Greeted with an effusive welcome by their host, Severin’s mood changed like quicksilver and he was nothing less than affable.
Their valises were carried inside and Blewitt was shown to the servants’ quarters. Vianna was annoyed that Severin had vetoed Wanda’s presence on this journey, denying her the companionship of the girl who remained her covert ally. Severin’s lie had failed to undermine the girl’s loyalty in her eyes.
She was surprised to find that despite her acknowledged status as Severin’s mistress, they had been placed in separate guest bedchambers. Severin was sanguine. ‘The arrangement is at my request. James and I plan to drink and gamble through the night. We have no wish to disturb you.’
That afternoon Severin rode out with Dalby and his neighbouring landowners on a kangaroo hunt that to Vianna’s eyes was a curious parody of an English foxhunt.
Jean Dalby was nowhere in sight so Vianna contented herself by strolling along the banks of the creek that bore Dalby’s name. She was enchanted by flights of freewheeling Galahs. Bright pink and grey, the parrots flew through the treetops, shrieking their high-pitched laughter.
How I envy these sweet, silly creatures, free of all malice, cunning and human manipulation. Free to do nothing but make merry with each other . . . blissfully unaware that the blacks prize them as a delicacy.
Although it was impossible for Dalby to predict the exact time of their arrival, his housekeeper had prepared a lavish banquet grand enough for a dozen guests. Vianna dressed her hair elaborately and wore the daring, gold-threaded evening gown that Severin had selected for the occasion to ‘advertise her beauty’.
‘Are we dining with the Dalbys’ neighbours?’
‘No. James wants us all to himself – or should I say you. He has long been an admirer of yours.’
‘He has never been anything but a gentleman,’ Vianna said quickly.
‘See it remains that way. Don’t be tempted to play the courtesan tonight.’
At dinner the two men attempted to outdo each other with scandalous colonial stories to amuse Vianna, in sharp contrast to the total silence of her hostess at the far end of the table, who smiled faintly and stared into space.
Mrs Dalby had remained out of sight all day. This was Vianna’s first chance to study the change in her since their previous visit. Close to forty years old, Jean Dalby retained an air of faded prettiness, yet her gown and hairstyle were several years out of date. Her complexion was strangely unlined as if time had left her untouched by worldly concerns and emotions.
Jean Dalby did not utter a single word when the assigned servants served her portions of each course. Her wine glass and plate remained untouched. Clearly she was now an invalid but Vianna felt discomforted. Dalby made no effort to include his wife in the conversation, and the servants treated their mistress’s remote manner as if it was perfectly normal.
By the time Severin and Dalby were launched upon their third bottle of wine, recounting the latest newspaper attacks on Governor Darling by the radical editors of the Colony’s newspapers, they were loud and boisterous. Although they projected an air of established rivalry between social equals, it was clear that Severin subtly allowed Dalby to hold the upper hand.
Severin’s playing some kind of game, but what is it? How am I involved?
As if suddenly reminded of his duties as her host, James Dalby turned to Vianna, his eyes shining with frank admiration, lubricated by wine.
‘You are the best thing ever to happen to my friend, m’dear. Severin is a most fortunate fellow.’
‘Watch your step, James,’ Severin teased. ‘I advise you to remember the reason I was sent to this peculiar Colony.’
Vianna was startled by this thinly veiled reminder that Severin was transported for killing a man in a duel for his amorous advances to Severin’s woman.
‘My dear fellow, you should be grateful to the British judge who sent you out to us. He did you a favour. Here in this great land we live in, a man can follow his own destiny.’ Dalby turned to Vianna with a winning note in his voice. ‘Should Severin fail to do right by you, m’dear – come here to me. I would willingly act as your protector – and spoil you, as you deserve.’
Severin’s hoot of laughter was somewhere between ridicule and irritation.
‘You don’t stand a chance with her, James!’
Vianna blushed, not for herself but for Dalby’s lack of respect for his wife.
‘I know you speak in jest, James, but I would only come here with the approval of Mrs Dalby.’
