I can’t keep this damned heifer tethered much longer. I’d best deliver it into Hanson’s hands. What if it suddenly drops its calf in the middle of the harbour? I know nothing of animal husbandry – outside of Father’s account books. Mungo could probably deliver a calf with his eyes closed, damn him.
Silent Jack startled him. ‘Can’t wait much longer. Do we stay or go?’
In a reflex action Felix consulted his watch. The damned cow was the deciding factor. With a surge of energy fuelled by brandy, he gave the order to depart.
‘You can drop me off and return here for the lady.’
• • •
Felix winced at the cow’s plaintive mooing. She was wild-eyed, clearly frightened by the sharp, salty sea breeze, the white waves that chopped the harbour to signal an approaching storm, and the wherry rocking beneath their feet. Straining against her rope, the cow looked desperate enough to bolt and plunge into the waves.
Felix failed to summon up much pity, consumed by his growing fear – the dark, dull sense of rejection. There was still no sign of her on the wharf. Feeling trapped inside the weary body of an old man, he clung to his mantra. Vianna promised to honour our contract. By God I’ll hold her to it.
Silent Jack was driving him barmy with a constant stream of questions that the waterman answered himself to keep the one-sided conversation alive. Felix took refuge in the flask of brandy that had at first lifted his spirits but now plummeted them, colouring his world dark grey. Suppose she’s changed her mind?
He could see nothing in the beauty around him. The idea of a future without Vianna stretched before him in an unending chain of bleak days, devoid of all hope. Nothing else mattered. His mother’s planned departure for Prussia, the perilous state of the L’Estrange bank mortgages held by Wentworth’s Bank of Australia, even his nightly adventures in the stars – nothing had any relevance. Only one thing was real – Vianna. Just when his dream of possessing his Venus was within reach, his half-brother had defeated him – just as the bastard had done all his life.
It was no consolation that Mungo had rejected her and disappeared from their lives. It had all come too late. He could no longer deny the truth. Vianna’s confession had routed him. My romantic dream has become a nightmare.
As he looked into the depths of the harbour, Felix tried to hold fast to his fantasy . . . transporting himself into the four-poster bed he had installed for them at Mookaboola . . . making love to her with all the passion long shored up in his soul and body . . . she was his! Then, right at the moment he was about to climax, Felix looked deep into Vianna’s eyes – and saw Mungo’s face reflected in her eyes!
‘Jesus Christ! No!’ His agonised cry even silenced Silent Jack.
I would kill Mungo – if it wasn’t for the grief I’d cause Father. Vianna is the only woman I ever wanted. To have lost her love to Mungo is unbearable. I’ve always been second best in Father’s eyes. And despite everything I did to make her happy, I am nothing but second best in Vianna’s eyes.
The impact of her words returned to cut deeper than any lethal knife wound . . . ‘I admire you more than any man I have ever known, Felix . . . the problem is, it is Mungo I love – as a lover.’
Felix took another swig of brandy.
Depression weighed him down like a pall. He looked down into the fathomless harbour, felt its insidious power drawing him down to the depths . . . to escape this pain . . .
He felt a link of brotherhood with Goethe’s youthful hero in The Sorrows of Young Werther.
Suicide the remedy for unrequited love . . .
He turned to look back at Henrietta Villa, the scene of his triumph, where he had rescued Vianna. Will this be my last sight on earth? How easy suicide would be.
Felix remembered the night he had attended Captain Piper’s final lavish party there. Unbeknownst to family and friends, Piper was suffering deep depression, his financial affairs so entangled with those of his government role as Naval Officer and his other appointments that public disgrace was inevitable. Piper had slipped away from his party and ordered his musicians to play on a boat and row him out to sea. Outside the Heads, he jumped overboard. A violinist, the sole man on board who could swim, jumped into the ocean and saved him.
Piper’s whole world collapsed. He probably regretted that man saving his life.
Downing the final dregs from his flask, Felix saw with blinding clarity that suicide was the perfect solution. I shall make it appear an accident – to avoid my family’s shame at a verdict of suicide.
Silent Jack’s back was conveniently turned from him. Just as Felix prepared to slide noiselessly into the water, the pregnant cow gave a terrible bellow of pain – instantly followed by a voice from the shore that Felix recognised. The overseer was waving a welcome.
Damn Hanson. He’d recognise it was suicide. I can’t do that to Mutti. I must find some other way to end my pain.
Feeling the coins in the pocket of his great coat, Felix reminded himself money had failed to buy him the one thing he craved – Vianna’s love. He had no further use for filthy lucre. All he needed now was a few coins to pay the legendary ferryman to transport him across the River Styx to the life beyond death.
Instead, prompted by Silent Jack, he paid the earthly ferryman his fare.
‘Have a pleasant evening, Mr L’Estrange, if you know what I mean?’
He could not fail to interpret the man’s broad wink. For weeks past Silent Jack had ferried across furniture for Vianna’s boudoir.
The Lace Balcony Page 48
