In no rush to arrive at Mookaboola and face Felix’s plans for Vianna, he took his time on the road. He called out a cheery greeting to the tenants of one of his father’s smaller estates and a mile later crossed the path of a convict shepherd squatting under a tree smoking his pipe. The lad glanced anxiously at Mungo as if expecting to be reported for slacking on the job. Mungo introduced himself and set the boy’s mind at rest by stopping to share his tobacco pouch, casually mentioning he was only here to visit the Hansons at Mookaboola. He noticed the youth’s red eyes were ringed by shadows.
The farmhouse was markedly grander than Mungo had expected: a double-storeyed stone Georgian rural cottage with two dormer windows in the hip roof, its concession to the climate an additional vine-covered terrace on two sides. Set on the highest point of the land, with a clear view of all points of the compass, it was surrounded by a lawn that was patently struggling to regain its green after a summer burnt by the sun.
Mungo dismounted and picked up a handful of red-brown earth, surprised by the quality of the soil, unexpectedly richer than the poor, sandy soil on the southern shore.
Following the flagstone path, he noted with amusement Mookaboola’s bald-headed overseer nodding asleep in the planter’s chair on the terrace. Stirring awake, the old lag introduced himself as Hanson, clearly unsure about the degree of respect or servility he needed to show this man, Kentigern L’Estrange’s employee, yet similar enough in looks to be his master’s son.
Mungo sensed his dilemma and attempted to quash any gossip.
‘The name’s Mungo. My mother, Jane Quayle, was assigned to Mr L’Estrange when she arrived on the Alexander in 1806. I find him a fair man to work for – I trust he treats you well?’
The realisation that Mungo was a Currency Lad, born of a convict mother, pleased Hanson as much as if he had discovered distant kin. ‘Indeed. A fine gentleman. Only met the master once, but. Come inside, lad. My wife’ll soon rustle up a good meal for you. Grow all our own vegetables and fruit, we do. And I always keep a side of mutton hanging in the cool room in case of company. It’s a lonely life – but beats the hell out of a road gang.’ His rueful laugh was open acknowledgment of how his life in the Colony began.
Mungo was quick to unpack his saddlebag and deliver the bottles of wine he had taken from his father’s cellar with his approval in order to lubricate the meeting. They were soon engaged in discussing the farm’s problems, the loss of sheep due either to Aboriginal spears or theft by bolters.
Even though they were alone, Hanson lowered his voice to confide the trouble caused by Burney, a young assigned lad who was now ‘in the bush’, that quaint euphemism for a bolter turned bushranger.
Mungo went for the truth. ‘Why did Burney bolt? Was he flogged? Without a magistrate’s sanction? I trust you didn’t cut his rations as punishment?’
Hanson looked offended. ‘I swear to God I’d never do such a thing. Deserved or not. Mr L’Estrange would never hold with that kind of punishment.’
‘You can bet your life he wouldn’t. He prides himself on being a humane master.’ Mungo refilled the nervous overseer’s glass. ‘Was it theft?’
Hanson glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his wife cooking in the skillion. ‘Worse. I caught young Burney in the act, you understand? Out in the open. I threatened to turn him over to an iron gang. So he bolted.’
‘I understood Mrs Hanson was the only female in residence here.’
‘She is.’ Hanson said significantly, ‘His partner in crime – was another lad.’
‘Right,’ Mungo said. How the hell do I handle this? I know what I’d do – nothing. How would Father react? Well I’m here and he’s not. There’s a crucifix nailed above the door so I reckon the Hansons don’t hold with sodomy.
Mungo asked a tentative question. ‘Was it rape?’
‘Indeed, not. The other lad’s been red-eyed from weeping ever since Burney bolted. I had to stop Kiley following after him.’
Mungo tried to look serious. ‘I think I just shared a pipe with Kiley. I reckon Mr L’Estrange would advise you to say naught to the authorities if the bolter returns. Just caution both lads so they don’t offend your wife’s sensibilities.’
Hanson looked startled. ‘Are you saying the Master would turn a blind eye?’