Wine had liberated Dalby’s tongue but he sounded wistful. ‘My dear wife would not even notice if I made love to a woman right under her nose. That sweet, vacant smile has been her sole expression since our baby son died of scarlatina.’
‘Forgive me, I had no idea,’ Vianna said in distress.
‘My Jeannie lives in her own little world. Perhaps that is a blessing in disguise. Nothing good or evil can touch her. She was reluctant to accompany me to the Colony and when she did, she only lived for the day of our return Home. You know how it is, some settlers thrive here, some never take root. My Jeannie sees nothing before her eyes except her memories of the English countryside.’
‘How terrible for her,’ Severin said politely.
‘Perhaps more painful for those who love her. You see how she blinked at the mention of England. That’s the one word that can pierce the shell that encases her mind and its memories.’
He drained his wine and waved the manservant aside, choosing to refill Severin’s glass himself. ‘My wife does not even visit our son’s grave. It is as if he never existed. She has left me . . . to mourn him alone.’
Vianna broke the heavy silence by turning to whisper to Dalby.
‘Would you allow me to talk to her? Nothing that would distress her. Just memories of the English countryside. It could do no harm, could it?’
Dalby’s eyes grew moist. ‘Dear girl, your heart is kindness itself. No wonder Severin keeps you all to himself. Can’t say as I blame the lucky devil.’
Severin was restless to cut across Dalby’s melancholic mood.
‘Come James, you promised me one of our marathon games of chance.’
Their arms linked across each other’s shoulders, the pair headed for the games room, leaving Vianna to follow her hostess as she was led by the housekeeper to her sitting room.
Vianna drew her chair close in an attempt to make eye contact and took the woman’s limp, pale hands between her own. She used the word ‘England’ as a key, constantly inserting it into her monologue, on the chance it would unlock some pleasant memory. I’ll throw formality aside. Who’s to correct me?
‘My name is Vianna. Do you remember me, Jean? I came here once with my little sister Daisy. You were very kind to us. I thank you for having me in your home. But England is our true home, is it not? May I share my happy memories of England? I remember when I was three years old, running hand in hand with my mother in the English countryside.’
For once Jean Dalby’s eyes seemed to focus on something in the present.
Vianna pressed on. ‘You know how lovely an English spring is. Wildflowers, daffodils, jonquils and bluebells.’
Is it my imagination, or did Jean blink in response?
‘I clearly remember one day – my first memory of my mother. We sat together in a field covered by a carpet of dandelions. Mother showed me how to thread them together to form a dandelion chain, then placed it on my head, like this.’
Vianna gently placed an imaginary dandelion coronet on the crown of Jean’s hair. ‘Mother told me I was an English dandelion princess.’ She squeezed Jean’s hand. ‘Isn’t that a lovely first memory for a little girl to have of her mother? Now, whenever I see dandelions in the Colony, I remember the beauty of England . . .’
I haven’t reached her at all. And I’m floundering. I grew up in foggy London. The only time I ever visited the country was for Grandmother’s funeral.
Just as Vianna bent her head in
defeat, she felt Jean’s hand stroking her hair. Just for a moment there was a smile in the woman’s eyes, before they glazed over and she returned to her lost private world.
The assigned housekeeper’s face was rough and deeply lined, but her manner was gentle. As she steered her mistress to the door, she looked back over her shoulder.
‘Thank you, Ma’am. That’s the first time my lady’s touched anyone in years.’
Vianna watched as the mistress of the house was led away to her bedchamber like a well-behaved child.
How can God allow an innocent woman to suffer like this? She’s lost her babe, her homeland and her memory – she’s like a ghost haunting her own life.
• • •
Waves of earthy laughter sounded from the games room as Vianna fell asleep. In the dark she stirred at the sound of a soft rap on the door and froze.
That’s Dalby’s voice saying my name. What do I do? If Severin found me alone with him all hell would break loose.
She remained rigid under the covers, greatly relieved by the sound of his footsteps receding down the corridor. Shortly after, during the grey haze of dawn, Severin came to her room, no more inebriated than at dinner, but clearly drunk on victory after a marathon gambling session.
