The Lace Balcony

by Johanna Nicholls

  The proceedings began with all the formality of a British court but in this colonial venue the blaze of scarlet was not confined to the judicial robes of the judge. In place of the traditional ‘twelve good men and true’ was the military jury, disliked by much of the Colony. The sight of the seven scarlet-coated officers was an unpleasant reminder of the military jury that Mungo was sure had decided he and Will were guilty of Major Fraud before they even took their seats.

  He switched his attention to the judge, who had recently arrived in the Colony.

  Albruna whispered that he was a puisne judge, which Mungo understood to mean he was not of equal rank to Chief Justice Forbes. The judge’s bearing was slow and stiff. Although his countenance was not yet stamped with middle age, it betrayed marked ill health. His complexion was scarcely a shade warmer than the traditional grey-white full-bottomed wig of faux curls that hung down over each shoulder. The fall of his scarlet judicial robes indicated a sunken chest.

  Two young assigned men were brought before the judge charged with robbing their master’s shop. The evidence against them was thin. Both were swiftly pronounced guilty. The younger, a second offender, was sentenced to transportation to Moreton Bay for seven years. There was an immediate uproar when the judge placed the black cap on top of his wig – the sign that the prisoner’s older partner in crime was about to receive the death penalty.

  Raucous shouts of denial broke out from all corners of the courtroom, which only abated when the judge intimated that this death sentence would probably be remitted to Life.

  Albruna stiffened at the announcement of the next proceedings. ‘This is why I asked you here today.’

  Mungo did not recognise the well-dressed man until the string of aliases was read out: ‘Jack Barnes, alias John Border, alias Jos Baker.’

  I should have finished the mongrel off when I had the chance.

  • • •

  The courtroom was almost filled to overflowing when Vianna shepherded Molly inside, manoeuvring her into a corner. Vianna quickly assessed the males around her and chose one on whom to focus her most winning smile. He instantly gave up his seat to Vianna. With a quick smile of thanks she placed Molly in the vacant seat, to enable her to watch the proceedings but not be seen by the accused.

  Molly twisted her handkerchief and whispered, ‘Oh no! There’s Mungo with Mrs L’Estrange. Why are they here? Now Felix will know everything!’

  The charge sheet was read out. Baker was charged with an assault with intent to commit rape.

  Vianna put her arm around Molly’s shoulders and found she was ice cold.

  ‘Molly, are you sure you want to stay through this trial?’

  Molly nodded but seemed to shrink in her seat.

  The woman who had brought the charge against Baker, Mrs Foley, was a mousey, nondescript woman with a mottled complexion like stained wallpaper. To Vianna she had that look of generations of ingrained poverty shared by many old lags.

  Vianna hardly recognised Jos Baker. In contrast to the violent drunk she had first seen in the garden of Rockingham Hall, a very different style of man now stood in the dock. Baker’s head was held high, his dark hair centre-parted and flattened with pomade, his suit was of decent cut although clearly made for a bigger man, his linen and neckcloth were immaculate. He had the look of a man who had risen up the class ladder by his own efforts.

  She tried to give Molly confidence. But you can’t fool me, Baker, once a wife-beater, always a bully. I’d give ten years of my life to be up there sitting on your jury.

  Vianna and Molly watched intently as Kate Foley rose to identify herself to the judge as the woman who had laid the charges. But the figure who crossed the courtroom, the victim of the alleged crime, was not a woman.

  Annie Cole was a puny child, ten years old.

  One year under the legal age of consent. I should be thankful it isn’t Daisy.

  Molly focused on the child without expression, but Vianna saw her knuckles blanch as she gripped the seat in front of her.

  Annie Cole took the stand, awed by the red-coated soldiers. Breathing through her mouth as though she suffered a perennial cold, she plucked nervously at the hem of her pinafore. Stringy brown hair escaped her mobcap. When she stepped up into the witness box, she held the hem of her dress to prevent tripping. Her legs were blotchy with bruises.

  The judge addressed her in a formal yet kindly manner. ‘Before we are able to proceed with this case, Annie Cole, I must ask you a few questions, as a point of law. Do you understand me, child?’