‘I reckon he’d suggest you let them share a cabin. What nobody sees is between them and God, right? ’
Hanson seemed unsure, but wine had mellowed him. ‘Indeed, God is the one true judge. I’ll put the word out. No punishment if Burney returns.’
Mungo refilled the man’s glass. ‘Spoken like a true Christian gentleman.’
Resuming his role as his father’s emissary, Mungo took a guided tour of the farm buildings, blacksmith’s forge, stables, slaughterhouse, barn and fowl yard.
‘No doubt you’d like to inspect the house. All is in readiness for young Master L’Estrange’s.’
Mungo inspected the house from cellar to attics. He asked to see the one room kept locked and Mrs Hanson fetched him the key. ‘Thank you, I’ll join you downstairs later,’ he said.
The moment he entered the room Mungo was rocked by the truth. It was as clear as if he could see the inside of Felix’s mind displayed like the workings of a clock.
The room was furnished in the height of luxury, from the giant four-poster bed to the giant mirrors. The wardrobe held fashionable gowns, shoes, bonnets, jewellery.
Felix has created a total replica of Vianna’s bedchamber at Severin House. He believes this is what she wants! He’s in love with the fantasy of Vianna Francis. He wants to take the courtesan to bed. All I want is to win Fanny Byron’s heart – and take her to bed.
There was only one difference from Severin’s creation. A telescope stood by the French windows. Beside it lay a manuscript in Felix’s hand, entitled ‘Study of the Earth’s Magnetism by Ivan Mikhailovich Simonov, during Bellingshausen’s 1820 Russian Exploration to Antarctica.’
The cunning bugger! When Felix was fourteen, Simonov was his hero – he built an observatory near here at North Head. It’s crystal clear. Felix plans to use Mookaboola as his own star-gazing base – as a blind to hide his mistress from society – and his mother!
Mungo played with vengeful fantasies but knew he could never deliberately heighten the long enmity between his father’s wife and his mistress.
Mam’s free by servitude. Does she remain Father’s mistress out of love? Or is she too stubborn to concede defeat to Albruna? Is she clinging to the hope Father will make me his heir, like Felix? Nobody asks me what I want. I’d be happy if he’d just acknowledge me as his son in public.
There were no answers. Mungo locked the door and returned the key.
• • •
The church bells were chiming five o’clock on the other side of the harbour when Silent Jack the Waterman returned to find Mungo waiting with Boadicea on the wharf. Mungo felt dejected, haunted by the image of Felix’s love nest. He allowed Jack to make the running in the conversation but barely acknowledged his plans for Sydney Town if given the chance to run the Colony.
Disembarked, Mungo rode Boadicea up the hill towards the Domain.
Night was falling, the shadows of the town stretching across the open grassland. There was an unnatural degree of silence that made him edgy. Hardly a soul in sight except for coachmen seated on top of empty carriages, smoking their clay pipes. The government men who laboured in the Domain would be locked up for the night by now in communal cells in Hyde Park Barracks.
A long pointed finger of a shadow lay at right angles to the Egyptian stone obelisk in Macquarie Place that Governor Macquarie had ordered erected in 1815, incised with the mileage to early settlements such as Bathurst, Parramatta and Botany Bay. Moreton Bay’s penal colony had not existed in Macquarie’s era, but engraved on Mungo’s heart were the nautical miles covered by the Amity that had carried him there and the Isabella that returned him to Port Jackson. He felt a strong impulse to carve an additional lin
e on this obelisk. Sydney to Moreton Bay – to Hell and back.
Bone weary, Mungo rode Boadicea along the route leading to Rockingham Hall at the far end of town where he must write up his promised report.
Did Father want me to report specifically on Mookaboola? He refused to take Felix’s side or mine. Why send me to Felix’s love nest today? To confront me with the truth? Make me accept defeat? Or just the opposite – make me fight to win her?
The heat of the setting sun allied to the wine he had drunk boosted Mungo’s confidence about the prospect of the evening in store – the time spent daily with Vianna supervising her lessons. Not for the first time he gave himself good advice.
If Vianna chooses to live in luxury like a courtesan, Felix is welcome to her. If Fanny wants to marry me and have children with me – my offer is open. But I’ll be damned if I’ll go down on bended knees to her. I’ve got some bloody pride left.