‘I took a stroll in the garden. But all has gone to plan. I allowed James to win most hands until three. Then I turned the tables. Stripped the cupboard bare so to speak. Unfair? There’s plenty more where that came from. His money will enable me to put my plans for you into action. Meanwhile we shall live in the style we deserve.’
‘But first you will pay our creditors, won’t you?’ she asked anxiously.
‘God forbid. What a shopkeeper’s mind you have, Vianna. We do tradesmen a favour by giving them our custom – not our cash.’
Vianna refused to allow the barb to pass. ‘Wasn’t it Napoleon who dismissed England as a nation of shopkeepers? Yet we beat him in the end.’
Severin raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Well, it seems the money I’ve spent on your tutors has not been entirely wasted.’
Vianna hesitated, wondering about the degree of Severin’s duplicity. If he knew, would he be enraged by Dalby’s clumsy nocturnal visit? Or was it possible Severin had turned a blind eye to it? What on earth do I say?
‘Was Dalby drunk?’ she asked. ‘Did he suspect your sleight of hand?’
‘James is generous, but a fool with money. He could no more tell a card sharp from a randy bull.’
Tossing the bank notes onto the table as carelessly as if they were wedding confetti, he sank down on the bed and extended his leg. Vianna knelt on the floor and removed his boots, unable to avoid a note of pleading.
‘Does this mean we’ll soon be able to remove Daisy from Goulouga?’
‘When the time is right, Vianna. Trust me. I have great plans for us.’ He ruffled her hair in the absent way that always made her feel like a dog. ‘Be a good girl and show me how clever you are.’
He stripped her of her nightgown and tossed it across the room. ‘Undress me, the way I taught you,’ he said, gripping her shoulders to make her kneel at his feet.
It was a ritual that demanded delicacy and strength from her in equal parts. Severin finally gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Ah, yes . . . you are quite the little expert. You could teach Amora a trick or two.’
Vianna was startled, ‘You knew her?’
‘Intimately,’ he said casually then fell into a deep sleep leaving Vianna, restless and unsatisfied, gazing out at the sky, sifting his words for layers of meaning. Nothing Severin said could ever be taken at face value.
His hooded eyes remained closed as he stirred in his sleep.
‘You won’t ever try to leave me, will you, Vianna – it would be unwise . . .’
• • •
On the morning of their departure, Vianna was disconcerted to find that the contents of her valise had been rifled through, presumably by some assigned servant. She dared not draw attention to the fact the flimsy French undergarment Severin had instructed her to wear was missing. She remained doubly uneasy about the manner in which their newfound wealth had been acquired. After saying a personal, warm farewell to Jean Dalby on the terrace, she made her host a deep curtsey.
‘I thank you for your generous hospitality, James. I trust you will honour us with your company when you are next in Sydney Town.’
James Dalby gave her hand a lingering kiss. ‘I will certainly come if it is by your express invitation, m’dear. You have only to ask.’
The two men parted company with jovial bonhomie and no little innuendo, but Severin’s mood changed the moment they set out on the return journey.
Vianna had often seen him half-drunk following a night of carousing, demanding fresh stimulus to sustain his wild mood. She sensed this was different. Despite her protestations about the discomfort of driving in an open carriage in a high wind, Severin demanded the hood of the landau be folded down ‘for fresh air’. By the time the rocky track from Regency Park joined the convict-built highway that led to Sydney Town, Vianna knew exactly what to expect. The dark side of his nature, rarely glimpsed beneath the public face he showed the world, now played a deeper role in their private relationship.
Is alcohol the cause? Or his casual use of laudanum? Or financial pressures?
Despite the heat and the wind that played havoc with her hair, Severin ordered the hood of the landau to remain folded down. Vianna’s anxiety accelerated sharply at a curve in the road where an iron-gang had abruptly ceased work. Without warning Severin ordered the carriage to stop, leapt up onto the seat beside Blewitt, grabbed the reins and began whipping the horses to a frenzy.