  The little girl looked towards Mrs Foley before answering, ‘Yes, Sir.’

  She responded to the judge’s questions with simple childlike clarity.

  ‘How old are you, Annie?’

  ‘I don’t know. No one ever told me.’

  ‘Do you attend church, Annie?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Do you know what a church is, Annie?’

  ‘That’s where they hanged that man Jesus on a cross.’

  An outburst of laughter was instantly met by the judge’s reprimand.

  ‘Do you say your prayers, Annie?’

  ‘I never knew no prayers.’

  ‘Or catechism?’

  ‘What’s that, Sir?’

  ‘Do you understand your relationship to God? Do you respect Him?’

  Growing anxious that Kate Foley was now avoiding her eyes, Annie blurted out the words, ‘I never met no man called God, Sir.’

  The court erupted in laughter. Vianna wanted to scream. Stop hounding the child.

  The judge continued. ‘Does your mother ever read the Bible?’

  ‘I never seen her read nothing.’ She added helpfully, ‘But I seen her sign her name with a cross, Sir.’

  ‘Have you ever heard your mother say her prayers – Protestant or Catholic?’

  Annie concentrated hard. ‘Ma says she’s Catholic. Is that the same as Irish?’

  ‘Dumb as Paddy’s pigs, an eedjit!’ an unseen male voice snorted, causing the judge to demand silence in the court.

  ‘Do you know any priests or clergymen, Annie?’

  ‘Once a priest man came to our lodging house. To see an old woman what was ill. She died. He never came back again.’

  ‘Did anyone tell you what to say in this case, Annie?’

  ‘No, Sir. What do you want me to say, Sir?’

  The judge looked disconcerted then gently dismissed her and called Mrs Foley to the witness box. ‘You are the mother of the child Annie Cole?’

  ‘I am being the woman Annie calls her ma. But she was only wished on me by her dead mother when she was a toddler.’

  ‘It would appear you have taught her nothing about God or religion.’

  ‘That’s not true, y’Honour. I’ve done me best by her. But she’s terrible ignorant, she is. Nothing can well be taught her.’

  ‘Did you ever send this child to school?’

  ‘A waste of time and money. Nothing sticks in her head two days running.’

  ‘Did you tell Annie what to say about the man who stands here accused?’

  ‘I did no such thing, Sir!’

  ‘Very well, you may return to your seat, Mrs Foley. But I must request you to be more particular in future about giving the girl religious instruction.’

  He looked with sorrowful, rheumy eyes in Annie Cole’s direction.

  ‘I regret it is impossible to proceed with this case by including the testimony of a child so ignorant of every sense of religion that she has no concept of God. Therefore she cannot be expected to understand the difference between right and wrong – or the consequences of telling a lie.’

  Vianna hissed at Molly. ‘This trial is a farce. Do you want to leave, Molly?’

  Molly shook her head.

  The judge continued, ‘However I will allow the case to proceed without the testimony of the child – the claimed victim in this case.’

  Baker politely answered the questions put to him, projecting the air of a m
an whose good reputation has been injured. ‘How could I know how old she was, your Honour? You heard her. She doesn’t even know her age herself. But she’s a big girl – with the body of a woman.’

  Under questioning, he admitted he had seen the girl standing on a street corner in The Rocks that was a known venue of prostitutes. ‘She took me by the hand to a nearby laneway. She invited me to have my way with her person.’

  Vianna felt sickened. She kept her arm around Molly’s shoulders.

  Pressed to continue, Baker became plaintive. ‘The girl never said no, your Honour. Never cried out. Never spoke a word . . . no, she didn’t bleed – she was no virgin. She’s a big girl as you can see. I had every reason to believe she was eleven – so connection with her was quite within the law, ain’t it!’

  Baker assumed the role of the aggrieved party. ‘There wasn’t no problem until that Foley woman popped out of the bushes, crying out that I raped the girl. When I refused to give the woman any more money, she ran to the Watch House and the constable came and had me arrested.’

  ‘You say the girl gave her consent to your actions on her person?’

  ‘Indeed she did, Sir. It was her what solicited me, Sir. She asked me for a penny and I gave it to her.’