On sighting Government House, it was impossible to dismiss the memory of the night of the ball, the fiasco when his plans had appeared to collapse beyond repair.
Boadicea was edgy and Mungo fancied the horse was reading his mind. Boadicea’s tension increased as the view of the Governor’s residence opened up. From this angle Mungo could see the whole length of the terrace facing the harbour, the garden seat where Vianna had played the coquette, allowing that man to manhandle her as if she were his private property.
He tasted the bitterness of failure. I jumped through hoops to set that girl free from Severin, yet she continues to use the tricks of the trade to get what she wants. Not even my heart on a platter would change that girl.
Tonight Government House was quiet. No music, no lanterns, not a soul in sight except for occasional scarlet-coated armed guards roaming the grounds.
Mungo felt his muscles tense as the scene suddenly sprang to life.
The central French doors opened wide. An imposing figure stepped out onto the terrace, hands clasped behind his back – the bearing of a man with the unmistakable stamp of authority. The egg-shaped, balding head revealed the small features that lampoon artists drew as a bad-tempered baby – a face Mungo was unlikely ever to forget. It was the face he had seen at close range at Moreton Bay on the vice-regal visit, during Logan’s absence. Governor Ralph Darling – the man who sentenced him to Moreton Bay. And signed the reprieve that arrived minutes too late to save Will from being hanged.
Curious to observe at close range the man who had held their lives in his hands, Mungo remained in the saddle, watching Darling’s leisurely progress across the lawn that sloped towards the harbour foreshore.
Boadicea was growing unaccountably restless, pawing the ground. ‘Steady, girl. The man’s free to take a stroll in his own garden. No doubt after another day of broadsides fired from the newspapers.’
It was then Mungo noticed another figure, half concealed in the shadows, lying in wait for Darling, wearing the scarlet coat of a soldier, standing rigid, ready to confront him.
Mungo instinctively touched the knife at his belt. Something’s not right. Is this an attempt on Darling’s life? God knows he’s hated enough. But I can’t stand by and watch the man butchered in cold blood.
Mungo stroked Boadicea’s nose. ‘Hush, girl. I’ll be right back.’
He dismounted, moving stealthily closer to the two figures whose paths were about to cross. The soldier emerged from the shadows and gestured to the Governor to halt his progress.
Darling was now so close to the guard that he could not fail to see him. Yet even when the soldier suddenly stretched out his arms in supplication to detain him, Darling cut him dead and walked straight past him.
The soldier reacted in shock at Darling’s rejection. Then he suddenly turned his back and headed in a straight line towards Mungo. Mungo realised there was no mistake. That soldier’s face. That unforgettable blend of arrogance and anger – the face of Patrick Logan.
For a moment Mungo froze. Stumbling across the lawn to Boadicea’s side, he leapt into the saddle, unable to voice a command. The horse needed none. Boadicea, her eyes rolling in fear, reared up and charged off in the direction of home, carrying Mungo to safety.
Chapter 34
Vianna woke sharply in the piccaninny dawn, that soft pink prelude to sunrise, aware that something was very wrong. The confused images of her dream had begun to fade. The sound of Mungo’s agonised cries had not. She distinctly remembered some of the words he had yelled out. ‘You bastard! You deserve what’s coming to you.’
No! This was more than a dream. They were genuine cries. It must be Mungo’s nightmare. Jane told Dr Gordon – they’ve all heard him. But is he reliving the horrors of Moreton Bay – or something that goes even deeper? Why can’t anyone help him?
She knew the answer – Mungo’s total denial.
Dressing hurriedly in the cotton skirt and bodice she had pieced together gypsy-style from remnants of material from Jane’s patchwork quilts, she braided her hair in one thick plait that hung down her back.
Jane had not yet returned from her overnight vigil by the Master’s side, so Vianna seated herself on the balcony with her sketch-diary, keeping one eye on Mungo’s balcony while she put the finishing touches to her portrait of Kentigern L’Estrange, based on their one brief meeting and his wedding portrait.
I gave him my word I would soon leave this place – no matter what choice I made. I’ll prove that even a whore can keep her promise.