One side of the road was bordered by an ochre cliff-face, the other seemed suspended above a sheer vertical drop of several hundred feet. The deep ravine below was glimpsed between giant Norfolk Pines growing too far back from the edge of the road to form a protective barrier. If the horses veered inches closer they would all inevitably plunge to their death.
Vianna tasted an instant rush of fear. He’s gambling with death! He said of the duellist he killed, ‘The scoundrel got what he deserved – a fine funeral.’ Now my funeral is on the cards!
Severin’s cries of exultation were sliced by the wind as he whipped the horses. When Blewitt tried to grab the reins, Severin turned the whip on him, then waved his arm as if conducting an orchestra.
Vianna braced her feet against the seat. If I die, please God take care of Daisy.
The horses were half-crazed with panic. The back of Blewitt’s jacket was cut to shreds from Severin’s whiplash, but Blewitt continued to struggle with Severin to regain hold of the reins and steer the horses away from the edge of the bottomless pit.
‘For pity’ sake, Severin!’ Vianna screamed up at them, ‘Do you want to send us all to hell?’
‘No chance! I’m immortal!’ he said, laughing.
His next crack of the whip sliced open Blewitt’s cheek. Blood spurted across Vianna’s face and into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
When the carriage swerved around a bend and met a sudden steep rise in the road, Blewitt seized the moment to lunge for the reins and pull the horses to a halt.
Overwhelmed by instinct, Vianna grabbed her skirts, leapt from the carriage and ran headlong into the bush. The soles of her satin slippers were reduced to shreds within a few hundred yards but she felt no pain.
Blind to everything but the need to escape, she raced headlong down a sliver of a track through the bush, oblivious to the spiky bushes and ferns that tore at her dress. The path was soon swallowed up in darkness but she stumbled on through the undergrowth . . . to the cool, dark safety of a bed of moss, cut off from all human sounds except the rasp of her own breath. Exhausted, she lay gazing up at the pocket of blue sky filtered between the canopies of tropical fern trees.
There’s nowhere to run to. I could walk for hundreds of miles and never see a soul. I feel trapped in a Grimm’s fairytale.
She smothere
d a note of hysteria at the absurdity of the idea. Eyes closed, she listened to the strange sounds around her, the subtle humming that was like an orchestration of alien bush sounds. Was the bush her friend or foe? She closed her mind to all but the moment, this tiny, isolated reprieve from Severin’s world.
Reality returned all too soon. The sound of Severin’s boots and cane slashed through the undergrowth. What do I do now? He’s beyond all reason.
Severin stood with legs splayed, staring down at her, a shining film of excitement in his eyes, his breath hanging in the air in a trail of fine white vapour. ‘Your face is covered in another man’s blood. I find that quite exciting.’
When she attempted to rise he snapped the command, ‘Stay!’ Then smiled benignly at her obedience. ‘Good dog.’
He gestured for her to raise her skirt to reveal her undergarments.
‘Why aren’t you wearing that filmy concoction from Paris I bought you?’
She tried to hide her confusion. ‘What? It must be in my luggage somewhere. What on earth are you suggesting?’
‘You wore it to tempt James Dalby, don’t deny it!’
‘That’s not true! How could you suspect me – or Dalby?’
‘He came to your room last night – don’t lie to me!’
Her mind was racing. Do I deny it? Will he believe me? Is this just another crazy game? Should I defend myself – or go on the attack?
‘If he did, why didn’t you stop him? You’re supposed to be my protector.’
His eyes narrowed and she knew she had gone too far. He stood over her, the metal tip of his cane pressed hard against her windpipe.
‘Say the words, little whore. Tell me what you want. What only I can give you. What no other man can buy.’
He studied her eyes as she repeated the hated mantra he had taught her. ‘I’m a bad girl, Severin. Do anything you want to me – I’ll never leave you.’
‘Say it with conviction!’ he said.
She repeated it and he was finally satisfied.
‘Good. You know your place. Here’s your reward.’ With the air of a conjurer he withdrew from his pocket her filmy French knickers.
The Lace Balcony Page 16