  The judge said the words slowly. ‘The child asked you for a penny. Did you never think to ask Annie Cole her age, Baker?’

  ‘You heard her yourself, y’Honour. That little whore’s so dumb she don’t even know who Our Lord Jesus Christ is.’

  Vianna struggled to remain seated. Pity there isn’t a law against hypocrisy – Baker would get Life.

  The judge stared at Baker until the man became so disconcerted by the silence that he began to examine his fingernails. The jurymen conferred and quickly reached their verdict. The judge delivered it with an air of resignation. ‘The case has failed to establish the two principle points necessary to prove the crime was rape. I have no choice but to dismiss this case. Jos Baker, or whatever your name is, you are free to leave this court. I strongly advise you that in future you confine your activities to persons who are fully aware of what kind of business you wish to transact – and that willing or not, they be not under the age of consent.’

  Despite the judge’s barely concealed contempt, Baker thanked His Honour profusely and feigned surprise when several women shouted out against the verdict. Now that he had been legally vindicated, Baker wanted the final word and addressed the spectators. ‘British justice has been seen to be done. I would never be guilty of harming a child. I am a family man with a dear daughter of my own.’

  Vianna gasped in horror. Molly broke free from her embrace and yelled out to the judge. ‘Stop him!’ He’s a liar!’ Trembling violently Molly pointed at Baker. ‘As God is my witness, he’s my father! He did it to me when I was ten years old.’

  Voices rose in confusion when Vianna leapt up onto the bench beside Molly, shaking her fist in the air.

  Vianna’s clear, pure voice carried the length of the court, causing the startled judge, flanked by the jury as he left the court, to turn around in response.

  ‘Shame on all of you!’ Vianna would not be silenced. ‘This military jury is a farce. Trial by jury is our right under British law!’

  Voices took up the cry, and the chants grew in strength. ‘Trial by jury!’

  Mungo pushed his way through the volatile crowd towards Molly who was trying to reach her father, screaming out. ‘Let me take the oath, I believe in God!’

  The moment he heard Molly’s voice, Baker cowered against the guard for protection. Mungo caught Molly in his arms and held her head against his chest, signalling to the constables there was no need to restrain her.

  Vianna stroked Molly’s hair. ‘You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.’

  ‘No, I’m a coward. I was afraid of him.’

  Mungo was adamant. ‘He walked free today, Molly. But the law will catch up with him. He’ll end his days on Norfolk Island.’

  Molly turned to Mungo in despair. ‘It’s too late for me to charge my father, isn’t it? But can nothing be done for that poor little girl?’

  Albruna did not hesitate. ‘I give you my word, Molly Baker. I shall personally ensure that Annie Cole is taken from that woman and placed with a kind family.’

  Mungo took charge. ‘You can believe that, Molly. Let’s get you ladies home.’

  He shouldered his way through the crowd that was closing in on the girls.

  A man’s voice cried out in triumph. ‘Hey, that’s the Sydney Venus to be sure!’

  Vianna saw the shock of recognition in Albruna’s eyes. But the woman kept her head high and her arm around Molly’s shoulders as she steered her to the carriage.

  Looking directly at Vianna, Mrs L’Estrange said stiffly, ‘You’d best come with us.’

  Mungo climbed up beside Old Crawford. The old man’s eyes looked cloudy.

  ‘Home? Which road should I take? The road to the Cotswolds – or to Bath?’

  Mungo realised the old man had mentally retreated to his native land.

  ‘Don’t worry, Crawford. I know a much quicker route,’ he said gently and took over the reins.

  Vianna held Molly silently in her arms, her feelings equally divided between anger at the law’s failure to deal with child rape, admiration for Molly’s courage and respect for Mrs L’Estrange’s dedication to helping women and child victims of the law. Vianna felt a wild surge of hope that this determined woman would help Mungo find Daisy.

  On their arrival at Rockingham Hall Mungo caught hold of her, determined to detain her. ‘I must talk to you alone. Everything has changed. I’m a free man.’

  She looked straight through him. ‘Nothing has changed, Mungo. I must go.’