The diary recorded the recent, changing fortunes in her life, her portraits of Wanda, Felix, Mungo, Jane and young Molly, now with their names carefully added in capital letters.
On the brink of tearing out her much earlier drawing of Severin she decided against it. I need to remind myself how far I have come since he ‘created’ me.
At the sight of Mungo’s unmistakable swagger down the path towards her, she was conscious that her heart was leaping like a lamb in spring. She quickly berated herself. Use your head, girl. There’s no future in love and poverty.
When Mungo emerged at the top of the ladder she flinched at the ugly signs of his fight with Felix, but steeled herself against showing a pity that he would reject.
‘May I offer you a cup of tea?’
‘Had breakfast with Felix, thanks.’
He eyed the bouquets of flowers that Felix had Molly deliver to her each day.
‘You’ve got enough to start a stall at the markets.’ He picked up the slate. ‘Right, let’s see what you’ve been up to.’
He carefully checked the slate she had filled neatly with a list of the new words she had learned, then listened to her slow but unfaltering reading of the book of children’s fairytales he had bought her.
‘You’re progressing in leaps and bounds. Proved Severin dead wrong.’
‘All credit due to my teacher,’ she said politely.
‘None taken. You’re the one who put in the weeks of hard work. Practise those sums and you could end up another Mary Reiby,’ he said lightly.
‘I’m hardly likely to follow in the footsteps of the most successful businesswoman in the Colony – equal to the best of men.’
‘Why not? Mrs Reiby had a helluva lot to live down. Transported as a young girl for stealing a horse. Now she runs a business empire, as honest as the day is long, and respected by all and sundry. She got to the top by sheer hard work. Nature didn’t hand her your good looks on a platter – so you’ve got a head start.’
Mungo was looking at her in a way that made Vianna wish that she had been born in any woman’s body except her own. If only you knew the truth, Mungo. Nature didn’t do me any favours as a woman.
Vianna touched her chin, to draw attention to the fact his jaw had been badly swollen after the fight that was common knowledge.
‘You’re healing well. How is Felix?’
‘No concern of yours either way. Don’t kid yourself you were the cause.’
‘The reason doesn’t matter. Isn’t it time you both grew up?’
Mungo appea
red to smother his anger. ‘Isn’t it time you took your own advice?’
Vianna glared back at him. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be around to bother you much longer. I’ve given Mr L’Estrange senior my word.’
The news threw him off balance. ‘Thanks for keeping me informed,’ he snapped. ‘I didn’t realise you’d had a cosy chat. Charmed him, too, I imagine.’
‘On the contrary, we were both quite blunt,’ she said haughtily.
‘While you remain here I expect you to keep on studying. That’s the deal. I’ve got some special business to attend to. I’ll see you later.’
Mungo was halfway down the ladder when she stopped him with the question uppermost in her mind. She decided to embroider the truth.
‘Mungo, it was a clear night last night. Every sound carried. I heard you yelling out – as if you were trapped in a nightmare.’
‘Nah, I slept like a log.’ He paused. ‘Did I say anything interesting?’
‘You were loud enough to wake the dead. I heard you say, “You bastard! You deserve what’s coming to you.”’
Mungo averted his eyes but tried to sound dismissive. ‘That could apply to a lot of people in my life,’ he added lightly, ‘Felix included.’
The door slammed behind him, leaving Vianna angry and confused. What if I’d told him his exact words? ‘You deserve what’s coming to you, Logan.’
• • •
Mungo decided on a swift change of plans as he headed back to the house.
Last night at Government House was the second time Logan’s come back to haunt me. Why the hell won’t he leave me alone?
Mungo knew that he could set his watch by Dr Gordon’s weekly visits to his father. Today was the day. He headed straight for his father’s bedchamber. Kentigern was lying in bed, being cosseted by Jane Quayle and glaring at his physician. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Doctor!’
‘Aye, you’ll get no argument on that score. You’re suffering from nothing worse than a bout of foul temper. You’re not as young as ye were ten years past. But you’re as healthy as a stallion – for your age.’
The Lace Balcony Page 37