  Molly clung to her but Vianna saw the mistress of the house staring at her.

  Well that’s one cat that’s well and truly out of the bag.

  Mrs L’Estrange said stiffly, ‘I think you had better come inside, Miss Byron. Molly needs a close friend to support her.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  Later, after she had comforted Molly and watched over her as she lay resting in her bed in the attic, Vianna was surprised when Mrs L’Estrange called her aside. ‘I understand you are Mungo Quayle’s friend, searching for your sister. I regret we have had no success so far. But we won’t give up. Meanwhile I have a message from a friend of yours I was able to place in work. Elizabeth Stuart.’

  ‘Wanda! How wonderful. Where is she, ma’am?’

  ‘She has chosen to work on a property down the South Coast – in the hope of tracing her mother’s tribal people in the Illawarra. She wants you to know she is safe and well.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. More than I can say.’

  Vianna curtseyed when the mistress of the house departed, leaving Vianna astonished at seeing Albruna L’Estrange in a new light.

  A high-born lady intent on retaining her role in society. Yet this proves she knew Mungo had a notorious woman under her roof. She chose to turn a blind eye – and help him search for Daisy. No one in this house is what they seem!

  • • •

  Later that evening Mungo was in the garden, seated on the grass with his back against a gum tree, smoking a pipe. His attention was focused on Vianna’s balcony – until out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a man’s boots, polished to a high shine. His eye travelled up to the face. Will Eden was smiling.

  ‘What’s up, Mungo, you look down in the dumps?’

  ‘Vianna won’t talk to me. Can’t say as I blame her. It wasn’t exactly romantic to tell the woman I love to go to bed with my half-brother.’

  Will looked sympathetic. ‘I reckon you could do with a bit of help. I admit my last bright idea got you transported to Moreton Bay. But this plan is fool proof. You’ll make your fortune.’

  ‘Yeah? This isn’t about another island with an active volcano is it?’

  ‘No, it’s a wonderful city called Melbourne.’

  ‘Melbour
ne? Never heard of it.’

  ‘That’s because it doesn’t exist yet. But it’s going to be a legendary city down south on Port Phillip Bay. Are you willing to hear me out . . .?’

  Mungo threw up his hands in surrender. ‘What the hell. What have I got to lose?’

  Chapter 49

  ‘It’s an ill wind that does nobody any good,’ as Stepmother used to say. But it’s hard to see how any good can come out of Jos Baker’s trial.

  Vianna sat shivering under a rug in a tiny attic room in Rockingham Hall, where Molly lay in an exhausted sleep in her cot bed, her normally suntanned face pinched and white, half-concealed by a patchwork quilt. Jane had brought it for her, along with a herbal drink to help her sleep. The girl’s hair was plastered to her cheeks by her tears and she frowned in her sleep as if to trying to escape the dark images of a bad dream – or her childhood.

  Within an hour of their arrival home the details of Baker’s trial and Molly’s outburst in court had spread through the L’Estrange mansions like a raging epidemic, encompassing the whole household. Vianna had even heard the raised voice of Kentigern L’Estrange responding to his wife’s account of Molly’s brave stand. It seemed all were angered but few surprised by the jury’s decision.

  Vianna slipped down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen to ask Cook for a hot water bottle for Molly and found herself caught up in the midst of an ugly scene. Mrs Baker was surrounded by a cluster of assigned servants and under a crossfire of questions.

  Cockney George was the most vocal. ‘What did the judge say when Molly accused her father?’ he demanded.

  Another servant chipped in, ‘Molly’s branded herself now. No decent man will marry her.’

  And another, ‘She was just a little kid. Why didn’t you protect her from him?’

  Mrs Baker was red-faced with anger. ‘You’ve seen how violent he is. I did the best I could – left the bugger and took Molly with me. Rockingham Hall is the only place we’ve ever been safe from him – thanks to Master Felix and Mungo Quayle.’

  Vianna cut across their arguments. ‘Leave Molly in peace. I was there in court, you weren’t. What she did took great courage. You’ve no right to judge her or her mother. You have to live with a violent man before you know how it feels.’